Oh, hello! We’re having Mediterranean Veggie Sammies today – with cilantro hummus. Have one.
Do you wish? Not just on birthday candles, or about big things. I mean about anything. Do you ever find yourself saying “I wish I could…”?
Reading the lovely Jose’s blog (found at http://www.fabergemonkey.com/) I found myself thinking, “I wish I could write poetry. It doesn’t even have to be lovely poetry.” I’ve said in the past: I wish I could…
- speak French
- run without my knees hurting
- lose 5-, 10-, 25-, 50-pounds
- live in Paris
- save money
- blah blah blah
I guess the real thing I have to ask myself is “Why can’t I…” I’ll tell you why. I can’t because I think I can’t. I bet if I changed it to “I am going to…”, that after a few false starts, I would be doing whatever it is I put my mind to.
I wish it were Friday. I wish it were sunny. I wish I had a better/different/easier/more challenging job. I wish I had bought that bag/shirt/wallet/perfume. I wish it were 5pm. I wish I could drink/stop drinking/smoke/stop smoking.
Does any of that sound like you? What are we waiting for? Why are we wishing our lives away?
On the other hand, does wishing give you hope? Is it a form of prayer? Does it give you something to look forward to? Or does it deny hope by reminding you of what you don’t have? What you lack? What you only think you want – regardless if it is really the best thing for you?
Do you wish?
Oh, hello! Would you like some water? And how’s about a Klondike bar? (you just sang the song, didn’t you? *heh*)
I? am a hypocrite. I think I’ve known this for a while, but I’m just now allowing myself to acknowledge it. Oy! This inner growth stuff is exhausting! How am I a hypocrite, you ask?
So, you’ve probably seen those talk shows with the overly dramatically “interested” host who is grilling the guest in an attempt to make them cry. “What happened to you?” “Why are you doing this self-destructive behavior?” “Blah blah blah”. All the while feigning interest. And then the guest, sniveling in the corner of the squashy sofa, sobbing and says, “I had a hard childhood!” “My mother was mean to me!” “People were mean to me when I was in school!” “Blah blah some other lame-ass excuse that deflects all manner of responsibility!”
And then there is me at home, on my sofa, very likely with a sapphire and tonic, yelling at the television, “You whiny pathetic loser!!” “Take some responsibility for yourself and your actions.” “The past is over! Leave it there and move the fuck on!” “Blah blah blah you can’t change what happened so focus on you and your future and be fabulous with what you have now because whatever happened then made you who you are now, you cow!” (Yes, my rants are long winded and blathering. It works for me.)
So what does all this mean in terms of me being a hypocrite? When the hell am I going to get to the point? Hopefully, soon.
Recently, the realization slapped me in the face that I am that sniveling whiny talk show guest. I have been the one who has said that what happened to me in my teens led to what occurred in my twenties and that is why my thirties were the way they were and why I am at the place I am now. Well, guess what, Kitten? Remember the rant at the television? No? Here it is again: “Blah blah blah you can’t change what happened so focus on you and your future and be fabulous with what you have now because whatever happened then made you who you are now, you cow!” (I can be very harsh…)
I am over-weight because I made myself that way. Not my past. I did it. It’s time that I own that and move forward from this point. Being good to myself, as good to myself as I am to others, needs to be a priority. I have wallowed in my past for far too long. It’s boring. I’m sick of it.
It’s not going to happen overnight. I’ll have relapses. And that’s okay. It’s to be expected. But practice makes perfect, right? (Goat, maybe a few more cliches could be used here. *huge eye roll*). Baby steps towards total fabulousness is my new goal. Wish me luck and expect some meltdowns. But all the while, know that I’m getting there.
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