True Story Tuesday

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Boom.

Hey kittens, little note: I realize that I promised a video last week, but my laptop decided it doesn’t want to be my friend anymore. Hopefully I can use my brand new iPhone for that! (I’ve been bragging about it since I got it because my old one was so useless that I can’t even believe something so magical exists. Sorry I’m not sorry.)

So, tomorrow I’ll be posting a book review since I missed yesterday, Thursday will be a KMF, and Friday will hopefully be the debut of a new series called DirtyBirds.

Stick with me, and you’ll never go hungry again!

….I realize that I’m quoting Scar from the Lion King and he was the villain, but you have to admit: He was powerful and had swagger.

I have problems.

Constant vigilance!

KMF–February Reboot

In the eternal words of Matthew McConaughey:

All right, all right, all right!

This Saturday is my reboot. My personal New Years because I rang in the New Year half dead on the dining room table while my family forced me to play the Pride and Prejudice board game I got for my mom for Christmas.

After all my cuckoo bananas health nonsense I think I’m finally in a place where my lungs could take it if I worked out.

So this weekend I will be using February as my New Years, feel free to count down with me so it feels legit.

Because this time I’m going to be too legit to quit.

I’ve suffered from serious self-esteem hits lately because I’ve gained another 10 pounds.

Okay, to be fair, 7 of those I lost and gained back from when I had that crazy case of the Up Chucks in December.

Well, those are back and I’m disappointed I didn’t keep them off, but hey, I kind of saw that coming. What with Christmas and all manners of holidays happening.

I can only hold off on eating my moms broccoli casserole for about 2 seconds before I’m like “Pffft worth it.” And eat my weight in it.

Now, this isn’t just a reboot of my body, it’ll be a reboot of my mind. I’ve been all over the map recently with my headspace and unfortunately everything is annoying the Hell out of me. So I need to sort out what I’m going to do with that.

I’m thinking nightly meditation while looking at pictures of Rupert Grint.

That’ll cheer me up and calm me down. And then I’ll weird dreams where we live in a house together and only do things like hold hands and have pet chickens while somehow the basement of our house is really a giant swimming pool. Then we will swim together and lay on the beach (which is somehow also in the basement) and have to be under an umbrella and in vintage bathing suits due to our mutual paleness, covered in sunscreen and eating Reeses Pieces….

What was I talking about?

Ah well, I feel calm already.

Ooooommmm OOooommm Iiiiiii’m in love with Ruuuupert. Iiiiii’m in love with Ruuuupert.

Wait. That’s not right.

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Sometimes you just need to laugh at Tom Hiddleston losing his composure.

Keep moving forward.

Keep Moving Forward–Tales from the E.R.

This year has so far not been my greatest start. This is what I get for making resolutions to take better care of my body.

Since I’ve been sick since December 18th (two flus, two colds, and a monster sore throat later) I’ve been holding off on the New Year. This isn’t how I wanted to start. But it appears that someone in the sky is hellbent on making any New Year Day that I choose be a bit of a chore.

Because this weekend was going to be my re-start button on that after I had finally felt like I kicked this last cold, it was evacuating my face, my throat was feeling better, and I wasn’t completely exhausted. However, I got this funny stitch in my side.

That funny stitch turned into full-blown “What in the mother of fuck is happening to my ribs!”. I have been coughing up a storm, so I thought that it was just that, then I was convinced it was because I popped a rib out and that all I would have to do was to go to my massage therapist to pop it back in.

Long story short: I ended up in emerg on Friday night. I couldn’t move, breathe, or cough without extreme pain.

My exact words when we hit hour 5 in the ER were “If this is just bronchitis I’m going to fucking lose it.” to my mother who was sitting and knitting beside me while I tried not to move in a bed or cough. Or breathe.

Epic story short: “Are you pregnant?” Chest x-rays, blood tests, 4 doctors, “Are you pregnant?”, a million angry nurses, “Your right lung is only working at half capacity..hmmm”, more blood tests because they believed I had a blood clot in my lung, 1 hour of 3 nurses trying to find a vein that won’t be a dick, 15 needle pricks later in various spots on my arms and hands, weird stuff that makes me insides glow so they can see if there is a clot; which also makes it feel like you peed your pants (I didn’t) and then CT scan. Oh, I forgot Barry. The magnificent nurse on Friday night that gave me pain medication so I could breathe, cough, and sleep. He looked like Kevin Smith. I love him. “Are you sure you’re not pregnant?” “Unless it’s immaculate conception, not bloody likely.” 11 hours in the E.R. over the course of 2 days.

I don’t have a blood clot, thank the sweet Lord.

I have pleurisy caused by my monster bronchitis and all the coughing I was doing. So now I look like a junkie for nothing. I was told to take Advil for the pain and the rest will eventually calm down and go away. (Last time I had bronchitis is lasted 3 months. Not okay.)

However, this is still a Keep Moving Forward because I know what’s wrong now, I can fix it and wait it out. (Even if I don’t like being on a bunch of Advil all day. “Why didn’t you take anything for the pain when you felt it?”-Snotty Bitch Nurse who wouldn’t look me in the eye at Triage. “I was waiting it out, it was just a stitch.” [Insert Mercutio “Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, ’tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon!”]

So instead of crying and being a little bitch while laying in my corner of the hospital, I decided to use that time to help heal others. No. I did not don a nurses outfit and give people pain meds. I did however, start doing some sort of mental outward healing and sending good vibes to Jean in the next bed (she is in her 80s and has cancer) and to Mr. Mitchell down three beds who as far as I know has diabetes, an insane amount of medications to take, and couldn’t feel his body when he called for help to come to his house. There were a handful of other people I sent healing energy to and it made me a little more calm to do so.

Which leads me to laying in my bed at home and tired of Advil popping already talking to my friend who is a Reiki healer, she did a long distance healing session on me, which I sincerely felt via head rushes, warmth, and a “ping” on my back telling me when she was done. It was really cool and I felt like my lung wasn’t in so much pain after.

The moral of this story is: Be your own health advocate, take care of your body, eat healthy, drink pineapple juice for your sore throat/cold, rest when you need it, wash your hands, cough into your shirt,  listen listen listen to what your body is trying to tell you. And trust in outside help. (I originally planned to let it go away on its own and tough it out.) Ask without shame.

And since I can’t quite start p90x3 like I wanted to in the New Year I’m going to go a lot smaller, and just walk outside and on the treadmill in order to get fresh air and move. That’s all that’s important, is for me to literally keep moving. I’ve been resting for a month, I need to get out or I’ll go completely insane.

So. Happy New Year, hope yours has been better than both of mine.

“Infirmity doth still neglect all office, Whereto our health is bound; we are not ourselves/ When nature, being oppressed, commands the mind/ To suffer with the body.”-W.S. Hamlet

KMF, Constant vigilance. [Reviews resume tomorrow]

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Keep Moving Forward: The Candy Cane Queen Has Spoken.

There has been so much going on lately that I don’t know what to update you on first. But I think we all need a little ‘Keep Moving Forward’ so here it goes:

I’ve decided diets can kiss my big fat butt. They can lovingly say goodbye to my Mighty Oak thighs. They can tell my stomach ‘Aahh buh-bye’.

All of this came in a revelation of guilt and sadness as I finished a bowl of candy cane ice cream. You know the kind with chunks of candy cane and chocolate crackle that you can only get this time of year? The ice cream that we buy in threes because we eat it every night because it’s frickin’ awesome?

Yeah. That ice cream gave me a revelation about myself.

Fuck dieting. It only makes me feel sad and terrible and I beat myself up when I go off it.

So I’m done.

Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean that I’m literally going to go eat a tub of this ice cream. Or start eating fast food again, or pop, or anything that actually makes me feel like garbage and have gut rot. But I would rather have my holiday treat in a little ramekin and be a happy little duck that such a treat exists and I have the money to afford it. I would rather be “fat” and happy than “thin” and live in a world without super delicious foods.

I put those in quotations because I don’t actually believe I am fat. I HAVE fat, but I am not 100% made up of fat. So even if I weeble and wobble in places, that doesn’t mean I don’t have bones, muscles, or functioning organs roaming around in my body making up other parts of myself right alongside all my thoughts and tiny little heart and brain things that make me uniquely ‘Alli’.

Fat is a tissue not a mental issue.

This is not a ‘Giving Up’, this is a mental health thing. I’ve been beating myself up for being something I’m not and treating myself like something that should be super-human instead of what I really am.

A girl who enjoys food. Sorry I’m not sorry. I’ll try anything once and even sometimes give it a round two just to be sure.

I refuse to let myself be a person who will talk to herself like she’s trash just because she has some pudge. I’m more than the fat on my body and the food I put into my mouth.

I feel ridiculously free and relaxed by letting go this constant hamster-wheel of self-loathing. It’s quite empowering to look at my body and think ‘You are hot, not “even with” but BECAUSE OF your powerful thighs, your big round butt, and the softness of your stomach. They are just body parts girl, and they are working in your favour.”

No matter what shape or size I am, I will ALWAYS be pretty as long as I have a smile on my face and friendship in my heart. So suck it society.

I know that I can change my diet and work out if I want to be smaller. I don’t WANT to be smaller. I just want to be physically fit even if that means I stay the same weight or gain weight from muscle. For that, I can just work out more and be more mindful that while I’m not on a diet I’m still going to eat all my greens because I like them and not mentally kick my own ass when I eat something on the “NO NO NO” list. I would much rather work out than stop eating fun food.

The last five years has been a journey to this point. Hell, I’m sure the last 28 years have been a journey to this point.

I’ve done everything to lose weight and while I have successfully lost 20-50 pounds off and on from random diets and magical “cures”, I would much rather just look in the mirror and go “Hey Beautiful, someone will love your wobbly bits. And from now on that someone is you. Work it sister.”

That’s legitimately how I talk to myself. I’m my own sassy best friend.

Candy cane ice cream has saved my self-esteem. Who knew?

Keep moving forward, quit fat shaming yourself, and eat that fucking ice cream. THE CANDY CANE QUEEN HAS SPOKEN!

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To Say a Little Word…

Here’s Professor Dumbledore…

“Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

I’m not reading Prisoner of Azkaban and I haven’t watched the movie lately, but this is part of my tattoo for a reason and it always resonates with me when I read/hear it.