Not A Pretty Girl

Why are goals so damn difficult to meet?  For me, I mean.  (I don’t expect you to answer, but ponder if you will, the possible explanations).  Even the simplest of goals always get left in the dust, unmet. Losing weight is just one of my many oft-attempted but never met goals with the exception of one instance, 6 or 7 years ago. I did actually meet that goal, but in the end, I gained it all back and am even farther behind the 8 ball this time around.  True to form, I have even more weight to lose.  I am far from alone in this particular failed endeavor, I know.  I can only give myself but so much grief over it when so many people the world over struggle with the very same thing.  It is extremely difficult (and so insanely simple!) to do.  And yet...? No, for the sake of this post, I am talking about pretty much everything else in my life that I have sworn to do and yet, failed to do, time and time again.  I’m going to learn how to sew.   < didn’t > I’m going to beco

Let me tell you why poly sucks, folks. And it does. No, no, no don't try to argue with me. Just read. We'll get to your counter arguments later, I promise. Poly sucks because you are no longer the ONLY love in your partners life. Someone else now shares their heart. You have had to gather up all of your clutter and mess and scooch it over to make room for this new love of his/hers (for the sake of ease, I shall base my example on my own sitch - me, my husband and his gf.  It's easier than using an open example and having to constantly that slashy shit).  I'm speaking metaphorically of course, unless your partners girlfriend is actually physically moving in to your house.  (oof, that's a topic for a whooooole other post!) No, I mean moving in to his heart. Still with me? Good.    It's hard because, up until recently, you were the only one who occupied that space in his heart. It was roomy, you could spread out, arrange things the way you wanted, and could roam

My goal is to lose 100 lbs and be fit and healthy and hopefully a trail runner by my 50th birthday. I'm 47 now, so that should be easily achievable, should it not? Sure....if I'd stop fucking it up with my detours and pit stops.  Let's take this past weekend, for instance.  I came home from work early on Thursday not feeling well, like I had a rotten summer cold coming on.  That kicked off a "fuck it, I'm sick, I'll eat what I want" spree....vodka drinks, chocolate ice cream (each night for three nights in a row), pizza, fried food.....dafuq?  I don't really understand now how I thought that would make things any better.  In fact, I'm home from work again because I feel like shit, for a whole different set of symptoms, mainly related to my stomach.  Hmmm, wonder why?  (though I'm thinking it could be a stomach virus) That kind of thinking is what got me fat and miserable to begin with and I simply forgot it for a few days.  Simply.....b

Soot Sometimes the meds just aren't enough They're simply not strong enough to push back the bullies in my head Those cruel, taunting murmurs in the creeping shadows of my thoughts - those bastards have me convinced that it's all for naught At times the enormity of it all, of my life is really too much for me to bear up under Like an elephant, like a fucking tank, I feel like I'll be crushed beneath the weight of my own dreams,  dreams heavy with unfulfillment, dripping in loss, dragging fear behind it,  leaving a trail of blackened soot in it's wake And regret....ah regret, you stealthy twat... Here you come like a seething infection blurring the lines of the pretty picture in my head of how I always imagined it, how I put it all together in the Hollywood movie reel of my mind of how  I  want it and of how it's supposed to be, but isn't Amy F (a.k.a. Aura Wulfe) 1/26/2018

So folks, it seems I am in the grip of peri-menopause.  While that has not yet been doctor-confirmed, I think it’s fairly safe to assume given the vast amount of symptoms I’ve been dealing with (and in most cases, so has everyone else) the last couple of years. Hot flashes, of course, were the first sign.  I don’t always sweat profusely, but I do get rather clammy and irritable.  They don’t always last long, and they can sometimes only come once or twice in a day or none for weeks, or one every 90 seconds.  There is no rhyme or reason, no predictors, nothing. As time went on I began experiencing a whole host of random and inexplicable afflictions: Sharp, stabbing needle like pains in my feet and legs (which I initially attributed to the onset of diabetes, but my doctor assures me I am not there).   Restless leg syndrome – YAY!  That’s a fun one.  Who needs sleep? Pfft. Joint pain that comes and goes often without ever having done anything to otherwise injure or aggr

There is nothing finer in life, nothing more delicious and satisfying than homemade pasta.  Mmf!  Yes, it's a pain in the ass.  Oh, but what fun!  Covered in flour, kneading the pasta, rolling it through the machine (and screwing it up several times because you've only done it once or twice before).  It makes a mess, it takes a whole lot longer than just ripping open a box of Barilla, but it is  oh so  worth it! My husband and I got it in our heads we were going to make some pasta, and then things snowballed from there.  He made a delicious whole wheat artisan loaf to go with the meal.    Homemade bread and pasta demands homemade sauce.  Get that jar of crap da fuck outta here!   No - we make our own sauce.  It needn't be complicated.  A can of San Marzano tomatoes (this is the ONLY tomato I will use), olive oil, 3 cloves of garlic, minced, a couple pinches of salt, a few leaves of basil.  That's it.  It's truly that simple.  You have no excus