Read this: How to Moonwalk like Michael
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…and I’m exhausted.
She has some kinda bug so we’re just allowing her water. Lots of water. All you can drink water. "Want some more water, LIly?" "Fresh water in the bowl, Lily!"
I finally got to go back to the gym! I’ve not been since I got Lily because I needed my lunch hour time to come home and let her have a potty break and a chance to stretch her legs a bit (because the safest place for her while we are gone is a crate).
So anyway…
I had a good workout Wednesday and left the gym feeling marvelous. What a reunion. I missed you, gym!
Thursday I did everything again, but upped the intensity. I left feeling even more marvelous.
Thursday night I was miserable. My hips. My knees. My shoulders. My back. I woke up. A lot.
While I was sleeping I did so like a rock, then I’d wake up from the aching.
Naproxin is my best friend forever. Naproxin and a heating pad, too. Amen.
I am going back tomorrow and I will be nicer to my body. I promise.
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Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson.
Ed McMahon was 86 years old. 86 years is a long life. Hearing of his death was not a surprise because he was 86 years old.
Farrah Fawcett was 62 years old. 62 years old is not old. 62 years old is not young, but dying at 62 years is not a long life. Farrah Fawcett had a fatal disease. We knew her death was on the rise, so we were not shocked when we heard of her death this past Thursday. We knew she was sick, in pain, and dying. Our hope is that her dying ended her pain. We can’t know. So we hope.
Michael Jackson was 50 years old. 50 years old is still in the realm of a "young" age. Michael Jackson’s death came out of nowhere to us (much like the shocking news of Heath Ledger’s of last year). 50 years old is still young. And Michael Jackson has died. We hope his death brought him mental, emotional, and physical peace. We hope.
I am only 48 years old. I am not yet 50. 62 is still a long way from 48. I hope to live to 90 — 4 years longer than Ed MaMahon.
Yet I think of dying every day.
I have a mental illness that brings such thoughts to mind every day. Every day.
Every day.
Sometimes the thought passes. Sometimes it dwells. Sometimes it plans.
Always it hurts.
Even with medication the pain is still there. Medication helps. I think rationally. I know I don’t want to die. I plan for the future.
I work towards better health and fitness.
I work towards making my home an oasis.
I have a puppy.
I think of writing that book.
I think of the grandchild I don’t have yet.
I think of me and my husband, old, and taking late afternoon walks in our neighborhood.
And I think about death. Wondering what it would bring.
Would it bring me peace?
Only by dying will I know the answer.
If I knew… if I knew then maybe I wouldn’t think…
Not knowing is part of why I haven’t.
I don’t know where the end of my pain is and so I keep at trying to overcome it in this life.
This life of mine.
Is my mother at peace? My grandmother? A childhood friend?
I don’t know.
I struggle for peace in this life.
I struggle.
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| First: Find a baby. |
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| Second: Be sure the object you found is indeed a baby by employing classic sniffing techniques. |
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| Next: You will need to flatten the baby before actually beginning the hugging process. |
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| Then: Slide paws around baby and prepare for possible close-up. |
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| Finally: You will need to execute the difficult and patented "hug, smile, and lean" to achieve the best photo quality! |
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Be warned: If you don’t pass this along — a dog will pee on your computer! |
*I did not come up with this, I just had to share!
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I’m preparing to make a big change soon. Initially the idea of doing so broke my heart and terrified me at the same time, so I’m utilizing mental health care to assist me through it.
At our last meeting my therapist asked me what I felt was the most important thing that my antidepressant medications do for me and I was able to reply without hesitation, "They allow me to think rationally."
My broken heart is well on the mend and those feelings of terror have diminished to a more “guarded” state. I even feel a bit of anticipatory excitement about the change — but other times I just feel incredibly angry…
It’s difficult.
Last evening Darling Hubby and I attended our first Legends game. We had our nifty rain ponchos to get us through the rain delay as umbrellas were not allowed in the ball park.
We got sodas, hot dogs, and Cracker Jack. The hot dogs were only .25 cents (a running Tuesday game night special) I took one bite and spit it out. It was awful. I doubt it was kosher, but still what a lousy hot dog. Hubby finished mine and his. I stuck with the Cracker Jack (never lets me down) and later on some popcorn, too.
The Legends won the game and we had a lot of fun. The whole event was very entertaining as there is so much more that just a ball game going on. So many little side entertainments to enjoy.
The P.A. system was a bit too loud, but maybe it wouldn’t have seemed so if the crowd had been larger. Apparently the rain will keep even some of the most dedicated fans at home.
My big disappointment? No fireworks. I couldn’t believe it. Turns out they had to stop with the fireworks after every game, except on the weekend, because of complaints from surrounding neighbors.
The park is smack in the middle of a residential and shopping area so I did understand their complaint, but all the same I was anticipating those fireworks all evening long.
The game over we stopped to visit the gift shop on our way out of the ball park — where I just had to purchase this for my big giant kid…
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