A Letter to Octavian - From the Book of Che

Dear Ockie,

I made an adult realization today. It was something I voiced but had voiced in times of annoyance and frustration and couldn't hold it in water because the vase it was in was so full of holes. As your father drove me to the train station, his one simple statement about my not complaining about work made me realize that I was a square block mercilessly jamming myself into a triangle shape. But what I said was one of the most selfless things I could have said, "I think I serve my job an injustice by being there."

Let me tell you what I mean, Diddles. Sure, I show up on time, I do what I need to do for my department, I offer the best customer service to my customers and colleagues, but my heart is not here. I don't spring from my bed saying, "Yay, I'm going to my crappy ass job!" I drag myself there because of my responsibility to you and your father. Without said job, you and I wouldn't be able to see the doctors. Without said job, I can't pay for you to have fun at play school or the house over our head. But, baby, I am not being a good role model to you.

So, I hope when you get older and read this, you'll take with you these lessons I picked up (or more oftentimes failed at) along the way.

* Dreams are just life plans with glitter on it. Don't be afraid to actually put some flesh behind them.
* For as much as you put into plans, be able to let go and have fun. If you get so hung up on the details, you miss out on the fun.
* Don't wait for someone to tell you to do something (i.e. pick up your toys). Do you know how much joy you bring someone when you just do something. Oh, here's a tip, try not to get annoyed when they sarcastically say, "Wow, you're doing dishes!"
* You're only alone if you stay alone.
* Be you. Know you. Prove it to you. You (and maybe the Man Upstairs) are the only person you have to impress, because if you wait around for other humans to recognize and adore you, you're gonna be disappointed everytime.
* Know when to Cuss and Carry on. Sometimes it's the thing to do with a few choice friends.
* Laugh. 'Cause if you don't laugh, you'll cry.
* All things die, baby. But memories don't - hold them closest to your heart, but be inspired by them not saddened.
* Fight for the one you love. Even when the world says it won't work. If you believe it, then only God can part you.
* Sometimes love ain't got a lick a sense. I know, boyo. Trust me, I know.
* No one ever runs on time.
* Learn as much as you can from your mom and dad about your history. You'd be surprised at how bad ass your ancestors were.
* If your parents come from a foreign country, make it your mission to touch that Earth at least once before you go.
* If you're gonna be wrong, be wrong strong! Don't be afraid of making a mistake or being embarrassed. You gotta learn somehow.
* Don't be afraid to say I'm sorry. If your words hurt someone, if your hands hurt someone, if your silence hurt someone, be man or woman enough to say I'm sorry.
* It takes two of you to argue, but it only takes one of you to be the bigger person. Calmer heads will always prevail.
* By the way, you're not always right!
*And, honey, momma has always failed this, but hopefully you won't, don't let your emotions rule your features. Have a poker face, when it's necessary. Humans are humans and they will use your emotions against you.
* Giving up is the worse thing you can do!
* You can live a normal life with a chronic disease.
* At birth, you were given a temple to take care of. Don't be cruel and let your house of flesh and blood be overrun with weeds and ill-repair. In order to maintain your land, be good to it and fill it with only good things.
* Drugs are highly overrated. Trust me, you're wasting your time, money and life trying to feed an addiction.
* Oh, by the way, anything is an addiction. If you don't learn moderation now it will haunt you.
* Once in a while, stand completely naked in front of a mirror and check yourself out. Now wait, don't look at your flaws. Look at the things you like. Be proud of the framework you have. So many people are unhappy with themselves because some person or magazine or show done told them how to look or dress. Baby, beauty is how you perceive it. If something makes you happy, then it's beautiful and let no one tell you different.
* Treat everyone you meet with a clean slate, unless they prove themselves otherwise. No one race is better than the other. No sexuality that supersedes the other. There are assholes in all cultures and social circles, just find the good ones and avoid the bad ones and you'll be fine. Stereotypes are just fodder for comedians.
* Love for the right reason. Grandma once said, "Love with interest, doesn't yield a thing."
* Pain is like rain. If you don't have it, you don't appreciate the sunshine and happy times.
* Education is a right and you should learn as much as you can about everything, but try not to be a know it all. Remember, know-it-alls get kicked out Smurf Village.
* When you know it's time to leave someplace, always leave on good terms. It wasn't all bad, so don't make it like it was.
* There is no shame in a man crying, honey. You are human and you have a right to feel. 
* And if you can't please yourself, you can't please anyone.
* This one's for when you get older. Learn how all your parts work, and don't be afraid of your sexuality. Whether gay or straight, be comfortable in your skin to share yourself with someone who will respect you in the morning. Life is too short and too dangerous to be sexually naive. Don't be afraid to be selective about your partners. Don't be afraid to try new things - that you're comfortable with. Don't be afraid to love yourself. There's nothing wrong with that! Learn to be an unselfish lover - and teach your lover to love you.
* Lastly, be a spirit of the Earth, and don't get caught up in man made religions. Every Creed offers a lesson about the High Power of this world. God (whatever form you take him) is everywhere. He'll be there for you when you need guidance. Life is a classroom and a chapel. It's up to you if you want to attend.

Ockie, I certainly would never vote myself World's Greatest Mom. I know there are times where I feel like I've failed you, but I can only keep trying and learning how to make this work. Baby, I promise to try to be a better role model for you and prove that if you do put your mind to it your hard work does count for something. Life is a scary ass journey, but it's so much fun trying to get to the end. Always know that momma loves you with every fiber of her heart and soul, even if it doesn't seem like it.

Love and smoochies,

Momma

P.S. Pray for me, y'all!

Anxiety...

So there I was last night exhausted as all get out, when a dreadful thought claimed me. I vaguely recalled a show joking about a cubicle being half the size of a jail cell. My God. That is so true. Believe it or not, I actually began to panic. Yes, people, I panicked like a ho in church. I began to sweat. Then I began to pace. Is this what I signed on for when I signed on to this thing called Life? Jesus, this is a horrible assignment.

I know some of you are reading this and thinking, "She's gone bananas." But I know there are good number of you who feel my pain. You wake up, get dressed, eat/don't eat, catch a bus/drive, get to work, sigh, do your job, eat/don't eat, try to finish out your day, get back on the bus/drive, get home, eat/don't eat, sleep. Repeat. Pepper in some bathroom time and that's it. 

Today, as I strolled through the train station, I compared everyone around me to a herd of gazelles, bumping and trotting to their destination. We were all moving through the valley and I just wanted to break from the pack. However, I didn't want to be the one mowed down by a lion. So, I kept moving along the line. Ugh!

There is this piece of me that wants to make a difference, but another piece that could really care less. God, that sounds so shallow. I want to pursue the things I love, but they sound so silly. I know what I'm good at, but continue to do the things I am horrible at.

THAT'S IT!

I am tired of being so bloody wishy-washy with myself. I got two ovaries (because I don't have balls, people, follow me) and a lot of gumption. How do I not wake up on Sunday morning, worried about Monday morning? Hmmmm.

I'll get back to you when it kicks in... Pray for me, y'all.

Stop Work Order

It has taken me a long while to actually realize that my brain has apparently put a stop work order on the rest of my body. The holidays had been sweet and fun with little lapses here and there on the work outs, but January and February, things came to a grinding halt. The tools were starting to gather dust. The resources and materials were growing mildew and mold. I glanced around one day and said, "What happened?" between mouthfuls of Funions.

Oh, dear God. My body has gone on strike.

I recently just finished an eight week rehearsal for the famed Providence Newspaper Guild Follies, where I had killed it as "Lizzy Gaga". However, during the process I had let me regime and eating habits fall by the wayside. Cast members had been kind to bring treats to get us through the long rehearsals, but it was stuff like cupcakes, cakes, breads, etc. It wasn't their fault. It was my freaking will power that went into low drive. I was housing this crap, despite bringing healthier alternatives like protein bars and shakes.


I think where I went into serious fail mode was the week of the Follies. Good Lord, the amount of food that I crammed down my pie hole in the midst of two days coulda fed an Ethiopian village. Here is just a breakdown (cover your eyes or ears if you have a weak stomach):

Thursday
- Eggs (about a quarter plate), sausage link (1 mind you) and a handful of potatoes. On top of already having a breakfast sandwich earlier that morn.
- Venus wedding soup about 3 to 4 bowl fulls.
- Venus bread slathered in specially prepared Venus olive oil and tasty fixin's about 4 or 5
- Seafood Scampi (large chunks of lobster, scallops and shrimp) oh wait, and pasta.
- Reisling wine

Friday
- Hoards of snackies all over the place
- Housed some serious chicken salad (minus buns - I did have some sense) wrapped in lettuce and cheese.
- Pre-show glass of Reisling wine (be aware, folks, a cup of Reisling is like a slice of cake) and nibbles of beef.
- Post-show housed a bowl of Lobster Newburg (a Venus tradition), salad, a slab of roast beast, 2 1/2 pieces of breaded cod fish and Chardonnay.

And you would think somewhere in this mind of mine, I would have said, "Ahem, don't you think you should check you caloric intake at this time and STOP CRAMMING YOUR PIE HOLE!" No. You see, apparently, I had gone off the deep end, because it did not stop there. No, sir. Come Saturday I was hot in the kitchen brewing up my White Chili and putting the finishing touches on my red velvet cupcakes with the butter cream cheese frosting. You heard me... BUTTER CREAM CHEESE FROSTING!

The only thing that may have saved those cupcakes was the simple fact that I accidentally used wheat flour instead of white flour. Needless to say, that became null and void when, as my good friend, William, pointed out at the party, the cupcake to frosting ratio was 50:50. However, it was not my contributions to the party that appalled me. No. It was my contribution to housing everyone else's pot that appalled me.

Once again, here is the breakdown:


At home:
- 8 oz. of a protein shake with a banana in it.

- Half a steak and cheese sandwich I shared with P.

At the party
- Mini roast beef wrap
- A plate full of salad drenched in a tasty/tangy dressing
- Chips and guac
- An off the hook, someone-put-their-foot-in-it curry dish that I slathered over some dirty rice (not once but twice)

- A scoop full of my own White Chili (over some dirty rice)

- I can't even remember how many, but let's say I housed a quarter of the Fried Wonton plate
- Two cups worth of Merlot wine (remember, kids, that's like two slices of cake)

- One of my own cupcakes (actually one and a half since I had tested half of one back at the house).

It was Sunday when I woke from this disasterous  meltdown of will power that I realized, "Oh God, I have derailed my efforts." Shame and disgraced just filled me. I was doing so well. I was watching what I was eating and not going overboard. But like an alcoholic you are truly never reformed.

I looked at the calendar on my wall and realized that I had let The Brain continue this "stop work order" on my Temple for far too long. That's when I called a Summit meeting. Sitting down at my mental table with my staff (The Brain, The Heart, The Stomach and The Muscles), we came to a resolution.

We all knew what needed to be done and we all knew how it needed to be done. Stomach kinda blanched at the idea of going back to square one, but she knew that the current materials in the warehouse had to go. The carbs were putting a dimple on the Temple facade and the lack of fruits was causing a flap in the right and left wings. The Muscles were in on the ground work and were ready to get beat up to re-strengthen the foundations. The Brain and Heart came to an understanding that halting the progress was going cause the Temple to deteriorate to itself dilapitated state once again and both had agreed they liked the clearer space.

So, tonight, I will be joining a group of gals in the same boat as myself and trying to get back on track. Pray for me, y'all.

Soap Box: You butter believe it...

A few weeks ago I was on a hot search for butter. Yeah, I said it. Butter. Look, readers, butter is not the horrible enemy you think it is. Let me tell you what is - veggie oiled based faux butter is your worst enemy. That Fabio-endorsed crap with the apropo title is your worst enemy. Let me tell you why.

A year ago, a co-worker hipped me to a little food logic that has been sticking with me through this whole rebuilding process. If a product has more than 5 ingredients, none of which you can pronounce without a science book, then this should not go into your body. Wow! Simple and yet it makes a whole lot of freaking sense.

So, fast forward to the Wal-mart's butter section where we join our heroine (yours truly) in a search for real butter. People, I spent 10 minutes reading the back of every butter tub and every one I picked up sickened me to no end. I picked up every variety of butter brand there could be (the Blue Bonnet, Smart Butter, I can't Believe it's not Butter, Wal-mart 'Good Sense'). First off, practically all those butters had 100 calories per 1 tablespoon! One hundred freaking calories! And these were the "health conscious" ones. Seriously! Oh, get this, every single one of those I picked up was a veggie-oil based spread with stuff like homegenous-something something for chemicals.

What the eph am I eating, Butter Bureaucrats?! Laymen terms, puhleeze! The oleo one really freaked me out, because nothing goes better with your bran muffin than crapping your pants. There's a WARNING LABEL, people! A WARNING LABEL on a FOOD PRODUCT! Something is wrong with that.

However, it all makes sense now. Have you ever left butter out of the fridge? Do you ever get around to studying the melted mess? It has an oil ring on the butter dish. I mean leave it by the oven and you got the Exxon Valdez spill on your kitchen counter. Yowsers! Oh, and by the way, real butter is made from cream, which means you can't leave it out for too long or it spoils (learned that the hard way). Also, if you can spread it easy right out the fridge, you have an imposter. Real butter is not easy to spread out the fridge unless you let it sit for a minute or two.

So, what did our heroine do? I actually came up on a tub of Land o' Lakes Unsalted Sweet Cream butter. Already jaded by the last 10 tubs of butter (one of them being a package of LOL SPREADABLE butter), I had lost all kinds of hope, but to my immediate surprise the tub of sweet cream fulfilled my want. Get this, all the ingredients on that back of the tub were sweet cream, milk and natural flavoring. Really?? Oh, wait, I compared it to the LOL Spreadable butter, which listed Canola Oil as an ingredient. So, what was the calorie count on the lovely spread of the Unsalted Sweet Cream, it was only 50 calories per 1 tablespoon. FIDDY, people!

Why, in a sea of "healthy" butters, did I have to turn to an original butter source for the fewer calories? And it cost me two dollars cheaper than those other liars! This is just more proof that just because Corp U-S-A has a cracker jack marketing team throwing the words "healthy", "low-fat", "reduced calorie" on ev-very-thang we eat, doesn't mean it's good for ya. This is just another lesson I've been learning as I learn to read labels.

Seriously, people. I mean you can look at an apple and know what it is and what's in it. Packaging is food camoflage that we have to strip down and figure out. Jim Gaffigan made a great joke about packaging, where he described a great meal of "savory chunks of beef in a savory sauce" and turns out it was dog food. He ends the bit with, "Thank God for packaging." Well, sometimes we have to go one step further and read the back of the label to see what the hell makes up some of this stuff.

Foods got to be useful, not hindering. I hope y'all have a butter moment in your local grocery store. Pray for me, y'all!

Soapbox: Fat Children

I was a fat kid.

Recently, I peeped old photos of me when I was about six or seven and I noticed that I was real husky. However, upon further inspection, I saw that I was not a sloppy fat kid, but a solid fat kid. I was in a situation where mom coulda (and don't think she didn't try) withheld a Ho-Ho or two. In fact, the whole family remembers (and resents) the low sodium diet she had enforced that fateful summer back in the 80's.

I was just one of those children who ate a parent out of house and home, but apparently worked some of the stuff off. Lil' Debbie's could not stay in the cabinet without my having consumed every last cake; much to my sister's dismay. However, I was also a child that played a lot outside. I rode my bike in the tiny thatch of driveway allowed me like a hamster in a wheel. I loved jumping rope (for real, not fake). And I nearly tumbled my parent's livingroom to the basement with my "dancing" (ask mom about the Lassie statue).

Fast forward to the new millenia, I was walking around the store the other day and was just freaking horrified by the site of this little girl. She couldn't have been more than 8 years old, but she looked bloated and round like when Violet in the 70's classic Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory turned into a blueberry. Her lil' belly was poking out the bottom of her stretched out pink shirt, her face was tired and haggard, and her feet - ugh - she was killing a pair of ballet slippers. I wasn't sure where her ankle ended and her thigh began. Dear God, she had a thankle!!! She's too young to carry all that. It made me so scared for her. Then I saw her brother and was equally scared. WHY!?!?!?

What has happened to the food we are giving our children? Something is wrong out there. Seriously! I peeped old school class photos of friends and myself and was hard pressed to find that same lil girl and her brother in the photos of my classmates. In the last couple of years, fat kids have started to look gross. It ain't baby fat no mo', it's grown folk fat strapped on a lil' body. As I try to work on myself and rebuild my own ruins, I can't help thinking, how do I make sure this doesn't happen to my Ockie Diddles?

People, I actually have nightmares about this stuff. My husband and I are both children of fat. Big Man used to be called Fat Pat as a child. I held the honored distinction of Miss Piggy through elementary and junior high. Sure, I'm getting control of myself, now, but I'm a recovering fat kid, who is struggling to make sure her son doesn't fall victim to the same addiction. It is not encouraging to see the younger generation surpass our fat numbers.

Beat me in intelligence. Show me up on the basketball or football field. Learn the newest gadget. But, for God sakes, don't beat our fat stats.

I was actually tempted to ask the kids' mom about it. But fear of a sound thrashing and a "how dare you point that out" kept my mouth shut. But mothers out there with this problem, what do you do? How do you deal with this? Do your children come home crying from being teased? Do you argue with the children about what they're eating? Do you know what their school gives them access to? Do you feed their habits at home? How do you fight this battle without feeling like a horrible person? Do you blame yourself? I got questions and I'm scared of the answers.

Nowadays, life is not like 1985. My mom would come back from work, cook us dinner, let us play outside (cause Nintendo was not in the house yet), and get us ready for bed by 8:30pm. Now, a "normal" house looks like mom buying some KFC, hours of XBOX or Wii, and bedtime is like whenever. I know this, because there are some days I live like this. Where the eph did we go wrong? How do we get on track again?

I remember when my mom saw that my weight had gotten out of control. She had placed the entire family on a diet, not just me. She made it a family problem. She worked her hardest to get my weight down considerably, because she had felt responsible for putting me there and didn't want me to suffer for it. But she also let me know that I had a fair share of the blame as well. She stopped buying snacks or actually took to hiding them from me. Folks, my mom went as far as locking the freezer door so I could not get ice cream without her permission. Was I mad? Yeah, I was. Do I appreciate her efforts? Yes I do. Now.s

Sometimes, I wish parents would take the Ulda route with their fat kids. Lock up your fridge. Educate your children about fruits and veggies. Don't make them out to be bad things. I commended a woman on the train who was feeding her 8 month old peas like potato chips. I try to do that with Diddles and cucumbers. Some days I win, some days I loose, but I at least try. I almost disgusted when I see a hefty lad or lass mowing on a chocolate Hostess cake like it's a scene out the Cantina in Stars Wars. (I don't have to say which character their playing. You can guess.)

All I guess I'm saying is don't feel bad about taking away horrible snacks. Doritos are not a part of the food pyramid. There is a big difference between Fruit Juice and Fruit Drink (see Dave Chappelle). Scare your children. It's embarrassing to admit, but I have heard rumors that family members have told they're children, "Don't eat too much or you'll be fat like Cristy..." Yoswers! Now, I don't know if that is clearly a deterrent, but I do know that several close family members, who may or may not have received said advice, are not as "voluptuous" as myself.

If you are offended by what I am saying, good. Maybe it'll get you to think. Our future is gonna be riding a motorized scooter to school because they're too fat to walk a block. Save our kids! I'm begging you. Please. Pray for me, y'all.

Runnin'... Runnin'! And I'm not tired yet!

I was running late for the train this morning. After a restless and sleepless night, I had kept hitting the snooze like it was a buzzing fly. Bolting out of bed, I tried to hurry through the "beauty" routine. By the time I had left the house it was 7:10am and I needed to get money at the ATM and get coffee to make change to park. Mind you, my train was at 7:22am and it takes a minute to get there. That's when I decided to go to the next station, hoping to out run the train.

Lord knows, I was sweating worse than an alcoholic in a bar at happy hour. After fighting through a weird flow of traffic, I finally arrived at the station. As I parked my car, I was dreading having to scurry. Prior to working out, I had never been able to run fast enough to make the train. In fact, there had been a couple of times where I had plumb given up before even making the effort. It was rough. It was sad. It was heartbreaking.

Today, however, I had no time to dwell on the past. I had to get on that train. Grabbing my bag and my coffee, I quickly locked my door and proceeded to book it down the row of cars. My steps were even as was my breathing. Nothing felt tight or hampered. All I kept thinking was make this train, make this train. I dumped my dollars into the slot and proceeded to run across the street to the set of stairs that so often foiled me. Rounding the corner and up the ramp, I made it onto the train with seconds to spare.

That's when I took stock of a few things.

Each step I had taken was a run. I didn't drag behind. The breathing I was doing was neither a huff or a puff, it was even. My chest didn't heave nor did my heartbeat slam into my breastbone as it had done many times before. To sum it up, people, I wasn't dying like I had before. It was daunting not to feel that way. It was a scary relief knowing that I could actually run and not feel like I was going to drop. Wow.

It is moments like these that I am so thankful for getting off my ass to rebuild myself. They seem insignificant to so many in the world, but it is big for me. Pray for me, y'all.

The Lost Weekend

So, I was all geared up to talk about how I had gone wrong this past weekend, when God and his infinite wisdom pulled the plug on my story and crashed the Blogger server. It was then I had to take a minute and decipher what I really wanted to get out. On my weekly visits to Mamai and Papai's, I usually get on the scale to check my progress. I was scared to do so this week, because I had gone buck crazy this past weekend.

But when I stepped back and thought about my merciless shenanigans, I began to realize I didn't go crazy. I actually ate like a normal person would during a party. For my anniversary, sure I went for broke and ordered Crab Rangoon, but I paired them with Steamed Pork Dumplings. For Diddles' birthday, which made up my lunch and dinner, I had three slices of pizza, two chicken wings and a small helping of General Gau. I practically worked that off in the bouncy and walking around (alright gimping around) and chasing children.

Even during the week I had written my trainer, Jay (shout out to Exercise Solutions RI), telling him I feel like I was backsliding. He set my ass straight by saying I can't cheat on myself. I needed to get a hold of me. Folks, you gotta know, all my life, I've lived by that stupid sin, Gluttony. I always felt like I have to eat that hole chocolate mousse pie. I must inhale that Cool Whip sandwich dunked in Kool Aid. Yes, I must eat the entire box of Lil Debbies thwarting my sister's snacking. Oh, wait, why bring home half that pad thai, when I can finish it now? Ooooooh, Reese's Peanut Cups, mmmmmm! I never realized how to stop or savor a treat.

These last couple of months, it began to sink in that I can eat like a normal person is supposed to eat. A friend of mine, whom I have lunch with everyday (shout out to M. Frank), when I first started the restructure, kept mentioning the portions I was eating weren't enough. I began looking at the meals and started doubting what Mr. Jay had mapped out. Maybe this wasn't enough. I felt full, but was it enough? I had snackies, but were they enough? Hmmm. Then I gots to reading and doing and realized, crap, this is enough.

Still a bit doubtful, I sat down and wrote out an old menu of things I would have in each sitting in one day, then did a calorie count of those things. After I was done, I almost had a breakdown. In fact, I cried by myself.

If you have weak constitutions, I suggest you turn away, folks. This can get a lil' gross:

Breakfast:
Fried egg with the yolk, cheese, pork sausage on a bagel/English muffin - Tim Ho's (540 calories), DD (490 calories), McDonald's (452 calories)
Large buttered caramel coffee with extra cream and sugar - 125 calories

Total caloric intake between 665 - 577 calories

Lunch at Rock Bottom:
2 Titan Toothpicks - 612 calories
Classic Mac N Chicken - 1,430 calories

Total caloric intake was 2,042 calories

Dinner at Apsara:
8 Crab Rangoons - 560 calories
Green Curry Chicken with a bowl of white rice - 512 calories
Dessert from Friendly's Reese's PB Sundae - 1,330 calories

Total caloric intake 2,402

Total Daily intake for just one day was approx. 5,109

Folks, do you feel your heart lurching? Is there bile pressing up against your gums and burning your teeth? That was ONE day in my life of eating. That was me destroying my insides, because I didn't know how to just say, "Stop!" No wonder I was so mean and cold-hearted. NO wonder I was so huge. No wonder my body ached. No wonder I was going for broke week after week. If I could do that to myself, WTF! Breath, breath... Sorry, y'all, I went there again. I sometimes have moments where I get really mad at myself. It's kinda hard to look at the mirror every morning and realize you are your own domestic violence case in one body.

These last 12 weeks have shown me a new look at life and food. It's made me have a new relationship with how I treat myself. I began to learn that whatever I eat made up my framework. I noticed that the more high protein my diet became the more toned I got. The more fruit and water I ate and drank the more my skin looked clearer and rosier. Dude, I looked like I was fit for a coffin - I was so pale. Actually, the cast of Twilight called and wanted me to join. I declined. Thanks.

The more veggies I scarfed the more regular I felt (that's right, I said it - poop happens, deal with it!) . I didn't miss white rice (once and awhile in my sushi was all I needed). Fried foods began to actually taste oily to me. Let me tell you, I paid for those Crab Rangoons with a couple of worships to the porcelain temple for two days.

And, can I just say, the right foods can make you feel sexy. I love sashimi! Especially, salmon. After eating that, I feel like I can do a photo shoot for Italian Vogue - naked (with a satin blanket). Yes, I have thought about it. Anyway, the only casualty to this restructure thing has been my hair from all the sweat I've doused on it, but that can be fixed with a trip to Ms. Shanna's hair studio.

As I continue with this internal redecorating, be aware, I am 2lbs less (I finally did brave the scale), 24lbs lighter overall, 8lbs to my wedding weight, and have elliviated 144lbs of pressure from my knees (thanks, Jay, for teaching me that) . My RA bothers me, but I can actually fight it better. My hope is rising. My relationships are better (I can play tag with Diddles and that is awesome). The house is starting to look good, too.

Over three months ago, I was so scared, people. I hated everything (no really, I did). I dreaded waking up. I dreaded walking. I hated taking my meds. I hated my clothes. I hated my skin. I was so done with it, but humans are quirky. Sprinkle a little tragedy and cellulite on'em and some of them just bounce up ready to brawl. I'm glad I'm fighting and I know a lot of y'all are fighting with me. Thanks. Pray for me, y'all.