I often dreamt about the moment when I could proudly announce that I reached my weight goal. That I was now officially healthy and fit, feeling good and looking good. Finally able to wear those flirty sundresses and sleeveless shirts that I’ve long admired but never felt flattered me. It would be a proud moment. This is not that moment. Nor a proud moment. It is a time of frustration, disappointment and sadness for me because my get healthy journey is stalled. And it’s all my fault.
Hmmmm … I might have slightly oversold this post with the title but too lazy to change it. So here’s the thing: I’m in a mood. Right now. At this very second when I’m typing this on a Tuesday morning. By the time this gets published, I might be carefree, happy Tanya again. But right now? I’m Grumpy Tanya. Who growls at everyone and everything. And has wisely (or not so wisely) decided to share her grumpy thoughts with you.
In my dreams, someone pays me gobs and gobs of money to just sit around all day reading and snuggling with my cat. It’s a good gig if you can get it! Errr … of course, I don’t actually have that gig or know if it really exists, but I still devour books almost as fast as I gobble up a slice of cheese pizza. Thus, I consider myself to be a book expert. At least the expert of what Tanya likes and dislikes when it comes to books.
Every year I make a special treat for my Mom in honor of Mother’s Day. This makes me a good daughter. Now here’s the awkward part. I eat it; she doesn’t. Sadly, I am not able to celebrate with my Mom on Mother’s Day, but I will make her this lovely, delectable dessert the next time I see her. After all, I am mostly a good daughter!
I have a love/hate relationship with unreliable narrators. Sometimes they make a story and sometimes … it’s annoying. This month, one worked for me and one really didn’t. And yes, I only read three books this month. I already feel awkward about this so let’s not dwell on that fact but instead note that 2 out of 3 books had unreliable narrators, which is still a majority. The romance book was also my favorite so all in all: it was a weird month.
I call them guilty pleasures because there is a small, teeny tiny part of me that is … maybe … embarrassed about my love for them. Perhaps, they were cool years ago but my love remains deep and true, long past their fresh date. This does not shame me but … I ain’t necessarily proud about it either. They just are. Ya know?