Last week my air conditioning died and Tanya does not do well in heat. At all. She gets migraines. Breaks out in hives. Get sweaty and ornery. Lack of sleep turns her into a wonderful combination of dopey and bitchy. It’s like Russian Roulette, which Tanya will you get? Cranky AF? Or dopey as hell? She also apparently starts to refer to herself in the third person, like royalty. Because that’s what she is. Sweltering. Hot. Royalty.
Sorry for my prolonged absence. It was not planned but life. And life has its own plans, right? Admittedly my blogging mojo had been a little low as of late (it happens to all of us!) and with all the crap going on in the world, it was hard to put a happy face on. I’ve worn a pretend happy face before and it really doesn’t end well.
Per tradition, I’m sharing a recipe for my Dad in honor of Father’s Day. I started this on my old blog, Eat Laugh Purr, and it only seems right to continue it here. Food is one way I express love and appreciation and I actually spend quite a bit of time trying to figure out what recipe to feature for Mother’s and Father’s Day. I want it to be something they would obviously enjoy but also reminds me of them too.
I really don’t care “who” writes the book I’m reading, although I am trying to make a conscious effort to read books by people of color. But mostly I just care whether or not they write a great story versus which bathroom they use (because who cares?). I have noticed, however, that books written by women tend to be favored, which made this month stand out a bit as the men dominated. And wrote some damn good stories too.
There are many things I like about blogging, including making new buddies. I also deeply appreciate that my buddies write great posts that I can steal. Borrow. I meant borrow. Mostly. 😀 In fairness, my blog might be an abyss of nothingness if it weren’t for the creativity of my buddies and their coolness in not creating a fuss when I steal/borrow their posts.
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.