That’s my stats from yesterday. No, I didn’t put Google Watch into a paint shaker at Lowe’s (though because I said it, you know I’ve thought of it).

I’ve been on something of an adventure these past months.. since I decided I need this meatsac to get me around and do all the wonderful things I want to do before I shuffle off this mortal coil.

And it started with Switch Sports.

Really? you ask. Really really, I answer. Now I’m not saying it alone was this magical thing… I’ve tried a lot of things over the years to change my lifestyle, most of had mixed results. I also had some major life events that caused some reassessments… and some of that was pretty stark and brutal.

There’s no one left on this earth who gives a fuck about my weight but me.

See? There’s a few different ways you could see that statement typed out like that.. but the way it is in my head is freeing. So please don’t waste time feeling sorry for me, cause I definitely don’t feel that way for myself.

Once I could let go of the expectations others have of and for me, then came the even more stark realization that I’ve probably already lived over half my life.

Feel that chill? Yeah, me too.

I decided that I want to be able to be here in as good a shape for as long as possible. I want to dance all the dances and take all the walks, and do all the things.

So when Switch Sports came out, I started bowling. It was just kind of fun to get up and move around in the evenings, and hey look, it gets my heart rate up more than sitting on the couch and not doing anything. Cool.

Then I discovered playing online and getting points! But you have to wait between frames. Well, shit, that’s boring. So I put on some music. And I started walking and dancing in time with the music. And hey, my heart rate went up some more! Awesome!

But soon, just walking wasn’t enough to get my heart rate up as high. So I started jogging in place.. but not for very long, I’d still stop and line up my shot and bowl, then jog again, and walk when I couldn’t jog anymore.

I’m sure by now you see what’s coming. Eventually that didn’t work anymore. So now I run, and I do not even slow down to take my shot. And not only did my heart rate stay up, but my average scores improved too. I’m not EVEN sure wtf that’s about, but hey, it is what it is.

I also run out of doors when I can… I had some beautiful mornings down on the beach during a recent trip to Oregon.

But yeah… as strange as it is to say it… this is a thing because I decided it’s a thing. I’m down a few pant sizes, learning portion control, and went from aching ankles, knees, and hips to feeling just fine with running for a solid sixty minutes a day. When even marching in place for four or five minutes used to be a no go. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’ll ever be a skinny Minnie… but you damn sure better believe that the next amusement park run we do? I’m riding fucking everything I want to ride. I will see everything that I want to see. Because this meatsac is going to get me there without bitching about it.

And that? If that’s not a piece of personal magic, I don’t know what is.

I know this is a shocker, but, I have a thing. A thing about things… specifically about marking or damaging things. I like things to look and feel new until I don’t use them anymore, and will fret about every mark and scuff.

Someone once talked to me about how fun it is to break glass. I think I actually recoiled in horror at the idea. While yes, I’ve broken things from time to time (who hasn’t?) it throws me into something of a tizz, and I have to tell myself it’s just a thing, it’s replaceable, it’s not a big damn deal.

So while we were at Battlebots, I apparently applauded too hard, causing my trusty FitBit to take flight. I don’t know if it ended up under the bleachers, or if someone found it and picked it up. And since I had at least two more here at the house, I *knew* it wasn’t a big deal, it was replaceable. And I took a few breaths and decided to let it go and not fret over it. I wanted to enjoy the damn day, and I wasn’t going to let it get me down. (And maybe I sighed and took it as an excuse to get the new FitBit/Google crossover that I couldn’t quite justify the week before.)

Later on, I ended up leaving my mini Kindle (I specifically got it to fit in my mini backpack) in the terminal, I just looked at Rick, who didn’t even bother to sigh, but instantly bolted to the front of the plane.

One of the thousands of reasons I love him- Rick understands how much I can and can’t deal with. He knew perfectly well that giving up two pieces of my beloved bits of gear on the same day would be way too much, and went to fix the problem before I could even ponder it.

I know it’s just stuff. I know it doesn’t have feelings for me to hurt. I know I didn’t abandon a thinking, feeling being- even though I can definitely imagine that’s exactly what I did. I could make up a whole story about how this FitBit will be back to take its revenge for me putting it on a cheap band and leaving it to lie all alone, down in the dark.

And just to make sure that I know I know that, I deliberately put dragon stickers on my writing chromebook today. I was careful, washing and drying the surface first, picking out what stickers I wanted and where I wanted them to go, and if I applied them a tiny bit crooked, I don’t even care, because it’s my chromebook and they are my stickers, and it looks just fine.

Blogs are just cheap therapy, you know.

Oh, and if you like the stickers, they are courtesy of Carla Morrow, of dragonladyart.com.

Yesterday was a long, long day. 22 hours, to be precise.

And they were full of people.

To be entirely fair, I don’t out a whole lot. My work is all from my home office, where I may wear leggings or jeans or full professional gear. I talk to people all day, but there’s a key. There’s a point behind every word. I don’t make random mouth sounds, and while I may think out loud, even that has a purpose and a point.

So you might kinda get the fact that I think words should be used on purpose. Maybe it’s the hearing impairment (so I actually have to work to understand people verbally) or maybe it’s just a twitch from growing up (of which I retain many)- I’m not sure. All I know is that if you want to stress me out, put me in large, echoey rooms with a bunch of people who don’t know how to shut the fuck up when someone else I *want* to listen to is talking. Like maybe over a whole sound system for a TV production. If I can’t hear THAT person over your bullshit ‘yeah I could build a bot, but…’ and a bunch of lame ass shit that sounds like it’s a fourteen year old kid talking about how he *could* get girls, but- I”m going to get really damn over your ass really fast. If it’s Rick talking to me, it’s not that bad, even if I can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, I can use the pattern of his mouth plus the probability of what he’s likely to say to get there. But a faceless announcer over a sound system? I’m screeeewed. And the longer I go on not hearing what I want to hear, because life doesn’t come with closed captioning enabled, the more I’m going to resent you for thinking your words are more important.

Airport announcements.. similar problem. I rely on the signs and the updates through Google travel. I was also completely astounded by how many people feel the need to PROJECT when the person they are talking to is sitting right next to them. Like, dude, I’m (probably over) half deaf, facing the opposite direction, and I heard every syllable perfectly. Meanwhile, I have to lipread Rick sitting right next to me and speaking at a reasonable volume, you know, the not to be intrusive to others in the area volume. The trying to be a good human and not make you an unwilling party to my conversation volume. The indoor voice.

And do NOT get me started on the number of people who have to FaceTime every minute of the goddam day. Being apart is okay. It’s healthy. Your mom/sister/bestie/significant other/etc does not need to follow you via the magic of technology. I honestly cannot fathom what you’d talk about when you aren’t apart.. I mean, they kind of know everything you’ve done already…? And of course, when you use the magic tech bits, you PROJECT. So now your bestie/whoever knows about your last bowel movement AND SO DOES THE REST OF THE TERMINAL OH MY GOD THANKS EVER SO MUCH FOR SHARING.

Upon consideration, I am not really sure if I am peopled out or just worded out. It didn’t help that most of the people that were ‘here to help’ really didn’t. I don’t know if you were aware, but TSA regulations vary from venue to venue. So in Albuquerque, they only want your ID, not your boarding pass, and they don’t care if you take off your belt or hoodie or not. Cool. I’ve had items pass in one place, only to have them thrown away in another (you can’t carry over 4 oz of toothpaste out of Eugene, but it flew in there just fine?) and I shrug and roll with it. It’s not worth questioning and potentially ending up unable to fly.

In Vegas, everything off, all things reviewed, and dear heavens don’t you DARE put a laptop type item in the bin with anything else. And BARKED at for being wrong. Like dude.. we don’t know. We know you’ve said the same words five thousand times today. But there were no signs to guide us, and you didn’t say it five thousand times to us. So maybe don’t yell at us or treat us like an utter waste of space? That’d be good.

So am I peopled out or worded out or mean spirited out? I’m not really sure. I just know a day of staying in my spot on the couch and puttering around appeals a lot more than going out right now. And thinking about how lovely it would be if folks started the day off thinking about how they impact people around them, and decided to do their best to be a positive impact. Sure, there’s times where that’s just not a possibility, but I think it’s more of a possibility than a lot of people try to make it.

So y’all. It has been a day and it ain’t over yet.

For a thousand reasons, we decided to go to BattleBots this year. It’s been something we’ve wanted to do for at least five years. And when the tickets went on sale about a month ago, we said fuck it, this is the year.

And oh. My. Eris. It was amazing! To see Chris and Kenny, Faruq, Matty Vasquez right THERE. To see the sparks (and bots) fly and yell out encouragement when it actually could be heard… Magical. Neither of us really have voices left, we’re dead tired, but had the absolute best time, so we WILL be back for this. My heinous shirt was much admired, and I feel a little less redonkulous and a lot more brave for going way out of my comfort zone in 5000 ways today.

In addition to all that, I got to meet one of my workmates and her family. Just watching them together warmed my heart. I think in observing others, if you’ve done it long enough and pay attention, you can feel the love that they share. They are one such family, and I’ll remember our breakfast together with a delight in simple pleasures.

Now the ick part. Our flight has been delayed, so we are holed up in an airport bar, waiting. And I bent some rules and had a Blue Moon. It’s fucking excellent and I regret nothing.

The bracelet shot… Follow your bliss- it was a gift, and I’ve been trying hard to take the mantra to heart. I particularly like wearing it as a reminder when I step out of my comfort zone and do something crazy. Or crazy for me, anyway. Between covid and an unfortunate situation with a mob during a convention, large groups of people aren’t my thing, really. But I wasn’t just going today for me. I went for my step-dad, who freaking loved BattleBots. I went for Rick, who loves them as much as I do. And I went for me, because life is too fucking short.

Seek your bliss, yall. Cause NOT seeking it ensures it’ll be hard to find.

I don’t typically sleep well. I have a million tricks, but some nights, they all fail.

Too hot, too cold, too hungry, too full, too thinky too sad, all reasons the sweet embrace of Morpheus turns into a mocking middle finger.

Tonight, I’m fairly certain my sin was an after dinner couch nap.

So I was laying in bed, too warm, trying to read to sleep. Rick’s evil floof got under the covers to entrap MORE heat next to my skin. Sigh. Evil floof does not like being dislodged from her chosen spot and will make a fuss, potentially waking Rick. I decided to just deal with her.

Knowing I’m her mahm bitch now, Evil Floof starts kicking me sharply in the back, startling me. Keep in mind that this is a tiny bit of fur and eyes, smaller than Rick’s combat boots. And yet, Evil Floof is kicking like a goddam mule.

Sigh.

I give in, letting the rotten little monster have my side of the bed and head to the couch in the cooler living room.

After arranging the couch and pillows to suit me and turning on Star Wars at low volume, who do I see in the glow of the crawl on the screen?

If you said Evil Floof, you get a cookie.

Now Luke is whining about wanting to go to the Academy and she is biding her time perched on the far end of the couch.

Evil Floof isn’t done yet, and no matter where I go, I will still be her bitch.

I remember as a kid, it seemed like every year was filled with huge, titanic changes. Probably in part due to the structure of school, every year is pretty clearly marked and defined.

It’s not usually really like that as an adult- years just kind of flow by to the point that you’re surprised it’s spring or fall again, surprised at how winter seems to be lasting longer and longer, surprised that the new truck yall just bought has 150,000 miles on it. Time sneaks up on you.

I took the day off of everything today, and it’s probably a good thing I did. You could say I was trying on the idea of retirement for size. What would it really be like? Is it something I actually want to pursue at this point in my life?

I slept in til eight, did my workout, watched Alice Fraser’s Savage (and cried), played video games, read a book, didn’t cook anything, and ordered groceries. That’s it, the sum total of my whole day. I spoke to no one, and no one spoke to me.

One of the worst parts of this past year has been throwing away a lot of comforting illusions. And I’m sure to some folks, they’d say why bother throwing them away, who are they hurting? Well, me.

My mom wasn’t a great person. She wasn’t a great mom. Please understand that I don’t say this to hurt anyone, it’s a truth I needed to see and know. Just like I need to see and know those parts of myself that came from her. I guess in a way, I don’t need a warm, fuzzy, comforting lie of who she was to make me feel.. goddess, I don’t even know. Better about myself? It’s been a year of hard fucking truths like this… realizing that the memories of a child reassessed as an adult add up to a lot of things that frankly scare me.

I don’t want to become that person… that person who isn’t happy, can’t be happy, and doesn’t want to care about anyone because it can hurt. I’m not a masochist or anything, it just seems in the 40 plus years I’ve been running around that the only parts of life that are real come from investing in others, caring about them, being brave enough to love. Even when you lose them. Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts. Maybe especially when it hurts.

What does all this thinking of the day add up to?

Well, I’m not ready to retire yet. I was bored out of my fucking skull. There were any number of things I could have decided to do… I just didn’t. And I felt like it would be way too easy to just keep… not doing. After all, that’s pretty much what mom did for the last few years that I was able to observe, up close and personal.

You could say, in a very special way, I’ve been the last year and a day thinking about what the everliving fuck I want to do with the rest of my life, and you’d be right.

Here’s what I know. I want to put some good in the world. I want to make people think. I want people to know that I care, both personally and in that broad, impersonal way that I want people to find what makes them happy. I do have a bunch of family left that I don’t really know after almost 30 years spent far, far away… and I don’t really want to be personally involved with them (and to be fair and honest, I don’t really think they have an interest in being involved with my life either!), but from this remove? I hope they are living happy, fulfilling lives pursuing whatever seems best to them. I want to go on telling stories for as long as they are in my head. I want to keep making Rick happy, one Lego kit or giant replica at a time. And I want to keep both eyes open for the things and people that would get in the way of the contentment we’ve found.

I’ve spent too much of my life unhappy for a thousand reasons, all beginning with fear and what I didn’t see or what I couldn’t control.

So there.. lots of deep, soul searching if you’re into that kind of thing. Just a few more things to say and I’ll wrap up this entry.

I talked a little bit about how time just flows by when you’re an adult, and that’s mostly true. But there are still the deep cuts of change that you mark time by… and one of them is loss. Mom’s now been gone for a year, and all I can feel is sad for her and how much time was wasted for her being unhappy. But it was never my responsibility to make her happy- all I could and did do was my best to adhere to her wishes and let her know I cared. And fuck anyone that has a negative opinion about what I did or how I did it. I hope to heaven you never have to make the decisions or go through what I did.

Love is still the realest, truest thing I know of in this world. And you don’t stop loving someone just cause they’re gone, and I don’t think they stop loving us either. Maybe that’s a little fantasy I have that makes me feel closer to the folks that I’ve lost and miss, but it feels true to me.

After a lot of deep thought, I’m going to shut down my social media accounts. I am not seeing news of my friends anymore, just ads. I don’t think any book sales are being driven there, just noise. Instead, I invite folks to reach out, and I’ll keep blathering on here, because it’s what I do.

Be good to each other, cause life’s too fuckin short.

One of the less fun things about death is that someone has to figure out something to do with your stuff. If you haven’t been following along, let’s just say I have a lot of stuff to do something with.

Or more to the point, had. The mister and I spent the weekend clearing out about 1/3rd of the garage that held the contents of an apartment.. like almost the whole damn apartment. The list of things we need or could use is pretty short, so I decided to have a yard unsale.. meaning there were a bunch of household items and appliances we straight up gave away. I figured times are hard, and these things didn’t get to be a part of the home they were intended for, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be part of A home.

Y’all… I know deep down I did the right thing, but it’s been a hard fucking weekend. I found things I haven’t though of in 30 years- the marble chessboard my exhusband and I bought my mom while we were on a cruise to Mexico. The double knit comforter that we helped my grandmother make.. oh my god, the hours of combing thrift stores to get enough fabric to cut up and stitch! The quilt my great grandmother made for my mom and dad when they got married (that one, I kept.)

I took pics and posted it to the local giveaway group with a few simple rules to keep myself from going batcrap and try to insure that folks were getting stuff they needed. Oh. My. God. Yes, most of the folks that showed up to pick stuff up were just lovely. But there were a few that stole from stuff held for other people or tried to tell me about their own sick mothers so that I would give them stuff over someone else.. or the person that told me they’d been to my house and I didn’t live there. Or the person that asked for about a quarter of the stuff to be held, then never showed up at all. I even had someone tell me that people were trash and I expected too much if I was asking for honesty!

We think we only have about one more day of stuff to haul out and give away… but next weekend is soon enough. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted.

I only call this rant that /points above because ‘Fuck you, Mr. B—‘ seemed a little mean. But you know, you read it any damn way you want to, friends.

One of the weird things about grief is that you may be forced to come to terms with memories that had, well, a little candy coating that actually wasn’t there. Right about the time I had my epiphany that I didn’t need to be fat anymore, I started to remember all those cute little ‘jokes’ that weren’t. All the times I was corrected for what I wore or how I sat or what I ate. Mind you, there was nothing remotely like a fresh fruit or vegetable in the fridge or pantry, breakfast was non existent, but there was always plenty of frozen convenience foods like Totino’s pizza and Little Juan chimichangas.

While I was scratching my head and saying WTF parentals? I also happened to exorcise a memory of our Physical Education teacher- 4th grade through 8th. You know the guy- fresh out of college from somewhere in the northeast, permanently tanned and gym shorted, with the clipboard and whistle as permanent fixtures upon his person. Well meaning and earnest, absolutely.

But also very, very stupid.

It was fifth grade, in the spring, when he decided to give us a pep talk leading up the presidential physical fitness exams. It was going to be more difficult than it needed to be for some of us to do well, he said, because we weren’t in good shape. Some of us were carrying a half an Arian (back when I couldn’t death glare people for using that name for me) or an extra David leg around with them. We needed to take personal responsibility for our bodies, and we would live longer, happier lives for it.

Alright, fucker- a lot of those kids were lucky to have any food on the table when they got home at night. It wasn’t as if they could turn down the mac and cheese (made from government surplus staples) and ask for a fresh salad, perhaps with some nice lean grilled chicken. The quickest way I knew of to catch major shit from my dad was to refuse to clean my plate. I knew of at least three or four kids that were straight up emotionally and physically abused. And if you really wanted to start a little crusade towards health, Mr. B—, maybe start in the school cafeteria, with the fish sticks and sponge pizza. Maybe one in five meals was actually decently healthy… but there were no choices. And if your parents were barely making it to put food on the table at night, you probably weren’t in a position to bring something healthier.

But it was our lack of our own personal responsibility that made us overweight. Okay, asshole, sure.

It’s been years since I’ve thought of this guy. And part of me thinks he’s either heard those words back in his own head and went.. well shit. I done fucked up. OR he’s doubling down on the personal responsibility aspect for eleven year olds when it comes to food management.

At least two of my friends were in tears after that little lecture. We didn’t find it inspiring; we weren’t suddenly motivated to run a 5 minute mile to show them all… we went on being who we were in that time and place, because there weren’t a whole lot of options.

That shit doesn’t work, people. Just like my dad’s little remarks didn’t work, nor my mom’s attempted bribery. The only thing that has worked has been a long, involved journey in which I don’t give a fuck about these old words that have been echoing through my head like so many pinballs over the past decades. Letting those words go, that weight (har har) go, accepting myself as I am and as I want to be.. that’s what’s done it.

That and remembering all that I want to be able to do. At the end, mom couldn’t walk anymore, she gave it up. She gave up on her body until it gave up on her.

Well fuck that, yall. There’s still a half a lifetime of living left for me, and I fucking want it. I’m not going to skip going to the places I want to go and being with the people I want to be with.

Personal responsibility- sure, Mr. B—… but as an adult, when I do have control over the variables that doomed so many kids back then. I’m sure you’re not a bad person, not at heart, and I really think you wanted to do some kind of good. I’m pretty sure he’ll never see this- there aren’t enough folks who’ll read this that go that far back or even know who I’m talking about.

Kids, adults, and everyone in between- here’s my point. Body shaming is a shitty, lousy thing to do. Sure, it keeps therapists in business and all, but trust me, we have enough rampant narcissists and weaponized incompetents to do that.

If you’re still with me, just take away this last thought for the road. I love you, you fantastic work in progress, and I believe you can be whoever it is you want to be. Need to talk, I’m here to listen. And fuck anyone that wants to tell you different.

Not like, literally, please. That’s a whole different kind of therapy you need after doing that- trust me, I’d know.

Here’s today’s reminder that there’s always something good to be found in each day.

I did not have a particularly great day, for a ton of reasons. I jacked up my ankle by trying to push through pain while running yesterday, so I had to skip my routine today. Boo. I was up from 2am to 4am last night because I forgot to take meds. Boo. Mega booked today without a whole lot of breathing room, which while I can handle, I don’t necessarily enjoy. Boo. Delays. Boo. Had some not great reminders of all the folks I feel like I have let down. Boooooooo.

I also had a grocery delivery today.. and for no reason on this earth, Heather remembered that I like cookie butter… and for no reason, she stopped into Crumbl and got me a cookie butter cookie. Just because.

What’s my point? Well, true child of chaos that I am, I have to acknowledge that for all the randomness of the AUGH WHY IS THIS A THING, there’s just as randomly appearing kindness and love and grace. And maybe I’m goofy for getting a massive lump in my throat over a cookie- but you see, it’s not about the cookie. It’s about care. Whether I feel like I deserve it or not, people care for me and want to give me that moment of special. And let me tell you, you can slog through an awful lot of bullshit if there’s a moment of special.

Every one of you have been a moment of special at some point in time. I hope I’m keeping up my end and giving some moments of special, too.