In the year 2020, I’m so very thankful for my body. The way that it is. Today.
First and foremost, I’ve recently discovered this song by Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings and I’m obsessed. It was released in 1978, and I honestly never heard it until this summer. I am flat out in love with this song and it’s just about such bad things. Whereas this song is not about storylines, for your listening pleasure, I offer you this little nugget from the seventies.
Now that I’ve shared with you my latest song love, let’s talk about my thoughts around storylines.
Definition of story line
: the plot of a story or drama
While meditating today, I listened to a session around getting past the storylines that you create in your own mind. It gave me such pause, and here is why: without storylines, what on earth do people think about? I create a storyline for every single scenario.
I hear a noise in the back of my house and immediately craft a story that some creature has gotten into the house and obviously is starting a new family in my laundry room.
Someone is late for a lunch appointment? Surely this means that they have run away to have the worlds greatest adventure.
A guy doesn’t call me back, or ghosts after a few dates? Alien abduction. The end.
My brain has always created storylines for every possible scenario and I didn’t realize until today, that by doing so, I was creating a false narrative that eventually I would begin to believe myself.
When you are a pretty lonely kid living away from most humans, you find ways to entertain yourself- for me, I was either rabidly reading anything I could get my hands on, or creating up entire stories in my head.
Listening to the meditation tonight about not letting the storylines you create in your head become a reality blew me away. Is there a way to stop a brain from creating these narratives?
Am I the only one who creates storylines? Is this normal or have we finally found the reason why I need to go take a long medically induced nap?
The world was a very different place in 2010 and I was hopelessly determined that I was immortal.
I was in my early 30’s.
Fewer shits were given to just about everything and anything.
For better or for worse, I now know more and can’t ignore reality.
In 2010, I still had a pretty monogamous relationship with Marlboro Lights 100. I maintained a lovely year-round glow thanks to the super blast of tanning beds and I am not even sure I knew what fiber was.
My hair was close to its original color and due to the ongoing consumption of smokes, I was able to keep my ass in somewhat check.
Fast forward to today.
I’m researching ways to increase fiber in my diet so that I can increase my protein consumption and not have stomach issues. I care more about fiber than I care about going out for happy hours. Oh, that’s right, we can’t really do that these days.
My relationship with Philip Morris has been on mostly ice for years.
Despite the pale white glow of my legs, I can’t bring myself to go tanning. EVEN THOUGH I WANT TO. BIGLY.
Life just changes. Focus changes. You watch people start to struggle with things and you start quietly adjusting.
For me? I need to drop some lbs to help get my whoremoans under control. (Spelling 200% intentional.) Estrogen holds fat. Excess estrogen is a pain in the ass and literally could cause big issues. In order for me to lose weight, there is an actual trained medical professional working to help me figure out how to eat/lose weight without making my stomach sad.
Smoking is bad for my lungs and skin. This isn’t opinion, it’s just pure fact. My morning skincare routine involves 7 different products. It seems stupid to undo some seriously good work on my skin by picking back up one of my favorite bad habits.
Tanning? God, this is the hardest. I can give up Doritos, Fritos and late-night scooby snacks. I’ve already broken up with smoking. If I were to be completely honest, I would admit that I love the way I feel when I get out of a tanning bed. Energized. Fueled with well, possible skin cancer.
I’m not planning on going to the tanning bed, but I do miss some color on my body. I don’t want to end up one of those cautionary GIF’s about the dangers of UV exposure.
Most of the fun stuff in life leads back to cancer and I’m just sick of it. I’m sick of people getting the raw end of the cancer deal. Too many people I know have fought the cancer battle. Many cancer patients have won the battle, but the number of funerals I’ve attended has increased over the years.
I’ve lost count of the many people I know have actually fought and won the battle. I know how many have lost and it just bums me out.
2010 Kate was a big selfish asshole. She thought she was immortal. Without limits. Without cares. Treated my body like a legit rusty carnie ride.
Now, out of respect for myself, and others that I give a shit about, I reign it in.
Getting older and I guess wiser is not as fun as I thought it was going to be.
I’m writing this evening. Today is November 3, 2020.
The eleventh month in the year of Covid-19.
My 43rd year.
On this night, I am gainfully employed. I have a leadership role at a company that I enjoy.
I own my house.
I have a lot of thoughts I don’t share with the majority of humans.
I listen to music more than I watch tv.
Tonight is election night. The candidates are President Donald Trump versus Former Vice President Joseph Biden.
It’s a shit show.
I have the privilege that many yearn for. I say this to keep myself grounded.
On this night, where I can’t bring myself to watch election returns, I think about those who are genuinely afraid of the outcome. Folks who don’t have it as easy as I do. Folks that are judged by their religion, the color of their skin, and/or who they chose to love, much less how they identify.
I am neither Republican nor am I a Democrat. Neither party speaks for me and my beliefs anymore.
I respect people enough not to tout bullshit platitudes about being upset about an outcome of an election.
I am confident in myself enough that I don’t hide behind religion to justify a vote for someone who is not aligned with my beliefs. Also, I think we as a nation, one that really loves religion to remember that there should be a separation of church and state. It’s kinda a thing that we forget a lot.
I am aware enough to know that many people are actually hurt by the way people vote. People have the right to be hurt, just as much as others have the right to vote for the candidate that suits them.
Here is the thing. Many people get on their high horses and talk about their principles. Democrat. Republican. Conservative. Cool, you do you.
Me? I’m just trying to navigate a life different than many.
I believe in different things.
I value different things.
I am smart enough to realize that I have a stupendous amount of privilege that others will never have. I know that there are folks, exponentially more educated than I that won’t have the chance to be at a job like mine, because of the color of their skin, the texture of their hair, or the way they spell their last name.
I don’t believe that anyone should be locked in cages.
I also think it’s bullshit that I, as a single female, pay more in taxes than a family of four does. Side note, it also annoys me that I can’t use my dogs as dependents, but that’s another rant for another time.
I don’t give TWO shits about who you chose to love/marry/sleep with. I don’t now, and I never will.
If you want to have a gun, go for it. If you need artillery of high powered war guns, I would like to understand the why, but that’s just me. I’m a clutz that has zero desire to shoot someone or to have a pile of guns in my house. But that’s just me. I do like it when my friends go hunting and bring me back pheasant and venison.
Oh yes, I am a woman.
I have, currently, a uterus.
I really don’t think anyone should make rules about what I can or can not do to my own body. Here is why- go talk to your God and pray for me if you must, but I like to believe in that silly ole separation of church and state. Let me handle my body and deal with the consequences after I take a dirt nap. I laugh that people are absolutely twitterpated about being asked to wear a mask, but have no problem telling women where they can/cannot get birth control or abortion if needed. I also bigly believe in providing sex education to teenagers and making access to birth control easy and not shameful. More birth control, fewer pregnancies, less need for abortions.
Many of you are hoping that things are going to be better tomorrow.
Me? I’m more afraid of tomorrow than I was yesterday and today.
One year ago today, i was back in bed, resting after my third ankle surgery. And by “resting”, i mean, sleeping with a combination of morphine, Benadryl and edibles.
One year ago today, I couldn’t get up on my own to go to the bathroom. I needed a scooter to get down the hall, and then ultimately a walker to help me for the next few weeks.
If we were to look back on the past 365 days, I really don’t have many words to describe this year.
Actually, here is a list of random words that immediately comes to my mind: bullshit, exhausting, painful, quiet, hard, long, successes, failures, frustrations, COVID, ‘rona, recovery, pt, stability, sadness, death, laughing, secrets, relief, tired, ‘rona, stuck, strength, resiliency, bullshit.
Yes, I started and finished the list with the same word, because it fully articulates the way I feel about the past 365 days. just a pile of bullshit with some good stuff mixed in.
Recovery from that last surgery was awful. It was physically hard and emotionally draining. My precious surgeon passed away in the midst of my recovery and I felt absolutely lost without him. It was a humbling experience of humility, failure, and occasional laughter. people expected me to bounce right back. I didn’t have it in me. I tried so hard to just rally and do the thing, but relearning how to walk twice in a year is more than most people will ever have to do post the first time you learn how to walk.
Because the last surgeries recovery was so rough, I wasn’t socializing as much as I normally would- I mean, who wants to hang out with a cranky unmedicated me? Not me. Also, “medicated” me is also a joy. and by medicated, I mean the kind that you can buy in California, Michigan, and Colorado. Friendships shifted during this time.
The holidays came and went in an ambivalent blur. Side note, I’m still feeling meh about the upcoming holidays.
January hit hard and I back was on the road.
I got sick my first day in San Francisco.
Really sick. I had a multi-day migraine, with a deep dry cough when I was in San Francisco and then dragged myself to new york still sick with what everyone was saying was just sinuses. um, ya. I felt so shitty I didn’t go to the dispensaries. In retrospect, it was most likely not a sinus infection. I was sick for weeks with a fever that made me want to blow my brains out.
I started to feel better in march. I had plans. I was going to go to SXSW and then hit the road and go to the keys, followed by countless work trips. I was finally feeling strong enough to be able to do things again.
You plan, and g-d laughs.
That nasty bitch ‘rona showed up just as i was finally feeling good enough to do things and shut us down.
Everything from march-august was a blur. i had many people in my life get sick. one died. another died from complications. the numbers spiked. it sucked. i was watching everything from my house, because well, i couldn’t confirm that i had already had it, but sure as hell didn’t want to pick up what i was watching people deal with.
The best part of the ‘rona? My little pod of humans. We managed to make the best out of what we could, fueled by swimming, outdoors, and endless boozy seltzer drinks.
Took a trip home. That was good and got me some really important people time. The drive was just as good as the trip. I had some mission-critical thinking time. I needed to sort out a lot of things that were coming at me.
When I came back and life just got intense. Everything got intense. I looked down at my cankles and decided that they were as good as they could get and I started walking again. I decided to walk 200 miles by the end of the year. Walking helps clear my head. I sweat and forget life for a while. I solve world problems while making sure I don’t trip and fall.
Since mid-September, I’ve walked 65 miles. that’s not a ton, but for someone that couldn’t walk around the block one year ago today, I’ll take it.
This year is a year I will never forget (even though I would much rather forget about 89% of it) and it’s still not yet over.
If you need me, I’ll just be socially distancing from most people and walking.
Good morning from Lavender Lane.
Tis Thursday, the first Thursday of football season.
There is a chill in the air.
I’m snuggled under my Buffy comforter blasting music throughout the house.
The dogs are starving, staring at me, begging me for sweet mercy (or at the very least a scoop or two of kibble.)
My air conditioning is not running. It is the perfect morning. I can only think of one or two things that could make this morning better. One being room service delivered to my house complete with bagel and lox from a hotel on a hill in northern Michigan (i know, I know, random) and a big ass Starbucks Medicine Ball hot tea.
I should be doing cardio. Or yoga. Or chasing Georgie who currently is sprinting across the house with one of my favorite Rothys in his mouth.
Instead, I’m just laying here, listening to the rain drip off the trees and am just content.
Have a good day, ok?