Stick To It

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Post Its in Progress

It has been a long time coming, but friends, I am redesigning my blog.  The end goal is to have a format that showcases a wider variety of existing content found in Even If Nobody Reads This. I thought about changing the name and about getting an entire suite of new graphics for the blog, but that didn't feel necessary to me.  It's like when you reorganize your closet for the season.  It's not that you are renovating it, you are just moving useful pieces onto more suitable shelves, purging and mending some items that don't get enough use, and rotating forgotten things onto hangers in front, while picking up little sweaters that have fallen between stored boots and placing them in drawers with the rest of your knitwear.  

I reread my content.  I made four main categories to start with.  I wrote each post title onto a color coded Post It.  I have space on each paper to write notes like tags,  follow ups, and connections with other categories.  With every little task I have for each post, I realize there are edits that can be made, possible alterations in the flow that will lead to a related post at a future date that will nicely tie in with this one that could then open up to that one.  This process is leading to new ideas while reaffirming existing plans for some that I have yet to do.  There are old picture links that no longer work, posts that are way too long, and naked essays needing a visual.  That's just the beginning.  I was told it is best that as a blogger I learn how to run my site by myself, and that I will be glad I did.  A very cheery blog friend even said that redesigning is fun.  Hmmmm ... fun ......

I want to hurl myself out a window.


I am channelling the post its stuck to my walls.

I am channelling the post its in a pile sticking next to my computer.

I am channelling the post its stuck in lines on my table.

I am sticking to it.

God damn post its.  They think they know everything.

Winner's Checklist

Monday, March 2, 2015

Winners' Circle Photo source

  • Wake up
  • Oil pull and brush teeth
  • Drink a glass of room temp water
  • Have morning sex
  • Drink herbal Chinese tea from acupuncturist
  • Yoga
  • Green smoothie and supplements
  • Write morning pages while drinking water
  • Smile at hanging poster of kittens in a teacup
  • Bang out two posts that will undoubtedly go viral 
  • Have homemade lunch while editing and planning out the calendar
  • Chat on speaker phone with a friend for 20 minutes while doing lunges (burpees optional)
  • Drink more water
  • Style and shoot indoor photos
  • Lay out plan for tomorrow's post
  • Reply to email and leave insightful comments on followed blogs 
  • Schedule playdates with friends for the upcoming week
  • Eat an apple, drink water
  • Hit the pavement for errands and the mid afternoon walk
  • Smile at senior citizens waiting for the bus
  • Buy fresh produce
  • Have a banana at 5 o'clock
  • Write down ideas from afternoon walk while sipping on green juice
  • Make dinner
  • Drink water
  • Facetime with mother
  • Shower, brush, floss
  • Have evening sex
  • Drink water
  • Go to bed knowing tomorrow I am going to wake up a winner... yet again.

Side note:  It is 1:11pm and so far I have only managed to wake up, brush, and drink two glasses of water.  At least I am banging out one post, even if it doesn't go viral.  Somehow I am hoping there is still time for me to be a winner.  

The Fugly Stick

Saturday, February 28, 2015

I woke up the other day and saw that I was hit hard by the Fugly (feeling ugly) Stick.  I don't mean "effing ugly," the super harsh meaning of fugly in pop culture, but "feeling ugly" with the emphasis on raw emotions, coated in nerves, wrapped tightly in mental cobwebs & sealed with shadows under the eyes, a back ache  or greasy hair.  The effort to remedy these side effects, like seeking improved lighting, or wearing extra special clothes, feels forced when one is knocked on the head by the Fugly Stick. I was suffering from a case of the emotional and physical fuglies.  I wasn't cool with how I woke up feeling, yet I wanted to wallow in it more than I wanted to brush it off at that moment.  
This mindset starts slowly but can gain traction if you feed it the right diet of annoyance, too little sleep, indecision, fear, and resistance.  It is all down hill from there.   There is twisted comfort in feeling down on your luck when you're convinced that the fugly stick has taken a swing at you and didn't miss.

Sometimes we are just mental masochists, aren't we?  Naturally,  I went with the fugly flow as I got ready for my day. 

From my eye bags to my unruly-due-for-a-trim-ohgoshisthatawhitestrand-hair, I knew off the bat I wouldn't be able to shake the fuglies off effortlessly. 

Jewelry schmoowelry- not an accessory worthy kind of day.

I skipped the concealer, and didn't wear any lip color... buuuut I carried a pot of rosy lip balm in my bag.  

I omitted misting on some fragrance. (Skipping this actually made me feel pretty bad, I must say)

I did apply sunscreen though - always use sunscreen, people - (could not forget that.  I was down, not demented)

I just put on my favorite black over sized Everlane sweater that is already pilling front, side, and center, my matchstick jeans that feel two stitches too snug, and my Converse hightops that remarkably still have sand in them from last weekend.

My Converse are always ready and waiting. Photo by bp.

I deliberately wore my cotton underwear that's become baggy in the ass.  These have to seal the deal, I thought, as if I were proving a point to the universe that there'd be no snapping out of this 'blech' feeling.    I think I wore a bra... yes, I think I did, so at least there was that. Side note:  annoyance particularly likes sporting those baggy panties - it gets very insistent, and when a gal is hit with the fuglies, she is compelled to keep feeding annoyance to her own detriment.

Without glancing in the mirror before heading out the door I hit the pavement, knowing my body needed the walk.  Movement is good at beating down the usual shtik of the fugly stick: mental chatter, stale energy ... starchy and sugary filled cravings... That mind-body connection, you know? Blood pumping and oxygen flowing while feeling the cold air on my face, I started to feel human again, but only as far as resistance would let me.   Resistance always fights against change, especially hopeful changes in perspective and attitude that happen during a head clearing walk. This day, resistance was feeling particularly spicy, not backing down as it held on to my sour pout for dear life.

Months ago, I wrote about not going through life in sweatpants, no matter how fugly I feel, though this was one of those days when a hoodie would have been helpful to hide my face from the world. These felt like the kind of fuglies that prompt makeup counter girls to second guess whether I am worth approaching as I walk through the cosmetics department, or force dog owners to pick their pups off the ground so that I don't pet them as we cross paths.  

Have you been hit by the Fugly Stick lately?  Do you sit out for a few rounds to catch your breath, shake it off and get back into the fight?  Do you just go with it and hope the sting goes away?  What do you decide to do about it?  What's next?  

I will tell you what got me off the bench and back into the game that day.  Stay tuned ...


Friday, February 20, 2015

Monterey by bp

I dream often of having a weekend life, where at least once a week I can look out of my window and see birds not bums, and pools of water instead of pools of - well... it IS downtown San Francisco if you know where I am going with that.  

Last weekend we had a rejuvenating little trip to Big Sur.  Living in the city,  begs for weekend road trips to the coast, the woods, wine country, what have you.  How happy these excursions into nature make me.  Though I spent a lot of time playing in the woods and outdoors as a kid back east, I wouldn't call myself a nature girl.   I imagine that would involve a willingness to sleep in a bag instead of an air mattress or foraging in the wilderness in place of keeping the campsite lock box full of groceries from Whole Foods (though I highly recommend it, see here).  A nature girl only cares where the sun is so she can tell time or navigate during a day long hike, versus a girl like me who avoids extended sun exposure because of hyper pigmentation.  

I do aspire to be a "Weekender," a person for whom The Weekender, Kinfolk and Darling magazine pages hold the map to a future of Saturday morning porch sitting, early evening twig throwing, and ceramic glazing on Sunday mornings.  Demolishing breakfasts of freshly laid eggs and newly jarred jams spread over warm pieces of (gluten free) bread pulled out of a cast iron skillet (where it baked in a stone hearth of course) are what dreams are made of.

My bucolic weekend life seems just beyond my finger tips.  I can see it.  Can you see yours?

Big Sur beckons.   Photo by Husband

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