fat, forties, and still fighting
If you want to write about a woman being hunted and held captive and falling in love (or at least in lust) with her captor for the love of all that’s holy, don’t put it into a real historical context.
As part of my plan to get more organized overall, I’m going to get a little more serious about my blogging. My goal is to post new content twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Well, it’s been two weeks today since I decided to start keeping a bullet journal. I’m surprised at how quickly it’s become one of the favorite parts of my day.
In other words, here’s what I’m coming to terms with: I have a severe chronic illness. It takes a tremendous amount of time and energy to manage my symptoms and make the necessary accommodations for myself in order to get things done. For twenty years I didn’t do that.
My mother told me the usual childhood lies: Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, there’s no such thing as monsters. I understand those lies. I forgive them. What I can’t forgive are the other lies she told me. The lies she told me about myself.