Having a rough couple of days leading up to mother’s day as usual. I spent all evening last night binge watching Lost Girl on netflix, with the frequent splicing of random crying fests.

I miss my best friends terribly. My mom and my grandmother. Within two years, two generations of sage wisdom, experience and humor lost to the grim reaper. Two lifetimes.

I’m exhausted. Worn thin. My patience evaporated like so much boiled water under the pressure of the world. Everywhere I turn I’m either reminded how I’m not good enough, not trying enough, or how much loss I’ve gone through that will always be present in my life.

I try to make my posts cheerful, at least I’ve been trying to since the start of my journey. But let’s get real here. Blogs are a sort of narcissism, feeding our egos so the world sees us. Someone witnesses your work, effort or pain. All depends on what your blog is for. Today, there is no cheer. Nothing to inspire the masses by. Today I’m just surviving. I’m just trying to live til after sunday.

I’m hurting and there are times I just want to give up.


Keep Swimming pt2

Waking up today took monumental effort. But I did it. Something small… nonsense efforts. Things we take for granted merely because it’s something we do day in, day out.

Every night each of us on this blue and green marble goes to bed with the hope we wake up tomorrow. Another chance to right the wrongs we’ve caused, a chance to do impossible things, or to continue onto the mundane.

I find myself rambling this morning. Probably from lack of caffeine. Let me get back to my purpose of today’s post. Intent.

This past weekend, I did something sans prompting and out of character for me.

While everyone else slept in, I got up early, climbed onto my treadmill and put in my penance. I plugged my phone into the speaker system, queued up my fave latin music and kept my stride in time with the beat.

And I was at peace. Sweaty, but at peace with myself and the world. All my personal demons get lulled into silence until all I can hear is the music and the thuds of the downbeat of my walkers.

As my legs burn with the production of lactic acid in my muscles, a million thoughts process and filter in the early morning hours but the only thing heard is my pandora app playing my heartsong and my use of the treadmill, with it being the uneasy measured breathing from earnest efforts to erase years of mistakes from my physical form.

Now you may not give two shites about what I’m thinking during this self imposed therapy with myself, but you’re reading a window into my life, so… here goes.

“Each step I take adds a micro second of life I didn’t have from inactivity. I can do this… 10 more minutes. It is 10 left right? 18?! Seriously?? Ugh, fine, 18 minutes. I got this. Breathe Cat… Don’t forget to breathe. Oh! 17 1/2 minutes. Really getting somewhere there speedy. Keep going Cat.. One step at a time. Holy geesh my calves are feeling it. Should I add an incline to this? I wonder if that denim skirt’s gonna fit me by the end of the month? Omg, I’ve got so much crap to do today. Whoa! Yup, not ready for the incline yet. Note to self, look at the button when you’re adding to the incline. Dumbdumb. Fun. dry mouth. How much time do I have left? 5 more minutes, atta girl, you got this….”

Sadly my personal commentary at the time never sounds this cheeky or entertaining in my own head when I’m slaving away to the treadmill. But I think I like getting up early, having the house to myself so no one else can witness me, the sweaty mess on the treads as she tries to sort out the mess she’s made out of herself. This might have to become a thing. 

Even slow progress is better than no progress. I didn’t get on the treadmill this morning but tonight I’ll get on that. Now… where’s my coffee…

Hello my old Friend…

Spyda, when you get back to reading your archives, I hope you read this one the most.

There are going to be days you hate yourself. Days when you look in the mirror, all that screams at you is that you are a failure. You are an accumulation of a life lived poorly. That you are a dull boring existence with nothing to offer the world. That you are a tired, empty husk, beaten raw by disappointment.

You are none of those things. You… are brilliant. You are creative. You have stunning blue grey eyes that has been described as piercing. You have lived life in the best way you could at the time and you yearn to improve.  I will be honest with you Spyda, it’s hard as hell for me to put this out here because I’m feeling every inch of that “failure” right now.

Mother’s day is coming up this weekend. Mom and Gran are gone, been 3 years for mom, 2 for gran now. I know we’re not at our goal yet and we’ve suffered some set backs. Please don’t give up. For me now… and for you – when ever it is that you’ve come to visit me because you’re needing a boost.  Mom and Gran would be so proud of us, for even the little way we’ve come.

Get back on that Treadmill. Keep telling yourself why we’re doing this. Know that you- simply put- are LOVED. You aren’t alone and when you feel the most isolated, all you need to do is reach out your hand and ask for help. There’s nothing wrong with asking for that help. Make a push pin board and let’s hang it by your treadmill. It’s too easy to sit down and avoid the fight ahead. We are mighty. We are fighters who yearn to look in that mirror and see us for as we are, not our mistakes, our missed opportunities. No one else sees us that way, why do we?? Our lovers, our heroes, our friends, our peers… We surround ourselves in good people who love and adore us as we are, even when we feel our worst. Don’t be afraid to grasp life and stand in the ring. We may falter but at least we’re fighting.


Keep going Spydacat. Our lives depend on it.