Pictures of Me

I like this photo. I know there are spots all over it, but I still think it's a good photo of me.

I don't have many photos of me through my ages. Recently there are volumes, but that wasn't always true.

I would experience new things without a camera. I would go on vacations without a camera.

I would have much rather had photos of me at 21 or 35 or even 42, and maybe one or two exist, but for the most part nothing. As a child there were many but I want to see myself in my glory days, my 20-30s.

Sometimes I feel like an old hag, fat and gross. I want to remember that I was young and beautiful. I wasted that beauty on brownies and pie and of course time.

Although the years are still gone... I am reclaiming that beauty.

The Last Time I...

My whole life I have gone through a sort of ritual after a loss. Such as "the last time I brushed my teeth..." or "the last time I wore this shirt..." I was at my grandmother's house or I was still with so and so.

And so it goes, again. The last time I answered the phone with a smile, or the last time I saw another Trikker on the path or the last time I painted my nails this color... My life was so much better.

Loss is so hard. Change sucks. Things that were said cannot be taken back. The last time I didn't cry every day you were still my friend.

Penance

After the T-bone accident two weeks ago, my life has changed quite a bit. I lost a friend, a job and quite a bit of self esteem. Since that time I have decided to forgive myself.

Life hands us so many lessons. Sometimes we need to be slapped to learn them. I guess I was punched in the stomach with this one. Maybe I was on the wrong path, going in the wrong direction. Maybe bigger things are around the corner. Maybe...

I am scabbed over and when the scars fade I will be reborn. I have learned my lessons and am choosing to recreate myself and move on. Only sunny days ahead of me.

The Newest Me

Me, ruminating

Life is really sparking around me lately. What I mean by that is a lot is happening and it's happening quickly. Don't get me wrong, I am loving it.

In my travels around the WWW, I have found some very valuable info about blogging and what creates readership and growth. I am not doing those things. So in a feeble attempt to catch up I have several approaches to try.

Firstly, the whole premise about me being full of myself is all wrong. I am supposed to write about what my readers will relate to. I have come from the opposite side of that topic while writing about what was concerning me at that moment.

The reason I created the blog was to overcome my quietness and have a voice somewhere. No one wants to listen to my ramblings aloud. So the blog was created. The second part of my life had not started yet so I had plenty of time to ramble on.

What has happened since 2009 is mind blowing. I am a partner in an online magazine. We are working with some high-powered people in the city of Long Beach, CA. There are letters to write, contacts to follow-up on, phone calls to make and so on.

So I have become a busy gal. And all this started with a friend seeing an infomercial in the middle of the night for a product called the Trikke. And the rest they say, is history.

Procrastination is a dirty word

My middle name is Procrastinator. If I can put a chore off, well, I do. There are so few things in my world that need immediate attention. And so a very bad habit has developed.

And yet this cannot continue. Things are piling up around my ears. If I don't stop procrastinating I will drop into the much scarier world of hoarding.

The prospect of becoming a hoarder has made me more aware of my bad habit of putting everything off. It's a vicious cycle. There is something that is so sad about hoarders. And yet, I am beginning to understand the illness.

It springs from the feeling of "not enough." I can understand the feeling of not enough. I come from that family. I was conditioned to believe there was not enough from an early age. My mother confided in me as a child. "Where are we going to get the money for...?" was a familiar theme. And then she would lite another cigarette.

As an adult, I function under the prospect of not enough. There certainly is not enough money to last a month. And from that, all else springs. With that in mind, I tend to hold onto things I may need in the future. The thing is, I never seem to need exactly what I save.

Now is the time to take that leap of faith. I can let go of some of my unused items. I will be able to provide everything I need. And I have everything I need right now, in this moment.

And so a new goal is born -- winter cleaning!

To Those I've Snubbed

Back in the day, when I was young, beautiful and thin, I was very unapproachable. I watched, as a child, those old movies from the 1930's when women rebuffed the advances of men. Back when women were hard to get. Unfortunately, I never learned that was just fiction.

In real life I was one lonely, beautiful, young and thin woman. Guys didn't respond like in the movies. If I didn't smile at them, well, they didn't think, "oh, challenge." They thought "oh, bitch," and moved on to the next less beautiful yet friendly woman. I would think he's just not the one. Or I would console myself with "I'm out of his league" and I would go on to refuse to dance with the next guy who asked.

This all hit home for me the other day when I was talking to someone I thought was cute. He was not interested, he wouldn't even look me in the eyes as we spoke. Well, I thought, he could have at least been nice.

The years have leveled the playing field. I realize with my now imperfect packaging that even though someone might not have the best look, great gifts come in all kinds of wrappings.

Stress Is a Speed Bump on the Fwy

I have recently reverted back to my old state as "victim." That attribute snuck in as I was paying attention to something else. I was stressing myself out, and forgetting who I am.

I am a powerful, creative woman. I am a writer, a blogger and sometimes a graphic artist, on a small scale. And I stress myself out with internal messages like "I'm not good enough" or "I'll never get this done." I tell myself lies and then I believe them.

Enough is enough. Just because I used to go to that loser place doesn't mean I belong there. I don't belong there. I left that location in 1989, or there abouts. So how did I find myself there last week? It's an easy place to go. It's actually easier to go there than not.

The waves just wash me up on that shore. Usually I'm tossed about before the ocean spits me out onto the sands of that beach. No creative juices flow here, it is just sand, quicksand. There are no dreams or goals here, only "I wish..."

"I wish" is not a powerful place. It is a place for victims who have no goals or plans -- no road maps. "I wish" is a place for those who can't say "I am going there, even without a map." There is no determination, there is no quest.

And it all comes about from the quicksand-like entrapment of stress. Stress can keep me immobilized, and victimized. It keeps me there until I remember who I am. It is then I remember my skills and talents. It is then I am released. It is then I book an exit off this place, and I am home again.

Another Year Down!

Friday was my 54th birthday. Why be coy about it? Yes, I'm 54. I've never been a female who was shy about her age. Why bother. Plus I am so interested in other people's ages. It's just something to guage a person by. It's really a curiosity. Ask me about my weight and well, that is a subject I'm silent about.

Speaking of weight, I am still on that plateau, not gaining but not losing either. I have one year to make my goal of 175lbs. by my 55 birthday. I know it's a reachable goal. Afterall, I don't have to quit smoking again. I like to think that is why I have only lost 30 lbs this year. Most people gain weight when they quit. I still lost. And I must say those 14 inches didn't drop off in my sleep!

So now that I've given myself a shout out (I deserve it during my birthday week), it's time to recommit. Or maybe I should wait until my week is over? Anyway It's good to be conscious of it. I want to get back to mostly raw foods. I like that food plan. No more than two Zone Perfect bars a day (yikes), cut out most sugar and white foods, and let the cards fall where they will.

Of course I will be Trikking all the way to 2030, when I will be put into the old Trikker's home, where we will relive all our skills and spills all the way to the grave. I know, but it's my week, and I can get away with anything self-indulgent. This blog is called JTs full of herself for a reason!

The Shoulders I've Tread Upon

I can't help but think of the women before me. They led the way for me to live as I've pleased, to make the choices I've been confronted with. Yet, How many centuries have women been born into a straight-jacket of servitude? How long before we had choices?

Just think, one hundred years ago, a woman could not live alone. She would not be single and she would not be without children whose noses needed to be wiped or who's diapers needed to be changed.

Even 50 years ago a woman needed a man to get through. These women were born to serve. After watching my mother work all day and come home to work all night, I saw that being a woman was a rotten deal.

Without words, I learned what was in store for me. And yet, I was lucky enough to be born in an era where I had choices. Should I marry? Should I have a career? After all it's just too much work to have it all.

I never wanted to pick up after a man like my mother did. The price was too high for me. And I can't help being grateful for all those unnamed women who were stuck in a life of subservience and who dreamed a better dream. I get to reap the benefits of those dreams.

I thank all the women whose shoulders I've tread upon. And I thank them for the life I live today. Without them I wouldn't have the choice to be with a man or to stand alone.

No Plateau

My friend Sara and I are both trying to lose weight. A lot of weight. And we both have noticed something about our bodies. It seems we lose weight in layers.

When I started my body was very soft, what you would think pudgy feels like, pliable, like a pillow sort of. I started exercising and losing weight. The pounds dripped off and my body got hard. It felt great.

Then a strange thing happened. I stopped losing weight. My body got all soft again. I thought I had gained all my weight back. I was surprised after a weigh-in that I had not gained one pound.

What happened? I lost all that soft fat, only to have the firm layer underneath go soft. Is the body getting ready to lose the next layer by making it soft and more easy to access for weight loss? Is this process what a plateau is?

If this is a plateau, I don't mind it. It is not a stagnate state the body goes into, but a preparation for the next phase of weight loss. As long as my body is actively working to lose weight and not just on vacation, I can handle that with diplomacy.

In-cognito

I have these spells occasionally, well maybe frequently, where I want to sleep all day. And so I do. I get up and in two hours I am so tired. I say to myself that I will just sit down for a while and then I wake up six hours later.

The dishes pile up in the sink. I don't want to cook, well I can't with no clean forks or spoons. I eat protein bars and yogurt to sustain myself. And my mood takes a dive into the deep end. I guess this is what depression and/or fibromyalgia look like.

My Trikke sits, collecting dust. I throw clothes over the handlebars. Those handlebars are perfect for a clothes rack. They are more perfect for carving up the sidewalk, but that is far from my reach during my down time.

These moods can last for three days. After that time I generally pull myself away from the Velcro couch and the TV. I need Zone Perfect bars. I need cat food. I need to save my soul from rotting on the inside.

It is hard, every time I get up and make my way back into my life. It takes walking blocks to unstiffen the muscles that have been shriveling up for the last few days.

In the sun, I'm like a flower unfolding. With my petals open to the sun, I stretch, I grow. It is then that I am recreated. Again.

The Perfect Cocktail

I have been having all these aches and pains with a variety of different descriptors, such as sharp and stabbing to dull and achey. I can't tell which is the most bothersome as they are both very uncomfortable. I was questioning a site to see if I have arthritis and found one full of women talking about how much pain they are in and how many different sensations it causes.

Some of the women listed their medications, the latest cocktails, and prognoses for those issues. I may as well have been looking at my previous perscriptions, because I have run across many of those meds in the last 20 years. Lexapro, neurontin, synthroid, vicodin, steriods, lithuim, fentanyl, cortisols, diclophenac, prednisone. And the diagnoses include: hypertension, obesity, depression, GERD, hysterectomy, hernia, gall stones and the list goes on.

I wanted to post a question asking about their childhood. Was there a lot of stress, fear, anger or denial? Was there violence? Worse?

In recovery therapy it is thought that 90% of obese people have been sexually abused.

Why do so few take the majority of the meds? Why are most of them women? I take seven separate medications daily, not counting the few that wait in the wings (example -- water pills and other pain meds). What is really going on here?

My first thought is that we complain about so many seemingly vague symptoms and doctors, who just want us to feel better, give us what they think will work. Yet how does a doctor know if it's fibro or arthritis? Is that why we use so many common ingredients in our cocktails? They throw the same meds at us for different diagnoses, kinda like throwing spaghetti on the wall to see if sticks. And what about the different ingredients we go through to get the correct cocktail? And the years that takes? It was 9 years for me alone.

My fibro symptoms seem very similar to those with arthritis. I bet the majority of us have other similarities as well. I mean body type, mind set and history. And with all this in mind I must say I'm not really complaining. My perfect cocktail keeps me off the couch and on my Trikke. That's the most important issue to me right now.

"So Happy I Could Die"

This is a song title by Lady GaGa that struck a chord with me. Her version is about her "addiction monster." My first thoughts were far from that.

I remember a day in Jr. High when I had a hall pass for some reason or other and I ran into my "omg, if-he-talks-to-me-I'll-just-die" crush -- Craig Lunsford. He was cruising the halls without a pass as usual.

I don't know why but he stopped me and we had a conversation. He was nice and I forgot my quietness and chubbyness. I remember thinking that if I died right at that moment, I would be complete."So happy I could die."

This is a concept that has puberty all over it. Those years when everything was at a high pitch and immediate response was not soon enough. And yet being "so happy..." has a timelessness to it. All those insecurities and fears are dimmed.

I recently added the song to my play list. Yesterday it came on and I thought of Craig Lunsford. I remembered that feeling of utter fulfillment, a feeling of completeness that a teenage girl gets from a teenage boy. Back then it carried me away.

It's been a few decades since a teenage boy started my heart racing. My trikke carries me away these days. "So happy I could die" now has to do with the wind in my hair, the warm sun on my skin, the completeness that fuels my trikke and me to go forward.

Breaking Through

Yesterday I went on a trikke ride, the first in a week. I went as far as my last trikke-trip. I still wanted to go farther, but I thought I had better not push it, so I stopped. Today I feel fine and ready to go again. My neck is pushed up against that glass ceiling.

Will it be today I break through my self imposed limitations? I keep bumping up against that imaginary limit and thinking that is all I'm good for. I have a new perspective today. I need to keep bumping up against that ceiling and I will eventually find a crack. After all, I am not trapped under water hoping to break through a wall of ice. It's just another goal.

I think trikking is a barometer into what is going on with my everyday life. Some days I can't get on the trikke, and then there are days like today when I can't wait to get out there and on that. I am aiming for the pier. It's about six miles round trip. Watch out for falling glass...

Sidelined

My knee started whining again last week. I don't know what I did, I was just innocently trikking. When I stepped off the Trikke I stepped into pain. It went from my knee, up to my hip and back down to my knee. I had to walk home on it, 6 blocks. It was hard to breathe my leg hurt so badly.

What happened? I have no clue. I didn't fall off my Trikke, didn't step on or off incorrectly. I have no idea what I did. But it sidelined me for a week, just when I was getting stronger and was pushing through to the next level.

I have been suspicious about this next level and how I fit into it. I seem to revisit the top of my highest level and am never able to break through to the next. Something happens and I find myself starting over, again and again.

I've recognized this pattern in other aspects of my life. I feel good, no, I feel great, and then I catch a cold. I'm down for a week and have to restart my fitness gains over again. It happened in my professional life way, way, back when I had one. I never broke my own glass ceiling. And especially in previous dieting attempts, I get down to a certain number or average and then I trip myself up, gain all the weight back, get frustrated, eat like a bear before hibernation and then hibernate. I hide until I get my fight back, and then the whole cycle starts again.

Stop! Stop I say! I want to do things differently this time. I know I can do things differently this time. I will do things differently this time. Admitting the problem is the first step, right? And so I plan on trikking later today. It has been only 7 days off the Trikke so I should be able to step back into the level I was at during my last ride. Right... ?

The Dreaded Question

It is easy reconnecting with people from my past with the latest technology. Thanks to Facebook, it is not just the alumni association that can keep up with me after years of being a ghost.

I get a thrill from finding a long lost pal. I also get a thrill out of discovering what they have done with their lives. Unfortunately the dreaded question follows, "what have you been up to?" They want to know the same about me.

The path I chose is far from traditional, even when the lack of marriage and kids is off the table. I remember that one decision that would forever change the direction of my future. In 1993, I called in sick and never worked again in my chosen profession. I was stripped of my executive status and for a year or so worked temp jobs where office skills weren't so important. From account executive to advertising director to answering phones.

It was a pesky major depressive episode. They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore. It was the reason I called in sick that fateful day. Next was the nine years it took to get the meds right, then the next six years trying to get my fight back. We are talking 15 years of focusing on myself. Most don't choose that path, I was plunked down right in the middle of it.

I couldn't help myself one day, on Facebook. I looked up an old friend. I was taken by her success. I just had to comment on how happy I was for her. Her reply to me was "what have you been up to?" Innocent enough and yet how do I answer a question like that on Facebook, the Xmas newsletter of everyday living?