Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all! I am expecting a UPS truck to deliver my own PlayStation4 (so much for slapping my entire tax refund on intelligent balances) for an evening away from the typical Irish pub scene. Last week I managed to unintentionally have too many strong drinks at a dueling piano bar which left me feeling sick for days… it was bad enough that I resorted to a piano bar for entertainment, even worse when I took it to the extreme. At one point I remember yelling “BRITNEEEEEY” from my seat and hearing them play a few bars of ‘Hit Me, Baby (One More Time)’. I threw up stomach acid the next day. Who knew something could be hokey and potentially life-threatening at the same time?!
Can you say “no fast food since last year”? I can! If it’s bread, it’s whole grain oat. If it’s pepperoni, it’s a Lean Pocket – rice, one serving of brown rice. A little over sixty days and my bra and belt clasps have moved in the right direction. I shudder when I think of the pattern I developed of drive-through breakfasts, delivered lunches and quick fix white flour dinners. I just can’t eat like the people around me. They come in to work holding a chocolate-infused coffee drink, bitch all day about how hungry they are until they order 2000 calorie subs and heart attack pizzas, then gorge in the break room, dipping everything in ranch dressing, brag about feeling full and ask me if I’m meeting them across the street at the bar and grill after dark. I started to pull the same shit, and it got expensive, too. Who in the hell wants to live meal to meal like some kind of junkie? I guess I did…until my clothes started feeling tight and I couldn’t figure out why stairs had become so damn annoying. DUH. IT WAS FAT ASSERY.
We had a streak of nice weather so I used it to jog around my subdivision – and to my horror, it was absolutely miserable for several days. Just a little thirty minute stroll around a few blocks! So eye opening. My humility is on full blast right now, but I am fixing this shit on the daily. So that’s how that’s all going.
Next week I transport my brother from jail to a 90-day rehab. The migraines have come from figuring out what he can and can’t have, how to get him there, when, etc. Now the migraines will be from figuring out what sort of actual treatment he’s going to receive and going Next Level with it – because simply detoxing and letting him back out on the street is a waste of everyone’s time. I am imagining counseling. Mental health involvement… and I’m nervous for Christopher. Facing your problems can be frightening and he must be so unsure of his future. I hope they offer him tools and that he uses every single one in order to secure a little structure in his lifestyle.
The boyfriend is good. The baby steps are always there. My goal is to help him enjoy this time preceding his dream of retirement. There is so much beauty in the world but sometimes we’re both horrible at being able to see it – he has even commented that we can be a bad mix when we’re on the same level of “fuck all”. Winter blues suck, too. He has been my sunshine and I’ve been trying to tell him so, more often.
Somewhere under all of this snow is a bigger picture but it’s only Natural to save it for another day.