Tag Archives: mid life crisis

Stigma

I am so sick right now. I think it might just be the worlds worst cold, or maybe the flu. I feel dreadful and could barely lift my head off my pillow all day. My eyes are puffy little slits. My nose is running like a tap. I have been using nose flowers (aka stuffing tissue up my nose to absorb the constant drip. The ends hanging our your nose look like the carnations you made in art class when you were 7. You’re welcome for both the imagery and the ingenious tip). My skin is chapped. I am alternating between shivering and sweating – casting off the duvet one minute, wrapping tightly around myself the next. I am sneezing everywhere. I cough.

I am throwing everything I’ve got at this cold. Vitamin C. Vit D. All of the B’s. Various drops and drinks and remedies. Advil and Tylenol and even Midol. I just want to be well. I am pissing and moaning to anyone who will listen to me about how crap I feel.

Because suffering with this cold or maybe flu for 3 days now is just not acceptable!!!!

I have a point here. I am getting to it. It feels hard – because, well, stigma. That is why.

There is a big push to end the stigma surrounding mental illness. For good reason! I’ve been basically just ignoring the campaign. Staying silent. Like a complete total chump. Until right now.

Me, a person who will do basically anything to rid myself of a cold, went about 27 years before I got help for bouts of depression that lasted for months on end, and more recently crushing anxiety.  I mean, I only just recognized about 6 months ago that there was help for me, because I only just recognized that I am not well and that it is not a personal failing.

It happened after I read an interview with Sarah Silverman – a comedian I adore. I don’t remember where I read it, or even specifically what she said. What I do remember is relating completely to her story. And learning that she takes a very low dose of meds everyday to stay well, and that it works. Shortly after that a dear friend told me that meds were the best thing to ever happen to her and she could not recommend them more. Two women I admire openly taking about how these pills saved them from so much misery. It was empowering for me.

The depression started in my teens. I believed that I somehow wasn’t holy enough, or good enough, or something enough and that is why I felt so bad. That it was my fault and that I alone could fix it. It came and went. Rolled in like a storm and would roll out sometimes just as fast. There were two or three episodes that are particularly difficult to look back on now, knowing what I know. That I didn’t have to suffer through it.

Through the six month stretch in my 20’s were I wept in the fetal position in the shower every day. Or the six month stretch in my 30’s were every morning I considered how hurt my family would be if I gave into the urge to jump in front of the Go Train. Or the horrible day last winter when on my drive to work traffic came to a stop because someone had jumped from an overpass. And I related to that person. My thought was just … yes, of course.

The anxiety though… that just came out of nowhere fast and furious. It started right after I had minor surgery 2 1/2 years ago. The anesthetic really fucked me up for days on end and the worst side effect was panic attacks. The first one was just awful and my husband rushed me to the hospital because I was sure, and so was he, that I was having a heart attack. Later, I came to recognize the early signs and do my best to breathe through them praying my pounding heart out, or sometimes taking an Ativan. The anxiety got worse and worse. Circumstances contributed – stressful situations amped it up, and up it would stay. My son had to have surgery… a family member died…I got in a car accident.  I was always so level headed and calm, but suddenly I was a disaster. On a 24/7 adrenaline rush – it was hell.  I went to a Naturopath, therapy, my doctor… we debated meds many times.

Then one day on my drive to work I felt the storm coming. As soon as I got to my desk I called my doctor. I cried while I told her that I could not handle both at the same time. Anxiety on it’s own…maybe. Depression on it’s own…maybe. Not both. She called in a prescription for me that day and that night I took my first Zoloft. It did not go well. I got violently ill. We tried again, this time Celexa. I joined an online forum and by reading literally every post I knew I was going to be up against a nasty few weeks of side effects until it started to work. Two weeks of basically hell. Extreme fatigue. Nausea. Heightened anxiety. This awful feeling that I had the major shakes, but I didn’t, I just felt like I did. Mental fog. I powered through because the internet told me that I was going to be ok. And guess what?

I am better than OK. I AM FRIGGING AWESOME. I had no idea how crushing my anxiety was – until it was gone. I had no idea how much lighter I would feel. I had no idea I could feel this well. I am not in a state of bliss or anything. I am not feeling any false happiness or flatness or otherness. I still get sad. I get mad. I feel like me. Me but without a mental head cold or flu. I feel relief. My quality of life has vastly improved. My husband and kids see it. People at work see it.

If there was no stigma, perhaps I would have taken action all those years ago. Recently we had family over, and I put my pills away in my bathroom. I have only told a few people that I am taking meds. I do not have secrets from anyone… except for this.

Today with this stupid cold I realized that I am part of the problem – I have zero shame about my physical sickness, I don’t blame myself for it. I don’t consider it a shortcoming that I have a cold and am looking for any relief I can get. I consider it perfectly normal and I doubt I could find a soul on this earth to disagree.

If more people were open and honest about their mental health experiences the stigma would not exist and no one would have to quietly suffer, questioning their strength, character, being. I am not saying that meds are for everyone. There are many ways to improve your mental health. Natural ways, therapy, diet, shit tons of options. Addressing inflammation, getting more sunlight. But the meds worked for me, and this is my story.

Now, you might be shaking your head at this point asking yourself why I am writing a blog about having a midlife crisis if I am doing so damn amazing…but the thing is, it is amazing that I am having a mid-life crisis. That I care about my future and how I spend my time and how I feel and that I feel I have something to contribute and have the energy to write about it and the will to make changes for myself and my family  and to really LIVE.

So today I say FUCK YOU MENTAL HEALTH STIGMA! (In my blog, which literally one person reads. Hey…one step at a time).

 

 

 

Calories, Calories

None of my pants fit. NOT EVEN MY FAT PANTS. I am chunking out pretty fast. I recently told my husband “It is like my body WANTS to be fat”.  As soon as I said it I felt this big UH OH and rushed to buy a pregnancy test.  It was negative so I have no idea what is going on.

Actually…I have a small idea about what might be going on.

The other week some of the folks on my team invited me for Poutine. Which after pizza, is my favourite food. But get this… I said ” I would love to, but I can’t. I have a salad in the fridge. I went to yoga last night so I don’t want to spoil my hard work with junk food”.  To which my coworker responded “No, it’s BECAUSE you went to yoga, that you can eat Poutine”, to which I responded, “Ok, let’s go!”.

I have no willpower when it comes to food so I completely embraced this new thought that I can actually eat shittier because I am exercising.

And then there are the car snacks. I have a long commute…and somewhere near the start of it I get this crazy snack attack because it is the end of the day and I am ready for dinner, but I still have to drive for an hour or more, which is boring…and I eat when I am bored so…. So I basically feel ravenous at all times in the car.

If I don’t have healthy car snacks ready to go (aka I have literally never had a healthy car snack ready to go), I stop at a gas station and buy Zesty Cheese Doritos and a Crunchie bar. Then I need a drink, and because I have a fundamental issue with the bottled water industry (But yet never remember my reusable bottle, ever), I can’t get water so I get ginger ale or apple juice or coconut water. When I have PMS  I get really smart and actually stock up on car snacks and my PMS tells me that the best snacks are at Bulk Barn, in bulk, and you see where this is going. My centre console is filled with dozens of those flimsy film bags with holes ripped in them. My glove compartment should be renamed ‘salty snack world’.

I recently took action and reactivated my My Fitness Pal account to count my calories, and it was pretty shocking. I was going over my daily allotment by 50%, 60%…70%. But I mean, really red wine? 450 calories a glass? WTF. And who knew how many calories there are in a burrito bowl! Like come on, it is not even wrapped in bread!

In all seriousness, I really do find tracking calories to be a very useful tool to control my eating habits. I am super competitive and sticking within my calories feels like a game I have to win. It also motivates me to exercise more to win back calories.  I have to WIN. I have to end right on the number.

Over the last three days I have eaten 300% more veggies and stocked my car up with snacks that are healthier. Like these puffed quinoa cubes that are super gross but hey, they fill the void, are low cal, and have protien.

Also, I am learning a lot of new things … here are some samples from my internet search history:

  • What foods have negative calories? (Celery! Black coffee!)
  • What are the most low cal cocktails? (Gin Gimlet! EW)
  • What causes sudden weight gain? (Cancer, inhaling food)
  • How many calories do you burn doing yoga? (hardly any, is it even real exercise?)
  • How many calories do you burn during sex? (well…depends on how long you go and wild you are. (None of your business!))
  • How many calories do you burn jumping on a trampoline? (doesn’t matter, it’s too cold out and I haven’t been doing my kegels)
  • How many calories do you burn walking up stairs? (THIS IS A COP OUT)
  • How many calories are in a shot of maple syrup? (less than you think! WHOOP)
  • Why am I always hungry?

A friend of mine told me to get a step counter that syncs to my fitness pal because it will automatically roll back the calories for you. Since she got hers she has been going up and down the stairs 10x a day. Sounds like fun.

I feel like having a step counter would actually destroy my life.

Did I mention this thing I have where I have to win? Winning at steps means doing 10,000 a day. I am willing to bet my next paycheck that I currently clock about 800 steps a day. I walk from the house to the car, the car to my desk, my desk back to the car and then home where I sit or sleep. Very grim. Fucking yoga won’t get me steps.. too much flow. I think I need to switch to Zumba.

If I had a step counter I would go crazy trying to get those steps to the point where everything and everyone in my life would be completely neglected. Sure, I would be skinny and fit, but also prob get fired and divorced. Where do people find the time for 10,000 steps?!

This whole clothes that don’t fit, car snacks, steps situation … SIGH.  I know my middle-aged body doesn’t rock the same metabolism I had when I was younger. That is an issue. My lack of self-control, also an issue. Poor food choices…all on me. But the thing is…this is a symptom of a greater problem.

I need a complete lifestyle overhaul.

 

The Skin I’m In

So here is another post that falls into the category of ‘most selfish lady alive wastes your time talking about her skin care regime while millions, prob billions, of people suffer with real problems all over the world’.  **SIGH**

The thing is, I am kinda freaking out and have been really distracted for days by a decision I made earlier this week. Let me take you back a couple of weeks…let’s say to The day after my birthday. I took my youngest son to a party for one of his friends.  It was a kid/grown up situation and I love those. I love connecting with new people in a non networking setting. I will always come to your party. Please invite me.

Anyways, when I arrived the hostess told me that her sister and her sister’s six grown children and even some grandchildren were all there. Right away I was thrilled because as a member of six kid family it is so much fun to compare notes about things like giant sock piles and washroom schedules and general chaos. I love when I can make an instant connection with people and I totally did. These folks were LOVELY, and I would love to dive into that more, but right now I am seriously running the risk of straying way off topic, so let me make a potentially long story short (haha, let me try at least)

***UPDATE***This is the longest blog post I have ever written.

I met a beautiful woman who I assumed was one of the six kids but nope, she was their MOTHER. Their insanely youthful, hot mother. So I immediately asked her what her secret was and she told me that she uses a certain skin care line, which I immediately wanted. And lucky me because this stunning woman actually sells these products which are only available through a direct sales situation. She told me about every product she uses and one by one I was sold.  Hook. Line. Sinker.  The enzyme peel. The hydration mist. The serum. The moisturizer. The multi-step cleansing system.

So, I got my hands on a catalog and guess what? All of the products that I just had to have cost a whopping $530.90.  Can I just say that this is more than double the monthly income of a person living in Nepal. It is $200 more than the average Turk makes in a month. I could go on. You get my point. Who in their right mind spends that kind of money on Skin care? Not me.  That would just straight up be fucking stupid.

So I went back to the catalog, I spent hours reading online reviews of the various products, I narrowed my wish list down considerably to only two products worth $79.00. I emailed Mrs. Perfect Dewy Glowing Skin with a great personality to boot (hereafter, Mrs. PDGS with GP), and told her what I wanted. She responded with great news. A March Madness Sale.  This opened a whole new world of opportunity up for me. Two of the products I had taken off my list were dramatically reduced. I needed them. What a crazy insane deal!!!! All of that Hyaluronic Acid and peptides and mist could actually be mine for less than half price!! I could achieve the results of cosmetic injections without actually getting needles stuck into my face! WHAT.

And since I was saving so much on those products I could throw in a few of the others right?  And then… another miracle. Mrs. PDGS with GP offered to place my order with hers for an additional 20% off!! WHAT. Sign. me. up.

So I went back to my original wish list. I ordered it all, all 12 products (I currently use 2. Ain’t nobody got time for that (12! Gah), but that is a different issue all together). $226.00 later (Seriously awesome deal btw)  I am sitting here freaking out. Because right at this moment in our lives spending that kind of money on beauty products is not responsible – not that it is at any other time ( you know, unless it is 20X points day at Shoppers or something).

Because I know my husband is going to be really pissed off and there is going to be an argument. Because it is a slow time for him with his work and we are trying to be really careful so we don’t accumulate debt.  I don’t want to contribute to his stress. Sincerely. So I regret that this is coming.

I know it is being delivered to me today or tomorrow and I know that when it arrives it is time to face the music. I’ll have to listen to myself explain my own frivolity. I haven’t paid for the stuff yet. Because Mrs. PDGS with GP very kindly extended her own discount to me, I have to pay her in cash, but not until I receive the order.

I have been scheming. How can I sneak the cash out of our accounts, that are all joint, without my husband noticing? There is no way to do that, and furthermore, I don’t actually want to do that. I don’t ever want to be sneaky in any way in my marriage or work or friendships or life in general.

In case it sounds like my husband is some kind of controlling dick, that is not true. I am totally scapegoating him here.  It is my own music I have to face. My own weakness. My own vanity.  My own selfishness. My own weakness. Did I already say that one?

The fact is, I am all out of cleanser, 2 days away from needing moisturizer and I use fairly decent products so I would have spent at least half that amount anyways and not had this insane guilt going on.

Look, if all of the product claims are true I will write a follow-up blog and prob start selling them myself, and everyone who knows me will ask if I have had work done and when strangers find out my age they will want to know my secret and my life will be forever changed and I will be so happy that I will have to change the tagline of my blog to something else.

But seriously, when have beauty product claims ever been true? (Tell, me, I need that product).  Prob what happened is that someone totally recruited Mrs. PDGS and GP because she is gorgeous and has perfect skin and they knew that her very own face was worth a million bucks. Prob I am a huge sucker.  Def I am a huge sucker.

I am disappointed in myself. Disappointed because I want to just love the skin I am in and shine from the inside. Disappointed because I spent so much time this week fretting about this. I should have just cancelled my order and I can’t pin down why I didn’t. Is it because I am holding out hope that it works or because I don’t want to feel like an idiot calling this lady to cancel?  Either way it involves me caring about what other people think in a way that I don’t like. It involves me caring what I think in a way I don’t like.

I should have taken that $226 bucks and mailed it to a random person in Nepal or bought food for the food bank or given it to a group sponsoring refugees or bought a teenage girl from a low-income family a prom dress or put it into an RESP or RRSP  or  bought 100 strangers a coffee or…

God I suck. I am going to go read the fine print now and see what the return policy is on all of this stuff.

 

 

 

Message from the Heart

St. Patrick’s Day, otherwise known as the day I kissed my husband for the first time. FIFTEEN years ago.

The way time flies by totally freaks me out. I know everyone says it and it is a huge cliché etc. I just can’t get over it. I guess I thought I would be young forever, and well, I guess I thought I would be turn out to be immortal or something. You know that song Forever Young by Alphaville? That is like my personal anthem. My grandmother always told me she felt like a young girl inside and that looking in the mirror never stopped surprising her. I get it. I totally, totally get it.

If I could have one superpower I would freeze time, or maybe go back and just relive certain moments. Like the time we let our youngest son drive a golf cart when he was 5. His joy was a bigger joy than any joy I have ever seen. I could live in that moment for eternity.

I would go back to the last time I nursed each of my babies, and read them a story book at bedtime, and to the last time they napped on my chest or crawled into my bed with a bad dream. Just to savour it, to make sure I recognized the significance and sweetness of the moment and to store it in my memory (why not to their births you ask? Cause that shit hurt!!). I would go back to many of my teenage and 2o something days… to quite simply being that carefree. I would go even further back to my elementary school days when we hiked in the forest and ate our lunches by the river. I would definitely relive our wedding again.

Most of all, I would go back to today 15 years ago. The day that I kissed my husband for the first time. We had just spent an exhausting day together at a video shoot with his band. I held his hand that day during a break during a crowd scene because he had a groupie that would just not leave him be. I was helping him out of a bad situation and it felt good.

Just days before at my birthday party at a bar downtown I had tried to set him up with not one, but two of my sisters. I told them was a sweet and gentle man he was, I sat him right in between them. One of them wisely inquired… “If he is so great, why aren’t you dating him?” I had a myriad of excuses. What it boiled down to was that I thought I needed to be alone. I had JUST ended a really toxic relationship and felt damaged, sad, and uncertain of myself and thought I needed more time to get over it. I thought being alone was what one did under those circumstances.

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The Souvenir

He came home with me in a taxi after the shoot, just to hang out, to smoke a joint and relax. There was a little souvenir viewfinder of Vegas in the shape of a camera sitting on the seat so we kept it. (It sits on our kitchen window sill).

We were on the sofa, chatting and I could see all over his face that he was gearing up to kiss me. Inside of myself I completely freaked out. Because I knew that he was a very unique man. A serious man with morals. It would really mean something to him if I kissed him, so I couldn’t take it lightly.

I didn’t want to lead him on, or hurt him in any way, but on the other hand I didn’t want to embarrass him by not kissing him (and besides I wanted to) but I didn’t want to make him think we would have a relationship because I really wasn’t ready and I really needed to be alone. Didn’t I?

Something happened then that I can’t adequately explain, but that was a near to a religious experience as well, my religious experience (more on that another time). It was like a voice whispering to me, but from within. Perhaps how it would feel if someone was telepathically speaking to me. It was as clear a message as I have ever received. I had absolute complete belief. I had absolute peace and surety. The essence of the message was…

IT IS OK. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HURT HIM. KISS THIS MAN.

(I don’t think the caps really gives the right impression. It seems harsh, and in reality it was the opposite of harsh… Maybe italics will be better?).

It is okay. You are not going to hurt him. Kiss this man.

(Yup, much better)

And so I did.

And it was HOT. We stood in the hallway of my house making out for  a long time. Then he left and I went back into the house and when I saw my roommates I told them, because I was more sure of this than I have ever been about anything, that he was THE ONE.

And so he was.

I know I can’t re-live it…the time I was the most sure of something. The time I knew a thing without a single doubt. I hope that I get the chance to be that confident about a decision again in my life, but for now…

Happy kissing anniversary Charlie! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All That We Need

So when my sister asked me at dinner last night how I spent my birthday, I told her all of the truth.

Spectacular breakfast in bed. I mean really. The door burst open and a pile of balloons filled the room. There was a tray with a beautiful hydrangea, and this cupcake…it had candles, it had a sparkler, it had a giant swirly pile of icing, it was elaborate. The boys were singing.  I am so truly blessed.

Then we went to tour the Princess Margaret Home Lottery Grand Prize Showhome to decide if we wanted to buy a ticket.  The best part about having a ticket is daydreaming that you live in the house and knowing that you just might be able to. It is a spectacular house. I mean, any 3.7 million dollar home is going to be. This particular one was not for us. It had a mini hockey rink in the basement – come off it!! I might be the only Canadian, besides my kids, that don’t even know the rules of the game. Plus, the decor was not to my taste. There were these giant gold statues that looked like Oscar’s doing yoga poses. There were so many useless rooms. It totally grossed our younger son out. He is 9. He said “I think we should leave. This is making me SICK”. Sick because of the excess. Sick because this house was the smallest house in a subdivision. Row upon row of 8, 10, 12 thousand square foot homes. (How come there are so many super rich people? Where did they come from? What are they doing for a living?)

We were just in Mexico where we visited a 2 room school house that would have easily fit in master bathroom of this house. Where we met a family of 17 lovely happy people that live together in small apartment without hot water or an indoor toilet. Where our kids finally realized that all the times we have said “you don’t know how lucky you are!!” it was a real thing that we weren’t making up.

We all agreed that this was not the neighbourhood for us and that we are not the kind of family that wants to live in a mansion. We bought a ticket anyways, because, well, charity. We can just sell the house if we win.

Anyways, all if this is totally beside the point of what I am writing about. Because after telling her all that junk, I told her I started a blog and that I did it because I think I am having a midlife crisis, or maybe just a plain old garden variety crisis. Because I there are things I need (or maybe just want) to change and I need the accountability. Because maybe other people are going through it and this will help us all. Because I have things to say and why not say them to the entire world wide web?

Of course my sister demanded to see it right away and to my horror my mother read over her shoulder. Didn’t think that possibility through when I published the post. They both audibly gasped at the same time. I think it was during the part when I say I was doing drugs. My mother peaced out right then and walked away (So, that is a good sign right?) but my sister read on. At the end she said, it is relatable, but I really think you have much more to say. Then she pointed at my left boob and said “that is the bigger one right?”

Right. And also… I do have more to say. But I am going from the outside in with this. It is a bit safer and maybe easier for me to start on the surface and peel back the layers. Not to diminish the surface…there is a lot that starts there. Body image stuff. Self esteem stuff. How we present ourselves to the world. I, like most people, have a lot of insecurities tied to how I look and how I want to look.

Not 20 minutes ago I impulse bought a product that promises (I know it is a lie, but I can’t stop hoping) to diminish the look of my pores. I have ridiculous gaping craterish pores on my face, and have battled acne on and off since puberty. I always kinda worried about these pores of mine and secretly hoped I was the only one who noticed, but 20 years ago I met a tourist in Toronto (who was here from what country in Africa I can’t recall but one where they do not hold back what they are thinking and tell you what they observe in a really benign and non judgy way) and he studied my face for a while and kindly said “you have very large pores”.  So there you have it. I legit have crazy ass pores. What I wish, and what I hope for, is that I can come to a place where I don’t fucking care. Caring about my pores is not knowing how lucky I am. It is living in a beautiful house but wanting to win a sickening mansion, while 17 lovely people are perfectly happy to sleep three to a hammock and go outside to use the toilet.

Look. Do me a favour. Next time you see me please don’t stare at my pores –  or my boobs for that matter. Just gaze over my shoulder or something.

 

42

Happy Birthday to me!

All signs indicate that I am in the throws of a classic midlife crisis. Those signs being my 12 year old son and the internet telling me so (because 12 year old boys know everything and those buzzfeed quizzes are never wrong). And probably other people might agree if I asked them. (Question, how do you close comments on this thing?)

My hours of research for a cure have been simultaneously reassuring and terrifying. Reassuring is the fact that I am NOT crazy, even though I feel a little bonkers, restless, and reckless. Even though I have spent several hours on the internet looking at full torso tattoos of cherry blossoms and pricing them out, or googling shit like “How to disappear without a trace and start a new life”. Just kidding. I didn’t do that last one. But I did start doing drugs again. Sort of.

By doing drugs, I don’t actually mean I have been doing real drugs. I was being dramatic so you would be more intrigued.  I mean I have been eating these pot laced lollipops (not technically drugs, at least here in Canada) someone gave me that were made for cancer patients and hardly have any THC and instead of being fun and enlightening it makes me either obsessively reorganize my cupboards, or lie in bed slightly paranoid and very drowsily hiding from everyone. Yup, crashing and burning in a spectacular fashion over here folks.

Back to NOT being crazy. It turns out all of those classic symptoms are a really healthy signal from the soul that I am not “living my personal truth” and it is time to get real. Which brings me to the terrifying part. What is my personal truth? And how do I live it without blowing our lives up to smithereens? And where do I get the courage to do that?

So now, on my 42nd birthday I am going to start a list of things that are true about me, but I don’t live them. Yet.

***Spoiler alert. Not starting off too deep here. That will come later. I think.

1/ I want to sing Karaoke but never have because am completely ashamed of my singing voice which is truly awful. But fuck it. I want to do it.

2/ I don’t want to wear bras anymore. I have tiny boobs and they are holding up ok. Not great, but ok. One is visibly larger the other, but still, technically I don’t need a bra. I have been wearing stupid push up bras my whole bra wearing life, that make me appear to have super nice symmetrical boobs two cup sizes bigger than they actually are. Like, I feel so stupid!!! Make my boobs look terrific, so a dude will want me, only to discover the great deception, and not actually care. I locked Chuck in to the situation 15 years ago, and so who is the push up bra really for? I wear metal and padding on my chest for society in general? It is so fucked up. I just feel like if I stopped now people would be shocked by the real me and it might be scandalous. Plus nipples. They aren’t in right now. UG.

3/ Speaking of wearing things… I want to wear clothes I actually like every day of the week. I am a business woman with corporate clients, and even though business is fairly casual these days…still. I can’t wear yoga pants or ripped jeans to work. Doc martens don’t work with a dress the way they used to back in the day.  And flip flops. Am I right?

4/ Coffee. I want to drink coffee anytime of the day or night instead of just one in the morning because if I have more than one or drink it after noon I am awake all night long freaking out and counting down the hours I have left to sleep and then I don’t and I can’t function and do my job the next day. Friday is my favourite day for many reasons but a biggie is that I can drink coffee in the afternoon. This needs to not feel so special. It is just sad. I guess the bigger issue here is that I have a bedtime. I HAVE A BEDTIME. I don’t want to have a bedtime guys.

5/ I hate winter. Like a lot. My whole life. It is soul destroying for me. Enough with this shit!

Today however the weather is GORGEOUS. Like perfection. So I am leaving it here for now and going outside. My goal is to keep adding to this list and hopefully start making some good progress towards living my personal truth. Stay tuned!