The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Another New Experience- Open Mic Night! October 24, 2013

Hello all!  Last night I participated in an Open Mic Night in conjunction with the Oklahoma Arts Conference that took place here this week.  The evening was completely enjoyable, and I was very glad to see old friends, meet new people, and make important connections.   I thought I would highlight the four poems I read last night in a single post.  All of these are, or are about to be, on my Poetry and Fiction page also.  Enjoy!

*

Maybe It’s Monday

When you can’t get a kid to get off the bed,

when you can’t find a shoe or a sock,

when the windshield is frosted and the steering is dead,

and the bread is as hard as a rock,

when the cereal’s gone and the milk’s gone too,

when the cat leaves a mess on the floor,

when it’s 8:25 and it’s time to be there

and the kids are just now out the door,

and friends need some money and cars need gas

and you’re sleepy and tired off your..

well, you know.

Odds are there’s one simple reason for this,

why everything turns out this way.

It may be your luck or it may just be fate,

but more likely, maybe it’s MONDAY!!

DD

*

Bonsai Life

Growing for years,

Beginning to be established.

Life is the Ultimate Gardener.

I am Cut Down and Brutalized.

I am nothing but a Stump.

But after successive Springs

gradually New Shoots grow.

New leaves to disguise

The Scars.

A little guidance; I am Wired.

And soon

I am smaller.

A more compact version

of what I was.

But more deliberately shaped

and trained.

I am an Art Form.

DB

8-11-10   10:35 a.m.

*

Road Trip

Roaming through the countryside,

Acres of parched fields,

Or lush green crops proudly thriving,

Somebody’s sweat and blood and tears.

The world is quiet

Until history begins to speak to you.

For everywhere you look,

The past comes alive.

From the gnarled tree-branch fence posts,

Standing faithfully

Since some sturdy old farmer put them there,

To the gray, abandoned shacks

Along the way,

Each with its peekaboo roof and sagging porch

Ever so slowly disintegrating

With the passage of time.

Once someone’s pride and joy,

Perhaps the culmination of their dreams.

Rows of ancient cars and trucks,

Fine old machines from an era gone by,

Where young men on back roads tested their fates

And young ladies in back seats determined theirs,

Now reduced to rusted out shells.

The world as it once was

Stirs, gives itself a shake,

And comes forward to greet you.

DD  8-9-02  6:10 pm

*

Perspectives

Under a table hides a young boy,

battered and beaten a broken toy.

Across the room a mama cries,

the hurting, the hitting, the pain in her eyes.

Between the two survives a bond

for love and forgiveness to build upon.

Around them both the empty walls

the echoing silence, the desolate halls.

Beside the chair where the mama weeps,

a bottle of medicine that helps her sleep.

Nights stretch endless when she can’t NOT think.

In desperation she picks up a drink.

And in the morning her little son begs

for biscuits and gravy or bacon and eggs.

Behind the fridge door there’s nothing he wants.

His hungry eyes taunt her, his wailing voice haunts

Until she can’t take it, endurance worn thin,

her hand lands the blows again and again.

He runs for a safe place. She drops into a chair.

Again her heart shatters for the pain they both bear.

Desperate to hold him, she calls to her boy

hiding under the table, like a broken toy.

But he follows her voice and she clasps his small form

and clings to her child, the lifeline in a storm.

Through tears she says she’s sorry and that she loves him so.

He snuggles closer to her and says, “Mommy, I know.”

DD: 08/23/11 9:07am

*

And this is one I wrote yesterday but didn’t get to read, which I wrote for all the new friends I have met in the last few months since the beginning of my involvement with Ardmore Little Theatre.

Theater People

Theater People are Friendly People.

Because you never know- that girl you talk to, while standing in line to buy paint for the next big monster set designed by possibly masochistic crazy men…might just be the next big star.

And speaking of Monster Sets-

Theater People are Achy People.

Entire weekends spent climbing ladders, bracing studs, steadying walls, standing bent double with a drill in hand, and painting all day on your knees…is as good a workout as any you can get from a trainer!

Theater People are Hurried People.

Because that monster set, with all its painting and leveling, wiring and plum-lining, has to go from bare stage to showplace in three weeks, and back to bare stage in one night!  And lines must be learned, and blocking changed, and costumes discussed and it all must happen immediately if not sooner!

And speaking of too many things to do-

Theater People are Drowsy People.

After working all day at “real” jobs like managers, teachers, and secretaries, Theater People show up to devote hours to rehearsals, construction, learning lines, and staying up all night texting because they just like each other that much.

And speaking of liking each other-

Theater People are Flirty People-

Working closely, often too closely, with Big Egos, Applause Hounds, Spotlight Whores, and sometimes the quiet but surprisingly passionate character who observes from the sidelines, what starts in the theater…doesn’t always STAY in the theater!

And speaking of Staying in the Theater-

Theater People are Devoted People.

Because despite being friendly and hurried and achy and drowsy and flirty, there is always drama and comedy, and tension and dissention, but stage bios are 30 years long, friendships are measured in decades, and hugs are distributed freely, because Theater People…. Are A Family!

DD  10/22/2013  10:20 AM

*

Thanks for reading!  Until next time,

D.

 

Making Friends Who Disagree With You (is the healthiest thing in the world) May 16, 2013

*

Hello all! I am sharing this because I think it is true and correct and extremely important in this world where suddenly disagreement = hate and dissention = judgment and the way people form their world views is limited to listening only to those who agree with them. This woman is so worth reading! I have a lot of other things on my mind, but for now, enjoy!
*

Until next time,
D.

Shaunanagins

I did not expect this to be the most life-changing part of my semester in Washington DC.

When I first left, I thought the biggest impact would be academic–the Smithsonian, Library of Congress, Museum volunteering.  Either that, or my health would improve with the balance and space.  Or maybe I would meet a tall, dark, handsome American man and run away to Hawaii with a green card.

Not quite.

There was an academic impact, of course. A huge one.  And, yes, my spiritual, emotional and physical health is in decent form.  I am also currently acquainted with many tall/dark/handsome American menfolk (‘sup, gents?), though I certainly won’t be marrying into a green card anytime soon.

But none of these things are at the top of my report back to Canada.  Instead, I have been pouring out stories and joy regarding one overwhelming, unexpected gift: While in DC, Ibecame close…

View original post 908 more words

 

I’m Just That Weird February 7, 2013

From George Cruikshank's illustrations to Laur...

From George Cruikshank’s illustrations to Laurence Sterne’s Tristram Shandy. Plate I: The Effects of Trim’s Eloquence (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hello all.  Ok, I couldn’t really explain where this feeling came from or what prompted it.  I’m a little bit unusual in the respect that I’m about to describe.  I’m not sure other people feel like this, and I wonder if it means I have like, boundary issues or something.  But here it is.  For some reason, today I am really missing my English professors.  Yep.  I miss my English professors.  They were special to me.  I went to a tiny little regional state school in Durant, Oklahoma, and there were four people there whom I just really loved.  They were the Big Four in the English department and the chairmanship of the department has rotated between most of them several times, I think.  Dr. Paula Allen, Dr. Randy Prus, Dr. John Mischo, and Dr. Mark Spencer.  Let me just tell you about them.

*

First, Dr. Allen.  The only woman in this little quartet, she was a fascinating person.  I got the sense that she had had adventures, you know?  The classes I took with her were World Literature, Methods in English Education, and Middle School/High School Lit.  Dr. Allen helped me through one of the most difficult times of my life; she was my supervisor during my first (and as it turned out, only) year as an English teacher.  I wish I knew her better so I could talk about her views and politics, but it’s been a long time.  My impression of her was that she is a dedicated, passionate teacher, teacher trainer, feminist advocate, and overall, a wonderful person.

*

Dr. Randy Prus.  He was… an interesting experience.  I wish I could go back in time and take his classes again, because I think I’d probably understand them so much better now.  His incredible intelligence made him seem a little spacey, kind of stoner-deep.  He’d throw out concepts, ideas, words… at the time they seemed connected by just the barest thread of a theme, but to him they probably all wove together perfectly.  I had American Lit and Creative Writing with him.  The creative writing class was the most fun because that was my strength.  I was a poet.  At least I thought I was.  I loved showing off my stuff in that class.  I think I struggled in the lit class because the selections seemed boring and I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell us about them.  The thing I seem to remember about his classes is that he tried to stretch your mind, to make you think deeper, and yet more creatively.  At the time, he was intimidating.  He probably still would be, but I enjoyed learning from him.  I still don’t know if I understand the term ‘trope’ though.

*

Dr. John Mischo.  I took English Lit and Shakespeare with him.  He made us do what he called a ‘response card.’  Every class we’d have to write on a note card our response to a writing prompt from the assigned reading.  It was terrifying, because sometimes I just felt like I didn’t understand anything I’d just read and I had no idea how I was going to come up with something even mildly intelligent to say about it, yet somehow I usually did well.  I still remember how proud I was of a paper I did that he really praised, and I was shocked.  It was titled’Wimpy Knights and Ugly Women’ and right this minute I can’t even remember what it was about, but it got a 98, which felt like winning the lottery.  He is especially special to me because he took the time to drive an hour to attend my wedding.  I invited all of them but didn’t really expect any of them to make it, and I had never been so shocked and honored in my life as when I saw him there.

*

Dr. Mark Spencer.  Ah, Spence.  How do I even describe him?  He was quiet and serious, and made nerdy English-teacher jokes that he was usually the only one laughing at, other than me.  I had several classes with him:  Literary Criticism, History of the Novel, and seems like one or two more, but I can’t think now what they were.  Literary Criticism was one of the first classes I took when I went back to school.  I had tried to take it once before and had to drop it because it made so little sense to me, and failing was not an option.  I remember being absolutely terrified about the class, but he was so warm and funny I managed to make it through, and couldn’t figure out what was so hard about it before.  The only time in my life I was ever assigned a book to read and couldn’t because it was just too darned dull was Tristram Shandy, which he seemed to talk about all the time.  He was always checking his pocket watch, which wasn’t an actual pocket watch, but the face of a little digital watch he’d taken the straps off of, and I still can’t figure out why he didn’t just wear a watch.  In a way he was the stereotypical nerdy English teacher, and I adored him, but I was so curious about who he really was as a person.  It’s a wonder I actually learned anything.

*

I think these four educators are special to me because they were part of my life when I felt like I was where I belonged.  I had gone back to school at 35 years old, and I fell back into it like I’d never been gone.  I excelled because I love being a student.  I’m good at it.  I could take classes from these four teachers forever and be content.   At least that’s how I feel sometimes.  Sometimes I remember that the point of reading and literature and culture and all of that is to make you realize there’s a big world about there, and in addition to reading it, you can also aspire to actually see it for yourself.  I can’t imagine where these four teachers have collectively been, what they’ve seen.  I hope I can someday see even a fraction of what they’ve seen and done.  But I hope they know that today… for some reason, they are on my mind.  Today is a day that I would literally hop into my car and drive for an hour just to run across campus and up three floors of Morrison Hall just to say hi and let them know they meant something to somebody.  They meant something to me.  For an educator, that’s success.

*

Until next time,

D.

 

Allure Trip Journal: Part 5- First Port Day- Nassau, Bahamas! June 8, 2012

pirate museum

pirate museum (Photo credit: greyloch)

Hello all!

*

Continuing the story:

On the first port day, May 28, we were docked in Nassau, Bahamas.  I got up at 7, took the stairs up to deck 5, and walked the walking track as far as the turn-off to Boardwalk.  I grabbed a couple of doughnuts from the case and took them back to the room as, shall we say, Wake-Up Incentive!  The kids shared the doughnuts, but didn’t like the Magic Shell-like consistency of the chocolate coating.  (I know, kids can be so weird.)  But the doughnuts had achieved the intended result- the kids got up, and we got dressed, collected our “port stuff” and went to the Windjammer Buffet for breakfast.  It was fine- I don’t remember what we all had, but I’m sure eggs, bacon, sausage, and Danishes were all involved.  We had an enjoyable breakfast (I guess, because I described it thus in my original journal:  It was good.  And fun.)  I’m assuming it was a bit of a zoo, but we wandered far enough that we found a seat.  The trick, I think, is to hover nearby until a party of your size leaves their table and then swoop in like buzzards and sit yourselves down while the waiter is still wiping away the previous occupants’ crumbs!

*

Anyway.  My original desire was to get off the ship as early as possible, take a walking tour of all the government buildings and the immediate area, and then hit the Pirates Museum, Ardastra Zoo, and end up with Junkanoo Beach.  But then, sadly, I realized that 1) it was vacation and the kids were not going to be thrilled about getting up with the chickens every morning, and b) they didn’t give two hoots about seeing government buildings, and d) I had zero confidence in my ability to maneuver around the city in such a way as to make what we were seeing coherent and interesting.  ‘Directionally challenged,’ you recall.  So I decided we’d get off the ship just in time to walk directly to the Pirates museum, arriving there shortly after opening.  We’d tour it, then catch a cab or bus or something to Ardastra Zoo and Gardens, arriving just in time to see the only scheduled Flamingo Show we’d be able to catch, maybe the Parrot feeding, see a few monkeys and other wildlife, and then go to the beach for a couple of hours before getting back to the ship.

*

The plan went well, as far as it went.  We were off the ship in a fairly timely manner.  The chaos at the port was pretty intimidating for a first-timer- all the touts for cabs and hair braiding and so forth.  From watching YouTube videos, reading tour books and looking at walking maps, I was fairly sure I could find my way to the Pirates Museum, but I think somebody saw the confused look on my face, and after asking if I needed a taxi and being refused, asked where I was trying to get to, and I told them the Pirates Museum and they pointed me in the right direction.  I actually was already on the right track though, for once.  😀

*

We made it to the museum, met the enterprising “Pirate” gentleman at the entrance, and went into the shop to buy our tickets.  (3 Adults + 1 Child = $42 if you’re interested.)  We toured the museum, and it was mildly amusing, but it was hard to enjoy for two reasons:  One, Daughter J. has serious issues with dark places with spooky noises coming out.  She kept hanging on to me and cringing, even though the lady at the entrance had assured us that “nothing jumps out at you, nothing touches you.”  I guess J. didn’t believe her.   And Two, The Boy wasn’t as into it as I had hoped, once we passed the areas with the figures and recreations, and he kept nagging at us to “hurry up, come on, let’s go!”  (Maybe that was payback for when he tried to show me the fish, y’think?)  Anyway, we finished the tour, took the obligatory pics with our heads in the stocks, and exited through the gift shop where I bought a few post cards and little parchment treasure maps, or something like that.  I’m not even sure.  I was just beginning to exhibit the symptoms of Crappy Souvenir Buying Syndrome.

*

We asked for directions to the zoo, and proceeded to attempt to follow them, but I think we basically circled the block before noticing a taxi stand and procuring taxi transportation to the zoo.  The fare was $17 with tip, which struck even me as a little ridiculous, but we paid it.  If I remember correctly, Daughter S. began to be rather aghast at my complete helplessness at this point.  My attitude toward her was something along the lines of “Geez, my Girl Scout days were many eons ago, cut me some slack, how ‘bout?”  But we made it to the zoo, took in the flamingo show (which was short, but pretty funny) and the parrot feeding, looked at a few other animals, got pictures made with a safari hat with a bird on our heads, also pictures with the one bird giving us a kiss on the nose, bought some much needed cold drinks, and hot-footed it out of there.

*

Before I leave the tales of the Zoo, I have to relate the story of Daughter S. stalking the flamingos after the show was over, determined for them to stay still long enough for her to get a close-up picture with them.  She basically succeeded in this endeavor, and we have some really cute pics of her imitating their stance and the looks on their faces.  I know, it takes a certain amount of talent to imitate the look on a flamingo’s face, but still, she managed.   She and The Boy were really cute feeding the parrots too.  I have pictures of them standing there with birds on their arms and heads, holding out their little apple slices.  They really enjoyed it, I think.  Then those pics I mentioned before- the flamingos’ drill sergeant is stationed near the exit of the zoo, with a well-trained bird (NOT a flamingo!) perched on a safari hat for people to have their pictures made with, for a small donation.   They also found some other parrots on perches in that same area, that would do little tricks for you and talk to you.  One of them was really funny- it would copy you if you stood in front of it and moved your head side to side.  You move, he moves, you move, he moves.  It was so cute!

*

So then we asked for directions to where we could catch the bus, and we managed to get there, despite some uncertainty that we were actually going in the right direction.  ( I SWEAR, I need some kind of medical treatment for this condition, really!)  We found a bus stop, right near some guys who seemed to be grilling conch or something, and also, much to my great happiness, a security officer, or someone who was posing as a security officer, who seemed to be functioning to protect tourists from the guys grilling conch on the corner, and also to stop the bus for helpless chickens like us, who would never have managed to brave that busy street to catch the bus if he hadn’t been there.  I wasn’t sure exactly who or what he was, but I didn’t care, because the bus came after just a few minutes (Number 10, fare $1.25 pp, if you’re interested).  He slowed traffic so we could run across the street, and we gratefully climbed on, flopped down, and tried to take in some brief glimpses of the beach through the windows as we sped back to the ship.  And that is the story of how I went to the Bahamas and didn’t go to the beach.  Bummer for me.

*

When we got back to the ship, a not-so-great thing happened.  I was dawdling, taking pictures, and the kids were outdistancing me on the walk back from the drop-off area to the security area, but I had the girls’ IDs in my wallet.  They came back to get them from me and told The Boy to wait there for them, but when we got to that area, Guess Who had completely disappeared!  We asked security if they had seen him and they said to go to the Gangway and see if he had been scanned onto the ship.  Sure enough, the little monster had already gotten onboard.  The girls headed to the room to either see if he had already made it, or to be there when he did show up, and I started combing the decks looking for him.

*

I went up to the pool area first, figuring that would be his immediate destination.  I guess I am a stress eater, and when I saw the Wipeout Café, I remembered the reputation of the Pretzel Dogs from that establishment and figured this might be my only time to have one, so I zipped through the room, plated one, then left the plate and ate it as I continued my search for He-Who-Was-Now-In-Huge-Trouble.  (The pretzel dog was really good, btw.  I wish I’d had a chance to get another later, but I never did.)  And here, I have to say, I realize this is going to sound like a horrible thing, but I figured he was on the ship and pretty safe for the most part, and at some point in here I found a phone and called our room, and he was already there.  I remember thinking, “Great, I can’t believe this- Day 2 and I’ve lost one of them!”  But he was fine and we roll on.

*

I returned to the room and gave The Boy the required lectures about safety and dangers and so forth.  It turned out that a staff member had seen him and asked him if he needed help and accompanied him to our room.  We decided that he could be forgiven of this lapse in judgment as long as he was aware that he would NOT be allowed to roam alone after that, no matter what.

*

So Daughter S. wanted nothing but to shower and nap, but the other two were hungry, so we went to the buffet, where they had hamburgers and hot dogs and French fries, Oh My.  I had a little lo-mein and curry, neither of which was particularly mind-blowing.  I took them back to Boardwalk and they rode the carousel again, and Daughter J. finally got to get her picture taken with some characters.  (The whole family had our picture taken with King Julien on the Promenade the night before, but this was her first solo picture.)  The Madagascar Penguins were down there doing their thing, and the picture we got turned out quite cute.  Then we went to the pool deck where The Boy enjoyed the Lazy River and Daughter J. sampled several of the different pools.

*

I found a shady chair and journaled a little.  My unfortunate tendency toward negativity was rolling over me, and I was thinking and beating myself up about the Weight Watchers Failure I was becoming and the times so far I had already been cranky with the kids and said mean things that I obviously couldn’t rewind and un-say, and so forth and so on.  Then I got drowsy and put the journal down and relaxed a little, and I was determined that tomorrow being a Sea Day, I would find some time for ME so that I could be more of who I wanted to be for THEM.

Up Next:  Formal Night Festivities

*

Until next time,

D.

 

The Dirtiest Thing I’ve Ever Written (Part 1) August 5, 2011

Hello all!  I can now say I have really and truly gotten dirty!  This past Saturday was the event I had been waiting for, wondering about, dreaming about, and rattling on about, to anyone who would listen.  For the first time in my life, I am a competitive athlete.  Now THAT, dear friends, is a sentence I never thought I’d utter.  But there it is, right here on this blog, on the public interwaves for all the world to behold.  And I have to say, it feels better than I could have imagined.  Here’s the scoop:

*

On Saturday, July 30, my sisters and brother-in-law and I competed in a 5k run.  Not just any run, oh no.  It was The Dirty 30 Race, a 5k fun run, warrior dash, adventure race, whatever you want to call it.  There was mud involved.  Obstacles like rope walls and cargo nets were present.  It was a flat-out funfest!  My youngest sister found it a few months ago and got us all involved.  It benefitted two different charities, The Spero project, and Water Is Life.  I regret to say though, that wasn’t the biggest draw.  The biggest draw for me was the lure of challenge.  The enticing aroma of accomplishment.  In short, I have never been an athlete.  I played T-ball in first grade.  I probably sucked.  I have never, EVER been a person who enjoyed exercise.  But as my devoted readers know, I have made a lot of changes this year.  I have begun working out regularly by taking group classes at a local gym and have enjoyed good results.  I have improved my strength and muscle tone and made an obvious difference the appearance of my body.    This is on top of the transformation I had begun by following the Weight Watchers eating plan since January 2010.  In all, I have lost one-hundred and eleven pounds.  I still have a long way to go, but this is an amazing change for me.

*

So when my baby sister found this race, I immediately wanted to do it.  I was hungry for a chance to challenge myself, to push my limits, to see what this new body could do.  Both my sisters are devoted to fitness, and my bro-in-law has recently discovered the joy of working out, so we all signed up for the race.  Friday night when I got off work, I drove to my sister’s house and we got on the road.  The race took place in Mulhall, Oklahoma, which is about 45 minutes north of OKC, where my youngest sister lives.  My middle sister and her husband and I were going to stay the night at youngest sis’s house and we would all get up and go to the race together the next morning. 

*

I had gotten a really good laugh that afternoon at work.  I was texting youngest sis and asked her if we were making a healthy dinner or if everyone was going to be guzzling protein shakes.  I think my expectations were a little skewed.  I thought they were all looking at this as a serious athletic event that we needed to prepare for with extra excellent nutrition and plenty of rest.  What I discovered was that Mexican food and adult beverages were high on their agendas and protein shakes… were not.  We had a really great time eating good Mexican food and after a few more adventures, we went home and decorated our team T-shirts until almost 1:oo a.m.

*

Our team shirts, by the way, were designed by youngest sis.  She picked out all the necessary adornments, and we had zebra stripes and neon puff paint, and bright bandanas, and it all worked fabulously together.  (In my not-so-humble opinion.)  But finally we finished decorating shirts and hit the sack.  And wouldn’t you know, despite all the extra help in the ‘likely to make you fall asleep’ department, I couldn’t sleep worth a flip!  I’m not sure if it was excitement or fear or just the fact that the room was rather stuffy, but I felt like I got only a couple hours’ sleep, if that.  Not what I wanted to be starting my first ever 5k with!  But we take what we can get, and I woke up slightly before 7, even without an alarm clock, because that is what my sometimes obnoxious body has trained itself to do.  (Yeah, I can’t sleep in, even when I try.) 

*

So I woke up, got dressed in full race regalia (zebra striped bandana on the head, Twisted Sisters black t-shirt with neon-outlined zebra stripe letters and a number 1 on my back.  Because I’m the oldest) and started wondering what was for breakfast.  Youngest sis had made some healthy muffins the day before, and I scarfed one of those.  Later I drank a terrible excuse for a protein shake with too much water and very disagreeable vanilla flavor.  But I figured it was enough to get me through.  Then the rest of the crew woke up and got ready, and we were on the road by a little after 8:oo a.m.  We had to be at the race site by about an hour before our heat time, which was 10:00 a.m., and we weren’t sure how long it would take, although let me just say the likelihood of being late ANYWHERE is almost nil when Bro-In-Law is driving.  Seriously.  The dude has speed issues.  He rarely drives slower than 85. 

*

So we arrived on site and picked up our race packets.   …. To Be Continued!

The Twisted Sisters and Big Bad Brother In Law!

Until next time,

D.

 

All the Reasons I’m Thrilled With Life. Or Not. June 24, 2011

Functioning of the rack and pinion.

Image via Wikipedia

Hello all.  I regret to say that my plans for the next couple of entries have been somewhat derailed.  I had planned to share a day-by-day account of the Disney trip, straight out of my journal, some of which was actually written on the plane.  (all together now- Wooooww!)  Unfortunately, I haven’t had time.  I have a life, you know.  It’s a busy, busy little life.  I exercise.  I go to work.  I kill my car.  I serve cake at the weddings of young people who are goo-ily disgustingly yackingly in love.  I stay the night at my parents’ house when they’re not there because my house is being bug-bombed. 

*

So yeah, those are definitely the things I have going on in my life at the moment.  Let’s start at the top.  I have continued going to TurboKick classes at TFP.  I have progressed to a tolerable level of uncoordination and I’m working on perfecting new moves.  I’m occasionally brave enough to do something called a triple-step, and also a burpee.  Or is it a Burpy?  Some exercise move where your hands go down, your butt goes down, and you jump your legs out behind you and back, and then jump up in the air when the music says “POWER!”  Except I don’t jump, because I can’t really get this body off the ground yet.  Or I’m scared to even try.  Or something. 

*

The work thing is nothing new.  I am working at the same place.  The new opportunity I mentioned a few entries back, I haven’t heard anything new about yet.  I do know that I dread the next week or so of work, because we’ll be short-handed. 

*

Which leads me to the next thing- serving cake.  A sweet girl I work with is getting married tomorrow.  We’re closing work early so we can all go.  I am the cake person.  I have to really watch my attitude, and as my beautiful baby sister advised, “Don’t barf on people’s happiness.”  I’m happy for the kid.  Everyone deserves to be happy.  The groom was a friend of my sister’s when they were in school.  In fact they went to prom together, as friends.  If my enthusiasm seems lukewarm, that’s because it is.  I’m a jealous old harpy.  People who are all lovey-dovey schloopy goopy make me want to yack. 

*

I skipped one, didn’t I.  My car.  The story of how I killed it.  Well, I was just trying to have fun with my kids.  Trying to do something together as a family besides sit on our butts in front of the tv and count our dying brain cells.  So I took them to the nearest beach, which is at a lake just outside of town.  I was trying to pick a place to park, and I drove off the edge of the paved area, and I didn’t notice, when making the choice to park there, that the drop-off was significantly deep.  I bottomed out and apparently I damaged my steering rack.  I didn’t know for sure I had done anything serious at first.  The car drove just fine.  I wasn’t having any problems with it until a few days ago (AFTER I had driven it all the way from Ardmore to Norman and back!) when I noticed it was way out of alignment, and then the steering suddenly started seizing up when I tried to make a left turn.  So I managed to get it to a shop today, and they said it was a bad steering rack, and that they’d have to order a part for it, and the part and labor and all would be over $500 to fix.  Now I’m trying to figure out what to do about it.  I can’t afford to fix it without help.  My mother might be able to help me, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to or not. 

*

Anyway, I’m mostly mad at myself for doing something so stupid.  I’m worried that we might have to cancel our cruise next year.  I’m wondering if God is telling me I’m not supposed to be going on the cruise.  The cost of repairs on the car is almost exactly the same amount it would have cost to get our passports.  I had been trying to decide whether to go ahead and get them or cruise without them.  The current rule is that they are not required for U.S. citizens taking a close-looped cruise (one that begins and ends in the same US port.)  But they are strongly recommended because if something happens that requires flying home from a foreign port, they ARE required for that.  Otherwise you’ll be delayed waiting for an emergency passport and permission to leave the country and enter the U.S.  by air. 

*

ANYWAY!  We’re staying the night at my mother’s house, despite the fact that she’s out of town, because The Dictators (our cats, Hitler and Mussolini) have brought fleas into our house and I am being forced to get rid of them by bug-bombing.  So while we’re refugeeing from the Hot Shot Foggers, I’m also carless, and I have to work at 8am, and someone will have to pick me up and take me everywhere, and I am serving wedding cake at approximately 2:45 tomorrow, and I may be forced to stab my next year’s vacation plans in the heart with a sharpened rusty spoon.

*

Why shouldn’t I be totally thrilled with life?

*

Until next time,

D.

 

The Times, They Are A-Changin’! (And So Am I!) February 25, 2011

Filed under: Steps in the Journey,Sweatin' It Out! — DDKlingonGirl @ 10:38 am
Tags: , , , , , ,
colourful sunset. knysna, south africa. slight...

Hello all.  I did something big this week.  I could tell you the backstory of how I’ve said many times that I do not enjoy moving.  Not packing all my belongings in boxes and trucking them across country.  Exercising.  I have never been a mover and a shaker.  I would rather be lying down reading a book or kicked back in a reclining chair with a computer on my lap than almost anything else in the world.  I have been obese almost all my life, but I have a sister who is now a certified fitness instructor!  She goes to a local gym and does “Turbo” at 5:45 three mornings a week, which I have always maintained is not a sane or normal thing to do, and at 9:00 three other mornings a week.  In addition to that, she attends or teaches “Hip Hop Hustle” at least twice a week and is about to start a PiYo class as well.  She also practices the routines at home, AND she does strength training.  She also works about 50 hours a week and has a young daughter.  To say this woman has a full life is an UNDERSTATEMENT! 

*

Anyway, in the first blog I ever posted here, I said I probably would never become the sort of person who gets up and goes to an exercise class at 5-something in the morning.  Well guess what?  This week- I did it.  I had had a big disappointment at Weight Watchers, and watched a dear friend get her goal weight award that same day, and I just decided that if I was ever going to get out of the rut I’ve been in for the last two months with WW, that I would have to get MOVING!  

*
So I didn’t even get to bed until midnight the night before.  I was still flip-flopping back and forth, literally and figuratively, as I lay in bed and tossed and turned and tried to talk myself into and out of getting up and going to my sister’s class.  Finally, after midnight, I just rolled over and set my alarm for 5 a.m. and said to myself, ‘The heck with it.  If I don’t do this now, I never will.  Besides, the first class is free.’  And the next morning, I got up when the alarm went off, pulled on my leggings and oversize t-shirt (No skinny tanks or sports bras for this wanna-be athlete, not yet, anyway!)  and my poor, worn-out Sketchers Shapeups. I grabbed a big water bottle, my keys, phone, and purse, and hit the road.  Still dark, hardly anybody on the road, early morning chill, quiet world.  It was nice.  I got to the gym and it didn’t look like there was anyone there yet, so I sat in the car and texted my sister to surprise her that I was there.  She said she’d be there soon, so I waited a while longer.

*

It’s actually kind of funny- there’s this weird fitness sub-culture in my town.  Every morning, hordes of tiny little people are seen jogging around town at ungodly hours of the morning, clutching their water bottles and trying to look like they’re enjoying it.  (Maybe they are, but I can’t imagine!)  So as I was sitting there in my car in front of the gym on downtown Main street, I kept seeing little groups of joggers go by in my rearview mirror.  Finally, my friend who got her goal weight award this week showed up for the 5:40 Turbo class as usual.  (Hmm, could the two be related?)  Now that I knew someone there, I got out of the car and went in with her.

*

The class was not as hard as I was afraid it would be, but I still couldn’t keep up with half the choreography.  And the whole ‘sticking both feet way out behind you and then doing a huge jumping jack up in the air’ thing?  Oh, heck to the NO!  Not a snowball’s chance I was going to pull that one off yet.  But still, it wasn’t bad; I kept up and kept moving through the whole class, which I was SUPER proud of, and left the gym feeling rubber-legged, but accomplished! 

*

So today I kind of felt the urge to get up and do it again- I even set my alarm again.  (I know, I’m wondering if the Mind-Snatching aliens left a forwarding address, too.)  But my bed was snuggy and warm and I couldn’t make myself get up and go.  But Sister Fitness had given me a couple of Turbo dvds a while back, so I told myself that as soon as I took the kids to school, I’d come home and do one of those.  I even had the kids show me how to work the stupid PS3 that serves as our dvd player.  Unfortunately, that instruction didn’t stick, and I got about 5 minutes into the workout before I got frustrated that I couldn’t keep up with the damn choreography, and then I would have gone ahead and finished it, but I couldn’t figure out how to work the game controller enough to get the video back to where it was, so with a little foul-mouth-edness, I just turned it off and decided to get on the treadmill instead! 

*

I walked for about 27 minutes, and then I fixed myself a lovely scrambled omelette with green onion, minced garlic, cilantro, (which I am starting to fall in love with, btw.  It tastes like Spring!) mushrooms, tomatoes, and shredded cheese, with a whole grain English muffin and a cup of skim milk.  I lit a candle on my table, prayed, meditated, and focused on savoring and enjoying my food.  As I watched the candle flame dance, I started trying to formulate a poem about it, as well as a poetry-based blog entry describing the difference between my Tuesday and my today, but I haven’t perfected those yet, so…

Until next time,

D.

 

 
The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.

Broadside

Smart and surprising

Mostly Bright Ideas

Some of these thoughts may make sense. But don't count on it.

Mad Scientist.Crazy Mom

Welcome to my laboratory: five kids on a farm

A Clean Surface.

simplicity, organization, inspiration, minimalism, humor...and reality

Princess Nebraska

If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. If would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in a cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it. -Frances Hodgson Burnett

She Likes Purple

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Crazy with a side of Awesome Sauce

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

musings of a madwoman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Glam-O-Mommy

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

happily ever me

a life in progress

Our Little Geekling

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." - Helen Keller

mighty maggie

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Writing Finger

Translations of Poetry from Galician and Spanish into English

The Better Man Project ™

a journey into the depths

An Unexplored Wilderness

A writer's journey