I used to hate bucket lists. I think it's because the idea of setting goals to achieve before my death added pressure I didn't know how to handle. Also, because it's my nature to do the opposite of whatever's trendy because, well, I'm sideways like that.
Anyway, somewhere over the last couple of years I changed my way of thinking and bam! Here I am, fully aboard the Bucket List Bandwagon. First item on the list - Become kick-ass in the kitchen (I know, I know, these are supposed to be more one-time achievements rather than works in progress, but cut me some slack here. I'm trying.) Now, I'm no slouch at cooking. In fact, I'm pretty damn good. But. there's always room for improvement, right? Add to that, a health scare has sorta booted my ass into getting serious about making "healthy food" taste great. Starch, salt, sugar, dairy, and basically anything else fun has been either totally eliminated or severely curtailed. So, I've been researching and looking for recipes and generally putting real effort into not letting these new restrictions destroy everything appealing about mealtime. Challenge accepted. Cut to today. I woke up with fresh enthusiasm about trying a new dish - Quinoa and roasted veggies, to include something I've never fed my family...and only tried once myself - brussel sprouts. I was excited. I was positive. I was motivated! I got in the car and made my way to Sprouts. I was cheerful as I walked up to the doors, but as soon as I stepped inside, I froze. Have you ever been intimidated by an unfamiliar place? Yeah. Me, too. I was terrified as I stood in the entrance. I had NO idea where anything was, and my anxiety sorta plays with my mind in these situations and convinces me that every single person in the building knows I'm a noob and is secretly laughing at me. Ugh. I hate looking like I don't know what i'm doing. I mean, I really, really hate it. You'd be surprised how much I fight with this or how far out of my way I'll go to avoid the feeling in the first place. Anyway, to boil it all down, I circled the store multiple times trying to locate everything I needed. I never did find the fresh ginger. And after I passed through the produce section for the fifth time looking for it, I was pretty stressed, so I gave up. Sigh. How can a grocery trip be such an ordeal? Is it just me? Am I the only one? I bought white quinoa and made that with 1/2 chicken broth and 1/2 water (because of the sodium). Tossed the veggies with avocado oil, garlic, black pepper, and the tiniest pinch of sea salt you ever did see and threw it all in the oven to roast. I was pretty pleased with myself until I caught a whiff of the quinoa. Just...yuck. I tried to hide my face, but my youngest saw it and I knew any hope of her trying it was out the window. And I was right. She very politely declined and I'm not the mean mom that forces her to eat stuff because a) she loves plain steamed broccoli, so it's not like she doesn't eat veggies, b) she's normally good about trying things and I appreciate that about her, and c) it smelled awful and I fully understood her point of view because I didn't want to eat it, either. The veggies turned out okay except the brussel sprouts...I think they're an acquired taste that I question ever being able to enjoy. And this after I hyped it up to the rest of the family. But in the end, hubs said he really liked it and I'm inclined to believe him because he's not one to blow smoke at me about my culinary skills. He'll tell me if I shouldn't make something again (but in a super nice way, LOL). To be honest, though, I didn't like it and the house smells AWFUL. It's the damn brussel sprouts. :( If anyone knows a better way to fix them without using butter, a ton of salt, or anything else remotely tasty, let a girl know because I gotta find a way to prepare them without wanting to burn the house down afterward. Bucket item list number 2 coming soon...
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It's a cliche saying, but where has the time gone?
It's a new year and I'm ready for it. I haven't written much the past few months, despite the urge. I start, only to get a paragraph in before everything comes to a screeching halt. It's like the gateway between my thoughts and my fingers has been snapped in two. The words are there, but they come out wrong...not making the impact I want. So, I guess that's my way of telling you I stopped writing books. I cry just typing it. I don't want to stop, but I have to. When something stops bringing you joy, there's no reason to do it anymore, right? Dammit, I didn't want to cry. 2018 was something. It was so good. But it was also terrible. Isn't that weird? Like, how can it be both? Aren't you supposed to be either doing well or... not? I think about it a lot. Duality. What it means. What it is. Sometimes, when I think about it too much, it keeps me awake. I've been awake a lot. I'm getting off track. So. Words describing the awesomeness of 2018:
I would guess my family is sick of me talking about it, but I discovered the absolute greatness of BTS. I'm going to spare you the gushing, because I've learned people hear "BTS" and sorta just glaze over if they're not already a fan. But, seriously, please do yourself a favor and check them out. Google them and look at the actual impact they're having on the world. Unicef campaign. Speaking at the UN. Named by Time Magazine (and on the cover) as the next generation's leaders. The message of loving yourself for who you are. Not to mention the great music. I don't think you'd be sorry. Okay, I gushed a little. Speaking of loving yourself. It's a phrase that gets tossed around a lot. For good reason. And it ties in to my last words/phrases. I'm not old, but I'm getting older. 2018 flicked a switch inside me. It flipped the hourglass over. If we look at it factually, I've lived over half of my life (probably). And as people promised me, those years brought wisdom. My thinking changed. My priorities, likes and dislikes, my "I don't give a f*ck's", shifted. It's almost comical how different I am. I don't care what people think of me. I'm 43 years old. I like pink hair. I like tattoos. I like Kpop. I like to dance and act goofy as hell and I don't give a flying F if you think I'm crazy or weird or even insane. I'm doing what I like because why not? I like to play Candy Crush for hours. I like to daydream. I dance with my dogs and drink tons of coffee and give finger hearts to my daughter as she walks into school. It's awesome. Oh, and I like to take selfies. I could give you a bs reason such as I'm chronicling my life and journey, but nope. I just love doing it. So, yeah, 2018 was good to me. I thank God for my blessings. I'm learning not to take things for granted. I cherish the relationships I have with my husband, my daughters, my family, and my friends. But nobody's life is perfect, right? As I mentioned earlier, I shut the door on my author self. Of course, I wonder if I'll pick it back up again, but I suppose I won't know until it happens. If I don't, at least I have something I can always point to and say (with some amount of pride), "I did that." I feel like I should talk more about this decision, but I don't know how. I'm crying again. My battle against constant pain continues. I found relief for a brief time, but it returned. I could continue the treatment that helped, but I have to give some things up for it, and while it may seem like a simple decision, it's not. Not for me, anyway. There are days I can barely move, every single joint in my body screaming bloody murder, and I sometimes joke that if I'm this bad now, what will I be like at 80? I say joke, but I'm actually serious. It's a fear. It's a cloud I can't outrun. Not only is my body an enemy at times, but my mind still works against me, too. I'm better at fighting it. Well, maybe not better...I'd say smarter. Years of therapy finally sank in. I actively think about my victories when I start to feel the darkness pushing in, and I remind myself that no matter how dark it's gotten, I've risen back up. I can do it as many times as necessary. Instead of hiding it now, I confront it. I speak it aloud to my loved ones so they know I'm vulnerable. It helps. It really does. Trust me when I say it's a solid-ass victory. My memory has become spotty. Doesn't that sound like something an old person would say? Haha. It's true, though. It's happened so much I've joked about my family having to put me in a home. They don't like that joke and they very confidently say I'm not losing my mind, but when you literally forget what you were going to do or say 10 seconds after thinking it, something's off. Yeah, we all lose our keys from time to time, or walk into a room to have no idea why we're there, but when it becomes a daily part of your life, it's unnerving. Especially when you have Alzheimer's and dementia on both sides of your family tree. It's something to think about, which admittedly, I do a lot of. To make myself feel better, I push it off as a side-effect of my medication. Heheh- wait, is that okay to joke about? [I had an entire section here, but I've decided it's not the time to talk about it. Remind me sometime, and hopefully, it will be easier and I'll have the courage to actually post it.] I think I've rambled long enough. It's been a couple of hours since I started and The Sound of Silence just started playing, which means I've gone through quite a chunk of my playlist. I like Disturbed's version better than the original. There's something in his voice that soothes me. And the instrumentals never fail to cause goosebumps. Just thought I'd mention that. I don't know if this post was even worth reading, but hey, it helped me, so that's really all that matters. That's the beauty of writing. It's not about the final product or giving readers what they want. It's about the healing and self-discovery it provides the writer during the process. So, with that, I'll say goodnight. Rex has curled up next to me and fallen asleep, which means I only have a few hours until he wakes me up to go back outside and either dig under the fence or patrol around the yard. It's a toss up what he's going to do. I gave up being mad at him for it, though, because he couldn't care less either way. Night, y'all. Sweet dreams. P.S. I re-read through this post and holy hell is it a rambling nightmare. But I'm gonna post it, anyway, 'cuz I'm tired and it's real and that's the point. |
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