When I was a little kid I was obsessed with Sea Monkeys. For an entire summer I begged for them, praying to have a Sea Monkey family of my own, as seen on the advertisement, thriving on my very own kitchen counter. Finally, my mother relented and I mailed off my money plus shipping and handling. Several weeks later my Sea Monkeys kit came in the mail. I was overjoyed as I delicately placed the instructions, the specially designed Sea Monkey plastic home for viewing and the three packets, labeled 1-2-3, that would bring my family to life. I couldn’t wait to watch them play ball, eat dinner dinner together and swim laps around their perfect little home. Unfortunately, that never happened.
When I posted the picture above on Instagram someone commented, “Why are you pouting?” My response was, “Because I’m fat and hungry!” The truth is that I’ve been complaining about my weight for several years and still cannot seem to do anything about it. Actually, can’t is the wrong word. I still choose to not do anything about it.
Every year on New Year’s Day I make a list of goals I want to achieve for the following year. Interestingly, because I’m pretty goal oriented, I seem to accomplish many of these goals each year, no matter how lofty they may seem. Today I happened to find my list stuck way far away in my notes section on my phone. I read through them and laughed. I hadn’t completed a single goal on the list; not a single one. That’s actually not entirely true. I had made progress on each one, I just couldn’t cross it off the list. And guess what was at number one? Ding, ding, ding!!!! “Get in shape and get weight down to at least 180”.
Tonight we ate nachos from Chammps…
It has been almost two months since I wrote my last blog post. In all honestly, I’m knee deep in napping, reading books I’ve always wanted to read and watching all kinds of TV shows that this blog, and my writing in general, has taken a backseat to those more seemingly important tasks. In one of my last posts I stated that I was going to attempt to write every day for the month of August. Yet here it is October and none of that happened. Hell, I didn’t even make it to the fifth day. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Exactly. I had a client mention to me that I often post things I’m going to do on my blog but I have very little follow through. This observation got me wondering…
On July 28th 2008, almost seven years to the day, I started my very first blog which I titled Suicide Birds and Seahorses. I still like that title and it actually has relevance to me seven years later. A lot has changed since I wrote those first words. In fact, at the time, I had no idea what blogging really was or the impact that it could have on others or myself. Since then I’ve had several different blogs, a website and written a book. It’s been a long road and like I said in that very first post, quoting Thelma and Louise, I just can’t go back. Although at my core I’m essentially the same person inside, a lot has changed and I’m not the same person today. That’s a good thing, but it also means that an era of my life has faded away.
Lately, I’ve been keeping a list of all of my favorite things. The idea grew out of an assignment I give my journey clients on keeping an attitude of gratitude alive in your daily life. Since I have never given an assignment that I haven’t done myself, obviously I want to live the best life possible too, I sat down with my phone and made a new folder, titling it “My Favorite Things”.
In the last few weeks I’ve been thinking that as I get older I might like to keep a journal or diary. I’m not really sure what I’ll put in it that is an different than my normal blog posts, but I’m thinking it will be more stream of consciousness and random thoughts instead of a well thought out blog post. If I’m being completely honest with myself, none of my blog posts are well thought out; they’re all random.
When I was a little kid I loved to act like my kitchen was a diner and was the main waitress. Probably inspired by Alice, although I was much more like the “Kiss My Grits” Flo, I would force my mother to sit at the kitchen table while I took her order in an authentic, white waiter’s apron. I played the role of overworked and underpaid extremely well, and would sigh heavily as my mom would order hilarious things like Coq au Vin and roasted pheasant, while I would suggest peanut butter and crackers and possibly a milk or soda, being that my cooking skills were minimal. Come on! “Don’t shoot the waitress!” I’d scream, running around the kitchen amidst the lunchtime rush. I could not be bothered with petty requests and surly customers.