But the 5-year plan has decreed that my next five years need to be über rich, like the creamiest, fattiest ice cream. Five years of extra-everything, tucked into the 50, like a spike on a graph. I love that feeling: I get five massively juicy, balanced, stress-free, family-filled years packed with travel, writing, and anything else that feeds my soul. I’ve given myself total permission.
Doesn’t that sound like it should be my 50-year plan too? That’s what makes it so interesting … why does one plan get to be so yummy, and the other so drab? Why did it take cancer to refocus me into allowing myself these pleasures and refusing to be stressed over anything? The 50-year plan pops up as being full of denial, and “just get through it” and “you’ll get it later” type thinking. I love that I can see that contrast so strikingly now.
Time is short, no matter how you slice it. Live it like you mean it.
What I’m meditating to: You can get the free, awesome manifestation video here: Energy AMP-UP Meditation. Check out the 20 minute manifestation guided meditation video on the Thank You page (after you enter your email address) – it’s one of my favs! If you want the weekly free recordings (which are totally awesome), you can sign up for the inexpensive program ($22/month?). Right now I think they are offering them for free for guests, so watch my Meditation page on Facebook for links to the free live calls.
This isn’t really a post, it’s a confession, one I hope helps someone else. At least then the struggle won’t be all for nothing. This is about something I’ve dealt with for a long time, over thirty years. It’s something I very rarely talk about because I feel it makes me somehow less acceptable as a person, broken, not good enough.
(No, this is not about Speck. The one bright spot this week is Speck has left the RV park and is no longer a constant reminder. I wish him well.)
This is how I feel when I’m depressed, like the shadow of a person. Empty, hollow, without substance.
The Bloggess often writes about her battles. By her admission and openness, she comforts me and the entire interwebs. We know we aren’t really, even though we feel utterly, completely alone. I hope to be like her someday: brave, vulnerable, and to let someone else know they aren’t alone.
I identified with all of what they said, and applaud their bravery and honesty, their vulnerability. They have inspired me to admit my own struggles. But, wait! There’s more…
Have you ever been wrongly accused? I’m sure you have and I don’t have to tell you it’s emotionally crushing to be on the receiving end, to know that people who should know you better, people who claim to care about you, are so quick to think the worst of you.
Being wrongly accused has been a running theme in my life, especially for the last few months or so: A dear friend accusing me of all sorts of truly bizarre actions and motives. Another I considered a good friend silently doing the same and disappearing. My boss repeatedly accusing me of inflating my time sheet. Chickenbone accusing me of saying something mean on Facebook about my nephew.
Each and every accusation couldn’t have been more off base, and so completely unlike the person I am. And it hurt each time.
I’m not sharing this to gain sympathy or pity, but to show what the effects have been, and how it has changed me for the better.
Holy heart failure Batman! I joined an exercise Boot Camp.
The cat took me for a walk.
In case you don’t know, Boot Camps are a hardcore outdoor exercise program where they run you backwards up hills, and make you do backwards pushups and a ton of squats and other evil stuff. There’s also a strict diet plan that doesn’t include sweets. They’ve set me up to fail.
I don’t know why I signed up. Really. The only thing I can figure is I was under the influence of an overdose of cold/flu medicine at the time.
I believe being “under the influence of cold medicine” is grounds for temporary insanity. Not that I necessarily qualify for the “temporary” part.
This particular Booty Camp is ten weeks long, and it started this past weekend. (I’m calling it “Booty” camp because it’s all about getting my booty in shape.) Needless to say, my booty was bringing up the rear of the booty camp. Thank goodness I wasn’t the very last booty, like I was six months ago. This time there were about 200 people so my odds were better.
“Before” photos were required. Mine are really awful looking – which is why I joined the Booty Camp. If I do well, I may share the “after” photos. Maybe… but they might be awful, too. But, wait! There’s more…
O Hai Interwebz! Dis iz also da guest post frum da kitteh. Member meh? Shur yu do! Mai hooman offen talkz abot meh, an now I iz gunna be yur nu favorit blogger! Dis iz mai first post.
(Editor’s note: The following is a holiday letter from my cat (and I) to the interwebz. I am a crazy cat lady who sends a similar letter every year from my cat to my patient and understanding friends and relatives. I say ‘patient and understanding’ because they have yet to lock me up in the funny farm. It’s written in LOL speak, and you can find more of it plus many funny cat pictures at ICanHasCheezeburger.com. If you don’t like LOL Speak, feel free to skip this.)
Da Kitteh’s Holiday Letter to da Interwebz
Itz dat tyme agin fer da Kittehz Updat Holiday Letter at teh holiday timez! Since mai hooman an all her relatifs lyk mai lettars soo much, I iz doin dem evry yeer now! I no you are vera happi bout dis. I is vera happi, tu!
2010 haz been anuther gwate yeer! I turnd 16 and I still feel and act lyk a yung kitteh. Mom (mai hooman) took gud care of me, az alwayz. I still gotz a bathz dis yeer, tho, but I don tink I waz durty. I also gotz meny nu toyz and speshul treets! I slept an playd a lot, too. Iz had sum helth isuzz, but wit da owful medacinz I feelin preti gud. Lif iz reely gud for da spoild kitteh lyk meh. But, wait! There’s more…
Ahh, what a lovely day. (UPDATED: This should say “week”.)
Ok, I’m lying. Totally fucking lying. (I apologize for the cussing, but sometimes only a cuss word will do. There are more, just so you know. I probably have that cussing disease today, you may want to leave now.)
You all know about the Droid X issue, which may, or may not be resolved. Some ex-boyfriends responded to the age-old texts as if nothing had changed and the conversation – and relationship – hadn’t ended LONG ago.
One ex asked, “So how you sleeping?” Much better without you’re nasty a$$ taking up the bed.
Learn from my mistake my dear Kernutties: Clear your text cache. Seriously. Do it now. I’ll wait.
And some of you know about the persistent MF who keeps trying to hack my blog. Seriously? WTF?! At this point, his persistence (12 attempts that I know of, plus three lock-outs) causes me to think it’s personal. There are two people whom I think sociopathically capable of this. I’m working on a post that includes one of them, and is about the time Martin Sheen saved my life. (Not a joke.)
The new job? Sucks balls. Well, some of it sucks balls. Big fuckin’ hairy balls. (The actual marketing parts of the job are great fun.) But, wait! There’s more…
What a wonderful way to spend a Memorial Day: Riding on a Harley, to a National Monument, and a BBQ with family. All with the complete sense of freedom and safety.
This post is on the serious side, folks, but I feel the need to describe to you what I learned. Those things above would not be possible without the selfless dedication of our American Troops. My heart goes out to the families of the fallen, the men and women serving away from their families, and all the men and women past, present and future who’ve kept and continue to keep this country free.
Thank you all for your service. And thank you to the families who endure the separation so their loved ones may serve.”
Amazing Grace by LeAnn Rimes. I don’t know who created the clip.
40 sounds great. Not that I relate. I’m still 27. Always 27.
We interrupt the regularly scheduled post to bring you… well, this.
First, let me just say I did not write this. I wish I had, but I didn’t. The following was sent via email by a friend…
If you are 40, or older, you might think this is hilarious.
When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were. When they were growing up; what with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning…. Uphill… Barefoot… BOTH ways. yadda, yadda, yadda
And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on my kids about how hard I had it and how easy they’ve got it!
But now that I’m over the ripe old age of forty, I can’t help but look around and notice the youth of today. They’ve got it so easy. I mean, compared to my childhood, they live in a damn Utopia.
And I hate to say it, but kids today don’t know how good they’ve got it!
1) I mean, when I was a kid we didn’t have the Internet.But, wait! There’s more…
That’s partly why I haven’t been around much. Like anyone’s noticed. (I can’t yet tell you all the other reason just yet, but will tell you all as soon as I can. And I promise you’ll love it! ‘Cept for maybe my parents. But they’ve got to be use to me by now.)
It is truly a delight to show someone the sights who has the ability to let their inner child out, experiencing the world with that same sense of wonder and appreciation. He was amazed by the beauty of the Big Sur, California coast, and let himself express it and immerse himself in it. That’s the part most people seem to find hard to do. For me it comes naturally. Probably because I’ve never But, wait! There’s more…