Becky's Greatest Hits Vol. II

 Oh, summer..... How is my summer going?  Loverly.  Little in the hopper, but just enough to keep me happy.  Been on some adventures.  Enjoyed some media, particularly a few classic movies from the 70's. Books have been a  little meh this summer, but I have waaaay less time audio-listening in my car, which I love.  Loving my new gig.  And feeling a freedom I haven't had in years of being off the road and spending my time the way I like.  A little too much sun.  Healing little by little from grief.  Still missing old friends.  But overall, I can't complain and who would listen anyway???

 Yesterday I planted marigolds. 21 days later and I planted flowers.  I dug and I cried and wondered and thought and dug again.  I wiped my hands on my pants and wiped my eyes on my sleeve.  I sat on my carport and listened to the evening birdsong.  I considered that in nature, when birds sing, it means danger is far away.  But is it ever truly far away?  My neighbor came out and told me that his brother-in-law died in a horrific highway accident. No, danger is never far away. And I wondered where you were 21 days in.  Are you floating above us watching us cry?  Are you reincarnated into a beautiful baby boy in Indonesia?  Are you happy are you sad are you anything?  Do you miss us or remember us at all?  Are you skateboarding in your new body?  Are you Patrick Swayze searching for your Whoopi Goldberg interpreter? What do I believe now that I've crossed over the dividing line of middle age about what comes next?  We ...

 I remember when Mrs. Patmore said this.  And it has played on repeat in my head for a week now. And I remember Daisy innocently asking "did it make you feel better?" And I can't remember what Mrs. Patmore's response was.  My guess is, she probably doesn't remember, but at the time, it was good enough. For a week now, I can't eat or sleep enough.  At first I was trying to stay medicated just to "get through it" until I realized it was making me feel scared and thoroughly paranoid.  A dear friend recommended I stay sober (at least through the funeral in 2 weeks) and another recommended I at least examine why I wanted to stay under the influence.  All of it good advice.  And everything, ISTG, everything has taken a Herculean effort.  Getting out of bed, thinking about dressing, actually dressing and Jesus H putting on makeup.  And don't get me started on driving. Nearly 1 week away from work, and I'm at least trying to show up for that. I just ...

Caution!  Doom Blogging ahead!  Watch for falling triggers, big feelings and insurmountable chaos! Everyday it seems like my mind is filling up more and more with nonsense.  Like a garbage dump overflowing and there is no sanitation crew coming to empty it. I've always believed in garbage in/garbage out (which is why I don't watch horror movies or violent content, but that's another post) but how is it escapable anymore?  Social media used to be a fun place for so many fun things: keeping in touch with old friends and bridging the gap for family across the miles, sharing your art or side hustle to make money or connections, making new friends or starting new relationships or even sharing opinions on life and news of the day.  Now it's a cesspool of arguments, virtue signaling and not-so-humble bragging.  I find myself spending less and less time there for how bad all of it makes me feel.  And those feelings are mostly of not being good enough. ...

Do you wanna get understood?

 Current mood is brought to you by: looming birthday, bipolar perimenopause, old lady broken heart and the nesting that ensues after all of it comes down at once. And bonus vibes of past failures: if I had stuck out the first marriage, today would have been my 27th anniversary.

 It's always brutal when South Park or the Simpsons manage to predict something.  But then again, Trey and Matt are clever scoundrels. So here we are again.  Another boring white woman talking about the weight loss conundrum.  Le sigh. I've talked about body issues , weight ,  and, uh, women's issues  on this blog before, and I'm sure I'll do it again.  I grew up feeling fat mainly because television, magazines aimed at teenage girls and other mean girls told me I was.  My mother never told me I was.  Neither did my big sister.  And neither did any boy I ever liked.  But society constantly did.  I grew up like most girls, feeling confused by all of that.  Once I got old enough to realize I was curvy and "filled out" and that wasn't a bad thing, I made my peace with it.  But I was always sad (and still am) when I see a picture of myself and I'm the heaviest women in it.  Sigh.  I guess it never goes away...