Sick, Tired & Changing

Three years ago, I quit my corporate desk job and gave the middle finger to my ridiculously long commute.  For the first time in a solid six months, I could take a deep breath without worry or panic rising up inside me.  It was awesome. I felt free. I felt alive.

Within a few months after leaving, I picked up a part time gig working retail. I loved it. I loved moving and being on my feet for sometimes, ten hours a day. I survived Black Friday, the day after Christmas sales, working weekends and the ever disgusting “clopen” shift (for those of you unfamiliar, clopen is when you close the store and then have to be back within a matter of hours; often with little sleep). I loved that job. I was so happy and I’m pretty sure I should’ve stayed there.


In that year and a half, I lost twenty two pounds.

That’s like a small toddler.
Or a small dog.
Thank you, retail!

And then, I found out I was pregnant.

I talked with my manager and store manager at the time and let them know that I was a little concerned with all the lifting and ladders. I was still cool with walking around, doing front end work, etc, etc etc. But heaving giant vacuum cleaners to top stock while straddling a 14′ ladder might have to wait. While I didn’t plan on leaving my retail gig, I did. One afternoon while I was on break, my miscarriage started.

I put my notice in a few weeks later and decided to go back to the corporate life.

Fast forward two years-

I’m back to the desk life.
The panic and anxiety is back.
And so are those pesky twenty-two pounds.


Last week I was trolling Facebook when I noticed a high school friend of mine was posting about how he lost twenty pounds in three weeks. Ever skeptical, I commented. He let me know that he started the Eat to Live program by Dr. Fuhrman. Curiously and cautiously, I googled.

Within the hour, I was on Amazon ordering a used paperback copy (because what if I don’t like it and I just shelled out all that money for a book that will just take up space on my bookshelf)? I also ordered the cookbook (so I could get free shipping). Tonight, I sat down with both and worked up my meal plan and grocery list for the next seven days.

If you’re not familiar, the Eat to Live is a total game changer. The first six weeks (actually, it’s the rest of your life moving forward) are strictly vegan/vegetarian. No meat, no dairy, no caffeine. I know, it sounds totally insane. This is crazy. But it makes sense y’all.

You know what else is totally insane? Sitting on my ass all day at my job and then being so emotionally and physically drained from my day that I come home and sit on my ass some more.

While I eat cereal.
Or cookies.
Or chips.
I’ve even been known to fall asleep with a granola bar in my hand.

There’s a deep emotional void happening with me as well- and I know that not all of the weight I’ve put back on is based on my job entirely. I do feel that it plays a large part in the downward spiral- but mostly, it’s me. I need a redo on my insides, the way I look at food, the way I look at life.

Three months ago I quit smoking (although, I do still bum off of my best friend at work on those ever stressful days).

Last week I started doing intense meditation at night. I’ve noticed that on the evenings I meditate before bed, I wake up feeling refreshed, relaxed and happy. This morning was beautiful for me too. Up at seven, stretched, showered and off to run errands by nine. I felt good. I miss that feeling.

I’ve been going to the gym (although not every day) with my husband and my son. While my workouts aren’t nearly as intense as theirs- I’m still there. Huffing away on the elliptical. The rowing machine. The cycling.  I do it. And I do it terribly. Heh.

Baby steps are better than no steps at all I suppose.
Prepare yourself for the onslaught of rage posts.
The diet is coming.




most days
I try to write
exactly what I’m
into paragraphs


this way feels

I don’t have to use
or be all super
proper about shit

paragraphs mean
that i have to give
more than four
sentences that make sense
the past few nights
i spent time looking back
on this blog-

there are some pretty funny memories
and not so pleasant ones too

this sketch i found sums that up well:

Cameron Mark (@cameronmarkart) on Instagram:

this week i bought tickets
to take MD to see Paramore
in October
at the Fox-
which reminds me

my heart is still bruised
over the death of a front

i did a card reading
my first in a very long time
the outcome was positive
and the recipient pleased

that felt good

doodling feels good
seeking out my creative self,
which had been tucked away
feels good too

traveling soon
summer is here
changes afoot

and they wonder why we act this way
Funny Giraffe peek-a-boo stamp kids gift Around door WoodlandTale:

The Garden, The Gun, The Hive

about the 2000m mark while
on the row machine at the gym
Tupelo Honey came on the radio

i stopped

Have you even tried Tupelo honey?
you probably buy yours at the grocery
holding a hand basket-
carts don’t exist where you are
there’s not enough space

but in your hand basket,
there is enough room for
little honey bear with the orange
cone top

You buy it, don’t you

Then again,

maybe you splurge for the
in a mason jar
version (because everything in a mason jar is all the rage).
i bet you two hold hands and giggle
thinking of how much toast
you’ll eat now that you have
the good honey…

and then i start to row again


you haven’t been to the south-

how would you know about
the delicious,
heavy taste of honey
from Mississippi

let alone how to be nice
let alone how to be
let alone



Plaster of Paris

At some point
between the late news and the infomercials
i became unconscious

we were in your new home
which was a castle
or maybe the living room
just had stone walls-
you wanted me to marvel at
the masonry work

all i noticed
was that you continued
to pull plaster off the rocks
and the floors
were thick pieces of wood

tree trunks shaved
into long strips
the way you shave a brick
of fancy hard cheese
with that kitchen tool
when the nice company
comes over

but you kept on saying,
‘this is the best part,’
pulling more plaster off
the heel of my shoe got
caught in a knotty circle
on the floor

i looked down
then back up

you’d already walked
into a long, willowy corridor
and I stood there,

my heel stuck

while i stared at all the
piles of white, chalky
a cross breeze kicked up
some dust and i started to

you didn’t look back
to check on me
and I remember
the way your blue tshirt
was fitted across your shoulders
fading in the sun
a window into another room
was caressing you,

i see now

and this is where
the story ended
and the morning
news began


Sitting here watching playoff hockey, I keep logging into my math unit, expecting to do more homework, but there is none.

I have finished it.
All the work.
All the pre-tests.
And the tests…

Which I passed by the skin of my teeth.
This was a very long five months.
I finished my psychology class in four weeks just so I could focus all my time on math.
There is still one more math needed towards my degree, but right now, there’s no way I could do it (actually, I could and I probably will take it in August. But I don’t want to).

When I close my eyes at night before I fall asleep, I see this:

Image result for complex radical equations

That’s right, I’ve turned into a Radiohead lyric. This makes sense to me now. I see the breakdown of the equation. The questions on my exam were a little bit more complex than this, but you get the idea.

Or not. That’s okay! My brain took it’s sweet ass time learning the setup and destruction of these problems.

I have a few weeks off before the summer semester kicks in. I’ll be at the beach for a solid five days doing nothing but sitting in a beach chair while the waves crash agains my shins. Boozy drink in hand. Naps. Quiet mental solitude. There is a slight possibility that I’ve hyperextended my brain by taking political science and American lit over an 8 week time frame, but hey…

It’s not complex radical equations.
Or fractions with parenthesis where the exponents are on the outside with negative connotations.
Ya feel me?



Overthinking in fragments

like the receipts
in the bottom of
my bag

now just smudged with
because I’ve put too much
on in traffic

there were mornings
where I’d jot down
the smartest
one liners I could

mayan belly massage
and saints

if I say enough hail marys
if I do more squats
and less internal

I could burst through
the social media bubble
with a tiny little package

and scream fuckyouwedidit

but I won’t
because it’s been a long road
we know where it’ll go
i know what it will be

so i set up shrines
and dress tiny porcelain
dolls with red ribbons


in the morning
when I say that one extra
hail mary full of grace
our lord is with thee
blessed art thou among women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb


vacant like the tomb

come at me

I dig for more receipts
because I’ve put on too
much lipstick

and forgotten all
my poems