Onward!

 So today I decided I’d take an outdoor walk. I think the only reason why I don’t do it more often is because I have to put on socks and shoes and there’s always ‘halfway point’ dread, that point where even if you get tired and want to walk back, it’s the exact distance it would take to just finish it. My sister and I both like to do laps around the pond; it’s one of the few continuous walking paths around here, but it is pretty consistently covered in goose shit and, for some reason, the geese actually get irritated and hiss at her. I have yet to experience any hostile geese myself but she seems to have this oddly hilarious way of irritating animals. Case in point, our cat Seven, who is really bonded to me and the boys (she’s friendly with Dad and my brother Ryan too) is really repelled by her. She’s never been mean to Seven; for some reason, the cat just seems repelled by her.

In any case, I’ve been consistently exercising as well as attempting to throw in some creative time. I have only lost about 12 pounds since February but my mobility is getting so much better and my muscles are a lot more solid and useful again. So its very likely the hormones of pushing 40 are just going to consistently work against me, despite all of my food and exercise trackers swearing I should be dropping at least a pound, if not two, each week. Again, also super possible that inflammation and overworking/under-eating could be triggering some stubbornness. Of course, once my body realizes I’m not trying to kill myself, it may let go of some weight… at least until the routine is too ‘easy’ and it wants to plateau for that reason. I get it, body; cool knowing I’m not going to starve easily in a survival situation but  could we come off of the overprotective streak and let me obtain a healthier BMI before you prove that kind of efficiency?

Ahem, but the creative side? Groovy. I’ve been poking at the doll projects, although I’m still in a kind of paralysis with moving onto the more involved parts. For Maxim’s armor, I will be measuring and creating the pieces on card stock first, a pattern I will use to cut out black foam. I can then use clay or even a polyfill fiber and glue to reinforce parts, but I could also glue together and sculpt the foam sheets directly, but… I always end up deciding this when I get there. In any case, I’ll be using the silver fabric I used on Rienna’s boots as a liner on the pieces but a black faux leather on the outside of the pieces. They will most likely have to be formed and sturdy prior to covering them with fabric though; the fabric will crease and wrinkle and bubble, etc. if I try to shape the pieces later. Once the fabric and pieces are done, I have rivets and other decorative pieces I can decide on. But, like real armor, all the stages of dressing and decorating will be fidgety and there may be plenty I haven't foreseen. A learning process.

I mostly worked on mini Endramena this week. I fell in love with the big sculpt and wanted to get the smaller version, so I thought why not? I’m making the bejeweled princess version from the big sculpt so it makes sense to do a more adventurous version of her with the smaller. Smaller dolls are usually much easier for dynamic poses. So I did her corset, arm guards and a buckle, but she’ll need more buckles and I have enough leather to maybe arm her a bit better. Maybe a shoulder guard or two and a knife sheath for her thigh. I’ll add to it at leisure.

The only other thing I made was a simple crochet hat from a simple pattern. I might make more of these hats since they work up quick enough and don’t use too much yarn so they might be a good $10 hat for craft shows. Most of what I make it just too costly in time and materials to go so low…

So yeah… I’d love to get more outdoor walks in my days but it’s also totally pointless to plan much just yet. I have a mental goal of trying to do one workout and one creative session each day right now. For the past few days, it’s been working but I do have those bad days where I’ll have to both be forgiving of any goals or plans and also insistent about getting back on task once I’ve had a proper rest. Easier said than done. I’m ridiculously critical of myself but I’m also aware that a lifetime of undiagnosed ADHD has left me with some bad habits and masking techniques to cover eccentricities I am slowly trying to embrace.

It’s very sad how I was treated growing up. More so, that I had to learn to hide so much, just for adults to continually find my weaknesses at some point anyway (because I’m really terrible at lying or self-suppression and that shit comes out whether I like it or not). But I’ve always been a firm believer that I am not only a late bloomer but the fabulous sort that blooms far beyond even I expect, that one of the great things about me is that, for every gap in my growth, I shoot up like a rocket and well beyond my peers when I am in motion. 

We might have been taught the virtues of consistency through the tortoise and the hare, but the bunny got a bad wrap. Some of us do work in quick powerful bursts and quite well. We just also have the decency not to make fun of the turtles or nap too long. But one thing I have learned is that the outliers will always be bullied into believing their paths are unworthy. We’ll be made fun of for taking the hard way, the easy way or any path of uncertainty. When we fail, we’ll be ridiculed for the risk; when we succeed, they’ll grumble and invent all the ways we think we’re better than them. Let the world envy your paths. Hard or easy, success or fail, they’re yours. Keep worrying about what others think of them and you’ll miss out on the beauty of each step.

Journal Journey

I haven’t kept a paper journal in… so long, I can’t quite pinpoint it. I think the last time I tried, my nephews were still in diapers, so more than a decade. Not truly for fear of anyone reading it; unless they want to be concerned by erratic mood swings or bored to tears, I’ve never quite had an exciting day-to-day life. I could pick apart my life to make a riveting memoir but the reality of a daily journal would be less than entertaining. Weeks of depression or babbling manic episodes— so, yeah, maybe my blog kind of does that too, but I’ve attempted to summarize it rather than subject anyone to a play-by-play.

I became a bit practical about the practice of journaling. Do I want people finding and likely misinterpreting the unfiltered babbling? Do I ever want to subject myself to reading it? Do I want my garbage to take up more and more physical space? Do I even have the ego to place any importance on it? There weren’t really any positives to it. I have trouble approaching sketchbooks when they’re too pretty, even. It feels like they should hold more valuable things than impulses. I end up using cheap lined notebooks. Not really because I feel my efforts are unworthy, just because if it’s crap, the really nice notebooks don’t have the perforated pages and the bindings will come loose if I pull out the ‘unworthy’ pages later. I have come to grips with being a fickle creature that loves some things I hated before and vice versa. Items of permanence often don’t keep my interest; I give away or finalize them and don’t look at them again. My dolls are often always picked at, reworked, reposed or dusted to become ‘new’ again.

But journals lost all appeal so long ago, especially as a daily practice. How do I feel? I don’t always have an answer to that. Okay, I guess. Mostly tired or restless. What are my plans, my goals, my dreams? I might talk about following my dreams but it is not an ideal I can summarize. My dream is ever-changing and variable, like every other aspect of myself. Evolving characters in my stories is second-nature because I understand quite intimately how rapid or stubborn change can be. I have childish tendencies that remain, where some aspects of my self are restless and undecided. So I guess I’m capable of diving into more interesting subjects but then my lack of ego kicks in and I get annoyed. How much can I actually write about myself? Because my social life has always been scarce, that’s the bulk of my experience: me.

Yet, I received a beautiful hand-bound leather journal, embossed and crimson and demanding a practice I long abandoned. Random won’t quite cut it. Structured is absolutely out. I’ve thought about using it as a way to cultivate hobbies I’ve been neglecting. I’ve thought about writing it like a tutorial for my projects, but assuming the person following it already knows all the terminology because I will also fast lose interest in describing all of it to myself as if I were learning all over again. Sometimes that might be a fun challenge, appealing to the teacher in me, other times off-putting and tedious.

So I think I’ll start it tomorrow. Find a pen I like for it first then attempt to craft and record what I’ve done and discovered. Record my adventures from any approach I feel like. Give myself permission to be tedious and boring or optimistic and descriptive. To be vague or detail-obsessed. And rather than making it a wasted book of ‘dear diary, today I was sad’, I can give myself a little challenge to prompt it. What thing that is mundane and normal to me might be fascinating to others if I approached it fearlessly?

Today, I stood up my favorite male doll on a stand and simply admired how much I adore looking at him at his full height. My warrior is not meant to sit. Tomorrow I may work on his armor. Or I’ll work on the princess he guards. Perhaps I’ll work on her diminutive form, shorter hair, softer makeup, discreet but relentless feminine power in any form.

I’ll give this journal a little push. It might stick, become something focused and scheduled. Maybe not. But I will make a go of it. I’m in need of a new approach so perhaps this will be a catalyst in a change I sorely want. Like with my blog, why not let it take on an organic role? What blooms from the chaos in me usually sprouts wildly from the least likely possibility. Something a decade old and dusty might be the start of an adventure.

One Day, One Step

I haven’t lost any weight in over six weeks. I eat 500-1000 less than I burn and I burn anywhere from 2300-3000 calories through exercise and rest. I have recovery days and I have cheat days. I feel like I am successfully attending a healthier lifestyle and yet it’s this excess weight bogging me down that whispers about failure. It leaves a bitter taste and the nasty lies we’ve heard our whole lives about obesity pound my skull with thoughts of eating less, exercising more, you’re not trying hard enough until you have an eating disorder! It threatens to become an obsession because it tells me I’m not doing enough when in truth, I may be stuck because I’m doing too much. I can operate under higher pain thresholds, thanks to an adulthood of chronic pain, and it’s very unusual for anyone of my size and height to do what I do... and still, because I’m female, I am fighting a lifetime of the pressure to be more successful at just being thinner. And, every day, despite the pain of trying to budge this stubborn fat, I have to tell myself if I’m not in pain, get that workout in. Eat well and eat enough. Don’t fall into a trap of thinking you aren’t doing enough or that, if this is the best you can do, just give up.

But my happiness and my creativity are also at risk. This isn’t really about just physical health or looking better, but I fall into that trap of thinking, again and again, resenting the men and women who’ve politely asked if I really want another fattening treat or patted my stomach to say I’ve got a ‘nice little lump there’. I have to fight all of those sticky voices that shifted my focus away from my worth or equated thin with what people perceive of as health. I have to remember that weight loss isn’t about pant sizes but being able to sleep less, not in a fog when I am awake and having the stamina just to sit in a chair long enough to start, work on and eventually finish a project that I truly would enjoy if enjoyment wasn’t so exhausting.

So yeah, it’s heavier than a few extra pounds. But I can’t let the weight of those drippy thoughts obscure the fact that making these choices for my health, every day, will very slowly manifest into being able to meet goals that make life worth living. I can’t get discouraged by the stupid scale. Numbers have always been the problem. Society’s petty judgements have always been the problem. Each attack must be met with intent and a counterattack to push forward. 

And now, photo dump of things that I enjoy lately.