Sunny Sun and the Funky Bunch

I've been standing too close to fluorescent lights lately, hoping to get some vitamin D (and frankly, a little warmth, which is a flawed principle) to break me outta my funk.

I've been struggling since just before Christmas, if I'm going to be honest here, and I'm not entirely sure why.

I've decided that it might come down to any or all or more than the following list:  

a) Just like when you put on your fancy clothes and get your hair and make-up finished waaaaaaaay too early in the day and you spend the rest of it wondering when you're going to spill red wine on yourself, I perhaps was decorated for Christmas a few weeks months early.  There is a letdown of spirit when the glitter-iffic decorations and tree are up long enough that they require dusting.  

a.1) I decorated early so as to get me out of my Fall funk, so yes... there's that.

b) My commute is (wah wah wah) making me a little cuckoo. I'm a person who perseverates on minutiae anyway, I don't need a bonus 2-hour boring-assed drive to ensure I contemplate my day and conversations. I've turned into some mutant clam that takes grains of sand and turns them not into pearls, but into mutated, glowing Scooby-doo style horrors. 

"Did he give me a wincing look when he said OK? Or did imagine it? I think it's real. I need to apologize tomorrow or everything will be ruined, ruined, ruined!"  

c) There has been a crazy lull in new music (which is thankfully coming to a close). I need new music to rock out to, or see b. 

It probably doesn't help that I haven't been able to run in months because of the commute, and now because it's Minus Eleveneeth Thousand degrees here. 

See, but the more I write about all the reasons I should be MEH, the more I keep thinking "Like, your life is NOT that bad, baby."

Anyway, the bottom line is, whether it's because we moved a lot while I was growing up, or because of a reason inside my psyche, I am back DYING to sell all our shit and move to Africa to build wells for orphans.

If you want to remind yourself what that looks like, my original post from a few years ago is found in July 2011 and it's called "Now I Ain't Sayin' She's a Well-digger" so click through below, k? 

I've been painting up a storm (well, a heavy rain anyway) so as to process some of these things I'm feeling but can't articulate. You might have noticed a lack of writing here on ye olde bloggy blog and, well, that's why. I'm having trouble getting the words out right to figure out what I'm feeling.

Judge all  you want-- for someone who seems to communicate as easily as I do (in either official language, which almost makes it worse) I am having trouble processing and separating the different things I'm feeling. It's really hard to find things hilarious when you can't figure out why you're feeling sad, non?

So, the writing has been slow and forced. And not my usual self.  And that's ok, I know. Sometimes you have to trudge through the snow to get to the ice rink.  I guess I'm posting this not for any reason but to hopefully unstick my brain.  I've been trying to avoid talking about The Junk here, but the more I resist it, the more it persists, so here goes. I've got some Junk I'm trying to sort through and until I embrace it and let it flow through me, I won't be able to move forward.

Onward and upward.


Or at least forward.
At least.

Rob Ford and the 4-Hour Diet

I just parked in the handicapped spot at the movies, breezed into the lobby and bought a regular popcorn and root beer. After I paid $903 for the treats, the apathetic teenager passed the delicious stuff to me and said she hoped I enjoyed the show.

I giggled, walked toward the ticket taker area and then took a sharp turn to the doors.

Yes, I just deeked out the teen vendor after buying a popcorn and root beer and went home. It's Treat day, see, and after having no carbs all week,  I'm allowed to shamelessly eat whatever I want (not even within reason! It can be completely unreasonable, like movie popcorn!) all day, one day a week.

The 4-hour diet is technically the name, but I don't think it has anything to do with 4 hours except the author also wrote the 4-hour Work Day so it's kinda his thing.

And let me tell you, the 4-Hour Diet sucks for 6 days but that 7th day is like living Rob Ford's life, only with carbs.

The week kinda looks like this: Monday: I feel valiant and able to do this no carb thing. I make breakfast, pack my giant salad with chickpeas and other magic for lunch and generally feel great about life.

Tuesday, I'm feeling pretty good but I miss cereal for breakfast, so I write it on my Saturday List and feel better about skipping it today because I know I'll get to it Saturday.  By the way, the Saturday List is good because you don't have to worry that you'll forget to eat something you crave; you write it down and then it can be gone from your brain until your magical, wondrous Cheat Day comes along.

Plus you can feel free to write anything down with no guilt or judgement. I'm gonna repeat that: with No guilt or judgement.

Then Wednesday hits and I'm usually out of kale for my salad and chickpeas are making me crabby.  And now I want cinnamon buns and stupid, delicious regular chips.

Thursday rolls in with a desperate need for chocolate and dammit Saturday is so dang FAR AWAY! Why can't I just have a fricking sandwich? Ugh and Taco Thursdays is irritating when all your toppings are just on a plate instead of in a happy, crunchy shell.  And I don't like lettuce anymore by Thursday so taco salads are O-U-T.

Then, it's Friday, Friday, Friday!
What a coy bitch.

I write "Snort lines of sugar" on my list and I just want to get through the day so I can go to bed early so I can get to Saturday faster!

But Saturday? It's like getting a never ending unicorn in Minion Rush. It's like beating all 800 levels of Candy Crush, first try, no dies. It's like getting all your kids to sleep, in their own beds, and reading a great book in a hot bath and THEN sleeping for 12 hours while someone else secretly comes in and cleans the house. And shaves your legs. No shit.

Husband lovingly refers to Cheat/Treat Day as "Buddy The Elf" day. I'm not gonna lie, it's a lot like that.

 I get up early and eat 3 Fudgee-o cookies while cinnamon buns cook. Then I eat those. Then I usually have a carb headache and start to feel sleepy. And thirsty. Cheat day, Treat Day, Ford day, Buddy Day-- whatever you call it, is awesome for the no-guilt factor alone. But it doesn't come free. I'm a little emotional, prone to fits of excitment, headachy and tired. Oh and thirsty!

However, the best part of the whole dang diet is that you lose 1-2 pounds a week as long as you only cheat every 7 days. Plus, as you go through the diet, carbs are less appealing. Already I'm putting things like apples and bananas on the list and foregoing the spaghetti drenched in chocolate sauce. I think that's why it works-- your brain realizes that not everything in your mouth needs to be attached to a carb.  (no matter what the fast food people try and tell you!)

You can do the research and read the book by Tim Ferriss if you want, cuz it's not quite as simple as I've laid out here, but it's cool and it works no matter what your dietary restrictions might be.

Why am I telling you this though? I forget. See cuz it's Sunday and Sunday is Carb Hangover day. It's the day you spend detoxing from the sugar overdose you had yesterday. It's the day where nothing carb-like seems good and, in fact, kinda makes you shudder. But don't worry, you'll be a carb maniac again by Friday.

Oh yeah, I remember why I wanted to share this with you. I'm not recruiting, nor am I looking for kudos.  I really just wanted to tell someone that I, indeed, went to the movies for the express purpose of buying popcorn and even parked in the handicapped spot to further my badassedness (don't worry, there are literally 8 of them and I chose the furthest one from the door, which is further than some of the regular parking spots, truth be told).

And I didn't feel an ounce of guilt because it was Treat Day, Cheat Day, Ford Day, Carb Day.  Well, I felt a little guilt that I was in the handicapped spot, so I drove home to spread the Carb Day cheer by singing loud for all to hear.