Before I even knew about the imminent Frankenstorm, I was already all over hunkering down. Why? Because my once joyous and uplifting gardens were starting to depress me.
I'm not much of a gardener, but I, you know, plant stuff. And I'm making gradual improvements in my techniques with each new season.
The first year I "gardened" I threw some seeds around and waited. Literally. I didn't even bury them. I figured, hey, nature doesn't have a trowel. She isn't on her knees in the dirt being freaked out by worms and spiders...
As you might expect, I didn't have much of a harvest that year.
I’ve made a lot of bad decisions. Actually, I’ve made bad decisions nearly every day of my 36 years. I know this because it takes a fairly consistent series of bad decisions to maintain an unhealthy body weight. Or, as I like to call them, tasty decisions.
I have been overweight since birth. My nickname as a baby was Butterball. (I don’t hold it against my family, by the way. It’s a funny nickname -- and we like to laugh.)
Pretty much the second I was self-aware enough to recognize that my body had more mass than it should, I wanted to change it. This awareness came pretty young.
I don’t really like it when my husband is right. In fact, I kind of hate it. This makes absolutely no sense. I realize this.
It makes no sense because I chose my husband. I decided it was a good idea to spend my life with him and make babies with him. Obviously I think he has a pretty good brain in his skull. Why then do I not like someone to be right whom I picked specifically because of how he thinks and makes decisions? Got me. I just live here.
But, there you have it. I picked someone smart and now fervently resist his logical suggestions. Welcome to marriage.
I am not likely to ever be famous. Neither are you. So why does that bother us on some level? Is it because we are just so darned special? I know I am. From my perspective, I am terribly important. I bet you feel the same way.
The reality is, it’s a numbers game. By definition, we can’t all be famous. There has to be the masses that watch the tiny few. That’s us. We’re the masses. Sorry to break it to you.
I like to throw things.