Not A Pretty Girl

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 do...

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....