Idioms ... Can't live with them, can't stop saying them. 🤷
Every new year, we, the human race, embark upon the wondrous journey known as "The New Year's Resolution". What a grand feat we impose upon ourselves! A splendorous combination of hopes, dreams and unrealistic expectations.
Just before the new year, I'd decided what my resolutions would be and the conviction was as real as it gets. Pure passion, pure drive, pure resolve.
But, as life typically does, it knocked me off my happy horse with unexpected circumstances before the 2nd month of the year could turn around.
Right on my arse.
Truth be told, the first week of the new year was fantastic—smooth as frozen custard on a hot day. I was filled with excitement. I'd finished "Peter Blade", had done quite a bit of other (what I referred to as) productive things, and was at the cusp of a fruitful year.
Then, BOOM! 💣💥 "Screw you!" said, Fate and she laughed maniacally. 😈
Please, dear reader, allow me a small portion of your day to share the happenstances as of the last month and a half, or so.
So, you see, the way that I'm set up ... family comes first. Always. No exceptions.
Family, to me, is not just blood related but soul and heart connected. Much like when a couple marries, they become a family. To me, when my heart and soul connects with someone, he/she becomes my family. My heart and soul, however, don't connect with just anyone.
With that said, my best-friend ... my soul sister ... she is my family.
It all started with my medical conditions getting flared up shortly after the introduction of the new year.
When one or more of my medical conditions flare up, I can be bedridden for up to a week if not more. Suffice it to say, that I was down for the count for a while, and just when I started feeling better my best-friend got incredibly sick. What had started off as a suspected cold, morphed into the flu, then an array of other situations. I won't get into the meat of it as I do not want to infringe on her privacy. That is for her to tell, not me.
Now, being that she and I share a home and I have dubbed myself the "mamma bear" of the family, the moment she got sick everything was put on the back-burner and she became my main focus. All I wanted was for her to get better. I did whatever I could do to ensure her speedy recovery, but the the "speedy" part wasn't happening any time soon.
My dear soul sister, was down and out and excruciatingly ill for over 4 weeks. We are talking about numerous visits to the doctor's offices, 3 or 4 (I can't quite remember exactly) visits to the Emergency Room, and countless sleepless nights, medications, treatments and God knows what else. Truthfully, I lost count—days, nights, hours ... they all blended together. A blur, a tizzy of chaos.
Among all of that disarray I got more flare ups, my son got a cold, work was a holy fucking mess, no more progress was being done on my writing projects, the government services that I was receiving went to shit and caused even more upset ...
I mean, it was like ...
Crash + Burn = Murphy's Law
😖
Honestly, at this point I am just glad that the bestie is recuperating. The process is slow, but certain. That alone relieves a lot of stress as I would lose my mind if something ever happened to her.
What I am struggling with now is the lackadaisical effects of disrupted focus, the down-laden influences of worry and stress, and the roller coaster of emotions related to the sum of trials.
On top of that is the realization and dejection related to an unceremonious epiphany.
The other day I went clothes shopping and tried on a few garments. I was simultaneously bewildered and despondent. The clothes "made me look fat". Then I realized ... No, THEY aren't making me look fat. I have gained weight. A lot of weight.
Turning into myself, I reflected on many things. That is when I came to the above conclusion (see picture). 😩 😢
In self-reflection I realized that whenever I was at the height of my emotions and unable to address them—I was solely focused on pressing on, being strong and getting things taken care of—that I turned to food. More specifically, sweets. M&Ms being my drug of choice.
I would lie if I said that I wasn't disappointed in myself. I am. Very much so. How could I do this to myself? It was then that I realized that the comfort I felt with food was in one way or another easing the angst and disenchantment. This, of course, was not a good thing. Now, I find myself in the position of continuing to have to deal with myriad ordeals AND finding another way to cope. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I need to find a way.
Writing used to be my catharsis, my outlet whenever things got overwhelming. Now, with all of the vicissitudes and fiascos which allow me little to no time to write, I've got to find another way. Food cannot be my saving grace. Not any more.
But what? What can I use when my tools are wanting? Help, anyone?
Well, that's all I have for now.
Tah-tah, hugs and kisses.
Y. Correa
