My damn car had to go back into the garage this morning for the first of several repairs. Today, the mechanics are going to tackle a messed up wheel bearing. For quite some time my baby's been sounding like piece of heavy farm machinery. Last week it got worse and began sounding like a squealing pig stuck in the gears of a piece of heavy farm machinery. I took that as a rather obvious sign from the Universe that a qualified mechanic should fix the problem, ASAP. The estimate was $538. I can only hope that it won't cost more. Hell, I barely have the $538. If it has tires or testicles...
Discouraged.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Steady As She Goes...
Nothing raises flagging spirits like being able to fit into things that, two weeks previously, were 80 or 90 sizes too small.
Case in point: My beloved local amateur hockey team posted some photos from the final game of the season to its Facebook page. There I am in one of them, suctioned-cupped to the glass (comme d'habitude), having a spazz attack. I'm not sure if a goal was scored or if it was during the fisticuffs that broke out in the closing moments of the game. Either way, I was going apeshit. I look horrible. In the photo I'm 2 sizes larger than I am now. My face looks bloated. I look like I have chipmunk teeth in a stupid chipmunk smile. My hair is a disaster, my face pasty. This is not an exaggeration. I have never photographed well. The last time I looked good in a picture was when I got my drivers license renewed in November 2000 (which is a miracle, because almost everyone looks like a psychopath in their license photos). When I saw the picture, the first thing that went through my head was, "Oh shit, I'm so ugly!"
My first instinct was to quit T-Tapp and walking. I mean, why bother trying to improve my body if I have a face like a bus crash. And, I'll admit it. I damn near headed to the kitchen to binge on ice cream and pasta. Instead, I did dishes. After while, I began trying things on.
I tried on an old trench coat of my mother's. I didn't expect it to fit. She's a size or so smaller than I am. Not only that, but she's petite. I'm a strapping 5'8". I tried that trench anyway. It fits almost perfectly in the body. Only one button is a tiny bit strained, plus the sleeves are a mite too short. Other than that, it's an excellent fit. I nearly died of shock.
My too-tight black trousers are still too small but I think a lot of the problem is in the cut. But, they've gotten a bit better.
One blessing in not being a knockout beauty: Beautiful people don't always age well. They hit their 50s and begin to resemble rotting fruit. God willing, if I truly am that awful-looking, I'll mellow with age. Or I'll end up fascinating and witty.
Fingers crossed...
Case in point: My beloved local amateur hockey team posted some photos from the final game of the season to its Facebook page. There I am in one of them, suctioned-cupped to the glass (comme d'habitude), having a spazz attack. I'm not sure if a goal was scored or if it was during the fisticuffs that broke out in the closing moments of the game. Either way, I was going apeshit. I look horrible. In the photo I'm 2 sizes larger than I am now. My face looks bloated. I look like I have chipmunk teeth in a stupid chipmunk smile. My hair is a disaster, my face pasty. This is not an exaggeration. I have never photographed well. The last time I looked good in a picture was when I got my drivers license renewed in November 2000 (which is a miracle, because almost everyone looks like a psychopath in their license photos). When I saw the picture, the first thing that went through my head was, "Oh shit, I'm so ugly!"
My first instinct was to quit T-Tapp and walking. I mean, why bother trying to improve my body if I have a face like a bus crash. And, I'll admit it. I damn near headed to the kitchen to binge on ice cream and pasta. Instead, I did dishes. After while, I began trying things on.
I tried on an old trench coat of my mother's. I didn't expect it to fit. She's a size or so smaller than I am. Not only that, but she's petite. I'm a strapping 5'8". I tried that trench anyway. It fits almost perfectly in the body. Only one button is a tiny bit strained, plus the sleeves are a mite too short. Other than that, it's an excellent fit. I nearly died of shock.
My too-tight black trousers are still too small but I think a lot of the problem is in the cut. But, they've gotten a bit better.
One blessing in not being a knockout beauty: Beautiful people don't always age well. They hit their 50s and begin to resemble rotting fruit. God willing, if I truly am that awful-looking, I'll mellow with age. Or I'll end up fascinating and witty.
Fingers crossed...
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Nota Bene...
About a month ago, I decided that I had to learn how to control myself, portion-wise, when confronted with Chinese food. I achieved control. Then, pizza became my Achilles' Heel. Weak spot, no more. I have achieved control when faced with pizza. I just had Pizza Hut for lunch. Meat Lover's. With a cheese-stuffed crust. I did not overeat. I opted for a couple of smaller slices. I did my best to slow down and chew rather than inhale. I am very satisfied but not so full that I couldn't go for a brisk walk.
The little victories are piling up...
The little victories are piling up...
Waste Not, Want Not...
I love, love, LOVE the hair donation program, Locks of Love. If you have at least 10 inches of hair, you can donate it to this program and your hair will go to make wigs for sick kids. I needed a haircut but I decided that it'd be a sin to let my mop end up in the salon's trash can, so I donated it.
Go for it, my darlings. If you need a cut and your hair is at least 10 inches and unbleached (permed or colored is o.k., though), consider donating to Locks of Love. It's bad enough that little kids get sick. They shouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of hair loss as well.
Speaking of not wasting, I did a little more spelunking in my closet this morning. I found 3 more pairs of pants that will do me for the next couple of months. I tried things on and everything either fits perfectly or almost perfectly. Thank goodness.
You know what's odd? I noticed a long time ago that black pants/jeans/skirts seem to be cut a mite smaller than pants/jeans/skirts in other colors. I have a navy wool skirt that fits me perfectly right now. It's almost identical counterpart, in black, is about 1/2 inch smaller in the waist. Ditto the navy and black chinos I unearthed this morning. The navy pair fits perfectly and the black pair cuts off my circulation. I wonder why in blue blazes designers do this?
Something else that has me scratching my pate is why designers make extremely low-rise jeans and trousers in plus sizes. I firmly believe that everyone deserves to be fashionable and look nice but low-rise garments hit curvaceous ladies right across the biggest parts of their bodies: the lower abdomen and hips. It's doubly worse if the lady in question (like me) has an hourglass-shaped figure. Her hips are going to be a little bigger, her waist a bit smaller. Low-rise anything puts the lady at risk for major muffin top action. Also, where is a big ass supposed to go without making the waist tight? Come on, Yves Saint Bubba, don't make us contend with plumber's crack on top of everything else! If one is above a size 12, shopping and dressing is traumatic enough. One does not need any additional indignities. More and more I'm convinced that designers of plus-size clothing are either clueless, lazy/indifferent, hostile to anyone who isn't a toothpick, or high on glue. This shit needs to stop.
On Monday, I'll have been at this for 4 weeks. I'm hoping to be in those pants pictured in my last post. I tried 'em on a couple of hours ago and they're fitting better.
This is encouraging...
Go for it, my darlings. If you need a cut and your hair is at least 10 inches and unbleached (permed or colored is o.k., though), consider donating to Locks of Love. It's bad enough that little kids get sick. They shouldn't have to suffer the embarrassment of hair loss as well.
Speaking of not wasting, I did a little more spelunking in my closet this morning. I found 3 more pairs of pants that will do me for the next couple of months. I tried things on and everything either fits perfectly or almost perfectly. Thank goodness.
You know what's odd? I noticed a long time ago that black pants/jeans/skirts seem to be cut a mite smaller than pants/jeans/skirts in other colors. I have a navy wool skirt that fits me perfectly right now. It's almost identical counterpart, in black, is about 1/2 inch smaller in the waist. Ditto the navy and black chinos I unearthed this morning. The navy pair fits perfectly and the black pair cuts off my circulation. I wonder why in blue blazes designers do this?
Something else that has me scratching my pate is why designers make extremely low-rise jeans and trousers in plus sizes. I firmly believe that everyone deserves to be fashionable and look nice but low-rise garments hit curvaceous ladies right across the biggest parts of their bodies: the lower abdomen and hips. It's doubly worse if the lady in question (like me) has an hourglass-shaped figure. Her hips are going to be a little bigger, her waist a bit smaller. Low-rise anything puts the lady at risk for major muffin top action. Also, where is a big ass supposed to go without making the waist tight? Come on, Yves Saint Bubba, don't make us contend with plumber's crack on top of everything else! If one is above a size 12, shopping and dressing is traumatic enough. One does not need any additional indignities. More and more I'm convinced that designers of plus-size clothing are either clueless, lazy/indifferent, hostile to anyone who isn't a toothpick, or high on glue. This shit needs to stop.
On Monday, I'll have been at this for 4 weeks. I'm hoping to be in those pants pictured in my last post. I tried 'em on a couple of hours ago and they're fitting better.
This is encouraging...
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
So Happy I Don't Know Which End Is Up...
Other little victories? I can now tie my hoodie around my waist and it stays tied. My inner thighs are looking MUCH better. My back fat is disappearing. My mood is much better, too. That's the best part.
So, I'm in my goal jeans. My next goal: These awful pants. I bought them 5 years ago for my aunt's funeral. I was in a rush so I grabbed my size off the rack and bought them without trying them on. Got home, tried to stuff my ass in and could not do so. They were cut a size small. Had to buy yet another pair because I lost the receipt and couldn't exchange the tight pants. They languished at the back of my closet until Saturday morning when I was going through my clothes and tossing the stretched-out and the shrunken. Though they are a size smaller than marked, I can get into them. Granted, they're tight. I have to suck my gut in a bit so I can get them buttoned and when they're on, I have one hell of a camel toe (I detest a crotch waffle!), but I can get them on. My ass fits nicely and they're baggy in the thigh. Only the waist is tight. But, I'm working on that. I'm continuing with Basic Tempo (and doing my best to maintain proper form), plus East-West Breathing and Organs in Place/Half Frogs (more T-Tapp moves) and my walking. As God is my witness, I am going to be in these damn pants VERY soon. These pants are going to be my bitch!
I weighed in this morning. I'm down 3 lbs. from last Tuesday, so that's pretty good. I wish I'd weighed and measured myself when I began all this on Apr. 2, but I couldn't bear to go near the scale or tape measure.
I'm pretty thrilled with myself...
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Blogging Attempt, Take 2
My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for being away so long. It's been kind of a crappy few months and I could barely tie my own shoes, let alone blog. Fortunately, it's (sort of) spring here in Wisconsin. Despite the chill and high wind, things are green, some trees are leafing out and the daffodils are up. That's a good start.
One month ago today, I was traipsing the streets of my spiritual home. That's right, I was in St. Paul, MN. My dear, dear, lovely friends, Mark and Rae, have a little farm about an hour from the Twin Cities and I was fortunate enough to be invited to spend 5 fun days with them. One of their daughters has gymnastics practice in St. Paul every Saturday, so that day a bunch of us piled in the car and drove there. Mark's mom and the kid went to gymnastics, while the other daughter and I roamed Highland Park and sort of got lost in the vicinity of the Excel Energy Center (home to my darling Minnesota Wild). I say sort of lost because I had my trusty GPS with me. My motto that day became, "Never be afraid to explore a new place because there's no such thing as lost when you have GPS". I must say, GPS or no, we should never be afraid to explore. But, I digress. Anyhoo, I discovered Starbucks' rival, Caribou Coffee. The closest Caribou to me is somewhere in Milwaukee, and I think that's a damn shame, because one of my oldest friends got me hooked on Caribou's Blended Mint Conditions with dark chocolate. It's a chocolate-mint version of a Starbucks' frappuccino, but it's SO DAMN GOOD! Let me tell you, I was a happy camper sucking on this drink whilst motoring through beautiful St. Paul. I really think I'd be happy there. It's got a great vibe. It's busy but not crazy.
I love going to Mark and Rae's. Whenever I visit I always end up doing or learning or eating something new. This time was no different. Mark got me hooked on pickled whitefish and homemade muesli. He also took me to my first Bible study. I'd never been to one before and I must say, it was endlessly fascinating. I'm now looking into joining a weekly study here in town.
Another wonderful thing I got to do is go with Mark and volunteer. He takes care of ordering food for a backpack program for low-income kids in 2 or 3 counties. Each weekend, every kid in the program gets to take home a pack full of several days' worth of food. That Tuesday, Mark did the ordering for this month, and I got to help him. It was the saddest but most rewarding thing I've ever done. It was devastating to actually see how much need there is in that area but satisfying to know that we did the best we could do with basically no damn budget whatsoever. And those kids are lucky, because Mark is a chef. He understands nutrition and meal planning, so they get fruits and veggies at every meal, and he works his ass off to ensure they have plenty of nutritious, filling food. I'm hoping to return to Mark and Rae's later next month and stay for a couple of weeks. Summer is a busy time around their farm and I want to help out. Not only that, but I want to volunteer with Mark some more.
Later that afternoon, we all piled into the van and went to the Mall of America for the Phillips Craig and Dean concert. Now, I am not into Christian Contemporary music at all, but they did one song that had me terribly faklempt: Tell Your Heart To Beat Again. For the past few months, I've been trying to get my own heart beating again. I'm trying to zap the ghosts from the past, plus C.G. is gone and I'm working to get over him. My trip to Mark and Rae's/the Twin Cities was a nice break but it was also a clear wake-up call. The past is past and I've got to get over it. C.G. is not going to happen and I've got to get over it. I've got to get busy and try to make some damn dreams come true.
Since returning home, I've gotten busier. I've resumed T-Tapp and walking. I've got a long way to go, but I'm seeing results already. What I'm looking into right now is the Daniel Fast. Basically, you go vegan for 21 days. I'm not sure if I can go that long without poultry or a little beef or a few eggs. I'm a girl who really needs her protein. However, I've heard that the Daniel Fast can really jump start weight loss efforts, straighten out blood sugar, reduce/eliminate the homicidal rage and crushing depression that accompany PMS, help blood pressure and cholesterol, and so on. I'm intrigued. If I go on it, I'll definitely report my observations and results.
One month ago today, I was traipsing the streets of my spiritual home. That's right, I was in St. Paul, MN. My dear, dear, lovely friends, Mark and Rae, have a little farm about an hour from the Twin Cities and I was fortunate enough to be invited to spend 5 fun days with them. One of their daughters has gymnastics practice in St. Paul every Saturday, so that day a bunch of us piled in the car and drove there. Mark's mom and the kid went to gymnastics, while the other daughter and I roamed Highland Park and sort of got lost in the vicinity of the Excel Energy Center (home to my darling Minnesota Wild). I say sort of lost because I had my trusty GPS with me. My motto that day became, "Never be afraid to explore a new place because there's no such thing as lost when you have GPS". I must say, GPS or no, we should never be afraid to explore. But, I digress. Anyhoo, I discovered Starbucks' rival, Caribou Coffee. The closest Caribou to me is somewhere in Milwaukee, and I think that's a damn shame, because one of my oldest friends got me hooked on Caribou's Blended Mint Conditions with dark chocolate. It's a chocolate-mint version of a Starbucks' frappuccino, but it's SO DAMN GOOD! Let me tell you, I was a happy camper sucking on this drink whilst motoring through beautiful St. Paul. I really think I'd be happy there. It's got a great vibe. It's busy but not crazy.
I love going to Mark and Rae's. Whenever I visit I always end up doing or learning or eating something new. This time was no different. Mark got me hooked on pickled whitefish and homemade muesli. He also took me to my first Bible study. I'd never been to one before and I must say, it was endlessly fascinating. I'm now looking into joining a weekly study here in town.
Another wonderful thing I got to do is go with Mark and volunteer. He takes care of ordering food for a backpack program for low-income kids in 2 or 3 counties. Each weekend, every kid in the program gets to take home a pack full of several days' worth of food. That Tuesday, Mark did the ordering for this month, and I got to help him. It was the saddest but most rewarding thing I've ever done. It was devastating to actually see how much need there is in that area but satisfying to know that we did the best we could do with basically no damn budget whatsoever. And those kids are lucky, because Mark is a chef. He understands nutrition and meal planning, so they get fruits and veggies at every meal, and he works his ass off to ensure they have plenty of nutritious, filling food. I'm hoping to return to Mark and Rae's later next month and stay for a couple of weeks. Summer is a busy time around their farm and I want to help out. Not only that, but I want to volunteer with Mark some more.
Later that afternoon, we all piled into the van and went to the Mall of America for the Phillips Craig and Dean concert. Now, I am not into Christian Contemporary music at all, but they did one song that had me terribly faklempt: Tell Your Heart To Beat Again. For the past few months, I've been trying to get my own heart beating again. I'm trying to zap the ghosts from the past, plus C.G. is gone and I'm working to get over him. My trip to Mark and Rae's/the Twin Cities was a nice break but it was also a clear wake-up call. The past is past and I've got to get over it. C.G. is not going to happen and I've got to get over it. I've got to get busy and try to make some damn dreams come true.
Since returning home, I've gotten busier. I've resumed T-Tapp and walking. I've got a long way to go, but I'm seeing results already. What I'm looking into right now is the Daniel Fast. Basically, you go vegan for 21 days. I'm not sure if I can go that long without poultry or a little beef or a few eggs. I'm a girl who really needs her protein. However, I've heard that the Daniel Fast can really jump start weight loss efforts, straighten out blood sugar, reduce/eliminate the homicidal rage and crushing depression that accompany PMS, help blood pressure and cholesterol, and so on. I'm intrigued. If I go on it, I'll definitely report my observations and results.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Let He Who Is Without Sin...
I think I might have to redo Shrink Yourself. Not the whole Guided Session thing. I have that stuff down pat. What I need to do is to go back and challenge myself weekly to do things like eat more fruits and veggies; keep in mind the fact that I don't want to be a porker and base my food choices on that; take time and savor my food; get more exercise. Those things.
Other than that, I have gained a bit more knowledge about myself and why I do what I do at dinnertime. AND between meals.
The most important thing is that, in the last 12 weeks, I have finally come to better understand the concept of forgiveness.
It's been coming on little by little and I've had to deal with unpleasant memories that have popped back into my head. There were times that the memories got me so upset I wasn't sure if I'd just puke or if I'd completely lose my mind from sorrow and anger.
Finally, it occurred to me: If someone hates you and treats you poorly for no reason, it's their problem, not yours. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with their weakness or arrogance or inner ugliness.
Case in point: I remembered a guy in a Geology class I took, who rubbed me the wrong way. We never exchanged words all semester. In fact, he sat on one side of the room and I sat on the other. We had no interaction whatsoever.
But I couldn't stand him.
Every time I looked at him, I wanted to slap him. Every time he spoke in class, I wanted to run him over with my car. I don't know why. He did me no harm at all. I have no clue why I loathed him so.
Luckily, I had enough brains to know that my best bet was to leave him alone, not pick a fight or start giving him shit. He didn't deserve to be mistreated and I knew it.
In the last couple of weeks, I realized that not everyone has the same wherewithal.
Some people just lack common sense, sensitivity, empathy, good manners, crucial I.Q. points. They cannot mind their own business.
Others are just plain ugly inside. Evil, ugly, and cruel. They abuse everyone in their path.
The more I thought about the ugly ones, the sorrier I felt for them. It's like they're slowly dying of a horrible, incurable disease and they don't even know it.
And I realized that loved ones will hurt you out of weakness, fear, fatigue, sorrow, their own demons. They don't mean to but they do.
This has made me see my own weakness, my own demons and my own form of ugliness.
I think that yesterday morning, I finally started to forgive people.
It's been an incredible relief. I feel like I can breathe again.
I'm also learning that, just because you forgive, you can still dislike the person who hurt you. You can still distrust them. You can still be disgusted with them and with what they did. But you're free, just the same.
I have realized, too, that the concept of forgiveness varies from person to person. I saw Oprah on t.v. one night last week and she was talking about forgiveness. For her, it's accepting that shit happens and learning to deal with that. For me, that's too vague.
For me, it means that if someone is horrible to me, it's his or her problem. It's nothing to do with me. I don't need to apologize for being on this planet. The responsibility is not mine. There's no need to atone.
With this in mind, I was watching Hockey last night and in the middle of a stupid beer commercial, it occurred to me that to abuse yourself because of someone else's abuse, is not the best bet. I completely understand why people who are bullied and abused cut themselves, attempt suicide, binge eat, drink/do drugs, etc. I have abused myself with food for years. I thought about ending it all some years back. I even had a razor blade in my hand on 2 separate occasions. It's all about making the present agony stop. I don't judge anyone who is in this place. I wish I could be of some help to them. I fervently pray that if any of you are in the valley of this shadow, you make it out safe and sound - and soon!
Anyway, when I realized that there's no need to take yourself out of the game just because someone hates you, my first thought was, "Why the hell should I check out? It's not my fault if someone's a miserable bastard". Of course, my next, more perverse thought was, "If someone's going to hate me that bad, I think I'll cause them more suffering by having a hell of a nice life". It stirred my ambitions a little bit. It felt good.
I forgive my cousin Violet. She's a dissatisfied person and full of arrogance. It's the way she was as a kid and it's the way she'll be til the day she dies. It's her problem, not mine.
I forgive the people who bullied me in high school. I neither said nor did a thing to hurt them. The problem, the weakness, the lack of empathy, the ugliness was theirs. I was golden. Their loss. I still hope I never see them again. God willing, I won't. But, I forgive them.
And God willing, I'll soon forgive myself for being a sometimes-weak, imperfect human being who sometimes chooses Option B when she should've chosen Option A.
God willing, self-forgiveness will make me a size 6 in a week.
And so the dance goes on...
Other than that, I have gained a bit more knowledge about myself and why I do what I do at dinnertime. AND between meals.
The most important thing is that, in the last 12 weeks, I have finally come to better understand the concept of forgiveness.
It's been coming on little by little and I've had to deal with unpleasant memories that have popped back into my head. There were times that the memories got me so upset I wasn't sure if I'd just puke or if I'd completely lose my mind from sorrow and anger.
Finally, it occurred to me: If someone hates you and treats you poorly for no reason, it's their problem, not yours. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with their weakness or arrogance or inner ugliness.
Case in point: I remembered a guy in a Geology class I took, who rubbed me the wrong way. We never exchanged words all semester. In fact, he sat on one side of the room and I sat on the other. We had no interaction whatsoever.
But I couldn't stand him.
Every time I looked at him, I wanted to slap him. Every time he spoke in class, I wanted to run him over with my car. I don't know why. He did me no harm at all. I have no clue why I loathed him so.
Luckily, I had enough brains to know that my best bet was to leave him alone, not pick a fight or start giving him shit. He didn't deserve to be mistreated and I knew it.
In the last couple of weeks, I realized that not everyone has the same wherewithal.
Some people just lack common sense, sensitivity, empathy, good manners, crucial I.Q. points. They cannot mind their own business.
Others are just plain ugly inside. Evil, ugly, and cruel. They abuse everyone in their path.
The more I thought about the ugly ones, the sorrier I felt for them. It's like they're slowly dying of a horrible, incurable disease and they don't even know it.
And I realized that loved ones will hurt you out of weakness, fear, fatigue, sorrow, their own demons. They don't mean to but they do.
This has made me see my own weakness, my own demons and my own form of ugliness.
I think that yesterday morning, I finally started to forgive people.
It's been an incredible relief. I feel like I can breathe again.
I'm also learning that, just because you forgive, you can still dislike the person who hurt you. You can still distrust them. You can still be disgusted with them and with what they did. But you're free, just the same.
I have realized, too, that the concept of forgiveness varies from person to person. I saw Oprah on t.v. one night last week and she was talking about forgiveness. For her, it's accepting that shit happens and learning to deal with that. For me, that's too vague.
For me, it means that if someone is horrible to me, it's his or her problem. It's nothing to do with me. I don't need to apologize for being on this planet. The responsibility is not mine. There's no need to atone.
With this in mind, I was watching Hockey last night and in the middle of a stupid beer commercial, it occurred to me that to abuse yourself because of someone else's abuse, is not the best bet. I completely understand why people who are bullied and abused cut themselves, attempt suicide, binge eat, drink/do drugs, etc. I have abused myself with food for years. I thought about ending it all some years back. I even had a razor blade in my hand on 2 separate occasions. It's all about making the present agony stop. I don't judge anyone who is in this place. I wish I could be of some help to them. I fervently pray that if any of you are in the valley of this shadow, you make it out safe and sound - and soon!
Anyway, when I realized that there's no need to take yourself out of the game just because someone hates you, my first thought was, "Why the hell should I check out? It's not my fault if someone's a miserable bastard". Of course, my next, more perverse thought was, "If someone's going to hate me that bad, I think I'll cause them more suffering by having a hell of a nice life". It stirred my ambitions a little bit. It felt good.
I forgive my cousin Violet. She's a dissatisfied person and full of arrogance. It's the way she was as a kid and it's the way she'll be til the day she dies. It's her problem, not mine.
I forgive the people who bullied me in high school. I neither said nor did a thing to hurt them. The problem, the weakness, the lack of empathy, the ugliness was theirs. I was golden. Their loss. I still hope I never see them again. God willing, I won't. But, I forgive them.
And God willing, I'll soon forgive myself for being a sometimes-weak, imperfect human being who sometimes chooses Option B when she should've chosen Option A.
God willing, self-forgiveness will make me a size 6 in a week.
And so the dance goes on...
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