ITCHY-BITCHY SPIED HER

Itchy-Bitchy Spied Her


I was out of shape and mentally low.

I knew what I had to do.

I didn't want to do it. I have always been able to make up excuses quicker than anyone.

Everything in my life seemed overwhelming.

I couldn't focus or concentrate.
I had no motivation.
I was becoming one with the couch.
I felt as soft as the couch.
I felt as big as the couch.

Acknowledging it brought me down even lower.

I knew what I had to do.

With every bit of strength I had, mental and physical, I found the playlist I used to like best, which also happened to be the shortest; twenty minutes, tops. My goal was to force myself to walk until the entire list was done.

I descended the cellar stairs, and worked my way over to our old treadmill. I took several gulps of water, to prevent "thirst" from being an excuse to quit. I hung my iPod in my makeshift clear hanging pouch, and got "in position".

I started slowly. As I hit play, I turned on the treadmill to the slowest walkable speed.  I held on with both hands while I closed my puffy, tired eyes, to concentrate on the music. The first song did not stimulate me or excite me as it used to.

I decided to sing-along, which goes to show how slowly I was walking. I sang at the top of my lungs, actually shouting-screaming out the words, in between sobs, I choked as tears flowed down my face and my throat.

Just minutes after I had started, I felt I couldn't go any further. I knew this is where I often gave up. I knew if I stayed just a little bit longer, I would get that second wind. I also knew if I pulled that plug I could get off the treadmill. I really wanted to stop.

I opened my eyes to see how many minutes I had gone. I hadn't turned on any lights, so reading the counter without my eyeglasses was impossible in that dark cellar.

As I was about to pull the plug, "I saw the light" of the rising sun stream in through the dirty window.  I continued to walk, due to a fascinating distraction which caught my eye.

I noticed a tiny, graceful spider dropping down, then slightly back up,  then down again, as it was delicately spinning a web. Meanwhile, a huge, ugly bug of some sort was already caught and struggling vigorously to get free.

The web wasn't old. It was made up of a couple of silky strands. Under it, there were just a few droppings. I decided they must have been recent, because they were dust free.

As I walked, I was intrigued with both the spider and it's victim. I was feeling almost ashamed, of how my life seemed so easy compared to theirs. The spider was steadily and rhythmically working without hesitation, while it's prey was fighting vehemently for its life.

Had I knocked the web down, the spider probably would have started over...Unless I crushed the spider, which I wouldn't do because I feel like spiders help keep the population of "bad bugs" down.

After watching the spider and the struggling bug for quite a while, I stopped my treadmill to go upstairs. They both continued at what they had to do.

Neither of them had stopped working on their way of surviving life on my account. I doubt they even noticed me. But I noticed them.

I often think about them, when I start to become overwhelmed by life.


That was a few months ago.


The web is still there.  Since that first time, I haven't seen a spider working as diligently on that web.

The evidence of progress is there, though. The web has grown more elaborate, resembling a fine net curtain, gracefully hung, flowing in front of the window.

There are many more droppings now. Occasionally, I see a spider. I know nothing about the lifespan of spiders. Could it possibly be a descendant of the original one I observed?

On stormy or frigid days, I often decide to use my treadmill. I still walk, but at a much faster pace, to a longer, peppier play list.

Each time I use it, but especially on the days I really don't want to, I hope for the rays of the rising sun to break through my dark gloomy mood and shine through the cellar window.

But, if that doesn't happen, I still have that ever changing web to remind me that even if I am stuck & struggling, life continues to go on all around me.

I just have to open my eyes.

Happy Birthday Baby

Happy Birthday Baby


Today is my husband's 56th birthday. I am hoping he is having a happier one than I had when I turned 56.

That's right, I robbed the cradle, just barely, for once we reach a "certain" age, we are all the same. At least from the point of view of "we" who have reached that "certain" age! I do recall being young and gasping at some "old person" who had done something. I have no clue what she did...but she was 25 and as I thought back then, much too "old"!

Now, "my baby" is 25. Speaking of him, I am thinking of not calling him "my baby" anymore...I still call his older brother, who is almost 31 (He is my first baby!) "Baby" and I'm not sure how appropriate it is?

Then, again, I don't give a fuck about being appropriate, I spent over 50 years behaving (what I thought was) appropriately. It stifled me, and kept me from being me, to the point that I really didn't even know who I was anymore. That doesn't mean I have to be a jerk, I want to be polite and kind. I don't want to hurt anyone. Anymore.

But, I am concerned about how each of them feels when I call them "Baby". I think I will ask them. Well, there's one thing I'm not going to worry about for the moment.

That was an off the track way of getting to my first blog of 2013!

Happy Birthday to my husband!

So far today, we have been eating Boston Cream Pie- which was his 10 am birthday "cake", with Hood Ice Cream & coffee.

Then, his new favorite: Key Lime Pie-his lunch time birthday "cake" & coffee, on top of our much earlier healthy breakfast and healthy homemade soup for lunch.

It's his birthday, after all. He deserves a day of gluten, sugar, dairy, eggs, and lots of other stuff we have been trying to avoid since the end of November.

Back then, he and I decided not only our emotions weren't up where we felt they were supposed to be, but our bodies were aching, feeling worn out, bloated and weren't down (in pounds) where we felt they were supposed to be. We had no energy, mentally and physically.

So, on the Thursday after Thanksgiving, we both started a new restrictive diet, that had to be followed for 21 days, with no excuses.

I could give you all the details, but unless it's happening to you, how boring would that be!?

Anyway, we both lost some weight.

But, we knew we couldn't stay on that diet for the rest of our lives, at least not together!! We each had our own issues with it. However, we are keeping it as a guideline to use in making good food choices. It did open our eyes to healthier options.

As for the emotions...Well, our marriage has worked this long because I know when I am hungry and I know when he is hungry. We are both much nicer people if we are nourished on time!

...But, with this diet, I didn't always feel the hunger during the day, which wasn't a good thing...because I got bitchy, and/or weepy. Once I ate, I was good, but it was a see-saw ride of emotions.

Stress isn't good for our bodies or our minds. Most of the extra weight I was trying to lose had originally come from stress eating, so it was an emotional diet as well. By that I mean, I had to deal with emotions I used to be suppressing with food.

We decided we wanted and needed to find that spark of excitement and direction we used to have, back when our lives were so much busier. We both felt lost in our own ways, and were seriously acting like that cliché, "The blind leading the blind".

I realized that my husband had been very supportive during my weepy, low, angry moods, for a long time now and he was starting to look defeated. It hit me that if I was sick of me, he must have been getting there, if he wasn't already.

So, one night, in early January, I was whining to him about how boring and uninspiring my playlist had become and how it didn't motivate me in the least to get on the treadmill, never mind stay on it! (Lack of exercise made me mopey, and craving comfort food.)

My husband listened and in the piece below (which I wrote a few weeks ago and meant to use as my first blog of 2013) it explains what happened...

The following is dedicated to my husband, who walks along by my side on our bumpy, twisted, but beautiful path of life together. We make wrong turns, sometimes apart, sometimes together, but we always end up finding each other just in time for a cup of coffee.



'Mourning Has Broken'
1/7/13

One night, last Week:

I was ready.

My ego had me in its constant, controlling hold.  Thoughts and worries seemed to consume and overwhelm me. I couldn't take all the noise in my mind anymore.

I judged every idea, everything, everyone, including myself. I worried about the past: "why?!" I worried about the future: "what, if, then...?!"

I knew I needed to fix this.
I just didn't know how.

My concerned husband spoke to me in a gentle voice. Because of past experiences, I could see his cautious hesitation.

 I FINALLY decided to put down my conditioned, stubborn reactions of defense.

I let go.
I silenced my thoughts.
I listened.

Without the proud shield of doubt and resistance,  I accepted a thoughtful suggestion with no predetermined judgement.  It was a simple idea to help fix the problem I was complaining about at that moment.

I don't know why I made that choice at that moment.

 I was ready.

It was the easiest thing to do, surrendering to the moment and opening my mind to the words.

It was so easy.

In that one decision of changing my direction of thinking, not only did my excitement of hearing these words make me feel so much better, it also was a refreshing relief to my husband, who has lovingly tried so very hard lately, to help me in the way he knows.  His past efforts have been met by my bitter resentment and demeaning rage. Often, when he'd offer a suggestion, I would snap at him,  "Stop trying to fix things, and just listen!"


This time:

I stopped.
I listened.
It was easy.

I was ready.

I heard!

In taking a different path in my actions (or reactions), a big shift has happened in my life.

Now:

I'm making a conscious effort to listen more.
I am making a conscious effort to make more thoughtful choices.
I am making more of an effort to be in the moment.

No, I haven't found religion, but I have found my inner spirit, again. As I mourned the past few years for the lost loved ones, I also mourned for that lost feeling of hope and purpose.

I found out it didn't die. It was lost in my sorrow, buried deep beneath piles of memories, and the pain my mind wouldn't stop churning up and rehashing!

In stopping the thoughts, just letting go of them, then listening to someone else's, mine stopped.

They disappeared!

I was ready for this.

In taking care to explain, "This is what works for me...", and not saying, "Do this...", my husband helped me listen.

His words, whether deliberately chosen or not, gave me (aka: my territorial ego) no reason to feel attacked, only listened to and loved.

I took his advice, and have thanked him every day, since.

It is so hard to explain, how at peace I feel at the moment. After year of easily posting my emotions through words, mostly rants,on this blog site, I'm having a hard time describing the calm and the contentment I am feeling right now.

Each day, since, I've awaken to the moment, take it all in, and am grateful for my life.

This is what worked for me:

I was ready.

I let go.
I listened.

I got it.
Because I was ready.

Mourning has broken.
The sun shines again.



Happy
Birthday
Baby!
(Oh, I forgot, I call him baby, too!!!)