Do you ever reach a point where you are sick of feeling fat?
Stupid question, I know. I generally feel that way right after I've killed a bag of milk chocolate dove bars. If only I felt that way before I started.
At any rate, I was up and down all night, too fat to sleep. My knuckles felt fat. I would get up to go to the bathroom and feel so fat I could barely get my legs to move or my back to straighten up. And Evelyn was asleep with her head pressed against the toilet and refused to move so I had to do some gymnastics while fat and bleary eyed.
I am one of those fortunate people who doesn't suffer from achy joints so this hideous stiffness cannot be from old age. It must be because I am too fat to bend.
I have always had a flat stomach. Not anymore. These days, I am looking like a whale. A whale that died several days ago (and don't forget it is July). In the past four months, my waistline has gone from tight, to soft to gone. My face is getting wrinkles. The skin beneath my eyes hurts because it is going so thin. I am afraid I will get a bed sore in the folds. I am growing a mustache, I sure of it. If only I could see well enough to check.
I suspect this is hormonal. The only other option is that I have been cursed by the almighty. I think I would rather he sent boils or locusts. Sigh. I am fairly certain this is perimenopause.
In considering this, my first thought was that since there are over six billion people on the planet, at least a billion women have been through this. Then I recalled that, although life expectancy has expanded in first world nations, the majority of the current earth's population are young so perhaps the numbers of menopausal women are not that high. For all I know, I am the first woman to go through this nonsense. Probably not, but that is how I feel, this morning. And it is also why I am thinking that, despite my lifelong commitment to natural living (I refuse to dye my hair and had natural childbirth), this menopause stuff is unnatural. It is not right. It is against god. It is a freak of nature.
I am a freak of nature.
Self portrait:
I can't imagine how I would feel if I actually suffered from hot flashes or night sweats (which I don't). I just feel like I am going through a metamorphosis. Only in my case, I am going from a butterfly to a caterpillar. Or a larva. A fat larva. Even my knees are fat. Disgusting. I wonder if I am getting arthritis in my hands. Husband showed no sympathy because he says he has had arthritis for fifteen years. How is that possible?
I don't really think I have arthritis. I think I have water weight that is making my knuckles hurt. How repulsive. I have been flying back and forth between 132 pounds and 142 pounds for the past several months. Okay, okay, I know you bigger ladies have lost sympathy for me at this point and I probably deserve it, but I might be up to six pounds heavier or lighter from one day to the next. It HURTS! (ETA that is nearly 5% of my body weight in a 24 hour period - and it has happened repeatedly!). Besides, I have small bones not meant to carry around this much tonnage. And it didn't used to be this way (sob).
I HATE the way my clothes fit. Or don't fit. I am going to start wearing my pants backwards because my butt is now flatter than my stomach. If some sweet young thing starts winking at my husband, he is going to drop me off on the curve and I wouldn't really blame him. And if you tell him I said that, I will call you a &^#$@^! liar. No reason to let the man think he has such options.
Sigh. I will just soldier through it. Still upper lip (which is growing hair) and all that. Just like every other woman going through the change, assuming I am not the first. But I don't have to like it. I don't know what God was thinking when he came up with this.
Anyway, the girls decided they needed to go toad hunting this morning at 5:30. Pearl kept jumping on my head to give me kisses (I used to think she loved me but she probably has just confused me with a tub of butter) and Evelyn kept yodeling the way she does when she wants us to wake up. Husband pretended to be asleep but I could tell from his breathing that he was playing possum. Sigh.
So I rolled out of bed, let the girls out, rescued two toads, tossed down a few swallows of coffee and decided to go take a walk to drive up my metabolism in hopes I would come back looking like a
sweaty glowing thirty year old who has never had children and runs marathons.
It has been really hot but this morning was quite pleasant. The grass wasn't wet and the humidity wasn't too bad. I threw on my "fat" shorts, a Hard Rock Chicago tee-shirt with dried paint on it (no bra), left my glasses on, pulled back my greying hair and slipped on my smelliest sandals. A veritable Aphrodite. I left the girls in the house and went out to watch the sun rise. Evelyn was hurling herself at the front door,
screaming barking, as I walked down the driveway. She has separation anxiety, big-time.
I love our neighborhood. It is semi-rural, restricted to five acre ranchettes and most of the neighbors have cattle, horses or both.
This is our barn and pasture from the road that runs behind the house:
Neighbor's horse barn:
I can see these beauties from my back yard:
Another neighbor:
Another:
I took the following photos around the corner to the west. The arrow points to the front of our barn:
A close up of the previous photo (who says we don't have trees!):
If you squint, you can see our barn:
One of the neighbor's mailbox:
Requisite photo of wildflowers:
Several of the neighbors have cool gates over their driveways:
Here is one of our next door neighbor's cows:
Most of the neighbors take very nice care of their property. However, one neighbor, who lives across the street, doesn't. She is an elderly lady and I suspect it is just too much for her to handle. Either that or she has died in there. Here is her driveway:
It is overgrown and the fence is sagging.
She's got some nice cows, though:
There were three mamas (with udders that look functioning) but only two calves. I don't know if she sold one or it died. I don't know much about cows. Maybe the third cow is an auntie cow who is helping to nurse. Do they do that?
When I got back to the house, after about an hour, Evelyn was still hurling herself at the front door.
Notice instead of comforting her, I first took a photo.
I don't deserve to have nice dogs.
In fact, I stopped to take some pictures of our tomato plants while she continued her fit, inside.
Our tomatoes are not looking that great, this year, but are finally getting down to business:
Husband was NOT happy that I'd left Evelyn in a state of panic. Despite the fact that I'd left a note, he claimed that he was afraid that something horrible had happened to me, based on Evelyn's behavior (menopause?). Evelyn apparently refused her breakfast and cried and yodeled and threw herself at the front door the whole time I was gone. I didn't think she'd do that. I figured she'd fuss for a few minutes and then give up.
From Husband's demeanor, I'm thinking the walk didn't transform me into a sex goddess who would mesmerize any male. Perhaps if I took walks for a few weeks I could work up to that. We decided that the next time I left in the morning I would slip out the garage. She doesn't get so upset if she thinks I am in the barn or something. But if I go out the front door, she wants to go, too, because usually when I go out the front door I am in the yard doing cool stuff like pulling weeds and she wants to be with me.
Husband just came by and said I looked cute. I was in the middle of writing this and recalled my earlier line so I told him I looked like "a veritable Aphrodite." He threw back his head and laughed, the bastard. "Something like that," he said.
I am going to go take a shower and shave. I wonder if it is time to start using Old Spice.
Happy Quilting, Penny, Evelyn and Pearl
