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Thread: waiting for the whoosh - badgergirl's journal page 44

  1. #431
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    Feeding thoughts

    Primal Fuel
    It has not escaped me that this is a food journal with no food in it. I've been holding steady at my 'chunky' weight, mainly owing to regular alcohol and no exercise. I'm definitely using my 20% and I'm not skipping meals very often.

    I'm waiting to see if something 'clicks' and I no longer feel a raging thirst (despite frequent binge drinking, in my younger days I never used to crave alcohol like I do now). I woke up this morning, after yesterday spent picking at chocs culminating in a mini egg feeding frenzy (and 3/4 bottle of pinot noir, roast beef, brussels and beetroot), feeling agnostic towards all food and drink. Coffee and yoghurt and I'm on my way.

    The reminiscing here is helping in other ways: it helps me pinpoint what is missing from life at the moment and helps me find words before bedtime chats with husband - a practice run.

    When husband and I met we had reached the same point from opposite directions - I was calming down and he was ramping up. We often find our frames of reference, life experiences and so forth are entirely alien to each other. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it does make communicating and understanding each other more complicated. And, as our relationship has progressed - 11 years and counting, we've grown into each other in some respects (tangled roots) and away from each other in others (spreading branches).
    Last edited by badgergirl; 04-01-2013 at 12:32 AM.
    My journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread60211.html Into RPG table top games? Check out FateStorm and (in development) Vanguard! 3D printed miniatures for sci-fi RPGs.

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    I totally agree about the power of the journalling: for me it's helping to draw connections between different aspects of my life, and coherently formulate (and share) thoughts that might otherwise just fester in my head. Plus it's great to share and get feedback.

    In short - screw the food, write what you like
    "I think the basic anti-aging diet is also the best diet for prevention and treatment of diabetes, scleroderma, and the various "connective tissue diseases." This would emphasize high protein, low unsaturated fats, low iron, and high antioxidant consumption, with a moderate or low starch consumption.

    In practice, this means that a major part of the diet should be milk, cheese, eggs, shellfish, fruits and coconut oil, with vitamin E and salt as the safest supplements."

    - Ray Peat

  3. #433
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    Today I ate chocolate, steak and beetroot and took to my bed. Can sugar be a turn on? I was supposed to attend a third birthday, but instead I stayed home and pleased myself.

    When I was a young 'un I made a conscious decision that it was far better to regret what I had done than what I hadn't. I made it my mission to live life in such a way that when it came to the gin, cake and rocking chair years I'd be able to look back with wry fondness and rock that chair just a little bit harder than all the other old dears. I'm currently failing in that mission. And I regret, well, I have regrets of omission and they burn more than any of my fond regrets of experience - even Greek Andy and boy was he a regretful choice.

    Tomorrow I have a date with Frank Turner and a Melbourne mosh pit. I'm going to pogo around the place like a complete lunatic.
    My journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread60211.html Into RPG table top games? Check out FateStorm and (in development) Vanguard! 3D printed miniatures for sci-fi RPGs.

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    My only regrets are regrets of omission. And I have a lot of them, particularly from the last two years.
    "I think the basic anti-aging diet is also the best diet for prevention and treatment of diabetes, scleroderma, and the various "connective tissue diseases." This would emphasize high protein, low unsaturated fats, low iron, and high antioxidant consumption, with a moderate or low starch consumption.

    In practice, this means that a major part of the diet should be milk, cheese, eggs, shellfish, fruits and coconut oil, with vitamin E and salt as the safest supplements."

    - Ray Peat

  5. #435
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    Quote Originally Posted by YogaBare View Post
    My only regrets are regrets of omission. And I have a lot of them, particularly from the last two years.
    I don't think I've had any of note until now. Oh my goodness, does it ITCH.
    My journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread60211.html Into RPG table top games? Check out FateStorm and (in development) Vanguard! 3D printed miniatures for sci-fi RPGs.

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    Perhaps the time has come to grasp the nettle. Not that it is a nettle really. My mother (either of them) my self is not, finally and thankfully, a mantra I subscribe to. (Also, I have not read that book – should I?)

    Birth mother, from what I can piece together, was fragile before falling pregnant and madder than a sack of onions afterwards. Now I come to think of it, she reminds me a little of husband’s oldest sister who creates what she most fears through her own avoiding tactics. I digress.

    I have no idea if her pregnancy was a difficult one or whether my hydrocephalus was discovered antenatally. I can well imagine that birthing a baby with a big head would be traumatic – perhaps she had a c-section – and, then, having a child that required immediate surgery would have made the bonding process more fraught than it would otherwise be.

    One of the little cats I work with has a son who was born (prematurely) with hydrocephalus – and he’s now a normal, healthy adult (yay! Another survivor) – she tells us stories of the days and nights in intensive care watching over the incubator. She also recounts how difficult coming home was and trusting herself with the little sickie. Perhaps my first month was like that.

    What I do know is that after being discharged from hospital, birth mother took us to a mother-and-baby home (in the 1970s these places existed). At some point they asked her to leave. I don’t know where she went next or how long it took her to call social services. I have no idea what happened to me in the interim. Perhaps there was no interim and she was encouraged to call for help by the nurses at the M&B home. It is a mystery.

    The process with the social services is also something of a mystery. I suppose there are records somewhere, or were at some point; I suppose I could dig and delve if I really wanted to. I know that the grandparents were approached about giving me a home, but they declined. Actually, said they’d only just decorated their spare room and, well, they were too old to be looking after a baby (they were in their 40s, just like my adopted parents). I’ll admit the spare room bit rankles. A lucky escape there, for them and me. Fuckers.

    There was the fostering. Then, as the regulation amount of time was almost done, there was going to be a straightforward adoption. Ha! But we’re in pantomime land – oh no there isn’t; she’s beeeehiiiind you! Birth mother contested and represented herself in court. Stuff was said, obviously, uncomfortable hearing and I’m not sure how much I absorbed, how much I’ve blocked out.

    Throughout childhood she was considered an abduction threat. In my case stranger danger came in the form of a woman wearing my face. She phoned sometimes; once she pretended to be a friend from school so that she could chat to me with a little girl voice. Perplexing and unsettling.

    So it was, at 18, that I had no interest in tracking her down and – after the grandparents debacle – an active wish to have nothing to do with her or her parents.

    Husband and I were in the throes of moving to Sydney when the letter came. We had six weeks to get passports for small (at that point baby) boy, get our own paperwork in order, pack up the flat, get the dog shipped, find a tenant and all the other hoopla that attends emigrating at short notice. The letter was from a social worker in Havant – birth mother wanted contact and there were a sack of letters from her to me. Could the social worker send them on?

    I was reluctant to accept this burden, but felt backed into a corner. Social worker went on about how my birth mother had been known to them for years and how she was now in a good place with an older husband who cared for her. Okay – send the letters. They arrived and I wrote a letter to birth mother in return. I’ve got a good life. I’m married. I’m happy. I’m educated. I have a good job. Thank you for calling for help when you did. I’ve met the grandparents and that didn’t work out. I don’t want to take this any further. Thank you and goodbye. I sent it via email to the social worker.

    I didn’t open the letters.

    My dad, family historian to the last, implored me: you must read them.

    I opened the letters. Madness tumbled out along with some photos of the woman with my face, but worse hair and terrible clothes. There were short rants written in pencil about the vet and her cats. Puzzlingly, one of them was my cat who slept on my bed in my room. She would meet me from the bus stop when I came to stay. There were notes written in caps about the evil nurses in the home refusing to give me the (I assume formula, but who knows) milk she’d brought for me. There were attacks on her parents – that I could understand. In a later letter I learned that my cat had died, but that the room was still ready.

    I looked up with despair at husband. This is all madness. And then he asked me the question that cut through all the noise like a whistling blade. Does she tell you who your father is? No, she hadn’t. And it hadn’t occurred to me that I might want to know. However, having not long ago become one, clearly fathers were of vital import to husband.

    The social worker emailed back and suggested that my attached letter really wasn’t enough. Birth mother would not believe it was really from me. I should handwrite a letter. I inserted a digital signature and re-sent it, telling the social worker that it was not her job to advocate for my mother and I would construe any further contact from her as harassment.

    I told Dad that the letters were full of crazy and that they had gone in the bin. No, really, Dad, they are madness.

    And then we left the country.

    I keep the photos in an envelope in a drawer – one day small boy can have them.
    Last edited by badgergirl; 04-01-2013 at 06:21 PM. Reason: commas of course
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  7. #437
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    Quote Originally Posted by badgergirl View Post
    My mother (either of them) my self is not, finally and thankfully, a mantra I subscribe to. (Also, I have not read that book – should I?)
    I read it at about 19 or 20. Definitely interesting reading back then, but I don't know how I would respond to it today. It did give me a lot to think about, tho. I read a lot of Friday books at that age, but quit at the one about sexual fantasies - just too much weirdness for me in that one.

    The social worker emailed back and suggested that my attached letter really wasn’t enough. Birth mother would not believe it was really from me. I should handwrite a letter. I inserted a digital signature and re-sent it, telling the social worker that it was not her job to advocate for my mother and I would construe any further contact from her as harassment.
    GOOD FOR YOU! I have had a social worker in my past, and she was MY advocate, in word and deed, not the other party's. Bitch.

    I keep the photos in an envelope in a drawer – one day small boy can have them.
    I think that is very balanced. Small boy can be spared the crazy words - some things don't need to be passed on. At some point they will be doing family trees and stuff in school (they always do here some time during elementary school), and that will help.

    Story - I have a huge family, four aunts and three uncles on one side alone, but the story concerns Aunt M and Aunt D. Aunt M wasn't able to conceive. Aunt D gave birth to two daughters, but was diagnosed with schizophrenia around the time of their births. The daughters were picked up by the state and put up for adoption at ages 2 and 4 or 5. As luck would have it, Aunt M was already approved in the same state system to adopt, and took the daughters. All their growing-up years they had to field schizophrenic telephone calls, and sometimes my Aunt M would have to lay down the law to her own sister about who was actually the legal boss in that relationship. Family gets complicated sometimes, as you have always known.
    I have a mantra that I have spouted for years... "If I eat right, I feel right. If I feel right, I exercise right. If I exercise right, I think right. If I think right, I eat right..." Phil-SC

  8. #438
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    Quote Originally Posted by Crabbcakes View Post
    I read it at about 19 or 20. Definitely interesting reading back then, but I don't know how I would respond to it today. It did give me a lot to think about, tho. I read a lot of Friday books at that age, but quit at the one about sexual fantasies - just too much weirdness for me in that one.



    GOOD FOR YOU! I have had a social worker in my past, and she was MY advocate, in word and deed, not the other party's. Bitch.



    I think that is very balanced. Small boy can be spared the crazy words - some things don't need to be passed on. At some point they will be doing family trees and stuff in school (they always do here some time during elementary school), and that will help.

    Story - I have a huge family, four aunts and three uncles on one side alone, but the story concerns Aunt M and Aunt D. Aunt M wasn't able to conceive. Aunt D gave birth to two daughters, but was diagnosed with schizophrenia around the time of their births. The daughters were picked up by the state and put up for adoption at ages 2 and 4 or 5. As luck would have it, Aunt M was already approved in the same state system to adopt, and took the daughters. All their growing-up years they had to field schizophrenic telephone calls, and sometimes my Aunt M would have to lay down the law to her own sister about who was actually the legal boss in that relationship. Family gets complicated sometimes, as you have always known.
    I started with the Secret Garden one and couldn't get on with it - borrowed from my mother, as I remember, I would have been about 15 or so. My mother = my self is a thing I had worried about for years (given that I have two archetypal mothers to deal with, neither of them spectacularly sane, this was a BIG worry). Having small boy has cured me of that concern. The mistakes I make, and there are plenty, are my own.

    There is a thing with the photos and small boy that is a post on its own. The family resemblance between him and me has been profoundly healing for me. Finally, a positive association for a lookalike.

    Re story - ugh that is hard, hard, hard. For everyone.
    My journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread60211.html Into RPG table top games? Check out FateStorm and (in development) Vanguard! 3D printed miniatures for sci-fi RPGs.

  9. #439
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    Frank Turner - a review of sorts

    I did it. I went to a concert by myself. And I had fun! But it was not without its scary challenges. I've learned some lessons, too, I think.

    I left work after changing out of my usual dress and boots into jeans and boots. Although I jettisoned everything I could, I still needed to carry my Cath Kidston (don't judge - yes it's floral, but it's useful) satchel as I'm reading Hilary Mantel's A Place of Greater Safety (an enormous brick of a book) and I also needed my wallet, keys, phone and so forth. However, a satchel is not ideal for moshing so I perhaps should have sacrificed the book...

    I strolled leisurely through the city enjoying my freedom (usually I am literally running for a train and the bedlam that awaits at home). I picked up some hair gunk and mooched around the shops. Simple things that remind me I used to be an independent adult. Having skipped lunch, I bought some cold cuts and a bottle of water. There's a reasonably nice waiting room at Southern Cross so, with 90 minutes to fill, I settled down, read my book and, er, ate my salty meat.

    I contemplated jumping on a train and going home. After all, I'd already had some fun (sad that an hour of freedom constitutes fun) and I was getting increasingly nervous at the prospect of sketchy venue surrounded by sketchy strangers.

    Fortune favours the brave.

    I started walking in the general direction of the Festival Hall. I spotted three rough-looking gents, one was wearing a kilt all three had impressive facial hair. Two lassies were in front of me - standard-issue grunge girls...but wait, that's a Dropkick Murphys tee-shirt. The penny dropped - kilt guys are going where I'm going, as are the grunge girls. I put the map back in my voluminous bag (I have a thick phone rather than a smart phone so cannot Google map on the move). I followed them and considered making conversation with lads, but since they detoured to a pub, I missed my opportunity and retrospectively felt relieved. As I felt dangerous, which is never good and often leads to unfortunate entanglements.

    I arrived a few minutes after the time on the ticket and a band was already playing. They sounded as though they were from Essex and looked like a bunch of White supremacists. Surely not, but with screaming and howling, who can tell what the lyrics are? I stood towards the back and nursed my plastic beaker of lager (I haven't drunk lager in 15 or more years. My drinking progression went something like this: whiskey mac, sherry/wine, cider, White Lightning, lager, Black Velvet, stout, cocktails and settled on red wine). Lager is revolting, but it was either that or a G&T and I like gin...

    A second band came on: the Swinging Utters. I kept my place at the back and watched with mounting amusement. The lead singer contorted himself with syncopated physical jerks. When he got very excited he tapped his head with his mike. I scanned the crowd and spotted two FT tee-shirts in a sea of Dropkick Murphy merch. Kilts! Facial hair! Tatts! It was as if the dockworkers of Baltimore (I've seen The Wire) had descended on Melbourne...and that was just the laydeez. Speaking of the lassies, they were outnumbered 10:1 by the lads.

    Every time I spotted a check shirt I thought: I wonder if that person is a Frank Turner fan?

    Frank came on and the check shirts shuffled to the front. I positioned myself right at the front and watched the proceedings with great glee. I even pogo'd for a while, A Place of Greater Safety leaving bruises where it hit my spine. The bass player posed and gurned; they all did. It was brilliant. I like the music, but the theatre and the comedy were almost as much fun. It was a mid-length set - eight or ten songs, some banter. Frank said he'd be around after the Dropkick Murphy set to meet and greet.

    I looked around the crowd, which was already getting quite rambunctious with its moshing, and made a tactical retreat. Getting a bit confused, I stumbled across the Swinging Utters round the back of the Festival Hall (which is a tiny fleapit), but they were unable to give me directions to North Melbourne. A five-minute walk along an unlit lane and I was at my train station.

    However, there were no trains to my far-flung suburb. I climbed aboard the bus replacement service and settled back into the French revolution.

    In bed before the Cinderella hour with my ears ringing, my feet were attacked by cramp that felt like it lasted a good hour. At 4am the small boy joined us. At 5am the alarm went off.

    It was worth it.
    Last edited by badgergirl; 04-02-2013 at 08:45 PM.
    My journal: http://www.marksdailyapple.com/forum/thread60211.html Into RPG table top games? Check out FateStorm and (in development) Vanguard! 3D printed miniatures for sci-fi RPGs.

  10. #440
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    Primal Blueprint Expert Certification
    Doing a fellow lurk Love hearing your story.
    "I think the basic anti-aging diet is also the best diet for prevention and treatment of diabetes, scleroderma, and the various "connective tissue diseases." This would emphasize high protein, low unsaturated fats, low iron, and high antioxidant consumption, with a moderate or low starch consumption.

    In practice, this means that a major part of the diet should be milk, cheese, eggs, shellfish, fruits and coconut oil, with vitamin E and salt as the safest supplements."

    - Ray Peat

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