Health… 

I need to find out just how much muscle I got to find out if I actually CAN lose the 30 pounds it was just suggested to save my knees. 
The first option is a surgery my insurance doesn’t cover.
If it turns out I physically can’t lose the weight I’ll just be out $6.7K.
But hey, they’ll treat my GERD and prevent my stomach from eating itself for another year. 

Well, I’m not dead

I wouldn’t turn down money though lol.
It’s  been hectic. Got rid of the bugs. My Outlook account is buggin’.
My doctor discontinued my gut medicine and it’s like $70/month for a month’s supply if he doesn’t fix it.
There is still a gaping gouge in my ceiling.
I dislocated my knee seven times last month. The good knee.
But I’m going to try to write again. I fell into this…hole, and I wasn’t writing. I haven’t been able to get it going. But I’m going to do it. I’m going to push forward and write again. Cooking, photography, and writing are the things that make me happy, and I haven’t been doing any of them. But I’m going to change that starting now.
It’s time to get moving.


…ps, if you want to feed the starving artist, feel free to toss a few at. $20 feeds me for a week with this injured esophagus.

Shape. 

I am in terrible shape. Today I found out just how bad. That’s my cardiac score, based on VO2 max.

I work out based on partly wanting to lose a little weight, partly on aesthetics. Today I learned that it would also kick me into that blue bar there—my goal, that is.

I’ve not discussed any of this with my doctors. With the trouble they gave me thirty unexplained pounds ago, I’m rather apprehensive about letting them know what I’m worried about now. 

But I gotta do something.

Disordered. 

I’m scared. 
Everywhere I turn around, something reminds me of my weight. Getting to and from work involves a pass by a vending machine full of junk food that I “shouldn’t” be eating. I stopped carrying cash so I couldn’t get things out of it but sometimes I find a buck and so there it goes, bag of chips. 
I wish I’d never heard that number from the neurologist’s office two weeks ago. 
Now the ads being served up at me are diet ads. “Lose weight FAST!” “Drop inches NOW!” And every time I see one, there’s a voice in my head that says “You know, you should look, I mean you wouldn’t be seeing it if you don’t need it.” And then I get back into the cycle of looking at the stove and fridge and wondering if I’m allowed to eat, looking at my calories in chart obsessively. 
I KNOW it’s not normal and I can’t stop it. 
I just wish I knew what to do about it. 

Review: Jailbreaking the Goddess

I had been laid off. My apartment was full of something I was wildly allergic to, and a vicious injury basically kept me from doing anything more strenuous than sitting up for longer than fifteen minutes at a time, three times a day.

 

And I was just about to learn that the vision of the goddess that I had had for over a decade was steeped in patriarchal baggage.

 

“No way, nope, there is no possible…wait.”

 

The longer I thought about it, the more I realized this was right—the vision that we have of her has been locked into what man has had for her for years: a virginal maiden, a doting mother, and the wise old crone—and fairly often, a frightening one, to hear men tell of it.

 

Where was the woman in her goddess?

 

There is something lacking in this vision of the goddess, but until I this book fell into my hands, I had no idea how to get past that limited view. Lasara Firefox Allen takes that limited view and breaks it into pieces in Jailbreaking The Goddess as she throws you first headlong into the worlds of both feminism and a new world in which the goddess is not threefold, but fivefold, and no longer bound to biology and linearity.

 

Throughout the book’s chapters and exercises, we are introduced to both the faces of the goddess in this new revisioning—Femella, Potens, Creatrix, Sapientia, and Antiqua—as well as famous and notable women and even goddesses who have embodied each of these faces in history both recent and past. But it’s not just about the information. While each face of the goddess is explored, a bit of the mental programming around the old vision is broken away, and the energy begins to feel different—not all at once, but gradually. Soon enough I began noticing the difference in the energy, noticing the influences and identifying them in different areas of my life; a project would have the childlike but unfettered feel of Femella in and through it; a sudden discovery would have the lightning strike of Potens all through it; disentangling myself from a difficult situation would have both threads of Antiqua and Sapientia in it.

 

And for the first time in a long time, She began to feel real to me again.

 

As a non-binary person of color, this was a very important realization. Far too many interpretations of the Goddess and goddess spirituality take a strange, alienating stance on the transgender and gender-nonconforming, but not this goddess. In fact, a strong point is made on this, as after the examinations of the faces, the work on decolonizing and rewilding begins, with a focus on taking things back from the toxic influences that have had a hold on them for so many years—and yes, this includes the patriarchy (#smashpatriarchy). Exclusion has no place with the Goddess, and here we see that she can welcome and hold all, no matter where they stand in life and what they have to do. To feel welcomed again was phenomenal, a welcome change from what had happened.

 

In Jailbreaking The Goddess we learn lessons at once profound and occasionally cheeky, while at the same time learning about ourselves and how to potentially change the world around us, and the way that it comes to us is presented in such an organic manner that reading it, you might not realize you’ve learned something.

 

If you’ve been a bit put off with the way the Goddess has been set up to you…it’s time to come home.

 

Jailbreaking the Goddess drops July 8th at your local bookstore.

insomniac? Insomniac.

Insomnia.

It’s a little past 8 in the morning and I am not rested. I occasionally get bouts of insomnia, which if you know insomnia is kind of a dick. It was four something this morning when I was still up, bitching at the ceiling and my stuffed animals that the pill I’d taken for nausea was doing the opposite of its job.

So to keep missing busy I decided to install an assistant on my phone. An English patch isn’t available for my favorite anymore, so I decided to try something different.

Kicked myself in the teeth when I asked Andromeda (yes, my phone has a name) how to set up Siri. I am an Android user. I do not have Siri. I’m two seconds from correcting myself when Cortana opens and—

Well, I liked that tutorial. It boils down to “Boss me around, we’ll work on nuances later.”

I then set about half a dozen reminders—a function I’ve missed since my Windows Phone days—and took a hit of grape Tylenol.

I woke to a jangly cacophony of alarm tones at about five minutes before it was time to leave. For some fucking reason I glanced at my phone and muttered: “More cowbell.” THEN I spotted the pair of redflats that had made snack of my hand. It will swell up ugly but it’s all they got. The morgue grows.

Shotgun meds, out the door. Not nearly awake.

I’m still amused that CHILDREN’S TYLENOL stacked on this tramodol—which my doctor’s claiming to be a narcotic but all the research says no—is in fact helping. I’m also amused that he almost wilfully overmedicated the otc component but undermedicates everything else. A round of applause for the ever underappreciated pharmacy technicians who keep us from doing the dumb when the doctors aren’t paying attention

I’ll let you know what I think of Cortana in a week.

Of pain and a troubled relationship with its imperfect, impermanent cure.

It’s 0330 or so. An errant pain spike has woken me up.

The realization that it now takes a double of my pain meds has me feeling some type of way. Those would be scared and disappointed.

___

For a long time I have felt that these things are just a crutch for weakness. Specifically my weakness. And I can’t stand thinking of myself in that zone.

But lying here, I… Almost know better.

With my pain almost wrangled, I can feel the three worst parts inside of me so clearly—the tear just near the diaphragm; the one in my middle, the one that fails me so often sitting up; the one that starts low and radiates into my groin.

I’m able to swallow water that I carried in a bottle next to me. It’s my first intake since Sunday. The sensation of “thing in stomach” has revived pain center number three.

Drinking water is pain. But I hadn’t had it in a day. I am not brave enough yet to try food.

___

0340. Nauseated. Praying that sleep takes me back. It was only an hour of respite.

I am not OK.