I haven't been dieting. More like the opposite. Trying to find every craving. My taste buds are a bit bored lately. I don't seem to really want anything, for long. Food is so comforting but there is no solace when starting to become a picky eater. Maybe, just maybe, my brain is saying it's finally set its fat point. The scale tips the furthest your inner setting will allow. Then you for once aren't hungry. I find it peculiar. I'm not used to that.
I need to find something else to replace that security blanket. That I can drown in and feel good. I guess it could be called 'brain chocolate'. Fancy that. The name does suit it.
I've taken up reading again. I tend to do this in spurts. There was a time that it was my biggest pleasure. So much can be found online, and with all the browsing and aimless surfing, there doesn't seem a need to pick up a book sometimes. Which is kind of tragic. The couch is too lumpy, and the chair is too small to curl up in, leaving bed the only comfy place to reside. So I read in bed, but also tend to fall asleep. It's not the best location.
Sometimes the thoughts in my head are too aggressive to pay attention to the text. My mind does wander. I have one pretty bad eye too. When it gets tired it closes. I'll admit, it's pretty bizarre. The other eye gets tired and eventually follows suit. The problem is I haven't mastered reading with my eyes closed...
but I'm working on it.
Fizzle
I hate to say it might be time for a med changes. Being tired or anxious is a constant problem. Usually I can handle it by being ok for a few days. At least enough to catch up on housework. I think the hardest part is wondering if this is as good as it gets. It's very limiting.
I notice I'm full of intention, but accomplish little. I'm not sure whether I'm too tired or if I'm simply not driven to achieve much. Other times I wonder if I'm too preoccupied by the edgy feeling on the other end of the spectrum. Both extremes are pretty damning.
At the moment I'm doing everything in my power not to go back to bed or fall off my chair snoring. Maybe if I ply myself with some more coffee.
Even going to bed has it's drawbacks
Our bed has become less of a sanctuary and more of a dog's treasure chest. Why just this morning dear Amelie was spotted playing with pasta amidst the bedding (ziti that she had run off with after begging for the night before). I stumbled to bed in the dark last night, not aware of the beds contents. It's no wonder I couldn't get comfortable as I pulled a squeaky dinosaur egg from my backside. My squirming led to my feet nudging a tasty skeletal remain. You see, our bed had also become a bone yard too. I like to think she's a puppy with a sense of humor, I certainly have been made to have one.
Visitors
I had two little house guests over yesterday. Their being readied for such an outing, an event in itself. My mom was forced to take drastic measures and actually leash the little handfuls (a subject I'd been pushing for ages), since my little Peke has taken a shining to the neighbors. She's become a bit too comfortable running off into their yards, sitting on the stoop waiting for them to come out. A princess waiting for her adoration. Their breed, after all, stems from royalty.
Tatty-Ann looked so pissed off and haughty that it was comical. Chyna (her larger counterpart that lives inseparably with her sister of the litter) escaped being led by the collar by way of her bucking bronco antics. unfortunately I missed her little hissy-fit but heard it was quite a show. I guess the confine was just too stressful for her. She hopped along (due to her bad back) up the sidewalk for a visit in freedom much to her sister's dismay. Of course, Amelie and speckles made a ruckus, as usual. You couldn't get more different personalities between sets of dogs.
Anyhoo
Several paragraphs and a cup of coffee later, I'm still as sleepy as ever. Oh well... So much for any invigorating aspect to blogging.
Well, what new and exciting dreams came from my twisted little mind this time?
Imagine this...
(begin dream sequence)
I discovered a mouse in the house, then found more. So I needed to rid them from the bizarre living structure my dream built me (rearranged thanks to sleep).
So far, not tremendously strange, right? Well my brain had decided to add a terrible detail to the mix...Yep. It turned out my house was not only plagued by squeakers but...(here's the kicker) with bunnies as well. Sweet little dusty bunnies. No pun intended.
Somehow I was supposed to come up with a way to get rid of the furry intruders. I tried to find a solution my conscience could deal with. I opted to blocked them by way of steel wool from coming into my abode. It didn't work. On to plan two...I decided to chased them away. I enlisted the mutts of mine to help carry out this mission. They didn't even assert themselves. Their barking and curious nature somehow up and left them. So that plan failed miserably.
I'd reached my wits end at this point. I had no idea bunnies were so persistent! My dream had made it very clear that I was going to have to dispose of them. To become some sort of evil bunny killer! Oh, what a wicked little trick my mind played on me! I mean, just how ugly did this drowsy encounter have to be?
The rest was everything but darling. What a rotten dream...
Nothing warm and fuzzy about it.
What a night! I kept waking up startled, tossing my head side to side, breaking my slumber. It was terrible! The best way to describe the effect would be comparing the fiasco to a facial tick. One that you wake up to every 10 minutes. A lot like when the optometrist carries out the test where you get an eyeful of air. Quick bursts of tension. E-Gad! I hate that.
l felt like tearing out of the room like some animated loony, shrieking with handfuls of hair in my hands. It was a 1000 times worse than an irritating drip in the sink.
Why did I suffer this insanity? There were no falling down or tripping over dreams. There weren't any ghouls or bogeymen sneaking up on me. No haunting memories escaped from the past. Nope. No dog's pouncing, or the hubby flailing limbs in his only sleeping hell. Heck, I'd never even had caffeine fix anywhere near the time I went to bed. I wasn't agitated or panic stricken at all that day. How bizarre is that?
Maybe I'll stay up tonight. Slip away from any chance of reoccurrence. In the event I nod off, no worries...
After all, it will wake me up just like it did in the first place.
Jane's blog got me thinking...
How can I break the habits that keep holding me back? The feelings I harbor against myself are immense. They have a vice like grip that keeps me from moving forward, pressing on. I disregard my potential, self punishing for simply being me. Isn't it about time I gave myself a break?
A book I'm reading expresses much the same Epiphany. We are more than our bits and pieces. A person is more than just segments of their lives. These details aren't character flaws but the breakdown, if you will, of an intact identity. We aren't defective. Those idiosyncrasies that make us are a response, not a weakness. They aren't failings. The way we exist, horrors and all have good reason. They aren't faults that blame us for being less than other people, that we are limited. So it all comes down to whether we still need those coping mechanisms.
I admit, I'm better at being dysfunctional because of practice. I've had plenty. But can't I be more than that? I'm denying myself a magnitude if I really give into the old (but comfortingly familiar) urges that are certain to lead to defeat. They may have served me well in the past, but they aren't currently providing safe-haven.
That perhaps finally, maybe, I can let some of those habitual knee-jerk reactions of mine go.
I woke up this morning very glad for the life I have.
I returned from sleep's morbid conclusion with valuable insight. Sometimes dreams put things in perspective, as did mine. It may not be a perfect life in a lot of peoples standards, but it's better than my imagined alternative. One person's heaven, is another's hell. It's easy to take for granted just how lucky we are. I must admit it's astounding to greet the day feelings so fortunate.
Just think, your ordinary may very well be ideal, if shed some new light...
How lucky indeed.
I find it very peculiar how items disappear without explanation. We all lose things, but that isn't the absence I speak of. I'm talking about those things that never turn up once they have gone missing. One second you had it with you and made the awful mistake of putting it down, or dropping it. The next, you tear the place apart searching without success of retrieving the lost object. Simply put, it disappears, never to be found.
I've had things vanish. They weren't miniscule in size and obvious to miss. Forgetfulness has little bearing or reason to explain such occurrences. These objects aren't simply misplaced. They don't change location. They are absolutely, without a doubt, lost without a trace.
Unless I'm mistaken, things don't just dissolve into antimatter. They don't grow legs and run off on their own. They weren't stolen, borrowed, easily tossed to the side or thrown out. Even a thorough spring cleaning fails to locate the article. After serious contemplation we each individually come to the conclusion that the physical world is not what it seems. We deduce that there is more to meet the eye. Something fishy is going on...
When gone is really gone... that's perplexing.
My attempts to blossom into a domestic goddess have made me question how I could ever be my Mother's daughter. She isn't a compulsive cleaner like my Aunt, nor is she obsessive like my Father. However, her cleaning abilities far surpass more people than not. I, on the other hand possess little natural ability or affinity to it.
While I myself at times may be disheveled, I appreciate a sense of semblance. Strangest of all, not being naturally tidy (my head alone is a messy place) - I happen to have a near phobic aversion to germy places. For one, murky water makes me shudder. My feet clench at the thought of shower and tub floors (yet I can walk barefoot on sidewalks without hesitation). Xanax and perseverance - are my coping tools. Loose hair and dust bunnies are traumatic to deal with. Grime makes me gag.
Yep, I have issues! Worst of all, I do it to myself. I have the uncanny ability to work myself up. I question if anxiety is cause or effect. Am I creating a source for my already present tension? I could do without the nightmares that make 'Fear Factor' look like a picnic in the park.
I guess everyone has their gross-out threshold. What does it take to reach yours?
We finally got our rain last night. The one night some thoughtless person on the block had the absence of mind to bring their dog inside. It's mournful bark could be heard through the wee hours of morning. I assume it was a dog of formidable size judging by the amplified bark. Perhaps it's brawn will come in handy when it's payback time for the negligible owner. I suppose karma could come into play, causing said person to potentially misplace his or her house keys and become locked out themselves.
Wouldn't that be a dog-gone shame?
Nothing is better than receiving a gift in a jar. Summer fruit lends itself to homemade jams and preserves, a welcome treat to feast on. The intense color of berries encapsulated in glass, much like jewels - a delight for the senses. Sun golden seeds fleck countless red jars waiting to be shared with family and friends. The sour-sweet flavor begs for nothing less than fresh bread. If your lucky, you might have been given a fresh loaf of that too.
Having been presented a jar of such tasty conserve, hubby suggested I make an immediate sampling. Toasted, in time for a before bed snack, we savored the tasty spread. We certainly agreed, nothing can compare to the flavor of fresh raspberry jam.
I recall summers past, busy with picking. What berries we didn't sneak out of brimming buckets were brought into the kitchen while we ourselves were scooted out for the yearly 'canning' process. Strawberry, blackberry, were both common home-spun treats encountered growing up. Blends of Strawberry-banana and other mixed flavors were often swapped between mothers, each proud to impress with their own family's recipes. Crabapple butters, along with massive jars of pickles are just some of the assortment they passed around the neighborhood table. Throw in a pie or two for good measure and the pantry, fridge, and freezer were full of that summer's taking.
I happen to have a surplus of fresh blueberries. I intend to make a treat. Any suggestions?
I haven't been dieting. More like the opposite. Trying to find every craving. My taste buds are a bit bored lately. I don't seem to really want anything, for long. Food is so comforting but there is no solace when starting to become a picky eater. Maybe, just maybe, my brain is saying it's finally set its fat point. The scale tips the furthest your inner setting will allow. Then you for once aren't hungry. I find it peculiar. I'm not used to that.
