Blogiversary The Seventh

Happy 222!

I noticed some time ago that I’m generally kinda pissy or kinda blah this time of year. It’d been consistent enough over the years to recognize the trend.

This year, I bucked it!

I feel great. I’m in a good relationship. We’ve had normal bumps in the road that were effectively navigated, and we’re closer for it. I went out with the urban farmer and decided I’m happy where I’m at, for no other reason than he’s not Galen. We had a great time, but I’m where I want to be right now.

I always suspected there was an incredibly loving person in me. It’s been wonderful to flex that muscle.

Penny’s health, on the other hand, hasn’t been great, and there’s tremendous guilt with that. Her lung collapsed after I GAVE HER BRONCHITIS! Don’t believe what you read online. NO essential oils are safe to diffuse around cats. It’s lasted months, and feelings of sorrow and worry are immense. We had a follow-up today. A listen with the stethoscope did reveal that her lung is drawing air again, and she hasn’t been overcome by an awful, seizing cough for a couple of weeks now, thank god.*

She hasn’t felt good, though. She’s been vomiting more than her normal every-once-in-awhile, but she wasn’t eating much at all. Basically puking every time she did. She lost 1.7 lbs! That’s a massive amount for a little thing, and I could see it. She is eating again and not bringing it back up, for several days, so… idiopathic and passing? *sigh*

I’ve had an annoying cold that won’t progress but won’t let up, for 6 solid weeks. I’m over it. I’m exhausted, and rolling in and out of congestion, but not so much to knock me flat or put a hold on my activities.

I love my dance classes. I’m so happy with all that I’m involved in.

Oh! Haha! I have to have surgery on my foot. Thinking of dance made me think of crippling pain, but whatever. I’ve decided to bear it until around Halloween. I’m so excited about the skills and apparatus we’re studying each semester in belly dance, and I want to join Samba Fogo in the Pride parade in summer, which requires me to re-up my 6-month commitment, through October.

I’ll be fine. I figure I’ve been limping on and off for 5-6 years, I can handle another one. My doctor advises against it, but he doesn’t make my decisions.

I’m having the time of my life.

I’ve had the best Winter. That’s unheard of! (It has to be thanks to the hot tub and fireplace.) I’m on the bus and everything, and it’s just pretty and wintery and cold, and fine! We’ve had a couple of inversions, but nothing like years past. With so much snow, the atmosphere stayed stirred up and clean. Lots of folks complain about storm after storm, but I think, “Good for the desert.” We’ve had so many years of drought that a season of normal precip doesn’t solve our problems, but it’s good.

Until this week. We’re smacked with a cold snap that I didn’t expect and didn’t brace for. I anticipate these temps in January, and I know that February is still deep in winter, but we’ve been turning toward the sun. Days are noticeably longer, the light is changing in its slope, and it’s been downright balmy a time or two. Now it’s late in the month, and I was ready to chuck it off. March is Spring and it’s practically March!

It’s January temps and March wind at once out there. Oh, the wind! Good grief.

Well, it won’t be long now.

I can’t seem to lose weight this time around, so that’s lame. Historically, I just had to decide, “OK, Christie. This is getting out of control. Reign it in,” and off it fell, with no real modifications other than don’t binge every week (certainly not multiple times per week). Not so now.

Without a car, I’m walking several miles weekly. I take 3 dance classes and 2 yoga classes, and I’m eating healthier. For one thing, the fast food joint across the parking lot from my work closed, and I’m cooking now! What the hell?

For the first time, I believe the findings of my genome, “Likely higher than average weight.” (It also said, “Likely not a redhead.” [94% not likely!] That led to an interesting exploration of the occurence of “rufosity” [hahahaha!]. It’s far less cut-and-dry than recessive MC1R. It requires the confluence of all sorts of variables.)

Girth, however, seems to be more easily determined by this variation or that, and I’ve got it. Oh, well. I had my fun. Boy, when I lose the weight this time, I am NOT letting it back on! I can’t. This is war! I’m losing. Or not losing, as the case may be.

So, yeah, that’s funny. I just listed a bunch of sorta crappy life things, and none of it bothers me right now. I love my life. I love it now, not tomorrow, not “when I…,” now.

Honestly, I think it has to do primarily with where I live. I LOVE MY HOUSE!!! There’s such a difference between loving your surroundings and tolerating them. I’ve had a number of untenable living situations, ranging from abusive boyfriends (and their sudden wives), to the standard dirty roommate, to the classic I’m-young-and-poor roach motel. The rest, I’ve taken pride and satisfaction in turning the most modest of places into retreats. Subconsciously, however, they were stop gaps. I wasn’t home. 

I love every corner of my pretty, pretty, warm little home.

My home is beautiful. My heart is happy. My life is good.7 years

die nachhaltigen

*Spoke too soon. That very night, the cough returned. Ugh! What’s it gonna take?



I confess I find myself in a malaise this 3rd WordPress anniversary.

I’m struck by thoughts of “Too late, ” “What’s the point?” and, generally, “Meh.” I catch myself in fantasies of my 20s, thinking what I might have done if I knew then what I know now. It’s such a useless enterprise, and yet I find myself perpetually there.

I think, “Well, start now!” See above.

This “blah” has been sitting on me all year. I was waiting to get depressed. When that didn’t happen, I waited to snap out of it. Neither so far.

I’ve tried 3 times now to write something meaningful or interesting in any particular on this blogiversary. The truth will have to suffice.

Having said that, I am looking forward to Hottie Hoop Camp next month. I thrive in the classroom, and I’m excited about the possibility of unlocking this brainfreeze I’ve been stuck in (for years) with my hooping. I’m so ready for a lengthy visit with my best friend. She moved last summer, and I really feel the lack of her in this blasé phasé.

The End

Stalkers are Stupid

and completely inconvenient.

I had to change my number, which thoroughly angers me because I loved my number. It ended in 222, my number! Jerk. And now I have to move. Ooh, I’m annoyed! He only knows my apartment building, not the unit number, but I don’t feel safe. I’m just so entirely put out by this stupid OkCupid creeper.

He redialed for hours every day. One call after the other, for hours. The messages were screaming, psychotic, straight out of “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” “CHRIIIIISTIIEEEEEE!!!!” I stopped listening. But he screamed my name via text, too, all caps. Endless texts.

It was within the first 5 minutes of our second date that I realized he was unhinged, so when he asked how my OkCupid experience was proceeding, I told him I was going out with several people. The truth. He made a scene in the restaurant and I left early.

My first stalker started harassing me in 8th grade. We had a class together. I didn’t even know who he was, but it escalated for 2 years until it became perverse, progressive and dangerous, and he graduated from high school in juvy. My second stalker was an assigned co-ed roommate at Boise State in 1995. I met him when I moved in. He was sentenced to 3 years in Idaho State Prison for Disturbing the Peace. They couldn’t get him on Attempted Murder, because he didn’t actually try, just handed the neighbor a gun and warned her to protect herself because he going to kill me.

And now this loser.

Stalkers are stupid and very inconvenient. Ugh.

“An estimated 3.4 million people were reported victims of stalking during a 12-month period in 2005 and 2006, announced the U.S. Department of Justice’s Bureau of Justice Statistics. Stalking is defined as a course of conduct directed at a specific person that would cause a reasonable person to feel fear.”

It’s 222!

For some strange reason, even as a kid, I was attracted to the number 222. It was just the beginning of the strange magic that would manifest in my life, yet one more strange thing to estrange me from my family.

I started this blog to forgive. To talk about what happened. I’m not ready yet, but I’m gonna navigate it here. I’ve gotta figure this thing out.

“If you asked me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.” Émile Zola

I was 11 or 12 when I caught the digital clock again at 2:22. “I always look when it’s 2:22!” I marveled.

“Huh,” mom answered. “You were born at 2:22.”

(… a.m., cuz I’m a little difficult. 🙂 )