Bio-Shock

It’s not often I get riled enough to sound off on something, but when I do (OK, I sound like a Dos Equis commercial)  I get really riled. As funny as I’d like to be, it’s more of a sudden realization deserving of a proper rant. So, I finally realized the reason for my sudden fall off the wheat wagon. It turns out it wasn’t all that sudden after all. It’s been a slippery slope of little slips here and there but I get ahead of myself.

About two years ago,  I decided to try a gluten-free diet to see if it would help my son with his hyperactivity. I’d read an article and at that point I was so done with the whole situation I would have tried nearly anything. We gave it a shot. I got a recipe book that was grain free and within a few weeks, though I felt rotten, my son started improving in his attention and his presence. I didn’t truly notice anything until one day, with a lack of options while out, I gave in and let him have one of those big, hot pretzels that I remembered from the holidays downtown as a girl. We were ice skating. It seemed ok.

It so wasn’t.

Within a few minutes, and I mean it was barely a few minutes, he started back to spinning and running all over the place unable to deal with the simplest of things. It was rather dramatic and I knew then that there was a huge connection. As we went on with it and I became hyper-vigilant about anything containing wheat or gluten, I started to feel better as well. My cravings stopped. I felt nourished and I no longer had any desire for any of that old stuff I used to eat. In fact, it quite literally made me sick whenever I’d slip.   One weekend we gave in to having pizza. The pain it caused me was the worst food hangover ever culminating in red hot pain that made me wonder if I was having a heart attack. The nerves in my back lit up like the 4th of July. I vowed it wasn’t worth it right then.

Fast forward to a few months ago. I was a full 100 pounds down with very little pain on my part. It came off effortlessly. I wasn’t hungry all the time. I felt good. Then I thought that gluten free stuff would be ok. It was after all…well…gluten free and I could have a cookie or a cupcake without the furious side effects. It was all fine, I felt fine, but then it expanded to wanting a few things here and there. Certainly a little wouldn’t hurt in moderation. WRONG! The second I started on grains again, there was a huge difference. I was hungry and craving. My blood sugar I imagine was the culprit there.

I started with corn chips, graduated to gluten-free baked goods, then on to the odd sugar laced piece of this or that, then on to candy because the sugar cravings got so intense. (I never eat candy and I’ve never much cared for it so that should have been a red flag.) I then slipped off into cake. It didn’t seem to burn me too badly, which was awful because it encouraged me to think maybe I was over it (whatever “it” was). This week, two burritos and 10 to 15 pounds up from where I was, I feel miserable. I’m achy. I have headaches all the time again. My sinuses are acting up and I’m tired. Although I realize what’s going on, it’s still hard to stop. My body has to detox again off this stuff that makes me crave food all day long. It’s so tempting to take the easy road and just fix it with some more caffeine and sugar, but I don’t like the way I look and more importantly, I don’t like the way I feel.

It’s a non-stop evil merry-go-round of a vicious circle and I’m getting off this over-sized eclair I’ve been riding around on. My brain and sinuses will certainly thank me in the end as I hope will my growing wheat-belly. It’s an apt term and though it might sound kooky, new age, or like a hippy fad, I would have to say that it’s definitely worth a try. I’ve spread the word far and wide and heard good results. Now it’s time to listen to my own advice! As long as I have guacamole, it’ll all be alright…

Britannia Rules

So, yes I’ve hit another fangirl moment. Funny how I can write all sorts of  personal stuff, but when it comes to something I really love, I get all verkelmpt and weepy. (I told you guys I was sentimental!) The story is, I finally got my passport! Despite my bad luck of late and my current inability to travel, I couldn’t be more excited. It’s the prospect of being able to finally get to the one place I’ve always wanted to be, Great Britain.

I happen to be an Angophile of epic proportions, which isn’t to say I’m all geeky about it. I tend to keep it to myself most of the time, but I can tell you all of the time I spend in my head is somewhere in, related to, or in some way based on the United Kingdom.  Ever since I first watched films from the moody Wuthering Heights, Oliver Twist, The Hammer films, and Sweeney Todd with Angela Lansbury to Mary Poppins and Shirley Temple meeting Queen Victoria in The Little Princess as a little girl, I’ve been in love with the place, the culture, and the people. To me, that’s the way people were supposed to be. I identified with all of it, much to the confusion of my parents. As a child I thought they were terribly clever having a woman president (little did I know) and found the culture to be everything I wanted to experience. Everywhere I looked I was in awe of the cleverness, the elegance,  the innovation, the discovery, the humor. I spent most of my growing years trying to be like them, though I can say that I’ve failed miserably in the end. (I heard myself speak on tape and I sound like a more punk rock version of the little mermaid, oh, the horror!) I don’t sound anywhere near as posh as I’d hoped. It doesn’t matter though. To love something, you don’t necessarily have to be of it.

My dream for years has been to finally make it there to the countryside of the Brontes to smell the air and feel the essence of the place, to see the Kent of Dickens and Whitby where Bram Stoker penned Dracula’s arrival in England and the place where Captain Cook hails from. To visit the places where my favorite books were written, to walk in the footsteps of the people I admired from the past and get a small sense of what it may have been like is what I look to. I want to see the haunted places, the infamous places, and the great buildings of history. Ancient buildings are something that we sadly don’t have much of on this side of the US where I live. 

Being a writer who’s stories tend to be based there, I don’t feel like I can do it justice from afar, no matter how much British television I watch or books I read. So, I’ve begun to look for contests for trips to finally make it there. I’ve entered one so far. It may be a long shot, but it offers me hope and, in the long run  the more I try the more the numbers will be on my side; or, I may just get extremely lucky. Now that I have my passport, it’s an open field of possibility that I’m supremely excited about.

The more I talk to people, the more I find that everyone has a passion, for different places of course, but everyone has that lifetime dream destination. One has a passion to visit Latin America, another, Italy, another finally made it to the Holy Land. As for me, I hope to be writing a post from mine soon. I apologize in advance for my gushing…

Hung Up

So, today. I’ve been doing my daily gratitude but I’ve kept it to myself for the most part. I spend a few minutes reflecting in some quiet if I can on how lucky I am. Today, I was lucky enough to bring my boy with me to work and to have a somewhat quiet day. A little too quiet actually.

I don’t really know what it’s going to take to open my eyes. I’ve decided to give up completely on the quest for love because, well, it’s enough already. There’s some burnout from all the trying, focusing and striving. I always had in the back of my mind though that maybe, just maybe something would finally tip the balance with DG. I’ve waited, I’ve hoped, I’ve tried. The truth is, the answer really is and always has been right there. I just don’t want to see it.

I’ve seen really clearly this week. I’ve made every dumb mistake in the book. I’ve waited by the phone. I’ve made excuses. I’ve accepted excuses but the truth is, everything really points to him just not being into me, for real. I’m broken down. I’m tired of trying to make something happen that just isn’t. Sometimes you want something so much that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. If it was real and meant to be, there would be nothing stopping the guy from doing everything in his power to be near me, either physically, by email, snail mail or phone. That’s what guys do apparently. If they want you, they show it through actions. No sweet talk or apologies needed. If he’s not chasing, he’s looking over the other wildebeest on the Serengeti.

Somehow the titles of “Miss Backup Plan” and “The One Until a Better One Comes Along” weren’t my dream achievements as a little girl.

So, I guess today, no matter how bad it feels,  I’m grateful for clarity.  I should respect myself more than to wait for someone who shows no interest in being with me…I’ve spent far too long looking for someone to love me instead knowing my value and operating from a place of asking who deserves me instead of who will have me. As I just read recently,  settling for someone who’s endgame isn’t me makes no sense. Yeah, the guy may never show up. I could be wrong but feeling bad all the time should tell me something about the truth I’m not seeing. I should be thankful to know now I suppose, to see with my brain instead of my heart so that I can machete through all the emotional BS. I need to remember that Big, despite the Hollywood happy ending, was really never all in or ever all out. There’s a word for that, “Limbo”. As the lovely meme lady says,”Aint nobody got time for that.”

Blankety Blank

 

It’s a little weird to have no more questions to answer at the end of the blogging challenge. I can say that it’s been a bit odd not having the daily post to do.

I thought that I was on a roll and decided, like every year, to sign up for National Novel Writing Month. I had a couple of overlap days which was a little much, but I was both excited to jump in but worn out at the same time.  Then there was a crash. A few things unraveled. My car broke down, I got sick, and…I couldn’t write.

Seriously. Crash-o-rama…

In the midst of chores I started feeling crappy and…bam! Fever. Aches. Being stuck on the couch and most of all, no word count. One day turned to four and I had nothing behind the eyes but a massive headache.

I’ve never tanked the contest before and I’m still feeling kind of bad about it. I’ve been, to be honest, feeling a little depressed and cursed with bad luck. Out of nowhere, I saw another 30 day test of dedication. A random diet page I follow came up with 30 days of gratitude! Instantly that was a real challenge. I’m without wheels, missing appointments, miserably sick, isolated, and to top it all off, facing complete apathy from my Doubtful Guest (the boyfriend).

Of course I know I’m supposed to be grateful. I know it! But faced with it as a 30 day challenge I had to remember than knowing something and practicing it are far removed. Obviously, the problems tend to stick out and occupy your mind, especially when your mind feels like it’s getting ready to make a break from your skull towards the cat door.  So, today I’m thankful that I have something to write about and for the fact that there are suddenly people reading it (Thank You!). I’m thankful for everyone’s kind comments and for the opportunity to be completely me (as off as I can be). I always seem to forget that for things to get better, you have to focus on the things you want, not the problems.  I’m done circling the drain, as my bestie’s mom says.

I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I might be up for a Life of Brian sing-a-long instead of ruminating on the issues to be solved. (ok, yes, I may actually like show tunes after all!)   A rousing round of “Don’t Rain on My Parade” might scare people I know, but a little enthusiasm may yield better results.

Day 30- Dear Soulmate, …

Write a letter to your future mate saying whatever you want to say. It’s the final day of the challenge and I think I may end it the way I began it, with something other than a typical Oprah answer.

Sure, if he’s truly my future mate, then he’s going to get all the sweetness and love that I have pent up and ready to explode forth like on overstuffed cornucopia. He’ll be getting the kindness and the care and the overabundance of weird ideas fit to entertain on those cold winter evenings. What I want to say right now though would have to be…I’m sorry, but I’m just not waiting for you anymore.

For real, it’s been years. I’ve spent an abnormal amount of time on advice from seminars and books to bring you into my life. I’m truly just over it. I’ve done Feng Shui, cleaned out half my closet and left drawers empty for you to make room, made lists to focus on recognizing you when you show up, even bought you a gift. Quite frankly, it’s been exhausting and a hell of a lot of trouble. Even though I’m sure you’ll be worth it if and when you show up, I have to say I’m done with the visualizations and forcing myself into “savoring the waiting” and maintaining excited expectation.  I’m done with the seminars and studying my psyche in order to clear my blocks to love. I’m over the endless lectures about the male brain and how it works. I’ve put in my investment. 

I think, as a sensible man, as you must be, that you would be happier knowing that I just got on with my life enjoying my alone status now that I realize I can instead of endlessly pining for you and following every new method in order to fix me. There happens to be nothing wrong with me, I mean, if you’re my soulmate, then you should embrace my special brand of crazy. You wouldn’t want me “fixing” the me right out of myself, right?

To be honest, I’m a little bit irritated by this point, I mean, what else is it going to take? Hopi rain dances dressed in Germanic Oktoberfest dress? Whatever freak thing you’re into (and I’m all about you being into freak things), you’ll have to advise me. Alas, I am not a mind reader. Perhaps eating the irradiated fish that’s been swimming around in the Pacific might give me that specific superpower, but I’ve yet to acquire it.

Lastly, you’d damn well make all this worth it. I’m going to require some real effort. A little attention. A little romance. Some good form. I’m worth it. I promise. Once I know you’re serious, the payoff will be big, but serious you must be, I’ve expended a lot of time and energy here, Dude, and you are seriously tardy. For now I’m just going to have to assume you aren’t coming. If you do it’ll be a nice surprise but in the meantime I think I’m going to have a drink and get on with it.

Day 29 – All my friends are imaginary

Who is your closest or most special friend that you’ve never met and what do they mean to you? How did you cross paths? Talk about how you “met” them: Facebook, Twitter, an online support group, etc.

Well isn’t that a pip? It took me a while on this one. Is it a typo? Is it my best friend or is this a build-a-best-friend workshop where I can stuff him with rainbow fluff, hug him and squeeze him and name him George? Given how “Met” is in quotations I’m guessing I can make up anyone I please. Do I wanna be besties with the Joker? Sheldon Cooper? Emily Bronte? Did I meet them in a bar, at Gotham’s diviest bar? At a physics symposium or run across Wolverine while renting a horror flick at Blockbuster? The mind reels with possibilities.

I’ve decided to do a bit of a split between the two on this occasion. Actually, it’s a stretch but go with me on this one and then see if it works for you.

I met her on a cold night in the dark back alley of one of my stories. She’s always there, lurking behind the sharp German expressionist corners of the more dramatic passages. She’s a hard one to pin down and I’m not sure I actually have yet. I only get snippets through the fog banks but what I see of her is both aloof from the world and longing for it at the same time. She has the loneliness of an outsider forever watching through the windows into the happier stories in this world. She comes to see me when I’m at my breaking point. offering me her companionship when there is no other and reassuring me when I need a reflective opinion. Sometimes she’s unruly and says horrible things. She says things I would never let anyone else get away with but she’s just trying to protect me. She wants me to remember danger and to tread lightly which I’m grateful for but sometimes I’d like her to shut up about it already.

She is beautiful but doesn’t know it. She’s talented at a number of things but denies it. On occasion though, she shows me that I can do what she cannot. She roots me forward and energizes my dreams. She’s there when I need to vent frustration. She’s there to cry with. She’s there when I’m angry and need a voice. She’s everything to me and all at once nothing to me. I try to get past her and then try to find her. She’s the only one who will walk with me until the end and I need to cherish her more, compliment her more, giver her more time and affection. She deserves my love as much as everyone else in my life and more. She deserves recognition and remembrance. She may be flawed, but she’s the only one I’ve got to keep me company when I’m alone.

What is that song? I’ve been to Paradise but I’ve never been to me? Horrible song, agreed, but there is a point in there somewhere. If I need to make up an imaginary friend, I may as well get to know the little me that’s in there that goes ignored and chastised most of the time. Not a horrible idea I think. Sure I’d rather hang with Wolverine eating popcorn, but maybe I’m not such bad company in the long run.