Happy Less Birthdays To You. Happy Less Birthdays To You. Happy Less Birthdays Dear (your name here). Happy Less Birthdays To You.
Last weeks brave and bold dietary adventures-well, I can't say they were an Actual Disaster but on a week where I set out to enjoy a complete plant based diet-I ended up eating red meat FIVE times. That doesn't even make sense, does it?
At the same time, I DID eat oatmeal-Which Is Shocking-a record seven times in a row. I could never eat it as a kid. I was forced to be the last one at the dining room table as the bowl of ice cold grey glue seemed to get larger every time I tried to take a bite. It actually grew back.
Lawd Have Mercy-it was disgusting stuff. And as I was relishing it this week-ha ha! With my own handcrafted organic strawberry /Elm Street rhubarb goo and a half a sliced banana, raw sunflower seeds and walnuts and a teeny splash of pomegranate juice, I thought about the invention of microwaves and the availability of one whole lotta fruit and I guess it's like everything else.
Sometimes you just have to wait until the cosmos align. Er whadever.
So I've decided to go about this in the manner of the plate spinners we used to watch on Bozo's Circus. Like this. And I'll get one seriously solid breakfast plate spinning and then work really hard on the lunch one.
I did handcraft some Beauty Balls.
It looks like a heart kinda-sorta.
A recipe I adapted from the library book known as:
quantity. Also I am cheap. And lazy. So there.
They're good and they live in the freezer. Works for me.
I had an ultrasound of my neck this week. I believe they do a final check for any trouble in Thyroid Town and as I said to P-I'm gonna know if something is up based on the clickery of the technician. She didn't seem to find a spot and go clicking like mad so, for once, I just sat back quietly and took it all in.
Next week, I'll have to drink the gack of a cat scan. I was kinda okay-ish with the thought of this laparoscopic correction on the horizon until they informed me I'd have drink more of that stuff and that's when it kinda hit me in the department of ugh.
The 4th version of the project I've been working on for 4 years is being furiously sent out willy nilly which can only mean that a rejection passes back into my universe here and there-usually when I least expect it-and I'll be feelin' better then okay and after opening one of those-it's kind of like stubbing your toe. Like everything is great except for one little thing that you can't put your finger on.
Makes you wobbly.
We were madly bobbing and flailing at one of the water aerobics classes and the instructor was telling us about getting her house ready for a party and how her sister-in-law was well known for going to people's houses and criticizing the decor was expected to be there and they knew she was a professional critic because her conversation included details about other people's houses and I was shocked to hear my own voice chime in with a story of one of my relatives who used to visit and how my Mom had to actually turn their filing cabinets to face the walls-because this person could not be trusted.
And that's where the moment I crossed over into one of those older sort of women who like to chat.