Goldilocks & The Hangry B*tch

Me? Grumpy?
When I'm hungry?
I'm not a toddler... oh but I am. For years it's been no secret to my family (and friends) that if Sharon is hungry, thirsty, tired and or needs the toilet... you best press yourself against a wall and throw a muffin in the direction of the bathroom.

I've been a little grumpy this week - a combination of earlier mornings and better eating - mostly under the premise that I am not a child but a grown up capable of punctuality and portion control. My natural state is really antisocial hibernating bear with a life supply of cupcakes within arm's reach... but unfortunately it's more socially acceptable to have a job and to not snarl at people.

The last two days I've had to push out my lunch because of meetings, resulting in me being a little feral if someone tries to greet me, let alone tries to ask me a question. I stare wide eyed, weave dizzily and growl. How do I get SO hungry SO fast - I will feel normal and then want to claw someone to shreds to steal their lunch? I've heard it said that carbs cause that kind of hungry, but I find it more likely when I avoid carbs. In a way I feel all the high protein turns me into a slightly less green version of The Hulk. I'm not really asking for an answer, more thinking aloud.

It's crazy how much basic needs can effect our entire mood. The balance is precarious. We need to be not hot, not cold; not hungry, not full... Where are the Three Bears?

On that note... I need a healthy snack.... mmm Rooibos & Honey yoghurt will hit the spot and help the theme. Sorry again for what I said when I was hungry. xoxo

Curiouser & Curiouser

http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2010/248/6/4/curiouser_and_curiouser____by_lostcharms-d2y36c8.jpg

 

Excuse me... did you send me this extremely generous Valentine gift?

 

I got a delivery today... a picnic basket for two, with chocolates and a teddy in a heart emblazed jersey.

 

I am thrilled - because someone loves me an awful amount.

I am intrigued - because no one will own up to it.

I am scared - because well... someone loves me and I don't know who.

 

Shut up before you tell me lots of people love me, value me, etc etc. This is pretty huge.... If you're reading this Dear Secret Admirer... Thank you VERY much... and please tell me who you are by Sunday... I mean seriously? You must know me well to know I love Owls, picnics, chocolate and bears... I've wanted a wicker picnic basket for years. You really spoilt me.

 

So much for Hellentine's Day hey?

 

xoxox

 

Oh, here's a photo of the basket...

 

 

Monday - Life Hacks?

Found this on Pinterest, going to try and implement these great tips and thought you might want to do them too!

Wish I'd seen them last night already, a new start to life this week would have been great. I suppose there's no better time than RIGHT NOW to start implementing better life practices?

All credit to http://fundersandfounders.com/

Hellentines' 2015

Valentines' Day… the degree to which I am anti Valentines' is totally eclipsed by how badly I secretly want to be spoilt rotten. Absolutely a case of “I think the lady doth protest too much”. 

I feel like I’ve been brain washed to accept that the men I associate with aren’t romantic, flowers are expensive and die, no one is going to write me a love letter, holding hands is sweaty, and if someone gives you a back rub you’re going to have to reciprocate so don’t even ask.

Through High School I always had someone to send me a rose – we’d gather in the hall to receive roses sent from the boys’ schools. As far as I remember I usually got at least one, never from an actual admirer through!

At 15 my very first boyfriend broke up with me 6 days before Valentines' Day – after I’d planned a very romantic double date at Laser Quest. I really don’t blame him, I’d been a bit of a bitch, but the injustice of singlehood on Valentines' was horrific.
Fast forward to the Vday when I baked heart shaped biscuits for a boyfriend, with great difficulty because I’d been stabbed in my arm a few days earlier, I don’t think he even got me a card. Then the Valentines' where I cooked a lovely meal and bought my own flowers with grocery money my boyfriend had given me.

Now Hellentine’s 2015 I was going to play wingman at a wedding but the plan has changed. So I tried to make plans with a guy friend who had previously expressed the desire to boycott the whole commercial holiday, but he has plans now. So I sit and wonder if I should spend the day with someone random and I wonder why I even care. I’m vaguely “seeing someone” who I have honestly not seen in almost 2 weeks or spoken to this week – I think I need to categorise him along with the Easter Bunny. I’m absolutely not prepared to ask about the status quo.

Bottomline… why do I care? Why do I want the mushy ridiculousness? Why do I want to punch couples who say they don’t celebrate Valentines’?

(Come on) Let's Go!

I feel like I’m standing on a cliff, looking at a smashed car at the bottom of the valley. Someone who looks just like me has their fingers wrapped around my wrist and pulls me gently away from the scene with the words “Come on… let’s go”.

I thought something might be my way out, my salvation, the answer, the change I’d been waiting for… but it’s not for me. This isn’t about a man. This isn’t even about a car. This is a scheme, a dream, an admittedly cushy escape.

It’s really ok. I don’t need to stand here staring at what might have been. I wasn’t in the dream before it smashed. I’m pretty sure I shoved it off the cliff.

So I close my eyes, listen to “Let’s Go!” by the Smashing Pumpkins, turn and walk away.

 

 

Quick Pop of Hope

This was my feeling this morning... but the day seems to have spun out.

I suppose its easier to slouch in the bushes than to stand proud balancing on a sunny branch. It's easier to be complacent and when trying to find healthy balance, our muscles both physical, spiritual and mental strain. 

I pulled and stretched my physical body in yoga last night, exceeding the limits my mind had placed on my body, allowed some calm to descend, opened myself to love and as a result had an emotional break down in the gym change room. It was embarrassing and yet cathartic.

I absolutely believe that our emotions get stuck in between our muscles, like crumbs in between the couch cushions... They itch until we shake them out. 

Balance is beautiful once achieved but not achieved overnight - so I continue trying, stretching and strengthening. Even if it hurts sometimes.

FOLLOW UP MOAN – Your Concept of My Beauty

Ok, this post is the continuation of my moan from earlier.

I have short legs, toddler knees, small feet for my height with short toes, a tummy, bendy fingers, unruly hair, and a family chin. I also have killer legs, cute ears, beautiful eyes and the perfect nose. And even after all these years my leg hair grows out blonde.

I love me – why do I worry about what everyone else thinks?

I’m trying very hard at gym, admittedly my eating isn’t perfect and I’m for the most pretty emotionally stable. I seem to be writing again, albeit when insecure and moody, but it makes me feel better.

Maybe I need to project some love on myself, find a better moisturiser and start swigging my way into my 4th litre of water for the day.

Peace & love darlings
xxx

YOUR CONCEPT OF MY BEAUTY.

First a thought – why when someone sees my photo online and they message me to tell me I’m beautiful/pretty/sexy, do they not say it to my face? Suddenly they are very encouraging of my exercise program because I “carry more weight than suits my bone structure”. I didn’t want their sycophantic praise to begin with, and I certainly don’t want their critique. Ok granted they don’t call me fat every time, but I really want to start poking my finger at their wild chest hair growth and point out that I will never be able to wear heels near them without towering above them, and that they smell funny, or need a pedicure. Don’t get me wrong, I could learn to love a Hobbit, but not when they are calling me an Umpa Lumpa!

Ok, I am grossly exaggerating but sometimes it’s an overall perception rather than hard fact in life?

Sometimes I feel pretty, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I love my outfit, sometimes I don’t. I spent too much time in the sun this weekend and now my skin is an itchy cage for my soul. When it comes to sunscreen I’m damned if I do and stand a 50 % chance of being damned if I don’t. I’m allergic to sunscreen in my old age. I’m also partially allergic to the outdoor. I get hives. My lips dry out and crack. As I type my face feels like an itchy desert mask but I’ve drunk 3 litres of water and resorted to nipple cream as a moisturiser. Do I feel pretty – NO.

This is at risk of being a full blown pity party. Can’t I just be pretty? Can’t someone just say it for real who isn’t another girl or biologically linked to me? Yes, I’m probably just having a bad day, but for Franks Sake!!!!

 

Maybe I just need to accept that I'm pretty funny, pretty insane and pretty much me.

 

 

Mediocre Monday Moan

Time for some philosophical ramblings again… about getting what you think you want and then hating it.

A couple of weeks ago I went on a date with a boy who wanted to hold my hand in public. How sweet? How romantic? No. I felt trapped, stifled and panicked. 

I spent months lusting over a certain style of shoes, now I own those shoes and feel like a fraud if I wear them. They don’t feel like me.

Ok I’m not sure what more I have to say… just thinking about how bratty that is. What I really want versus what is expected of me? I should want to settle down and be sweet? But sometimes I just want the attention without the effort of actually being a nice person. I guess a sense of entitlement comes through. What would make me happy? If someone just handed me the keys to a brand new car? Told me that I never had to work again and could write a book for fun? If I woke up with a flat stomach?

I’m in such a mediocre self-obsessed cloud right now.

Yes, I’m probably thinking too much and being too mean. But goodness me… It’s not always easy to be nice.

Sometimes you just make friends with fear

What is normal? What is ok?

I totally beat myself up over my apparent failures in life. It’s like a bizarre internal battle ala Sia’s new Elastic Heart video (which I’m obsessed with, both song and video).

I’ve learnt in recovery that pretty much everyone battles not to be totally driven by the fear of not being good enough. A perfect body doesn’t mean that you are capable of a healthy relationship with another person, that you won’t be lonely. You can study and study, yet still not understand a billion things. You can be the most incredible artist or dancer, and someone will criticize your art.

Gosh look at the word criticize… say it, let it roll around your mouth for a moment. Critter-size? Criticize me and reduce me to the size of a bug you can squish under your cracked heels. Oops did I just judge you back?

How did we get to the point where we find it ok to hurt each other? I’ve said it before, how every so often I look at my own hands, my arms, I feel my own pulse – blue and fragile beneath the skin of my wrist. You are exactly the same as me. You hurt inside too. You live on the same hairline tight rope. So why do we thrash at each other? Would I be happier alone here?

I’m not even thinking of a specific human. It flickers between boys who have broken my heart to car guards who make my blood boil to friends who have thrown their hands over their eyes and fled from me. Look at me, I’m all bruised too. Maybe if I acknowledge your bruises you will acknowledge mine? I’m sorry if I inflicted any of those horrible purple blemishes. I’m really sorry.