So I have to admit that my confidence is a little bit shaken as of late.  This online dating thing has amped up a lot recently which means I am dealing with more successive frustrations than usual.  First of all, I have had a few great conversations going and he (multiple) suggests we meet up.  I agree and try to figure out when and then it just doesn’t happen.  I don’t know why but it’s passive aggressive enough that I believe I am on a back burner where maybe they plan to re-visit if something more promising doesn’t come along.

Confident me will tell you I am not a backburner girl.  I am not a rebound girl.  I am not a second choice girl.  I am not a string along girl.  And yet, history will tell you that’s all I have ever been.  Who am I kidding?

6 to 7 years ago when I went on my healthy lifestyle journey, I lost a lot of weight fast.  Whenever I went out, I got hit on frequently.  It has become something I expect because even though I know my body isn’t perfect, it’s not that bad – especially when I look around and make comparisons.  At least that’s the message I have received.

With online dating, there is a meme out there that says “A woman most worries about ending up with a serial killer, a man most worries about being seen with a fat woman.”  This is 100% accurate.  Add to that a string of experiences where I have been asked to facetime or describe my body – including being accused of lying despite my photos being taken within the past month and me being entirely honest about myself.  But until now I didn’t think I was trying to put “lipstick on a pig,” as they say.  Have I been deluding myself?  What’s the best shade for this pig?

Over the weekend, I saw some pictures my mom took of me recently and I thought I looked HUGE and disgusting in those pictures.  I am realistic and see my fat but not once in 7ish years had I had that reaction.  I can’t tell if I am that huge and have been lying to myself or maybe I am not and body dysmorphia is back.  When the last guy you were supposed to meet, at his urging, suddenly adds wording to his profile that he has a thing for thin, leggy women it’s hard to not take that personally considering my lack of leggy and thin.  Yet, it’s not like I showed pictures of someone other than me.

This isn’t a well constructed blog.  It’s some mumbo jumbo babble I am working out because I was feeling good about my health, my strength, my brains, my life and was getting hit on not very long ago in a public setting.  Or have all those “hit ons” just been “any port in the storms” which I used to know immediately when I was really fat?  Perhaps that approach hasn’t changed and even though I have lost so much weight, I am still, in the eyes of the world, a fat girl.

It occurred to me on the beach today how spray sunscreen changed my life.

I love the beach.  Before we had family beach destinations I always made it a point to do a couple summer beach days at Cranes beach.  I would get there by 8 am and claim my space for at least 6 hours.  But being Irish meant I had to bring strong sunscreen, a t-shirt, long sleeve shirt, sarong and sometimes sweatpants.  I couldn’t lay on my stomach without a shirt on because my back was always without sunscreen since I was alone and couldn’t put it on myself.

And then spray sunscreen happened.  Aerosol, I know it’s bad.  But now I can get sunscreen on my back and lay on my stomach, uncovered, drinking in the rays.  My absolute favorite thing in the world is to dunk myself in the water and then just dry off by laying on my stomach on my beach towel.  It’s my meditation.  Amazing how something so simple can change a life.

GPS was similar for me.  Gone are the days where I have to write down all my directions and “what ifs” on loose leaf notebook paper I have to refer to while driving.  What if you go too far? What if there’s no parking?  What if there’s a detour?  I got lost a lot.  My parents made fun of me a lot.  I always turned myself around and got where I was going but it usually took double the time, white knuckling and general lack of confidence the next time I  wanted to go somewhere.  There’s nothing like seeing the sign “Welcome to Massachusetts” when you didn’t even know you left it.

When I moved back from New Mexico, I had been starved of new music.  There wasn’t anything indie out there.  Nothing new or alternative was on the radio.  No concerts to speak of.  I lived in the desert and no music was coming from that one.  So when I got back to Boston I wanted to go to every concert at The Paradise, Great Scott, TT the Bears.  But how on earth would I drive to them?  And I couldn’t parallel park back then either.  So I always had to drag my sister or cousin to my shows so they would drive and park or at least give me directions from the passenger seat if I drove.  Then we’d find a spot and I would get out and have one of them park for me.

Once I had GPS, I had real freedom to go anywhere I wanted.  I was no longer afraid to drive in Boston.  It didn’t solve my parallel parking issue.  I still had to allow extra time to drive around blocks multiple times until someone pulled out of a corner spot so I could just drive or back right in.  But I didn’t mind that.  I didn’t mind paying for parking lots.  I was free to follow my bands and experience my music by myself without worrying about boring my chaperones who were always good sports.  In fact, my cousin makes everything fun.  She never knew these bands and we always had a blast.  One time, she came with me to see Dear Leader at TT’s, Taxpayer may have even opened and it was right when I got promoted.  I needed to celebrate.  While waiting for the show to start we walked into some room playing this heavy metal song with almost no words we could understand until they started screaming “sit on my face” which made us burst into teenage boy laughter and it became the phrase of the night.  We would just randomly look at each other and yell “sit on my face!”  And then hysterically crack up.  She is married now and 3 kids deep which is all the more reason I need the GPS.

People are sometimes in awe of the things I am comfortable doing by myself.  I owe it to spray sunscreen and GPS.  Total life changers for me.  Sometime nearing age 40 I figured out parallel parking…sometimes.  I never know when I am going to be able to do it and when I won’t be able to figure out.  I know they make cars now that do it for you.  Those are out of my price range.  And that’s ok. Sunscreen and GPS are all I really need.

Checking in again on what it’s like in this body when you have anxiety issues.  I am not holding back despite being knee deep in the shit of it.  This is not depression or mania talking right now.  Those are not an issue right now. 

 But this will sound like mania and you will maybe think I am drunk when I am not.  I can hear the mania as it hits the page but I can’t do anything about it.  I am a perfectly sane, yet eccentric, person who is jailed by my anxiety while all the while able to see it, recognize it’s atrocity but can’t stop it, nonetheless.

Yesterday I was 10 minutes late getting to my desk at work because my stomach was upset.  I was trying to breath through it in the car in the parking lot but it didn’t work.  So I had to stop in the rest room on the way in.  That happens a few times a week….for the past several years.

At least it wasn’t because I dozed off which has happened a couple times recently because I am so tired from unreliable sleeping issues.  My sleep issues are four years old.  Fighting the drift off while driving to work is new.

Tomorrow I am going to get up even earlier to now build that “emergency” time into my schedule.

Falling asleep tonight will be a challenge because my heart is racing.  That happened the past 3 nights too.  Sometimes I know why and sometimes I don’t.

I have a new problem of deep, painful acne welts that just started after vacation.  The acne complaints I had before that were not as bad as this.  These are embarsssing and on public display so everyone can see something is wrong with me.

Nothing at all has to be wrong for all this stuff to kick in.  But when something specific is happening, it guarantees these physical manifestations which exhaust the shit out of me.  And yet, when it’s time to sleep I can’t.

So for people who think they have me pegged, good luck with that.  There is absolutely nothing predictable or foreseeable about what you think I am thinking or who you think I am.  If my own intestines and brain can’t figure it out, you are a thousand Miles away from being accurate.  

What is steadfast and true – my integrity, my loyalty, my occasional naivety, my sense of humor, my rawness, my values, my work ethic, my family bonds and my love for my friends.  The rest is up in the air or in a toilet.  I can’t tell you when or  why.  I just manage it.

1) I am not drunk or even buzzed right now as I am sticking to my limits
2) Being raw right now which lines up with my blogs

2&1/2 years ago I cracked my head open on this toilet. I don’t know if I got in a fight with a girl whose date I had recently slept with or if I was trying to purge and blacked out. Most likely I was binging and purging which I still do on occasion.  Well, not in 2 years actually.
Anyway, that happened because I was trying not to cry. I am terribly ashamed by it and have been keeping it a secret for awhile. I am rubbing my face in it tonight and I don’t know why. I guess because I would rather run myself through these embarrassing memories than cry.

Ahhh, the smell of spilled beer soaked into the carpet and cigarettes wafting in from the patio.  I chose this before heading home for the night.  A choice that will have many loved ones on edge.  Hell, it has me on edge.  I am more stressed at the happy hour bar than the stress that made me stop here.

It’s not that I don’t drink because I do.  4-6 beers on the weekend in the house.  No bars, no driving, no shots, no one nighters named Rob, Mike, Tim or Leo, no binging, no blackouts.

I have had a horrible day  on two fronts.  One is just the silliness of having had plans that got canceled and when you spend all day looking forward to meeting someone after work, that feeling doesn’t change just because their plans changed.  The other is a pretty serious beating I can no longer pretend isn’t happening.  And it’s just so emotionally painful, so uncalled for and so something I am powerless to fight.  When you are a fighter in life, it’s mentally deadly to encounter something you have to admit you can’t fight.  It’s an extreme failure and affront to who I am.

I used to cry in my 20s.  Fight with the boyfriend = crying.  Fight with my dad = crying.  Weight gain = crying.  Boyfriend cheated = crying.  Messy kitchen = crying.  And all were accompanied by smoking at the time as well.  And Taco Bell or island whimpies or Bickfords.  I was depressed, got a therapist and went on antidepressants.  Still cried but maybe not so much at the kitchen.

I don’t remember when I stopped crying or why.  My body certainly feels like it needs to.  I do tear up sometimes but I don’t just let loose and cry.  In fact, I look for ways to stop it or stuff it back in.  Except no more Camel Lights, no more Bickfords, no more whimpies.  Occasionally, Taco Bell which I can only find when drinking.

The misconception here is that I am trying to suppress my feelings but that’s not it.  If you follow this blog or are on my Facebook you know I face my feelings as closely as I would if I rolled over in bed to kiss another person’s face.  It’s that I am afraid to let myself cry because I think it would weaken me physically and for some reason that terrifies me.  Like if I let my body just collapse into a pile of skin and bones, I can never reassemble.  

By 10:45 today I was doing breathing exercises to water down an anxiety attack I could feel coming on which didn’t align with my 11 am meeting.  By 4 today, I felt like I could actually collapse.  Driving home in the car, I felt like I could cry.  But I also felt like if I started, I wouldn’t stop…. for days.

So I am drinking and promising myself to stick to my 2 beer minimum, no hard liquor, no shots, no Taco Bell.  But I make no promises about a Rob, Leo, Mike or Tim because if that distracts me from crying, I have no shame in taking it.  I always know within 20 minutes of entering a bar which guys are watching me and trying to decide when to zero in.  There are 2 right now.  I will not cry.

I think most folks close to me know I do this thing where I “stand” my ground when I am waiting in line somewhere and a man basically tries to walk through me, assuming I will move out of his way.  It happens a lot and I don’t necessarily believe it’s intentional, it’s just a subconscious expectation that you move out of his way because society has taught him this.  It’s sort of like seeing the oncoming car speeding towards me while I play chicken and hope it stops short of crashing into me.  My personal goal is for me to not move and if he crashes into me, so be it.  That’s on him.

Last night I went to see U2 at Gillette.  I was standing in the merchandise line waiting to get my Joshua Tree T-shirt 30 years after the fact.  The line was super long so anyone who wanted to be on the other side of it to get food or beer needed to basically find an opening to walk through it.  During this 45 minute wait, many people walked through me and the person either in front of me or behind me.  Annoying, but they had no choice.  At one point, a man came through from behind and he put his hand on my back to indicate his crossing since I didn’t see him cutting through.  But it was no ordinary “tap” to get my attention.  It was a full hand on the small of my back which lingered entirely too long – like in a slow dance.  It was intimate and familiar, as though I were “his.”  But he was a stranger and the small of my back is an erogenous zone I save for romantic interests.  I expect to never be touched there by anyone unless relations have been established.

I know some people will argue this is very mild and I am nitpicking compared to the laundry list of sexual offenses women experience every second of every day.  But having been one of those women who has experienced far more intense male sexual assault, I can still argue this was not ok.  It didn’t feel right to me.  It was a violation.  And the people behind me saw it and said the same thing.  I very much appreciate their validation.

But why do I need anyone’s validation?  I know this was an intimacy stolen which I did not volunteer just because my back happens to be there.  It wasn’t right.  And it was small so it’s the kind of thing we experience all the time and aren’t supposed to register because we gals always know how much worse it could be.  I’m a tough gal too and can handle myself with the little indiscretions.  Trust me, I have yet to go to a concert by myself and not be “accidentally” felt in some way that is questionable.  To have escaped those situations on so many occasions is a tribute to being a bit of a sleuth on my part but mostly just a lot of luck that I was never followed to my car because no one else has ever been looking out for me in those situations.

Where am I going with this?  I am not sure yet – it’s got rich content with multi-blog potential.  Yet, I think it’s somehow tied in with some online male commentary I saw about the U2 show last night where these few men were complaining about U2 being too political.  1) Are you a new fan?  Do you not know their origins?  Were you not around for “Sunday Bloody Sunday?”  Unaware “Pride” is about MLK with a little Jesus on this side?  Anyone who goes to a U2 show knows it will be “political” if that’s even the right word for it.  2)  I found it far less political than I hoped it would be.  I find myself yearning for Bono to take some kind of stance on Trump and the state of America and think he has been rather benign and timid on the subject.  He alludes to it in the way Obama dealt with the Russians by a no teeth, token sanction.

That said, the show last night had several references to strong women and a nod to the LGBT community.  For instance, they found enough strong women in history (which they called “herstory”) to fill a video for the encore of “Ultraviolet – Light My Way.”  They also had rainbow colored lighting span across the audience during “Beautiful Day” which was a cool way to honor the LGBT community.  One reference was made about Trump building a wall as “Exit” was introduced.  Even still, I didn’t find any of this terribly political.  It was kind of like a strong Martini diluted with cheap alcohol and water.   That is absolutely not a knock on U2 in any way as I thought they were amazing as always.  But have you seen them perform during any of the Bush years?  They called the White House every night mid performance.

So was it the references to strong women?  Wronged women?  Muslim women?  Gay women?  Were those too political?   Were they bringing it to your attention you shouldn’t be touching women intimately in lines because that’s just what you do and you think it’s polite and maybe even a sexy compliment?

Who cares, right?  I certainly do.  I feel like by writing on this topic, I am collecting tidbits for a time capsule because one day, we will have lost all of our rights and need some evidence that we ever had this time.  We will have been muted…carted off to camps segregated by reproductive ability or lack thereof.  In fact, if you look at the tenor of dating websites currently, there are a lot of men and women on there with profile updates denouncing contact from Trump voters.  That kind of thing could eventually impact their ability to procreate en masse without force.  You laugh right now and wonder if I am off my medication.  But you laughed a year ago at the possibility of a Trump presidency ever happening.

These “silly” men we easily dismiss at the bar harbor deep resentments.  They think celebrating strong women is too political.  These are the same men grabbing the small of your back and the same men who may be jolted upon realizing we don’t want to have their babies anymore.  They do have the ability to mobilize for what they want or else we wouldn’t have Trump in office.  We think being dragged by the hair or thrown over the shoulder of a beefy guy is cartoon fodder until it’s not.

It starts with the small of your back.

This song just breaks me every time it surprises me on shuffle.  Granted, I put all the music on there so I shouldn’t be surprised.  Plus, I have been listening to the song for 10 years at least.  It has always moved me but I couldn’t really assign that to anything specific until John died.  I listened to that album specifically, on repeat for days because so much of it resonated with me. Some of it was about the desparation of addiction, some of it who we were to each other, some of it me trying to find someone who could feel what I felt.  I guess I knew Greg Dulli was the place to go.

So it came on tonight on my way to the gym and I broke.  Not any kind of full out cry but tearing up and paying attention to it….that’s about all I do when I break.  I know he is here sometimes.  Go ahead, do your crazy person eye roll.  I am sure it happens behind my back all the time.  Whatever.

You know I think when I see Cardinals it’s him.  *eye roll* This weekend I saw 2 at different times.  Both of them were rather playful and pretty much threw themselves at my car on both occasions.  Kind of like, “I am right here in your face, Christine.  You can’t miss me.”  And I laughed both times because I just assumed it was him deciding to be silly for once.  And I missed his  “silly,” his sometimes awkward sense of humor which just made things funnier because it could be weird.  If you know him, you know what I am talking about.  Like saying “Hey, I want to show you my room.”  Inside joke.

What we were has a number of definitions depending on the point in time but all were tight and deep for about 8 years with different ebbs and flows.  He was the kind of person who would have my back when I didn’t know it needed having, the kind of person who wouldn’t tolerate any negative talk or treatment of me.  He was like that towards all his friends.  It’s no wonder he still hangs around.

Having the birds right in my face reminded me of one of our last conversations.  He told me I was beautiful.  I laughed at him and looked away which made him mad.  He asked why I always had to make everything a joke and then he grabbed my face and made me look him in the eyes.  He told me again I was beautiful and that he had thought that the day we met, even before I lost weight, even when he had been with someone else.  That he had always felt an attraction to me and it was so important to him that I believe him.  That I wasn’t just physically beautiful but an entirely beautiful person inside and out.  Sorry, I need to pause here.  I have never shared this before and it’s fucking deep in the nerves.

And I miss hearing him say my name.  My real name, my full name.  No nicknames.  Like he wanted to know me.

The “beautiful” conversation may have been the most authentic moment I have ever had.  Called on my BS, forced to make eye contact and not laugh because it hurt him for me not to take this seriously.  I felt something real about him, a human connection, an ownership of something special and real just between us.  I would never do anything to hurt him.  I can’t say that for many other guys but I can mean it about him.  Read into it, make assumptions…you’ll never know or understand this.  It was like he saw in my eyes that no one in my life had ever said this to me or meant it and he wanted to atone for 40 years of that which he bore no responsibility.

So, no John “I can’t miss you…” I miss you all the god damned time.  It just doesn’t get easier.  “Nobody bleeds the way I do.”  Everyone is bleeding, some far more than others but no one in my exact same way.

But it’s not all sad.  His death will never be in vain for me.  I have to get something from it.  I have been on some kind of transformation since he died.  Not obvious and not all at once but something creeping farther away from self destruction – moving the scale in the better direction on my own terms.  He still has my back.  He shows up when he knows he needs to be noticed…when I need to re-calibrate.  And I thank God I am on his list of people to visit.  I don’t believe I am beautiful in any way but I do truly believe I was to him.  I was listening.

Feathers – Twilight Singers

“Wherever you’re goingI know you knew

That nobody cuts me

Quite like you do

And i’m gonna crawl

Not that it matters

Nobody bleeds the way I do

Wherever you’ve gone

I can follow

The path of destruction

You leave like crumbs

And i’m gonna crawl

I’m gonna scratch and claw

Though i am broken, i still bleed

Whoever said?

No wind, no rain, no conversation

Will bring me back alive

I got it bad and i won’t sleep

Until i breathe the sweet perfume

You love

You’re gonna crawl, my precious

I’m untethered

Waving in the wind like feathers

Feel you near me, disappearing

If you take, you better kill me

Break me, steal me

If you don’t kill me

I’m gonna crawl, til you crawl

Crawl like them all, my precious

I’m untethered

Waving in the wind like feathers-

Crawl, my love-”

Songwriters

GREG DULLI

Today is my jet lag, get caught up day.  I woke up at the Cape from the deepest sleep ever and started listing off the things I needed to get done today.

Laundry

Unpack

Food shop

Check eyebrows, pluck strays

Do nails

Teeth whitening

Mosturizing facial mask

Deep condition my hair

Get some ointment on my nose for the tissue scarring.  See if cover up will make it less visible.

Root touch up.

Shave, tons to catch up on

Self tanner – full body covering

Check upper lip hair to see if it’s time to bleach

Check condition of feet blisters, touch up toe nail polish until I have time for a pedicure.  Make sure scarring isn’t noticeable in work shoes.

Don’t forget to order the leg spanx I have on my Amazon list.

This was what I thought about on my drive home.  And I was annoyed with myself because of it.  All I really wanted to do was eat the Gouda and French bread I picked up from the Suprmarket and top it off with one piece of really good chocolate.  I also remembered walking in Bruges with my body hurting and so horribly sick wishing I could be a simpler person and be beautiful that way,  I realize there is upkeep we all need but the amount of time spent on it really seems too much.  When I have “free” time after work, I am spreading out across the weeknights my fitness, hair appointments, Pedicures, eyebrow waxing and researching beauty products – adding ideas to my Amazon lists.  I search Pinterest for hair styling ideas and low calorie cooking recipes.  I sometimes have to buy ankle, knee and hamstring supporters to keep working out.  I am frequently wearing ankle bandaging while still wearing heels at work.

What do I do all this for?  Sure, it makes me feel good to be put together.  Confidence makes a difference.  But am I trying to look younger for work?  Why?  Age discrimination kicked in quite awhile ago for me there so why do I care if my roots are showing?  To attract a man?  Oh that ship sailed long ago too.

While driving home, I made some mental compromises.  I would definitely neaten up my nails because they are pretty ragged and I would moisturize my face because it’s pretty dehaydrated.  Laundry – still had to be done.  Then I wondered if I would be able to hold myself to this and leave the eyebrow plucking alone.  What would people think if they got up close and saw I was a little out of order?

I was emptying out the trunk when somehow, I managed to slice open the side of my nose with my car key,  I was gushing blood all over myself and instead of wondering how big the cut was, I thought “does this mean I can’t use the moisture mask today?”

It was in that moment I realized my neck and shoulder didn’t hurt.  They hurt every single day and I didn’t even notice that pain had stopped.  I then remembered the last zit that started was before vacation.  No new ones appeared while I was gone.  And that constant stomach gurgling, churning, bloat, gassiness I am used to every day – not a hint of it the entire time I was gone.  Yet, I ate whatever I wanted.  Yeah, I got nasty blisters and butt pain from hustling hard and walking marathons all day but anyone would had they been going at my pace…refusing to bring gym sneakers (at Kris Ann’s urging) because I didn’t want to look too American or not match my outfits.  And yes, by this time last Wednesday I had bought new gym sneakers in Amsterdam and by Saturday was wearing them with a dress.

I spent very little time focused on my appearance on vacation.  It would have taken too much time away from proper sleep and sightseeing.  I didn’t care what I looked like.  I cared about my blisters breaking open and getting infected because it could slow me down.  I got so sick from a sinus infection, I spent even less time caring and just needed to make sure I had enough Kleenex to get through the day and not miss anything.  I wasn’t shopping for beauty products.  I was learning about culture, people, churches, food, thousands of years ago sopping it all in like bread and Flemish beef stew because it was too good to leave even a streak on the plate.

And why was I able to eat pastries, cheese, chocolate, fries with mayo, , beer, bolognese, stews, pancakes and not once feel sick, bloated or gassy?  That light bulb clicked last night when Kris Ann sent me an article about the focus Denmark is making on ensuring their foods don’t have GMOs which is common with the Dutch and Belgians too.  Bingo!  The food they were preparing over there was in its natural state.  I am certain the first 3 ingredients of everything I ate were all natural – no preservatives.  I didn’t even use aspertame over there like I do here with my coffee.  I had a hard enough time finding decaf, I didn’t care if the only choice I had was to use real sugar.  Not like I gained weight or didn’t feel well.  And remember how I was getting headaches every day in the afternoon?  Not one while I was away.

I am sure you could argue I was on vacation and stress free but not true.  I was traveling internationally, by myself, while terrorist attacks were happening in nearby cities.  I had heavy itineraries, concern about the money I was spending, finding places to eat and drink near hotels to ensure safety, making sure I wasn’t out at dark alone, navigating city to city travel, trying to not get mugged and walking 3 cities while trying not to get lost which happened frequently in Amsterdam.  I had situations where I was acutely aware I was being disliked for being American or looked at oddly for dining alone.  I got incredibly sick and worried about navigating hospitals and medication in a foreign country.  I had to buy medicines whose boxes I couldn’t translate.  I came back to my hotel room in Brussels one day to find the tv on and the window open to which they told me someone had been in to check something electrical.  When I walked onto the balcony later I saw a cigarette butt.  I checked under the bed, secured the balcony window, checked the closets and everything was fine but try getting a good night sleep after that!  This was not a hammock and pina colada vacation.

Nevertheless, it was an outstanding vacation.  I desperately want it to change me in some way.  Maybe it already has or maybe it’s more of a cumulative thing which will happen as I add the trips on over the years.  I experienced so much that the little downloads will probably drop in randomly for a long time to come.  I feel like I learned quite a bit and I deeply feel that returning to work and my routines will cause me to unlearn all of it.  I learned how Heineken is made and has become an experience.  I have learned what to look for in chocolate if you want the best which is also healthy.  I can even identify different notes or spices influencing it.  I learned how to properly drink a beer.  Maybe I have been doing it right all along but I didn’t notice it.  Now I get in the moment and pay attention to doing it right.  I learned a lot about tulips so I can appreciate them more than just being a pretty add to the table.  I can identify authentic pottery, not that I need to.  It’s just cool to be able to look for it.  I even have educated opinions on prostitution.  Believe it or not, all this stuff is important because it comes from experiencing life…something none of us really knows how to do.

I want to figure out how to get back to checking the first three ingredients of what I buy to be sure they are natural and not buy anything which doesn’t follow that but there is still a bunch of crap in that stuff which shouldn’t be there.  But I am excited to try.  I want my digestive system to feel the way it does right now which is that it feels nothing.  I just feel so simple so I know it’s possible.

Once I cleaned up the cut on my nose I resigned myself to knowing it will be visible at work tomorrow.  I did my laundry and started unpacking.  I also grabbed a green trash bag and tossed a ton of beauty and hair products out.  It was scary because I do count the dollars I spent on them as I toss them but told myself those could be dollars I don’t spend in the future which could help with travel savings going forward.  And next time I travel, I don’t need the tweezers, sunless tanner, hair straightener, hair putty, 3 hair brushes, 2 pairs of gap pants I never wear, converse sneakers, shaving cream and bathing suit cover up.