I’m not going to make excuses...it’s been tough in my neck of the woods, so I haven’t felt like writing anything. Just the same old business, grieving and all of that, and it’s kind of exhausting. I know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel is really, really long, and it’s just taking me longer to figure out how I’m going to keep moving than I thought it would. Just blech.

Anyway, something interesting has happened, so I thought I’d share. I have been on a diet forever. Like, seriously, FOREVER. My first preventative diet started when I was eight, and that’s when I got fat, and I’ve been there ever since.

Food and I are very complicated together. Definitely a love/hate relationship.

So I’ve been on this new eating plan since June, and at first I did well. I lost about five pounds, but then that was it. And the scale was steadfastly holding at around the same weight range. This new way of eating is all about being healthy and not counting calories, but I was still journaling my food, because when I don’t do that, I tend to balloon, and nobody wants to have to buy me new pants. Just, no.

I really want to be healthy. It’s important to me. This whole experience with my mom has shown me how important our bodies are, and if I crap mine up, I can’t buy a new one. And it’s really not that fun to treat it unkindly all of the time.

I follow a lot of people on Instagram who have “unconventional” figures and are just happy with themselves and not full of self-loathing and wanting to be thin above everything else, and it’s making me think that maybe punishing myself for being fat isn’t working. Maybe I should focus on being healthy, whether or not the scale is moving. I can’t just automatically decide that I’m okay with my chub, but I can decide that being punitive with food and exercise isn’t the way to go. Plus, it’s not working anymore. My metabolism is shot.

So when we got back from our trip, at the beginning of this month, I didn’t weigh myself and start right back in at 1,000 calories a day to get back in. I just cut out all of the sugar and ate a lot of vegetables and very little carbs. And for Thanksgiving, I ate what I wanted, plus one piece of pie, and then no more sugar again.

This morning, I woke up and decided it was now or never time.

I pulled out the scale, got on it, and I have lost three pounds this month. I LOST WEIGHT. Holy crap. And it’s my lowest weight in over a year. Not by much; I’m talking by like half a pound, but I really thought I’d get on that bad boy and it would just flip me the bird and tell me I’d gained a gazillion pounds and I needed to go back to counting, plus, not eat the rest of the week.

It didn’t, though. Shocking.

At any rate, it’s interesting, so I thought I’d share. Something good, for a change.

Well, it’s been a crazy month around here. Painting the house, going to Disney World, and actually having some people over. And...to cap it all off...we re-arranged the living room furniture. I know. We are two wild and crazy guys.

I have, however, gotten to witness something that I didn’t know existed: The practice of going to Epcot to get “Drunk Around the World in One Day”.....seriously.

I know it’s an actual thing because there were ever so many large groups wearing t-shirts that said it. At first I was kind of shocked, because I don’t like the idea of getting sloshed around a bunch of little kids. It would ruin my fun, I think. What with all the little people everywhere screaming and crying, and all of the other people everywhere trying to get ahead in line, I actually feel like Epcot would be a terrifying place to get drunk. Not to mention the whole “being a good example for the little guys” thing. I am in the minority, though. Apparently.

Also, who could afford to get drunk at Epcot? With the Food and Wine Festival going on, it’s like $5.00 for a teeny little glass of wine or a taster of beer. It would cost me around $50.00 to get a good buzz going, and I’m a lightweight. A ninety pound college sophomore could probably drink twice as much, and one of those guys in his fifties wearing his “I’m the eighth dwarf—Drunky” t-shirts who looks like he’s been drinking Bud Lights and shots of Fireball every day while watching wrestling and balancing his glass on his enormous beer gut for the last thirty years probably can’t even get really drunk at sea level, anyway. So paying over ten bucks per drink to get drunk seems like a really expensive vacation to me.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m not fun. Or maybe there’s something super fun that I don’t see. At any rate, I will probably never attempt to get drunk at Epcot.

Try all the desserts, though? Or all of the cheese? I’m down.

Alright, I may be in trouble. I have just been informed that dark humor is now off the table, because the world is too dark in general, and nothing's funny anymore, and we can't be kind and compassionate and sensitive beings and still laugh at inappropriate things.

CRAP.

So, since my Mom died, I can think of at least twenty things we've made jokes about that other people wouldn't find funny. We joke about her organized hoarding, and her bodily functions (well, I mean, come on...we make fun of everyone's bodily functions, because those are the cornerstone of true hilariousness), and even the fact that she's gone.

Why do we do these things? BECAUSE IT SUCKS. It really, really sucks. And we can either laugh about it or cry about it, but we can't do anything to change it. So we make jokes.

She made jokes about dying while she was dying, and I hope that made it easier for her. I hated it. But it really wasn't about me at that point. It was about her need to choose happy stuff instead of staying buried in the sadness of knowing we were about to have some time apart.

And it totally is a choice. I don't judge people who want to cry together, or hug, or make Facebook statuses about things. That's their process and their way to get through the constant barrage of crap that life throws us. 

But it's not my process.

This blog is kind of my process, embarrassing as that is. The last three years have been pretty crappy, but I'm slogging through, because I have no choice. And sometimes it makes me feel better to write a little something, just to assure myself that I still know words. And sometimes, things are just funny and I want to remember them later, so I keep them here, just to remind my self that there are still some good things mixed in with all of the rest.

But that's about it. I'm making jokes because I'd rather do that. I'm trying to be a good person and not judge other peoples' processes, and I'd really love to receive the same understanding. This is my way.

I know some people think it's weird that I still use the present tense when talking about her. I think it's weird that people would think she is gone, just because her body gave out. She's still here, to me. It's like she's on a long vacation. And I miss her every day, and I wish it wouldn't have had to happen the way it did, but it did. It's poopy, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to stop telling people the black bean soup + prom story, or the time she wrote something for her boss and instead of writing "public health, "she wrote "pubic health." That's just funny. And how can she not be here, when every time my sister or I hear something that we think is ridiculous, or we think someone has threatened one of our people, we both make the Mom "Oh, no, you didn't" face?

Also, I can't just forget the time Grandpa said that her post-weight-loss-surgery bathroom time couldn't be that bad, and it was, and he admitted it. HE ADMITTED THAT HE WAS WRONG. Come on. So funny.

So, yeah, I'm going to make jokes and laugh. I'm still probably going to cry a little every evening that I drive home from work and I can't call to ask about her day, and to tell her about mine. And also probably a little every time I see her name in my phone contacts, and every time I open my photos, and the picture of her on her birthday, smiling, pops up as my favorite.

And that's okay, too. I cry, just not in front of people, and usually for super lame reasons. But I mostly want to laugh about her, because I think she'd like that. She liked our dark humor, just as we all liked her bright sunshiny humor. The light wouldn't seem very light without the dark.

So back off on the dark humor. Just because it doesn't float your boat doesn't mean it's wrong. Leave me my cynicism, and I'll leave you your Holiday-Themed turtlenecks.

I’ve decided that life is like being in a raku firing. Every little difference in the kiln, from what glaze is on your piece, to what the other pieces are, and the glazes they have on them, changes every piece inside in a different way, and you can’t predict how anything is going to look at the end. Sometimes you end up sparkly, and sometimes you end up dull.

Also, we’re all in a fiery garbage can.

Okay, maybe that was a little exaggerated. But still. Deep, huh?

Hahahahahahaha happy Friday.

Okay, ladies. I’m talking straight to you, now, on a topic we all know is a thing, but no one ever discusses. I’m referring to feeling your chin for chin hair when you’re talking to someone else.

I first noticed that this was a thing at my last job, because my boss would come up and talk to me about something she wanted me to do whilst feeling out her chin. At first I thought, “Hey, maybe she’s an evil scientist, hatching a plot to overthrow the world, and she’s just covering by asking me to order more pens.”

Nope. Feeling for chin hairs.

Lately, I’ve been noticing more and more ladies doing this, and I’ve just got to say that it needs to stop. It’s happening all of the time. Yesterday, I realized that several of my students do this DURING SINGING LESSONS.

Seriously? You don’t weird about scoping for beardy times while you’re talking to me and I’m looking at you? Because that seems weird to me. Just a thought.

All of you who are too young to know, just rest assured, you will find out the glory of the chin hair eventually. It’s like you hit 30, and then, BAM. Hair in weird places. It’s pretty much the law, so just accept it. It will happen. No escaping. One more perk of getting older.

At any rate, maybe feel for chin hairs during more alone times. Or go to the bathroom and check it out in the mirror. I don’t know. I just feel like, when we’re talking and you keep stroking your chin all softly and whatnot, I’m intruding on some private chin ritual and maybe I should run away and leave you be.

Just an idea.

A couple of years ago, I decided I was tired of dealing with wet grounds and washing out my French Press every day, so we switched to a regular coffee machine. For convenience (I can’t do a Keurig or even a Nespresso machine...those pods just don’t work for me).

So after a couple of years of cleaning out the entire machine on a daily basis, which I can’t believe I didn’t notice was WAY more work than the French Press deal, I have officially switched back this morning.

And it’s amazing.

I love my coffee. Some people have used the term ‘hot liquid mud’ and I’m actually okay with that. I probably use at least twice the normal amount....okay, three times...but it’s too weak if I don’t. Also, I don’t use sugar, so if it’s too weak, the bitterness comes out and I just can’t. 

So yesterday, my husband brought the press that he’s been using when he makes coffee at work home, and I decided to go back. Except, it’s been a couple of years and I wanted to make sure I did it right, so I read a bunch of articles first, and then went for it. 

Long story short, DO IT. It’s so much better. Sweeter and rounder and more flavors, and just all around delightful. And, yes, I use three rounded tablespoons per cup. Mmmmmmmmmm buddy.

Don’t judge...I’m a Farmer. It’s in my genes. 

Alrighty. I'm trying to make it to lunchtime, but there's a conference in the conference room, and I don't want to be in the middle of my bowl o' cottage cheesy goodness and have someone walk out and interrupt me.

I know that it's just cottage cheese, not pudding or anything fun, but I have pineapple for it and everything. And I eat breakfast at like 5:30 am, so I'm starving and everything in the world sounds delicious right now.

I also have six Triscuits, so there you go.

Can we all just agree that everyone should be done and leave so I can eat my dang lunch? Yes? Okay, good.

Get on that, ladies.

Come ON.

Those Triscuits are calling me.

Also, I'm wearing a shirt that feels like it might be slightly clingy in the back, and feeling paranoid about back bulgy action and stuff, along with my usual concerns about stomach bulgy action, bra strap showage, and trying to blink more often so my eyeballs don't shrivel up and fall out, so I've been sitting funny and really straight all day and I want to slouch while I eat and maybe close my eyes. Something like that.

Still no signs of the door opening or people coming out.

Also, there is not work to do during the lunch hour most days, so I can't even stay distracted with that.

UGH.

Alright, I'm going to chance it. Cottage cheese time, here we go. Good luck, me.