On Friday, my pear tree was little white buds and today it’s mostly leaves already. I’d get up and take a picture for you, but that would require effort. I’m going to go out on a limb (BAH) and assume you can picture a tree with buds and then leaves.
I’m on a diet. Perhaps this is why I’ve been in a MOOD as of late. Perhaps this is why effort is not so much do.
Last year, after my SURGERY, I really wasn’t hungry for a month, and I wish someone would explain to me the physical phenomenon of how I was (a) foggy as hell and (4) not hungry for a MONTH after having surgery. I mean, I really was out of it. And anyway, as a result, I lost 10 pounds that month. SAY “MONTH” ONE MORE TIME.
And this is what I regret about the pandemic time. About this, our break.
Because I started off 2020 as svelte. Well. Svelte-ish. I haven’t been svelte since the year 2000 when I ran a marathon.
So I started off svelteish. And I had two or three inches of white roots in March 2020. I could have gone all last year getting actually svelte and growing out the white in the privacy of my home, with only my lawn guy to see it every two weeks. The lawn guy, who said, “Maybe you go back to brown now.” So whatever.
Anyway, I could have gotten sveltish-er and grown out my roots and did I do either of those things? No. There was a BOY, of course, a BOY I’d been talking to in the summer of last year, and he said, “We should get together” in July, and I was all excited because he, like me, had been totally isolating himself and I thought we could have some kind of outside distance date and so I sent away for hair dye and then he ghosted.
So he’s the reason I relented on the hair. Ghost boy.
And then also I was bored, because see isolation, and ghosting, and I ate. Oh, did I eat. I ate pork chops and mashed potatoes and nachos and ice cream sandwiches and barbecue and onion rings and malts. I ate and then I wasn’t bored and it was delicious and I’ve never been someone who cares much either way about food and now all of a sudden, I do. It’s all I got, man. Well. Cats. I have pork chops and cats.
So now I’m unsvelte and back to growing out the roots. I have to start all over.
It’s like when you’re in AA, and you get all these days of sobriety, and then you have these disturbing dreams where you drink. And your first thought in the dream is, “Oh, my god, now I have to go back to counting days.” Because at first it’s all, “Can I make it 30 days without drinking?” then, “I made it 30, but will I really get to 90?” And you get these chips at 30, 60 and 90 days, and people clap, and it becomes a thing. And then you’ve got a couple years and newcomers see you as an old-timer, a wise old-timer and then you dream you drink a mai-tai and DAMMIT, back to counting days.
That’s me with m’roots right now.
Also, I spent 7+ years in AA and then I dropped out and now I don’t drink. I mean, I do, but I drink maybe once a quarter. And then I have two drinks and go to bed. I have no idea what happened, there, as I really used to plow through the wine. Like, a bottle of wine, by myself, on a Wednesday night. That was routine for me back in, say, 1999. I guess a big part of it is the drinking-gives-me-migraines thing, and it became Pavlovian. I look at a bottle of wine and I feel a slight migraine start.
I do not say this to anyone in AA with the hint that you should give it up. I think I had a very rare and lucky break, there.
At any rate, now I’m back pushing that boulder up a hill, and I’m on a diet and growing my roots, which is what I started out saying but you know how I am. I went on Noom, because one of my friends is doing Noom, and so far all they’ve done is tell me clever little things about psychology and also I’ve weighed in (UGH) and recorded what I’ve eaten and now I have a coach and I’m already annoyed because said coach texted at 6:58 this morning and it was a tome. It’s like how Marvin used to be chipper in the morning.
Hi, June!!! I’m your coach, Pelma Haversham, and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah!!!!!
Anyway, further reports as developments warrant, and — oh! A little bird has landed on my camellia bush, which is not a euphemism. I think there must be a nest nearby, as there has been a lot of bird action on that bush. Again, not a euph.
I also heard baby bird peeps in my backyard yesterday, and I do have two birdhouses out there so I hope someone in the bird world is using them.
Anyone who makes an Iris eating birds joke gets a tired, dieting look from me. She hasn’t killed a bird in probably 5 years. She’s old. She’s sick. Her eyes are just awful now. The other day I watched her cross the patio and stumble, because she didn’t know she’d gotten to the grass part. She hardly ever goes outside anymore, really. That day she just wanted to eat grass and come back inside.
Poor Iris. Makes me sad. She is my f-a-v-ro-r-i-t-e.
I had better go. I have to shower and try to break from work before 1:00 today, as the eye place has m’contacts and I am plumb out. I am Eve Plumb. I’m practically Iris, so without contacts am I.
God, I wish I had an Egg McMuffin. I hate dieting. Makes me—OH! TWO birds on the camellia bush now! Two! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhh!
Oh my god, once I start making The Count jokes, it’s a definite goodbye.
What ADD? What hunger? What effort?