Transition

Herself speaks.

I have finished one Giant Task. It is a task I do enjoy, despite it requiring a fairly large time commitment with carefully-planned increments, and it is a bittersweet ending. Nevertheless, I am relieved. And so very tired.

I spent the day organizing my desk at Work, to try to lay out my next projects. And on the horizon, is a bigger Task yet. A daunting Challenge.  I will begin that in earnest within the next two weeks.

For now, though: the laundry awaits. 

Turtles

Ah, to sit in the sun by the side of the water. That would be lovely.

Wrangling

Herself speaks.

I went to the local outlet mall in search of proper supportive undergarments. I was expecting the excursion to be horrid; there are fewer things more agonizing than shopping for underthings when one is An Ample Person. 

I eventually landed in the Lane Bryant store. (I try hard not to think of it as a "fat girls' store", even though it carries larger sizes. I clearly have self-body-image issues; I'd never fault anyone else for shopping there, so why is it somehow shameful for me to do so? I need to do better inside my head.)

I found surprisingly helpful advice and assistance from "Jennie", who measured me for proper size and provided recommendations. The selection in the store was remarkable:  a lovely collection of cute and patterned underthings.  It has been SO LONG since I've seen anything pretty in larger sizes. It was quite astonishing. 

There was one moment when Jennie said politely, oh dear, you are probably bigger than a DDD  You're quite full.  Oh, dear. Yes, Jennie, I am. We settled on a G cup, or an H cup if it was a lower-cut style. I will admit to being a tad horrified at G/H. Yet, what can I do? Such it is. Alas. 

When all was said and done, I went home with a variety of properly-sized new underthings, and now the mammaries are properly wrangled. Even better, I know what size to choose, so I can shop online for all the pretty dainties. And bonus -- no tears were shed. It's a near miracle, I tell you. 

Since I must live in this body, I should, at least, give it something pretty to wear. 

Beautiful Trauma Redux

Although I had been quite annoyed by the name of P!nk's new album, Beautiful Trauma, I have had a change of heart after watching the video for the title song. It's whimsical, colorful, and beautifully addresses a serious subject matter in a lighthearted manner. Excellent.

I hope you enjoy Beautiful Trauma, too.

Sunspot

Herself speaks.

Dermatologist today. After the second MOHS surgery for basal cell carcinoma, I was advised to have a skin review every six months instead of once a year. Alas. And this was, in fact, slightly earlier than originally scheduled, because there was A Spot Of Concern.

As I filled out the standard check-in information, the following question popped up:

"I would like to discuss Botox or fillers with my provider today."

And I thought: SWEET FANCIFUL MOSES NO, I DO NOT WISH TO DISCUSS BOTOX. I DO NOT WANT ANYTHING APPLIED TO OR POKED INTO MY FACE THAT IS NOT MEDICALLY NECESSARY BECAUSE I HAVE ALREADY HAD FAR TOO MANY UNPLEASANT EXPERIENCES.

Perhaps the check-in program heard my thoughts, because I was then asked:

"I am NOT interested in discussing cosmetic services."

Indeed.

Truth is: I am in the demographic that might want Botox or fillers. Alas. I feel... so middle-aged.

The good news is, the dermatologist felt that the Spot Of Concern was merely "pre-cancerous". (How strange, that "pre-cancerous" is a Good Thing.) Actinic keratosis; easily treatable. A little liquid nitrogen, and I was on my way. With a little luck, that will be the end of that particular spot -- for if it returns, I will go down the biopsy-possible-MOHS road again.

I won't think about that now, though. For now, I am grateful that the skin in which I live has passed muster for another six months (as long as nothing untoward pops up). Here's hoping.

Such is the life of a pale person in the desert.

Tasks

Herself speaks.

I am very close to finishing one of my many Tasks of this year. This particular Task is one that I enjoy, and so it is a bittersweet ending -- for I know it will be quite a while (perhaps up to two years) before this Task rolls around again. Alas.

At the same time, though, I will be relieved to have one fewer thing to do. I have a much larger Task on the horizon: one that will require quite a bit of time and effort and brainpower, and that I am not sure will be successful. We shall see.

The hardest part of this Time of Tasks is that I feel as though I have given up so much of what I do for enjoyment: trying new recipes; playing the piano; reading for pleasure; voyaging northward to visit Cherished Friend in his corner of the desert; planning camping trips; taking a stroll around the neighborhood at night. All these joys are on hiatus. On hold. And if I pause to think, I am sad.

I try not to be frustrated or bitter; I cannot help but feel a sense of loss. I have a distinct feeling that I am missing out on opportunities -- chances to laugh and to enjoy the outdoors and to relish the little things; chances to just be, in the moment, without worry.

It is difficult.

I shall get through. And hopefully, when all is done, there will still be plenty of time to do all the lovely things I have missed.

Picture copyright 2015, 2018, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Batty Batty Bat

There was a bat flitting through the air at twilight. No way to take a good picture, unfortunately; however: HOORAY FOR BATS. Because bats.

Apparently there are several species of bats here in this desert area (for more information, you may read here:  https://www.desertusa.com/animals/bats.html). I am not sure what type of bat it was -- other than small. Or perhaps very young.

Whenever I mention bats, I think of an old Sesame Street clip in which the Count sings about a bat-related dance. Batty batty bat. Those old childhood memories -- revisited and reinforced when my Offspring were small and consumers of Sesame Street -- are strong ones.

Enjoy.