Day 3 - No bread senorita

Vitals
7:30
233 fasting blood sugar
162.2 weight

7:30 - cup of coffee/milk NO sugar

9am Walk with Mr. B
10:30am
206 blood sugar
Breakfast:  roasted chicken, asparagus, 2 eggs and mushrooms

2pm wine for lunch and half a hamburger (see notes below)

7pm more wine and one piece of pizza

Hopefully ambein and nothing more
Grade for today # out for 5

Nearing the 100s but it's still 34 points away.  I'm frustrated.  If I could just make myself not eat anything after 7pm and also cut out bread I'd be fine.  I did eliminate sugar but went crazy with the soy sauce yesterday.  Sometimes I wish I could just have an induced coma to get throught this.

There's two challenging things I'm trying to do.  Get in physical/metal shape, and grow a pixie cut out.  I'm not sure which one is harder.

When I was a kid in 6th grade, I had the longest hair in school and was up for the role of the 'mermaid' in our school play.  Then two dreaded things happened.  A new girl moved to town with longer hair and snatched that plum role from me AND my mom took me to the hair salon for my first cut and surprised me by telling the woman to chop my hair off to my shoulders.  I was devastated.  A few weeks ago, when I was with my 84 year old mom, she commented that when I was a kid I insisted on getting my hair chopped off.   It's funny how our memories rewrite history to justify the harsh things we do. 

I remember sobbing so loud that the hair dresser stopped and I was left with a very lopsided hair cut and ended up playing the part of a stagecoach (yes, concealed in a box shaped like a stagecoach) at the class play.  The folks didn't show up anyway.  But I've had short hair ever since.

Now that I'm 60.  I want to either grow my hair to my waist (ha) and try to get a mermaid role or when I reach 145 cut it back to a pixie.  Not sure which one.

Here's a shot of me on my September 11 (what a great date) birthday straddling the 60th stair (out of 470) at Turi.  I don't want to do before and after shots here.  My self esteem is low enough without shaming myself.  But you get the picture.

So I'm suppose to also track my feelings.  I had nightmares last night.  I dreamed that Rowland collapsed and stopped breathing and I was giving him mouth to mouth and he turned into my recently deceased dog which got very sick when I was out of the country for a wedding and ended up in the emergency clinic.  I feel tremendous guilt because if I wouldn't have gone to the states, Hankie would still be alive.  He died after two agonizing days in the clinic, and I stayed with him all day until they kicked me out at night and prayed, chanted, held his little paw.  But during the middle of the night, the vet called Hankie was gone.  There is an empty spot on the bed beside me where he sleep every night but there is an even bigger hole in my heart which as of now, seems bottomless.  I woke up sad.  Did tapping - EFT, an energy balancing method,  to try and erase those memories.  Poured a big cup of coffee and cried like a baby while everyone slept.  Checked on Row and he was still breathing.  So one out of two ain't bad.

But oddly enough, I am happier now than I have ever been.  The brief sad moments don't consume me like the bag full of grief I was carrying around.  But I have to admit, losing Hankie is harder than losing Tiffany, the step-daughter I helped raise.  Unconditional love is always harder to lose.  But losing both within a year  has been gut wrenching.  Both their deaths Quick.  No notice.  Here one minute, gone the next.  Like  a  brief strong summer storm that moves quickly through your heart leaving devastation behind.

I could really use a donut right now.

Got back from my walk from Mr. B and row was in a tear.  He needs to be on anti-depressants and me as well..  Losing his daughter and our dog, moving, starting a new job full-time, learning the language -- it's a lot for anyone to handle.  Especially row.  I am sure he has Tiff's problem, bi-polar.  He has problems focusing on anything and is up most of the night.  He looks different when he's manic.  Most of the time he's a dear, but when the manic side comes he judges and rages a lot.  And buys every "Buy Now and get Shipping Free" item off tv.   His eyes are wide and round  The hair on his head and eyebrows stick up. He's face is pulled up.

But when it is directed as me I'm afraid.  His hair stands up including his eyebrows.  We walk Samantha, but he's mad.  Mad at my for ever existing.  After a block, when he rages at me for pulling the dog off the street and tightening the leash, I turn back.  I write a note saying I've packed my bags and have left.  I ride the number 5 until it ends.

I call him, out of love and guilt.  He is riding he number 3 till it ends.  I say meet me at Coffee Tree.  I cry for 30 minutes before he gets there, missing Hankie.  I would never have left when Hankie was alive.  He needed a home.  I needed peace.  And Hankie was enough for me to be  okay.  I tell the waitress my tears are for my dog, but she thinks I said I cried because the food is bad.   I hate Spanish.  A neighboring table lets her know what I meant.  I leave a big tip.

Row arrives and he is right that I shouldn't threaten to leave.  Leave a note. 

I just want a few years of not being circled by the dysfunction of  both me and men.  I just want peace.  Patrick-opath may be disappointed that I drank the day away.  But maybe he will help me.  Is it me or the world. 

Do I create my own dysfunction and chaos?  Am I strong enough to live a different life.  Are there men that exist that make life easy?  Is that in the cards for me?