In light of the recent news that my blog muse, the real-life Angry Pony (aka "Joe"), has recently passed away, I felt I should blog. Blog about something. Blog about anything. This little angry pony was my inspiration. He made me think. He made me feel like embracing my anger was the thing to do. However, over the years since I started this blog, much has happened in my life. This blog has evolved from funny stories, to stories about stuff that pissed me off, to recording my weight-loss/gain journey to talking about Therapy Thursday and pretty much anything else. Really, nothing has been off-limits.
Lately, I have felt like I don't know what this blog is supposed to be anymore and that maybe I should stop, or change my focus. I felt like maybe I am letting the people down that tuned in to read it for the funny stuff. But it occurs to me that the real reason I started this blog was to have an outlet for my feelings and emotions. To have an outlet for the good and the bad. I started this blog for me, not for you or anyone else. I write this stuff for me, because it is my outlet and I am inviting you in to have a peek into my mind and to share my vulnerability. I have had many of you tell me you totally understand, or it helped you in some way, or it made you realize you weren't alone. Some of you just come for the funny stories, and that's okay, too. I don't care. I'm going to write whether you visit this blog or not.
It does occur to me that maybe I am struggling with my blog because I am struggling with my life. I'm so lost. Which, I know I have written before. It's funny, I have looked back at some of my older blogs when I was so engaged in my life and so full of pretend hope. Where did that girl go? I think I may have figured it out. I think I have turned into a cat. That Angry Pony that was pissed off about the cards I was dealt must have gotten a hold of some Xanax because I'm not really angry right now, I'm just kind of sad. You know, like the Sad Cat Diary. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKffm2uI4dk.
Let's explore the average cat's day. Gets up in the morning and takes care of business (wake up the human, whine about being hungry, take a piss, sharpen claws on couch) and then waits for the humans to leave. When this happens, sure, the cat may behave for a short time, but ultimately, it is bored. It's now time to crawl up on the counter, where the cat knows it shouldn't be, so that it can pick the appropriate spot, sit down, throw it's leg up and proceed to lick itself for hours. Upon completion of that, it's time to go do some other stuff that is frowned upon, like knocking a pen off the table and batting it around the house, pulling Q-tips out of the bathroom trash, hiding lip gloss under the couch, sitting inside the curtain and swatting at bugs, thusly snagging the curtains, and the list goes on.
The reason I think I may be a cat is because I'm becoming aloof. While I'm not licking my genitals as I sit on the counter (I'm too fat to crawl up there), I'm pretty much doing whatever the hell I want. And, if anyone tells me I can't, I'll scratch the shit out of them. If I was still Angry Pony, I would be kicking someone's ass, stomping something into the dirt. Nope, I'm just climbing on the counter and licking the butter dish whenever the hell I want to. I don't even really like cats. I mean, they are okay, but I don't bond with them like I do with the dogs and horses (and unicorns).
Why am I being cat-like? What is my problem? How come I'm not doing the shit I said I would do in all those blogs in early 2013? I'm a fraud. Where is the girl with motivation? Where's the girl with dreams? Instead, I'm a kitty on Prozac.
You know what is REALLY discouraging? The people that say I have been an inspiration to them, or have motivated them. That's freaking fantastic. I'm glad all of you are motivated and inspired. I'm glad you're making it to the gym and eating flax seen in your stupid protein shakes. I may have started my day with a protein shake with fruit and spinach and vitamins, but guess what, somewhere in my day, I ate some peanut M&M's. FRAUD. I'm a fraud. And, who's gained a shit-ton of weight back? Here kitty, kitty, kitty. UGH. I keep wondering what my problem is. The only thing I can come up with is that I'm a lazy fraud. The Rug Doctor doesn't think I'm "broken" so that means I'm capable, but choosing, on some level not to do what I need to do. I want to, but God went and gave us all that thing called will. My will is bogged down in bullshit. What I need is a fat girl exorcism. I need a fat-girl-ectomy. I need to be thrown down a hole, starved and supplied ample lotion. Let some guy use this body for making himself a woman suit. My skin is in pretty good shape in some areas. I mean, the leg skin is gross, but the back skin and butt skin, that stuff is smooth and nice. The skin on the top of my feet is good too, it's kind of pretty really, slightly sun-kissed. I'm actually a pretty good candidate for basement-pit starving. You don't even have to dig the hole deep, I'm not gonna be climbing out.
And, let me just stop anyone right now that wants to tell me how to "Take Shape for Life" or "Advocare" or "Onitrition" or Hydroxycut or whatever. This is a battle within me. A life long battle that I am tired of, but have no choice other than to face it every day of my life. No instant packet of dried meatloaf is going to change that. I have to find my Angry Pony again. The funny thing about my pony blog muse passing away is that I was feeling disconnected from my warrior pony before I found out he had died. My spirit, on some level knew, I think. We were connected.
So, I know I have a ton of pony personalities in my head and now this cat behavior is showing up. I need to get my freaking spirit animals figured out. That shark hanging above my desk isn't really helping me either. It's just encouraging me to eat whatever is in my path. Shit. Now what? I honestly don't know.
And that is where I'm leaving it tonight. No answers. I'm just "feeling all the feelings" as Top Knot Pony would say.
Lately, I have felt like I don't know what this blog is supposed to be anymore and that maybe I should stop, or change my focus. I felt like maybe I am letting the people down that tuned in to read it for the funny stuff. But it occurs to me that the real reason I started this blog was to have an outlet for my feelings and emotions. To have an outlet for the good and the bad. I started this blog for me, not for you or anyone else. I write this stuff for me, because it is my outlet and I am inviting you in to have a peek into my mind and to share my vulnerability. I have had many of you tell me you totally understand, or it helped you in some way, or it made you realize you weren't alone. Some of you just come for the funny stories, and that's okay, too. I don't care. I'm going to write whether you visit this blog or not.
It does occur to me that maybe I am struggling with my blog because I am struggling with my life. I'm so lost. Which, I know I have written before. It's funny, I have looked back at some of my older blogs when I was so engaged in my life and so full of pretend hope. Where did that girl go? I think I may have figured it out. I think I have turned into a cat. That Angry Pony that was pissed off about the cards I was dealt must have gotten a hold of some Xanax because I'm not really angry right now, I'm just kind of sad. You know, like the Sad Cat Diary. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKffm2uI4dk.
Let's explore the average cat's day. Gets up in the morning and takes care of business (wake up the human, whine about being hungry, take a piss, sharpen claws on couch) and then waits for the humans to leave. When this happens, sure, the cat may behave for a short time, but ultimately, it is bored. It's now time to crawl up on the counter, where the cat knows it shouldn't be, so that it can pick the appropriate spot, sit down, throw it's leg up and proceed to lick itself for hours. Upon completion of that, it's time to go do some other stuff that is frowned upon, like knocking a pen off the table and batting it around the house, pulling Q-tips out of the bathroom trash, hiding lip gloss under the couch, sitting inside the curtain and swatting at bugs, thusly snagging the curtains, and the list goes on.
The reason I think I may be a cat is because I'm becoming aloof. While I'm not licking my genitals as I sit on the counter (I'm too fat to crawl up there), I'm pretty much doing whatever the hell I want. And, if anyone tells me I can't, I'll scratch the shit out of them. If I was still Angry Pony, I would be kicking someone's ass, stomping something into the dirt. Nope, I'm just climbing on the counter and licking the butter dish whenever the hell I want to. I don't even really like cats. I mean, they are okay, but I don't bond with them like I do with the dogs and horses (and unicorns).
Why am I being cat-like? What is my problem? How come I'm not doing the shit I said I would do in all those blogs in early 2013? I'm a fraud. Where is the girl with motivation? Where's the girl with dreams? Instead, I'm a kitty on Prozac.
You know what is REALLY discouraging? The people that say I have been an inspiration to them, or have motivated them. That's freaking fantastic. I'm glad all of you are motivated and inspired. I'm glad you're making it to the gym and eating flax seen in your stupid protein shakes. I may have started my day with a protein shake with fruit and spinach and vitamins, but guess what, somewhere in my day, I ate some peanut M&M's. FRAUD. I'm a fraud. And, who's gained a shit-ton of weight back? Here kitty, kitty, kitty. UGH. I keep wondering what my problem is. The only thing I can come up with is that I'm a lazy fraud. The Rug Doctor doesn't think I'm "broken" so that means I'm capable, but choosing, on some level not to do what I need to do. I want to, but God went and gave us all that thing called will. My will is bogged down in bullshit. What I need is a fat girl exorcism. I need a fat-girl-ectomy. I need to be thrown down a hole, starved and supplied ample lotion. Let some guy use this body for making himself a woman suit. My skin is in pretty good shape in some areas. I mean, the leg skin is gross, but the back skin and butt skin, that stuff is smooth and nice. The skin on the top of my feet is good too, it's kind of pretty really, slightly sun-kissed. I'm actually a pretty good candidate for basement-pit starving. You don't even have to dig the hole deep, I'm not gonna be climbing out.
And, let me just stop anyone right now that wants to tell me how to "Take Shape for Life" or "Advocare" or "Onitrition" or Hydroxycut or whatever. This is a battle within me. A life long battle that I am tired of, but have no choice other than to face it every day of my life. No instant packet of dried meatloaf is going to change that. I have to find my Angry Pony again. The funny thing about my pony blog muse passing away is that I was feeling disconnected from my warrior pony before I found out he had died. My spirit, on some level knew, I think. We were connected.
So, I know I have a ton of pony personalities in my head and now this cat behavior is showing up. I need to get my freaking spirit animals figured out. That shark hanging above my desk isn't really helping me either. It's just encouraging me to eat whatever is in my path. Shit. Now what? I honestly don't know.
And that is where I'm leaving it tonight. No answers. I'm just "feeling all the feelings" as Top Knot Pony would say.
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