I’m trying to be healthy. It’s difficult considering the wildly unhealthy world we habitate. Or inhabit. One of those. Our minds are sick. Our hearts are sick. Our bodies are sick.
No, I’m not a health/vegan/boho/crunchy/granola chick.
I’m just sick of feeling like dog poo from a parasitic pooch.
So I started milling wheat for homemade bread. Don’t worry. I worked up to insane with varying levels of crazy. At this point we vaguely resemble modified vegan nutcases. Or rather, I do. Jim has come up with more excuses for going out to eat in the last 3 weeks than leopards have spots. Well, at least 4 of us now have regular bowel movements. Must suck to be him.
Point being: I feel better than I have in the last 3 1/2 years. Actually, since before we were married and I lived on cucumbers from the Bible College Student Union. So, I really mean 5 years. Cuz that’s how long we’ll have been married if Jim doesn’t leave me for a bacon cheese burger before September. (insert Carl’s Jr/Hardee’s commercial) Damn sexy beef patties. No, really. They are so artificial, you could probably stop a river with them.
1 Health nut diet.
2 Removal of anti-baby-making plastic arm rod.
3 Counseling/therapy/whatever the heck you call it.
The results can neither be argued with nor faked.
In 7 days’ time, both my OBGYN and my children’s pediatrician in a non-backhanded-compliment manner informed me that I appeared happier, less stressed, and more energetic than the last time they have seen me which had been respectively 1 & 3 months ago.
Thank you to my mom for being an inspiration. Gratitude to my friend Sarah for well, something similar to inspiration in the form of sarcastic awesome. And to my counselor for listening without judgement to my myriad of crazy.
O, and there’s this. This will make anyone’s emotions on par with large quantities of currency.
And I got my eyebrows waxed.
Dylan, I’ll take you with me next time.