Edit: I ended up going on a tear about sad shit. If you only want to read about my progress, scroll down to the shake weight picture and read from there!
I have been lucky in the last few months that my grief hasn’t punched me in the face. For months I have been skippin about my days without crippling, soul ripping from your body grief.
The last time I cried over my mom was on the way home from work, in early spring, over a song on the radio. I don’t remember what it was, but it was one of those songs that defined the 90s. Since my mom was either manically fun or hiding from the world sad, music is a big reminder of my childhood. She loved to go to record stores and have the person working there help her find an album with a song she heard on the radio. She’d go home and listen to it loud, dance, sing, play the album a hundred times until I or the downstairs neighbors demanded she stop. A single song can teleport me back to any moment of the ten years we lived at our shitty apartment we moved into when I was in second grade. Before that, we lived at a house that I may say was haunted, and before that on my grandparents’ farm.
Or not farm, depending on your definition of farm. Not farm as in it wasn’t their main source of income but they always had fresh eggs, most for eating and some for incubating in the back in the back. The back in the back was a room that smelled musty, but I liked it. I still like that smell when I venture down to a lucky basement with too much humidity. The back in the back had a tall furnace and a light you turned on by a pull chain. You had to be really brave to go back there to walk the ten feet in the pitch black dark to reach the light.
Smells like mildew and courage to me!
My grandparents had a farm as in we once ate the pig I named Porkchop and fed every morning with my Papaw. How did I know it was Porkchop? Aside from not having to go feed him breakfast that morning, I walked into the kitchen and removed the lid from a huge pot on the table that contained his head. Porkchop stared right back at me, ugly, furry, dirty. His tongue was lifeless and hanging to the side. They were saving his head for my Papaw’s grandma, who had to be the world’s oldest hillbilly because she wanted the headcheese.
What I’m trying to say here is that I hadn’t been really sad for a long time but last night I dreamed Powder died. I once had a little puppy that chewed up a Glade plug in oil warmer. We found the evidence and rushed him to the vet, who couldn’t do much. He gave him some medication and we had a wait and see scenario. The puppy ended up dying in my arms. There’s a slew of sadness attached to that story, guilt over being a shitty puppy proofer being the biggest aspect. It happened over a decade ago so while I’m so sorry for what happened to that baby pup, I have made my peace with it.
In this fucking nightmare from Hell, Powder died just like that. I was holding him and he tried a few times to fight to breathe but gave up. I don’t remember what happened next, but I went to my mom’s apartment for consolation. She was taking a nap with a rat terrier named Mickey who in real life, we once saw on the Humane Society’s website. We debated getting him but want to give the two pups we have as much attention, awesome food and vet care as we can, thus a third kid is not in the cards. So yeah, Mom’s just nappin with Mickey.
She said, “I’m sure it meant so much to have him by your side while he was alive.”
I left her apartment and went to visit Powder’s grave. Turns out, this German Shepherd hero pup named Trooper was buried beside him. He had a huge headstone with a cement relief of his face. There were little flags and flowers stuck into the ground around him. I just kept looking back and forth to this bad ass grave to Powder’s unmarked hole in the ground.
I woke up and even though Powder was sleeping beside me, I could. Not. Stop. Crying. For an hour! It was so terrible! Not only did I lose Powder but I had the recurring theme of my mom comforting me in a dream. That’s something she was never good at after I turned 5 or so. My husband consoled me as best as he could and we took Powder to PetSmart and bought him tons of treats.
I also got a sweet lunch bag with a Pit Bull on it on clearance.
We also picked up some organizing supplies for the house because my in laws will be visiting soon and I want to get the last bit of clutter taken care of. It will be the first time they’ve seen our new house!
On the progress tip, we ate delicious meals for under 400 calories each. Hebrew National hot dogs for lunch and Boca meat crumble tacos for dinner. These aren’t pictures of nutrition and I actually didn’t take pictures of said plates but it’s nice to feel like you’re eating traditional fatty meals if you ask me.
An hour or so after dinner, I’m sitting on my rump watching Mythbusters and the thought occurs to me to work out. Ugh! Belly full of tacos. Tired! Most depressing day I’ve had in a long time. A few more minutes pass and I try to psych myself out. I start asking Will and the pups to pump me up. I hop around. Bad idea in a regular bra.
Ughghgh god damn it, why do I have to do this? Then I remember that this was the first time I didn’t have any soreness whatsoever after the squatstravaganza workout the other day. Shoot! If I ever want to add more to my workout, I’ll have to keep it up.
That settles it! I put on my shoes, mismatched socks and tore ass. How, fellow lazy people? I MADE MYSELF. There was no desire about this whatsoever. I MADE myself do it. I ran 15 more seconds than I usually do during my first run warm up. I did extra ab stuff and did some inner thigh stuff because I want to have killer adductor muscles. Legend has it, that’s what you call that awesome thigh part under your rear that sticks out instead of looking like a flesh sponge of cellulite if you were to work out a lot. Which I will be doing til the end of time.