Is Juicing the Answer?

juicerOver the weekend I watched some more documentaries on Netflix including Fat, Sick and Nearly DeadI had heard of it and added it to my Netflix list quite awhile ago, but I didn’t really know what it was all about. I assumed some sort of plant based diet.

The film chronicles Joe Cross’ journey from being 100 pounds overweight, loaded up on steroids and suffering from a debilitating autoimmune disease, to getting off the pills and achieving a balanced healthy lifestyle. At the beginning of the film he decides that his only option left is to rely on the body’s natural ability to heal itself, to just get out of the way. And he does this by embarking on a 60 day journey across America with juicer and generator in tow, trading in fast food for fresh fruit and vegetable juice. For 60 days he eats no solid food and only juices (under a doctor’s supervision, of course).  Continue reading “Is Juicing the Answer?”

Alive With Pleasure

Birds of a feather
Birds of a feather

I started smoking when I was 13 years old. This was in the early 1980’s before smoking and smokers became taboo. My dad smoked. A lot of people did. It started as a way to look older, be more cool, and just rebel against my parents and other adult authority figures by doing something they told me I couldn’t. Yeah, mostly that last part. I never wanted to do anything someone told me to do. I am still kind of that way.

Continue reading “Alive With Pleasure”

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finish online bnm, publish online bnm website, design email for bnm online subscriber list, send out email to online bnm subscriber list, send out mighty successful pr, remind gov mansion guy about article for june print bnm, contact bnm ed board regarding thoughts on notes from last meeting to begin the discussion, email T about delivering print in newcastle area, call jill at the rodd about art installation, call gloria about art installation at the rodd, go to the post office to pick up parcel that is most likely the who in concert, go to the drugstore to buy hand soap and hair dye and conditioner, go to sobeys for tin foil and garlic and some foodstuff, go to the liquor store for wine and absenthe and maybe brandy, remember to use your coupon to get $10 off at the liquor store, check your bank account and make a plan for how you’re going to finance this week/weekend and pay the bills, check acadian bus schedule and note time of freddy bus arrival for thursday, proof sherry’s intros for thursday nite, clean out the spare room, wash all the bedding, send mass email to invite peeps to Thursday night, vaccuum the bedrooms, dust everything, sweep everywhere, scrub the kitchen and the bathroom and the entry hall floors with scrub brush, light mop remaining floors and hall, do dishes, do laundry, clean off and organize desk, plan wardrobe changes for weekend events, put clock in spare room, scrub the bathtub and sinks in bathroom and kitchen, take the garbage out, pick up Sears parcel, write thursday nite schedule, write intros for thursday night readers and who they’re reading about, come up with some snappy one-liners for thursday emcee gig, take shower where snappy one-liners are usually born, write intro for gerry’s workshop, contact thursday readers one last to firm up, remind stacy regarding tourist packages for wfnb, don’t forget large envelopes, get copies of bnm for sale on saturday, make rough cross-river travel plan for weekend and different scheds, dye hair, shave legs, iron anything needing ironing, clean the toilet, wash black marks off walls, find money to buy that painting, confirm date for banquet, get cash for buying books and paying cab fares . . . and i think that’s it, that’s all i have to do between now and thursday when i meet joe at the bus station . . . then let the fun begin!

Mood: tired
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: back to bed, nathan wiley
Hair: every which way

Panic Attacks

If you’re having a good day . . . do not read on as I’ll suck you into my negative force field. If you’re having a bad day . . . definitely do not read on as you’ll never find your way back to the light if you let me suck you down into my pool of negative ranting. And there’s hope for you. You can turn it all around yet. Me . . . I’m not sure.

You have been warned. Stop reading now.

Panic attacks. Used to be only a night thing. Sunday Night Anxiety, that sometimes transgressed into the week. Weren’t those the good ole days? Who knew? I don’t know how I’m supposed to go to Fredericton this weekend AND go to Sackville in two weeks time AND go to Moncton in a month. I’m sickened by this whole spring deal. Maybe something good will happen. Maybe there’s no need to panic. (Feeble attempt at optimism.)

I dreamed of Grandad and cousins and . . . Regis Philbin? Donald Trump? Chickens pecking on my head. I’m not sure about all that. A cousin was in trouble. I wonder if he is really. Sometimes I suspect he might be. I woke with a powerful urge to reach out and see. But then thought better of it. Dreams are never about the other person, always a reflection of self. I’m the one in trouble. Helping someone else might take my mind off it for a bit. Alleviate the panic attack. But that is all. I need to do something drastic like fall in love or go out west or . . . I don’t know, something to knock this funk away.

Yesterday, I felt a little better. I looked forward to a supper of salad with pumpernickle bread and butter. I haven’t been able to afford to buy food. That’s the bottom line. Last week’s junk food binge aside. I couldn’t afford it either, but in the throes of PMS these bad choices happen. Bygones. It sounds like a simple thing, salad and pumpernickle. But it’s not, Mom sent me the fixings or I’d be without. And I looked forward to it all day, even though I had no chicken wings or any meat at all to go with it. Then I went to get it ready and I noticed the salad was not the kind I normally buy. I like the field greens, this was romaine and cabbage and carrots . . . it was the carrots thing that ruined the whole experience. Carrots and my favourite raspberry dressing, do not mesh. Oh well, I soldiered on, beggars can’t be choosers and all that. And then I went to slice the bread and found that it wasn’t soft and light and fresh, but it was Best Before Sunday, expired, stale, on the way out.

And I sat at my table eating my salad and bread supper and just cried. I cried because I should be grateful I have anything on my table to eat at all, and I hate myself that I can’t just be grateful and stop wanting more. I cried because I was disappointed. I cried because I just want to be able to buy food and cook meals again and get healthy and just be normal. I’m gaining weight from this no breakfast, no water, one-meal-a-day, non-veggy, non-protein, all starchy carbs way of eating that I feel like I’m being forced to adopt. I just want my life back. And I hate myself for wanting anything. Here I am in this wonderful big apartment, with more space than ever, a gorgeous view, eagles flying by daily, sunrises happening right in front of me, with a cozy bedroom AND a spare bedroom, walking distance to everything I might want and need, surrounded by friends and family who actually come visit and spend time with me, with a bathtub for christsake . . . and I’m frigging miserable. It’s crazy for me to be like this. I am crazy. And they say money can’t buy happiness . . . well, the lack of it, sure seems like it can take happiness away.

And I know this isn’t permanent, I just need to recoup from the move. The move happened early and threw a huge wrench into my life. It was supposed to happen after all this April stuff, I was supposed to be poor in May and June and maybe July . . . but it would be sunny and hot and . . . I dunno, perhaps easier then. Perhaps not. But all this travel would’ve not been an issue had the move occurred when it was supposed to. Because I could’ve just hitched a ride to board meetings with others going, I would’ve been in town for AGM, and again I could’ve hitched rides with others going to Frye. Hardly any expense. Very little. But the move happened early. I had to finance it on my credit card. I had to pay rent on two apartments for one month. My minimum credit card payments are now very unreasonable. It’s taking every cent I have just to keep the current apartment. Just to pay the minimums. There’s nothing left over and not even really enough to do what I need to do to live.

So here I am, all moved into a place that I truly love, where all I do is cry and worry and suffer panic attacks and store fat. This is irony.

So ends today’s rant. And that’s all I’m going to say about that. Period. Next post will be brighter and more optimistic . . . even if I’m secretly planning to slit my wrists.

Mood: wrecked
Drinking: russian tea
Listening To: buddy above wandering the floor (does he work?)
Hair: i give up

Mother Goose

I have a Salvador Dali calendar in the dining room/office, which I just flipped to March this morning. I never understand what it all means, but yet I am drawn almost to the point of distraction. I probably should read up on the paintings. Someday.

Last night I went to a murder mystery evening with the Purple Hat Ladies. Loads of fun! Really good time. Interesting. Met some new people. I’ll write more about it later. Only $12.50 for a cab to Chatham from here. I expected $15, so that’s pretty good. Do-able at least some times. Anything that I would be going to Chatham for would be work/writer related, so all those cab rides are claimable expenses. This year I receipt EVERYTHING! I know I may have said that last year, but it wasn’t as dire as this year. This is the year when I have to get on top of those things, get used to keeping better track.

Still no sign of snow here. Sun was out awhile ago, warming my front rooms. When I open the curtains in the morning, if the sun is already up, it’s like turning on a furnace. Crazy! And blinding too.

In the drafts section of my blog I’m working on some fiction. I’m not sure what it’s all about, how it’s winding up, but I should be able to post it in another few days. The first half went quick, but I’m a little stuck on it now. I’m probably 3/4 finished though, so something will click soon. Today I have a writer friend coming over for brunch and conversation. Looking forward to that! But mustn’t sit here all day blogging, as I’ve got a brunch to prepare!

Mood: anticipating
Drinking: coffee, the beyond super-cheap $3.99 for a kilo zellers kind (thanks mom!)
Listening To: clackity clack, don’t talk back
Hair: do i see a hair make-over in my future?

Where The Watermelon Grow

How much was your hydro bill for last month? A couple of people yesterday told me HUGE and totally SCARY figures. I travelled around the house all day turning the heaters down and unplugging things. It’s a bit frigid here this morning . . . but not unbearable. Hundreds of dollars for a hydro bill would be way more unbearable. Dear Spring, please spring forward soon. Thank you, Hardly Any Hydro Cash. So I’m sitting here, sipping my hot coffee, cradling the cup for warmth, and shivering. But that’s okay! Soon I will have curtains to help keep the cold out and all will be well. It’s only -15 anyway, not that chilly. The sky seems clear in darkness, there is a star out up there. So the sun may rise and provide some warmth in a couple of hours. It is supposed to be sunny with cloudy periods.

Yesterday I ventured forth on foot for the first time since the move. (Time flies when you’re freezing!) I walked out to the Scotiabank and switched all my accounts, shopping at the Pharmasave for some pain meds, then home again. A flying trip, as my mother would say. Pretty much took a solid hour–20 minutes out, 20 minutes back, 10 minutes in. But I think it can be done much more quickly once I get used to the treacherous sidewalks (is the concept of walking so foreign?) and if I’m not stuck behind hyper Rottweiler. I didn’t want to get too close to the dog and its owner, because although he may just have been friendly and glad to be out and about . . . he was attacking the cars in the street as they went past. And the walker didn’t seem to have too much control over that situation, so why take chances? The breed is my least favourite, since my days in radio when the station manager would bring his “trained to kill” lethal weapon to the station late at night when I worked alone. I’d turn around in the booth and the dog would just be there. “It’s okay, relax, don’t make any sudden moves,” the manager would smirk. Torture. Some kind of workplace harassment. Crazy way to get his kicks. Anyway, other than the dog in the street, yesterday’s walk was great! Exhilarating! And I can see that I am not at all far from French Ford Cove, when I go out and look down the King George Highway. It’s a totally doable trek.

Today, I’m going down the Bay. I’ve no idea where exactly or who I’ll meet. But I should come away with some good stuff from the excursion. A good basis for a story. It’ll be nothing if not interesting.

Up at 5am this morning. Set an alarm for 6, just in case, but no need. Another two mornings and I’ll have a solid two weeks of early risings under my belt. This is exciting! And not even the slightest bit difficult. This is what freaks me out. All of a sudden I’m not tired anymore. I go to bed in the evening whenever I don’t want to be on the computer anymore or when the dvd is over and most times I’m not even sleepy. But I go anyway, because it’s either go or find something else to do and I usually don’t want to find anything else to do that might wake me up further, so I go. And I lie there and think for awhile and then just close my eyes and go to sleep. Maybe this is how it works for the rest of the world. I don’t know. But this is the most unusual thing ever for me. This whole ease of sleeping thing. This whole awake thing. Slipping into dreamland without a fight, without any anxiety . . . I never knew this existed. And yes, I’m still dreaming a kazillion dreams every night. And now I’m waking up even more frequently throughout the night and checking the clock. But yet, I’m the most rested I’ve ever been, the least stressed over sleep (and sleep has always kinda caused me some stress). Bizarre. Am I becoming normal? Whatever this is, I love it! I mean seriously love it! No relapses allowed.

And that’s all folks. I’m outta time. Much to do before departing for the bay.

Mood: over the moon
Drinking: the last of the coffee with the last of the cream
Listening To: a drip in the kitchen sink
Hair: still super straight