1

Happy Birthday Harry Potter 

Happy Birthday Harry! I closed out my birthday month with you, with something to celebrate innocence and purity. 

It started with a hard decision…

What to do?

Decisions are really hard… you have to listen for the answers that speak to you. 

Omg your thigh?! Are you crazy??!!


Fat shame? Only for a moment. My legs are strong. I’ve overcome two broken hips, a lateral and medial meniscus tear a broken fibula, a broken talar dome, too many torn ligaments and tendons to count and still I rise. Yes I was worried about putting this on my thigh for a half second. Then my artist said she adored my placement and all of that fear sunk away. 

Boring


Waiting is the hardest part. My artist was awesome, she was from France, I was her 11th flash tattoo of the day to celebrate Harry’s Birthday. She was going strong and enjoying the day. She and I had nice banter, I relaxed into the buzz of the tattoo. It didn’t really hurt too much. 

Pure joy and love


This is my new tattoo. Yes it’s flash, yes I love it. It speaks to my heart about my life. A reminder of innocence and purity. Blended with placement on my thigh flirts a line of danger and sensuality along with acceptance. 

Happy Birthday to me. Expecto Unexpected. 

0

Courage

Watching to “To The Bone” on Netflix today a lot of it hit home. I have struggled as far back in my life as I remember with an eating disorder. More than that this movie was a good reminder about living life. 
Folks, I beg you to take note in the real world there is no way to be safe or see and live just the good moments. 

Stop waiting for life to be easy. The more you push through the muck and the mud; the garbage and the sludge the more brilliance and beauty you will find. 

Stop hoping for someone or something to come along and save you. We are meant to be resilient and when you stare down the demons and that awful shit… you are going to have an AMAZING life. 

I offer you this poem for a bit of reflection. Please enjoy and move into the week with intention! 

Courage 

     by Anne Sexton

It is in the small things we see it.

The child’s first step,

as awesome as an earthquake.

The first time you rode a bike,

wallowing up the sidewalk.

The first spanking when your heart

went on a journey all alone.

When they called you crybaby

or poor or fatty or crazy

and made you into an alien,

you drank their acid

and concealed it.


Later,

if you faced the death of bombs and bullets

you did not do it with a banner,

you did it with only a hat to

comver your heart.

You did not fondle the weakness inside you

though it was there.

Your courage was a small coal

that you kept swallowing.

If your buddy saved you

and died himself in so doing,

then his courage was not courage,

it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.


Later,

if you have endured a great despair,

then you did it alone,

getting a transfusion from the fire,

picking the scabs off your heart,

then wringing it out like a sock.

Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,

you gave it a back rub

and then you covered it with a blanket

and after it had slept a while

it woke to the wings of the roses

and was transformed.


Later,

when you face old age and its natural conclusion

your courage will still be shown in the little ways,

each spring will be a sword you’ll sharpen,

those you love will live in a fever of love,

and you’ll bargain with the calendar

and at the last moment

when death opens the back door

you’ll put on your carpet slippers

and stride out.



0

My Summer of Dresses

So I literally spent the entire summer in dresses. Skater dresses, Maxi dresses, Sun dresses.  Workdays were spent in dresses and casual Fridays where jeans should be worn… dresses.

I am “not a dress person.” A former coworker who has now left my job said having my gallbladder removed was probably the best thing that could have happened to my fashion sense. … WOW. I guess maybe it was supposed to be a confidence booster about my dresses.  I have been trying not to criticize myself too harshly, especially as my wardrobe now contains an obscene number of dresses.

For those keeping track my galbladder surgery was back in… April.  I had not been able to wear pants for the longest time due to the incision in my belly button.  It would not heal.  The dissolvable stitches they used were not being disolved by my body.  They were also poking out through the incision causing further irritation and scarring.

About two weeks ago I tried jeans again for the full day.  It was uncomfortable, but manageable.  I have missed my “normal” clothes.  They are an expression of me… and while the dresses are an expression they don’t have the same way of expressing things as my unicorn, superhero, or coffee shirts do.

So I have now morn my jeans a few times, like maybe three… they are not as comfy as they once were… but they still fit! Which is something I was concerned about due to the possible weight gain or body shift having nothing forn fitting being worn in months!

Fall is here, which means it will be time to modify my wardrobe… adding leggings under my dresses, but I will likely continue my dresses into fall and winter since pants are still leave me counting down the time to get them off at the end of the day.

I am happy as a clam to be finally feeling like I am almost back to normal where I can get back to a starting point to regaining my stamina.  I can’t even begin to explain how difficult it has been to wrap my head around how kind i need to be to my body to allow it to recover on its own terms.

Kindness to ones own self is possibly one of the most dificult things I have had to learn.