I am Tallulah

Ok, let's talk weight loss. Last week was the pits!! I didn't exercise at all. Why?? Lazy? Maybe, but it's hard to exercise when you break down crying. So I sat in front of the computer, on ICQ, reading the mindless drivel that usually fills the chat rooms, or chatting with the very few lovely friends who frequent the UK room. Why? It took my mind off the other stuff, and I stopped crying.

I didn't lose any weight last week. Nor did I gain any. Standing firm at 216. I don't feel good about my slothful week, but I also don't feel that guilty either. I didn't overeat, and with the emotional rollercoaster I was on, that is a miracle!

This week I resolved to get back to the exercise. Today, instead of the usual exercise, I cleaned out a stall in the barn that hadn't been cleaned since the winter. Oh my, what a huge task that was! I foolishly didn't remember to wear gloves until I had gotten halfway through the stall and broke a blister on my hand. It certainly was a workout and that felt good.

My backache, which had been plaguing me for almost a year, is gone. I truly think it's because I have started moving the weight a bit, getting more flexible, maybe, and not using the Gazelle. I took Adam's advice and started using the treadmill. That has helped enormously I think and doesn't put any strain on my back at all. What a blessing that is!

Another bit of advice Adam gave was to drink more water. I've been doing that, although it isn't easy. I never did drink much water, but I find I need to now. I guess I wasn't drinking water because I was drinking soft drinks instead. On Saturday I had my first soft drink in over a month, and quite frankly it wasn't satisfying. So maybe I've been weaned off the wretched soft drinks finally.

A friend asked if I would send him a pic of me. I froze. There is no way in hell I will commit my image to photo, digital or otherwise, at this point in the game. I know others would say not to worry about it, that maybe I'm too critical, but as I explained to him, the person I see in a photo I take of me now is not the real me. It isn't the person I am inside. The image I see is of someone I don't know, and I am not willing to let that me be my calling card. It's bad enough the people in real life see me, but they have seen me for so long I doubt they really "see" me any more. My friend was quite lovely about it all and is willing to wait.

I was told by someone that at this point in my life I shouldn't let stuff like this bother me, that I should accept myself as I am and the rest be damned. I can't do that yet. If I fail at weight loss, there may come a point where I decide to let it be, to accept that I may always be fat. I'm not there yet... I still believe the slimmer me is just as eager to be freed as I am to free her. 

Keeping the momentum, dealing with the emotional chaos, keeping motivated, staying committed to the plan... I can do this. I have to do this. My health and my state of mind demand I do this. I cannot allow any doubts.

They are there just the same.

Last night I watched a BBC show about a woman who was a conduit between departed souls and this dimension. She could see the spirits of the departed and was able to give their messages to the loved ones still living. It made me think of you, and whether you would have anything to say to me.

I've dreamt of you a couple of times, but each time you have been disappointed in me, complaining that I didn't wait long enough before clearing out your stuff, that I changed things too much, or just to complain in general. I know it's really my own feelings I'm projecting.

Today, for no reason, I broke down and held the box containing your ashes. Just like with Davey, I couldn't let it go. I know it's just a box of ashes, not really you. 

Spoke to Aunt Marion on the weekend. Things are improving for her. It was good to talk to your sister again, but I felt as if we were drifting away from each other. As if I was losing that part of you, too. 

I feel cut loose, drifting, in a fog, not knowing where to go from here, and not really caring. All I do know is I miss you.

Sunday is my weighing in day and this past Sunday I was extremely hesitant to step on the scale. I had made lasagna a couple of days before and, as usual, has over-indulged in the noshing. Afterwards I felt angry with myself for my lack of self-control. By the time Sunday morning rolled up, I was feeling blah, and even a little bloated. I tried to convince myself that maybe I should just chalk it up to a lost week and weigh myself next week instead. At least then I wouldn't need to beat myself up for any weight gain and maybe I'd even be more surprised in a weeks time.

As I was about to step out of the bathroom and away from the dreaded scales, I suddenly turned, and stepped onto the scale. I was shocked! The scale read 215 lbs. I had actually lost a pound! 

So I am one pound away from the starting weight I had listed back in March of 2005 when I determined to lose the weight. Then all hell broke lose in my life and I gained. Oh boy! did I gain! I ballooned up to 220 lbs., the heaviest I have ever weighed.

And now, I can proudly say I have lost 5 whole pounds. I won't boast that too loudly because, as those who know me well will understand, this can change quickly. Yet I am patting myself gently on the back because every little step towards a goal is a good step. I know it's going to take a long time to lose the weight, but if I can keep moving towards the goal, eventually I might make it! 

Untitled

22.11.95 - revised 8.5.06

She turns off the light.

Shrouded in night's solitude, he comes to her.

She feels the weight of his body

in bed beside her

feels his hands stroke her skin

fingertips follow the contours of her face. 

Soft hair, loving eyes gazing down at her.

A smile lights his face.

His lips brush hers

kisses, feather soft

warm breath caresses her skin.

His scent fills her soul

Strong arms wrap around her

cocooning her.

She feels the hardness of his body.

His strength flows through her.

She hears his heart beating.

His passion fires her own smoldering desires.

Slow, soft kisses follow gentle touches

stimulating and exciting.

Their bodies press close together

skin touching skin.

Pulses quicken.

She feels his urgency

his need.

He is raw power

wild, intense, craving.

His thirsty mouth covets hers

tongues probe deeply

searching, wanting more.

Her own needs rise to meet his.

Slow sensuality ignites to heated passion

as he seeks that which she hides deep within.

Searching for the part of her she keeps solely for him.

Reaching that rare level of rapture

reserved only for those deeply in love.

They melt into one another

becoming one body

one mind.

Blissful sleep blankets them.

In the pale morning light 

she will face reality.

Once more, a cold empty bed

an aching heart

will be her sole companions.

She has not found him.

Yet. 

I was a very good ipod mamma this weekend. I purchased a couple of lovely outfits for my little ipod.

The first outfit is for just hanging out:

It's a lovely little number that says, 'I'm playful, I'm cool, I'm into ME!!'

The second little outfit is stylish:

This little number is more dignified, more business like, more classy. It says "I am cool and confident. I have class.'

This outfit offers my ipod mini the chance to dress up and still be functional.

Inside is cool and contemporary, as befits an ipod mini. Plus, my ipod can change it's colours as the mood dictates.

My ipod mini is fashionble, functional, and fun!

Next step is to load the little darlin', which I will do now that my laptop computer is fully protected from ads, tracking, and wretched computer viruses.

Hmmm, maybe my laptop computer needs a lovely ensemble for when it leaves the house. 

It feels as if life is metamorphing into something different. Not so different that it is totally unrecognizable, but more an internal difference, with only the most minor of external changes. It is as if everything that was is now subject to change.

What will come of all this?

**********

Spent all of last week battling a tiny virus intent on rampaging throughout my body. First there were the leg pains, beginning in one leg and travelling to the other. Along with that was the queasy unsettled feeling that made eating such a challenge. I realize I'm a bit run down and caught a chill from the yo-yo-ing temperatures we've been having. So I didn't exercise at all last week. Not going to allow that to get me down, however, as this is a new week. 

Damn, I feel like Scarlett O'Hara with her "Oh, fiddle-de-dee! After all, tomorrow is another day!"

**********

I made what I consider to be a good decision. I had been contemplating taking a voice course via home study. After researching it I still couldn't seem to shake the nagging little thought that somehow there was something not quite right about the whole thing. After talking to a number of people, and trying to listen to my own little voice, I decided not to take the course. 

See, I had been looking for a sign, something from the universe to say that 'Yes, girlfriend, you go take that course because it is what you need to get to the next step.'  Instead, I kept getting a little whisper: 'What about your art? When are you going to get started on that? Why are you trying to do anything BUT your art?' 

Then, in the wee hours of this morning I finally clued in: my sign wasn't a loud, smack-you-in-the-head billboardy kind of sign. It was quiet, unassuming, I'll-just-keep-whispering-until-you-hear-me kind of sign. So I listened, and when I thought about using the $95 I'd spend on the course for paints instead, I felt a tiny surge of excitement.

So I cancelled the course, and sent off an email to order my Chromacolours and guess what:  the little whisper hasn't said a word to me since.

I am a little thick sometimes.

As for the voice training issue, I'll stick to the vocal exercises book, and work on my voice my way. I know where my weaknesses are, and I do know how to fix them. What I need to know I will ask from people who are in the business. And, I will make my own demo CD. I have a microphone now for my computer (weeeeee another toy!!) so I'll give it a go.

Chance, aged 6 months

It is with great sadness that I write here today. My beautiful boy, Chance, passed away last night. He was only four years old.

I initially thought Chance was dealing with constipation, but it soon became clear that this was not the problem. Unfortunately, it was not a simple case of taking him to the vet for treatment. Here in Canada, keeping raccoons as pets is illegal. According to law the vets must either euthanize them or treat them to be released back into the wild. Since Chance had been with me from age 3 months, there was no way he would survive being released into the wild. I knew this and yet I still ended in calling two vets. I only received a bit of medical advice from both of them, the second one stating that they could lose their licence as a wildlife facility if they treated Chance.

After my talk with the vet I think Chance had some kind of intestinal blockage, either a tumor, or maybe even cancer.

He was a sweetheart to the very end, and I am broken hearted over his loss. I cannot believe he is gone.

I love you Chance.

Chance, aged 6 months

I never took any photos of Chance as an adult. I had planned on getting some video of him but never got around to it. I always thought I had time.