b u u u m p
and g r i n d
like salt and pepper sing
just a little bit and
o o o o oooh
come c l o s e
I need to >> s t r o k e
like a baby near the fire
will I hear
don’t touch…. it’s H O T
but sizzzzzzzle
your skin>>>> is the match that’s
lit the fire within
I see
pecs and 6 pack abs
forearms glistening with s w e a t
jeans hung loooooow
oh oh ooops
what do I think
moth to flame … just look at you
hell don’t wink
I
I
I
whoooooo CARES if I burn
Yes writers the stamp of approval that we have been acknowledged, someone who doesn’t know us from a bar of soap appreciates our work and likes what we have written. With manuscripts I have forwarded, my letterbox strolls (to find acceptance) have come to nought.
I was mowing the lawns this afternoon (l know you wont find that mind-boggling) & I wanted to write, I moved onto weeding, I still wanted to write. Started to replant a gardenia bush, still wanted to write. It ‘the writing obsession’ wouldn’t leave me alone. In fact it hasn’t for some weeks now. It’s a calling, something unknown with long arms & sinewy fingers that grab hold of me & lure me into the study to turn on my Mac & say, “Now write”. (Maybe not long arms and sinewy fingers, perhaps a bit of over-kill there, but then that’s the writer in me). I try to resist (as I really wanted to get the gardenia bush planted whilst we are in Autumn) but it was no use denying it any further. So I sat at my desk and stared at the blank document page and prayed for inspiration (not literally).
Perhaps I should write just about me, my thoughts (I can see you all cringing, please don’t it shouldn’t be that bad). Would anyone be interested in reading my dribble or would they find it amusing? Thought provoking? Would they relate to what I have written and me?
Who knows, I can’t be the judge only the person who is reading this can be. I know when I have read a book & if the author’s style is down to earth and open, I relate to it, it draws me in even further.
I simply like that style of writing. Writing does require talent, imagination and creativity. Can we say that because l am an ‘unknown’ (apart from to my friends and family of course) that people wouldn’t enjoy or want to read what l have written? This is the uncertainty.
It’s all getting a tad in depth now isn’t it? Maybe I should refrain from over analysing and just do what I came in here to do and write. Sometimes I shall do that, I have the intention of writing something light hearted & before I know it the million words that consume my head space want to say something deep and meaningful…let’s see where it ends…
My weight on the scales now fluctuates between fifty-nine to sixty one kilograms (trying to stop the later proves more difficult). Some weeks are better than others, but its like my body has said ‘ENOUGH’ this is the weight you are meant to be so deal with it!’ I’m at a loss some days to understand. I ended my gym membership and my partner and I bought a treadmill and home (weights)gym. I am pleased to say I use said equipment approximately 4 to 5 times per week, and apart from a bag of licorice allsorts or snakes I have quite a healthy “normal” diet, but for some reason with the exercising and the odd intermittent over consumption of sugar l can’t loose any more. It has to be an age thing. I can see you nodding your head, are you relating to me? (Surely this is a good sign refer to paragraph 1). Perhaps the ‘muscle weighs heavier’ theory is correct and if so I should look like the Governor of California – Arnie what’s- his -name. But alas it’s noticeable (to me at any rate) and I wish that l was one of these women who can say “Yes l think my body is looking quite reasonable for my age- I’m happy ” but I’m not there quite yet, question is will l ever be?
Unfortunately when I don a bra, I shake my head at the sight of the extra fold or two of skin that appears over the top and at the sides (rather like a squeezed tube of toothpaste). In fact it’s a case of lean forward and jam in the excess to prevent more over-hang! Can I put it down to just an ill-fitting bra perhaps? (Thank god I’m not big in the boob department though yes would have liked a little more..just to have a cleavage would have been lovely thank you). I notice how my skin wrinkles up on my forearm similar to corrugated iron (at least I’ve returned to the humorous) when I bend my arm a certain way, or the skin on my legs looks drier and thinner, not to mention the turkey skin crepe neck? Bruises, cuts remain for longer now, not fading in a day or two as they use to. The back of my hands, such a tell tale sign of age, the only way I can make them appear young and is to clench my fist. My kneecaps are starting to crease a little more and drop further towards my feet. Yes everything appears to be going south as we are told with age.
The extra flesh on the top of my hips (muffin tops) is just one of the parts of the female anatomy that is so difficult to get rid of and of course one or two (ok more than that) facial lines around the mouth and under my eyes. Character lines we are told, laugh lines, no just plain ‘you’re getting older girl’ lines I tell my self. Oh sweet youth where have you gone?
I realise that is probably why I had so much difficulty choosing clothes to wear, the clothes that would once reveal an average and reasonably shaped body had gone forever (in my eyes anyway) and I knew that my mid life years had ascended. That’s why the walking was scrapped and the gym took its place. Yes ’any’ exercise is good for you, but if you want quicker results albeit tough some days, working out on a treadmill, cross trainer, bike, doing weights is the only way to go they say, BUT at the same time you must watch your food intake.. sugar, carbs blah blah blah.
I remember looking upon my own mother when I was younger, looking at her skin and her body shape changing and thinking to myself is that going to be my body? Not that we would ever think that our mothers look abysmal (because we’d be in major trouble if they ever found out we thought that way for starters), but I think we scrutinise or at least I did at a younger age how they looked when they were older and I wondered if my body shape would be similar at her age.
Unfortunately and inevitably the answer was yes more than likely. I am delighted in saying that both my parents look extremely young for their age still (so let’s hope I’ve inherited those genes). No matter how much we may detest or protest, our bodies will change, unless of course you’re able to afford plastic surgery on a regular basis. I’m not ashamed to admit I secretly wish that I could have all that back again. Society as a general rule favours smooth skin and slimness over middle age, wrinkles and spare tires! But does that automatically make us more attractive? (Yes I’ve slipped back to the dark side – best get yourself more wine)
I don’t know if I can or want to grow old gracefully as is purported. Peering into the mirror asking “Where are you, where is the girl, the young woman l knew?” With the answer tongue in cheek “Oh yes there you are, your mother”. I desperately try to maintain my weight, watch what I eat and drink (as I mentioned most of the time) however my body shape has altered. Put down to menopause and my advancing years. I was generally a size twelve, then went to a ten and sometimes on a good month down to an eight. Now due to my fluctuation on the scales (yes l weight myself daily and now take note of grams now) I either reach for my skinny clothes or my fat ones (hands up, yes we all have a wardrobe like this).
The clothing manufacturers sadly have such an unrealistic spectrum when it comes to clothes sizes. Just when you think you are ‘safe’ trying on a pair of size 10 jeans, low and behold you step into them, get them to your upper thighs (with a bit of wiggling and jumping about in the change room) only to find that your hips are in the way. “Damn” you mutter under your breath, why aren’t they fitting? Then you become disillusioned because you know you have 3 other size 10 pairs of jeans hanging in your wardrobe and you hadn’t eaten anything for the last two days before this shopping spree. They should equip dressing rooms with beds (just like the good old days when we squeezed/sucked our bodies into jeans by lying down).
Ramblings From A Mum 