Sobriety is Exhausting

Sunday Morning stuff

2013-07-07T06:32:00.002-05:00

I like my face better without makeup but when I put on mascara I always think, whoa that looks pretty good.
So far, I've learned 5 forms out of 108 in the Tai Chi style I'm practicing. I love it.
I went to the movies yesterday and managed to sit through the whole thing without getting up to pee. Yahoo!!
My 4 month old grandson has the face of an angel.
I've been living with chronic pain for 5 months now. I have a bone spur on the back of my heel and nothing is helping.
I read three books last week. I could not stop and spent every single free second with my head in one of them. I read at stop lights, lunch breaks, till bedtime, past bedtime and upon waking. Obsession comes in many forms I guess.
I went into a head shop and bought an e-cigarette. Holy Scmoley the things they sell now!!
My girlfriend from Oklahoma is coming this month for a weekend. We plan on getting new tattoos. We are both in our 50's. Don't judge.
Today, I am going to focus on gratitude. Focus, practice, delve into gratitude for every hour of this day. When I forget to do this, and I will, I will simply step back on the gratitude track and start again.

4th of July-new tent cover

2013-07-05T05:23:00.002-05:00

Getting ready for the kids to come for the 4th yesterday. Look how old my Theo is getting!

Love my new tent thing!

Just thinking out loud

2013-06-29T06:16:00.001-05:00

Have you ever noticed some really major flaws in someone and discovered that it made you love them more? Sometimes seeing the human-ness in a person just touches my heart like nothing they can say or do.

It makes me wonder why we pick the particular mask we do. I want to tell some folks that their public mask isn't nearly as lovely as the person they are trying to mask in the first place. I think that something as simple as wearing stylish clothes against ones instinct of what style they would like to portray is a mask also.

I wish we could all wear our hair exactly as it grows out of our head. That is a frightening thought to a lot of us, but after a while it would be a great conversation starter, just seeing all the different hair types. It seems uncivilized to walk around with our hair all crazy, but it seems uncivilized to care about such things also. I think it would help us all see the human-ness in each other if we just wore what was comfy and let our hair just "be". We would all be clean of course!

Beana_7

2013-06-16T11:18:00.000-05:00

Dear Spiral Notebook

I wanted to write down about outhouses and such but that seems kind of vulgar, but I figure that writing about it can't be much worse than the living through it.

From the time I was 10 years old until I was fourteen, it was my job to empty the slop jars every morning. Even now, I have no idea how that chore got assigned to me. By this time we was back in Houston again, back to that little old house. My oldest brother Bobby, had stayed back in East Texas with my grandparents and my oldest sister Sissy, had runned off with an older man named Boots. Didn't none of us ever see her again because he took her back to his family place way up north somewhere and she died a couple of years later in her own bed trying to birth twins that were laying wrong in her belly. She and both babies died. There weren't no money to go up there for a funeral or anything. Funny, but I don't recall any of us ever really talking about that. Mama just kept on with her gardening and hoeing and cooking and cleaning. Surely she must have cried somewhere in private, but I don't recall anyplace private in that little house. Oh yeah, I was going to write about the outhouse and slop jars.

Outhouses, if you had one built right weren't a scary place. The men folk, cause they took longer in there, would sometimes carve pictures and words on the inside and it gave you something to look at. The smell was just something you sort of got used to. I never much minded it. The downside was the size, color and sound of the flies. They was big and green. Nowadays they call those horse flies, but we just called em' shit flies.

I don't know a child one, even my own children and grand children who would empty out a slop jar without calling the police or children services on their parents. It was an awful awful job for a little girl who's daddy drank and deposited the worst of a nights drinking in a slop jar. No body would help me do it and that is the memory that sticks out in my head, not receiving compassion or help for that job. That's the reason for this notebook writing today, a memory that taught me a little something about compassion for the burdens of others.

Friday

2013-06-14T05:35:00.001-05:00

It's Friday, but I'm not so sure if that is good or bad anymore. I find that just as many distressing things can happen over the weekend as do during the week. If I could go to work in my house clothes (yoga pants) I would be happy to go in seven days a week most likely.

I'm growing weary of foot pain. I'm good with pain for just so long and then I'm not.

I revealed a conversation from one daughter to the other. I don't know what made me do it. It wasn't a big thing but I broke a trust no matter how small and I feel the sickness inside from doing so. The self disappointment that comes with bad behavior.

There are days when I grow so bored with my own company, so tired of the same mistakes and guilt trips.

I am going to have to stay in the day, I can see that from just these few sentences. I know how to do that. Practice doesn't always make perfect but it does make it familiar.

God continues to think I'm "somebody", though I am not able to live up to his expectations. His grace follows me around like a shadow.

Lousy Blogger

2013-06-12T05:07:00.002-05:00

I'm a lousy blogger and house keeper.
There.

Yesterday was my sober birthday. Twenty-two years. Thank you God. I practiced compassionate living for the day and felt at ease when I went to bed.
My two daughters are haveing an extraordinary bonding experience over the new baby. It is awesome to watch and has done my heart good.
My oldest grandson graduated from the 8th grade this week. He was accepted into a magnet HS for science and engineering and he is a precious sweet boy.
I went to my first Tai Chi class on Sunday. It is an hour drive both ways (I live in a big ass city). I joined the class as an avenue to help me love myself. My lungs are screwed, yet I continue to smoke like a burning house. I've gained fifty pounds yet I continue to eat whatever I crave. I am trying to find ways to love my body and lungs again. So, I'm practicing what I learned on Sunday. I've started walking again, and I have set a calorie goal for each day. So far, so good.
Letting people be who they are continues to be my biggest stumbling block in life.

Beana_6

2013-05-28T19:12:00.000-05:00

Dear Spiral Notebook

I heard little parts of Miss Ola's life from her growin' up stories she shared with me but it had a different spin to it when I was grown and heard more about it from others. By the time I came to know Miss Ola and her sisters, Dorthy and Joyce May, they were old women. Joyce May was the only one of the sisters to get married and she had four sons. I can tell you that one her grandsons is a retired agent with the FBI. I actually was privileged enough to get to answer some questions from a government man who came right into my home and sat down with a pen and paper. I offered him some coffee as I recall but he said "no mam" very politely. I think they have to refuse refreshments when they are working. I answered all his questions that I had answers for concerning Kevin, her grandson. That kind of sticks out in my mind as a very important thing I did in my life. I don't know why really, but being a part of helping Miss Ola's' favorite nephew become something so important as an FBI agent made me feel real good.

Miss Ola liked to tell about the wonderful weekends she and her sisters had with their father while they were growing up. He taught them to read and write and plenty of arithmetic skills too. She said that he and her Mama would read them to sleep and teach them songs and that he brought presents every single weekend to their house. I myself, felt kind of jealous about living in a house where your Daddy only came a couple of days a week. She said he had a very important job that kept him away during the week.

When I was bigger, my grandma told me that Miss Olas' Mama had been a very beautiful colored woman who could sing like bird. Miss Ola's Daddy was the president of the only bank in the county, and a white man with a white wife and 5 white children. When he died, he left 100 prime acres to his three half colored daughters and some kind of trust thing that made it possible for Miss Ola and her sisters to just spend their lives out in the piney woods of east Texas. It seemed to me that Miss Ola thought her life was just fine but my Grandma told me that they had sort of lived their whole young lives with a big ol' secret lie just hanging over their heads about their Daddy. I think Miss Ola must have just made peace with it all, cause she was always tellin' me not to hold grudges cause it just gives you the "runs."

Beana_5

2013-05-26T08:45:00.000-05:00

Dear Spiral Notebook

I've had a little hurtin' in my heart with the writing about Miss Ola. Not so much about her, because goodness, she's been dead more years than I can remember now, but more in the way of realizing that I once was a little girl. I had forgotten the little bitty things like being able to just flop down on a floor if I felt like it, or jump off a small porch without ever worrying about my old legs breaking. Ya know, we didn't bath that much back then and it weren't odd. Saturdays was bath time and believe me, if you were the youngest you were bathed in a wash bucket of cold dirty water. I can remember Mama putting a dab of vanilla extract behind each of my ears so I'd smell good for church. I don't know if that was just done in east Texas but that weren't odd either. My own remaining children are in their 50's and 60's now and two of them drank vanilla extract once they got the alcoholism sickness. I reckon I'll get to all that.

We had secrets back then. They was family secrets. Secrets from neighbors and secrets inside the family. Some secrets was known by every family member which means I guess that it weren't really a secret but if you never say it out loud is it still a secret? It's like when Daddy would come home real happy for awhile even though everyone in the house knew he was drunk but acts like he's just happy, well that's like a secret that each person thinks they are keeping. Enough. I gotta finish my memories about Miss Ola but I'm spent out at the moment.

Beana_4

2013-05-24T07:46:00.002-05:00

Dear Spiral Notebook

I seem to be stuck in my pre-shoes wearing days. I'm supposed to be writing my life history down but I'm wedged into the piney woods memories, so back to Miss Ola.

She had a cast iron bed, one chair, one stool and an old trunk. The trunk was flat on top and it was up on some bricks (I think it was bricks but I can't remember.) On top of the trunk was a piece of wood and that was her table. Every thing I just wrote about was painted white. She was right proud of that white paint. There was also a black pot bellied stove with the big pipe that went up through the ceiling, but it seemed to match just fine. I remember that she had four books. I wished I could know now what they were but too many years have passed. I do know that one of them was a Bible of course. This is in east Texas remember, so when you are born here, your cord is cut and then you are handed a Holy Bible before you've even been cleaned up. During your first hour of life, you're told "here is your Holy Bible, you are a Texan and a Baptist, in that order." Of course that makes you lucky since these two groups are Jesus' favorite two sets of people.

What made all her white paint look so pretty was all the stacks of colorful left over fabric from her many years of sewing. Both little windows in her house were covered in a rainbow patchwork quilted curtains that reached all the way to the floor. My own house back in Houston, and my grandparents house was just drab, drab, drab compared to hers.

During this time is when I heard the whole history of how she came to be half colored. In those days, if you were half colored, then you was colored and there weren't no half about it. I'll write about that next time.

Beana_3

2013-05-22T05:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Spiral Notebook

Through the many years of my life, I have tried to put the feel of Miss Olas house in one room or another where I have lived. Once, I was close but you can’t make a childhood memory come alive when there’s no child left in your body. Anyway, you might not think it was so great that she had a little house painted white but no one had paint on their houses back then except rich folks and certainly not an old half colored lady back in the piney woods of east Texas. She told me once that her cousin Bug, had brung her three big buckets of creamy dreamy white paint that he says fell off a boxcar on a train. He said that he hauled it in the back of a wagon all the way to her house. It was an amazing adventure to hear him tell it she said, but that Bug had such low moral character, you couldn’t believe anything he said. All that aside, she was so happy to have all that paint so it was easy to let herself believe ol’ Bug’s story because it had such a happy ending for her.

Her house was almost the size of a one car garage I had back in the 1950’s. It had a small porch that fit one stool and two steps down in front of that. It was all white and clean. The inside was painted the same. The floors the ceiling the walls and both window frames. It felt glowy to me, kind of like a moon house. Many years before I was ever born, she had squished up some dewberries into the paint and it turned lavender, which she used to paint hundreds of little flowers on the white floor. It was like fancy linoleum. I found out many years later that she kept two of the buckets buried underground in case some white folks stumbled onto her place and assumed she stoled it. She had a wonderful old cast iron bed that had belonged to her Mama and it was puffy high with all her hand sewn quilts. All the sewin' in my own quilts was learned from her. I'm trying to write you about her house but I keep getting distracted by her feel, or rather how she made me feel.

Miss Ola was glad to see me every time I came walking up, she liked my company. I had never been anyone's company that I can remember before that. I was her friend and I felt the burden of it. I felt I "owed her" from the moment she was nice to me. This owin' someone for their kindness stuck like glue on me for the rest of my growing up years. It weren't a good thing to have stuck on you.

Just a Statement

2013-05-21T19:34:00.002-05:00

Ya know.....I've had this blog for many years and the people who come by to visit are mostly the couple of handfuls that have been with me......always. Thank you for that. I think my readers know that it is my life's intention is stay clean and sober and to help others to achieve the same. But I've just got this strong desire to write the story of my Beana.......I don't know why. I don't want to join some other group that writes about the imaginary characters in their head.......I want to write it in my safe little cocoon world of Sobriety is Exhausting. Beana is eventually struck with alcoholism and drug addiction by family members and I guess when I get there we can hear her interpretation of things. So I will continue to write out Beanas life as it unfolds to me, whether or not you are here to read it. It feels right to me. I will begin in earnest, tomorrow morning, where I left off. Of course you know if something great happens to me like the lottery or something........I'll be telling you all about that !!!

Tuesday Morning

2013-05-21T05:40:00.002-05:00

MaryinAfrica, if I knew where Beana came from I'd tell her to hush. She writes her stories in a spiral notebook like a diary of thoughts and begins each entry as Dear Spiral Notebook:

Dear Spiral Notebook:

I wish I knew how far the walk was to Miss Olas house, but distance is a memory I can't conjure up in my head. It could of been a mile or ten for all I know. Grownups didn't have a sense of worry back then about how far a kid had to walk. Your legs were just what got you places. I do remember pine trees that went on forever and there was always a pine cone to kick within toe distance. It wasn't a road really, more of a path that was sometimes sandy and sometimes padded with pine needles. It always smelled good though, I can tell you that. Miss Olas house was white, well no, it wasn't really a house but a room made to look like a house on the outside. It made my stomach feel so rushed up when I would get close because it was just good there. I think now that it was just good for me, but I know now that it weren't that good for Miss Ola or her sisters that lived in the little houses behind hers. I reckon I'll get to that though. Beana.

Hey today is my Wednesday because I'm taking off work on Friday. Yahoo.My neighbors went to a strawberry farm about 20 miles south of me and brought me back more strawberries than I know what to do with. Yum.
DON'T WORRY BE HAPPY

Monday Morning

2013-05-20T05:37:00.002-05:00

You'd think that as awful as Mondays are, we would have collectively done away with them by now.

Not enough sleep last night and too much sun over the weekend have left me grumpy this morning. I spent a lot of time outside over the weekend but not digging and working. I read two books in the pool. Good living until it ends up being Monday morning.

When I'm sunburned, my mind is less cluttered because my mental focus is on the tenderness I feel when my clothes touch my skin. Yeah, weird I know.

OK. Taking the day as it comes but hoping it comes gently.

Beana - the old woman in my head

2013-05-18T20:42:00.001-05:00

An old woman lives in my head and likes to tell stories. I finally started writing them down. Her name is Beana and I'm working on her telling her own story. Let me know if y'all would like me to continue Beanas' stories from time to time.

I was born Wilhelmina Parker Richards. Wilhelmina for my grandmother, Parker was my other grandmothers’ Maiden name, and Richards was my daddy’s name. I started off living with a bunch of “everybody’s” stuck into one name. I reckon that’s how I ended up as Beana. To tell you the truth, weren’t none of them good people. Well my Mama was good, but she never said too much so it’s hard to remember a lot about her. I was the last of seven children, and my Mama was plum worn out. She pretty much just let me follow one of my older sisters through childhood, since Mama had already had to teach her everything, I guess she just figured my sister could pass it on to me, and save everyone a lot of time.

In all my years growing up in that little old two bedroom house, with Mama and Daddy in one room, me, two sisters and four brothers in the other – I don’t ever recall anyone ever mentioning their feelings. I’m guessing we had some, but I have no idea what any of my siblings felt back then. Of course, we all knew how Daddy felt – about everything. When he walked in the door at night, the floor was his. He would start with what was wrong with our president and then work his way down the ladder until he got to our dog. In Daddys’ eyes something was wrong with every body and every thing. I guess he just took up all the room there was for family feelings, and there just wasn’t any room left for the rest of us.

I was eight years old when the depression came. Our whole family left Houston, and went to East Texas where my grandparents lived. That sort of took some of the wind out of Daddy’s sails. These were Mama’s folks, and they didn’t much cotton to long speeches. We all tended the garden and chickens, except for Daddy who had a job in town working for the city water department. We grew stuff, tended to it, pulled it up when it was ready, cooked it and ate it. I just don’t recall that being real hard times, though I know that it was.

My grandparents had a neighbor lady about a mile down the road, named Miss Ola. I sure did love Miss Ola. Because I was the littlest, I guess that I sometimes got in the way when there was a lot of harvesting to do, because they would send me down to Miss Ola’s house for the whole day. She was a seamstress for some of the women in town who had money, which wasn’t hardly any since the depression came. She was lots older than Mama, but we did not know peoples ages back then for some reason. I remember my Mama saying that Miss Ola was half colored. I still remember thinking that the colored half must have been under her clothes.

Wednesday Morning

2013-05-15T05:21:00.001-05:00

I worked a very long day yesterday, and today won't be much better. So many deadlines lately at work and never enough time to finish. I spent an hour with one of our engineers whose accent is so thick that most of the time I heard myself saying "oh yes, I see...ok...got it." I didn't "get" a lot of it but could no longer ask him to repeat himself. I also spent about 15 frustrating minuets with one of our brilliant scientists who has no social skills, can not dress himself properly and spent a long time explaining the molecular structure of the coffee maker to me. I just wanted him to pass the little plastic stir straw, which as it turns out has an intricate manufacturing process that I now have rattling in my brain!

With the seasons changing, I'm having a difficult time sticking to my paints since the yard is calling me to dig in the dirt. Soon, it will be too hot outside to do much so I'm going to enjoy it while I can.

My prayers lately have been to ask God to help me love myself more, thinking that this could be the way to move forward in my quest for being a non-smoker and a walker and a thinner person. I have always had a problem with the whole "self love" thing. It seems to self centered or something. But smoking and over eating is pretty self centered too I suppose. Abandoning myself to God just seems too scary right now, so I keep my prayers to specifics. This really doesn't work for me in the long run, but it's the best I have today.

Being kind to all, including myself.................for today.

Monday Morning

2013-05-13T05:32:00.003-05:00

Another Mothers Day come and gone. I had a lovely breakfast at my oldest girls home with lots of new baby smoochy time. Sober daughter and her husband were there also. A couple of hours of "my turn" to hold him now. A baby can be so entertaining. Mothers Day would be better served on a weekday with a day off work in my opinion.

I have been successfully utilizing an old trick that one of sober girls shrinks showed us years ago. When your mind is racing around in yesterdays crap or tomorrows fears, you pick the first color you see (wherever you are at the moment) and then you search with your eyes for six more objects with the same color. It really does pull you back into the moment. I like to do this with about 3 different colors, and it does help me get back on task of the day at hand. Just sharing that with my blog peeps.

I saw my eleven year old neighbor up in a tree yesterday secretly texting on the iphone that she is grounded from using. I dislike being put in that position. What to tattle about and what not to. When I sense danger, I tell their Mama, otherwise I usually just keep it to myself. They have five kids, so one of them is always up to something.

Let's be kind to the people who get on our nerves today, it sometimes makes their presence more palatable.

This is my other neighbors dog Daphne. I thought this was so funny.

Saturday Morning

2013-05-11T09:54:00.001-05:00

Trying to hold up the limbs with buckets on the ground of the bursting plant. Good grief.

I'm cooking sausage, eggs and biscuits.......so I'll check back later!

Friday Morning

2013-05-10T05:36:00.001-05:00

I ran outside to take a quick picture of the trumpet plant last night (sorry -fuzzy) because a rain storm was coming right as the flowers were starting to open and I was afraid that the rain would smash them all to the ground.

I tried to kill this darn thing for two years by ignoring it because I am not fond of the flowers, but when something survives in my yard for that long, I feel obliged to give it some respect.

Thoughts:

I wish young people would commit to a hat, cap, hood style and stick to it.
I wish everyone would stop paying so much for entertainment and funnel that money somewhere else.
I wish that people would stop funneling so much money into breast cancer awareness and start spending more of it on a cure. I'm aware already !!!
I wish that "BBC have your say" was on TV.

I took this photo last night of Theo's "post" during supper cooking time. He stands like a statue each night, staring at the floor, hoping that something will drop or spill while I'm cooking. I make sure it does, cuz he's my baby.

Wednesday Morning

2013-05-08T05:44:00.004-05:00

This is my problem with fixation.

We all try to stay away from news topics and such, to avoid google searches and I suppose, controversy but damn I got so fixated yesterday on the 911 operator in the 3 girl kidnapping news. Everyone was so interested in the story except me because I wanted to deal with things IN ORDER! I felt such a familiar kick in the gut from the tone and verbiage of the operator that I could not get to the story at hand. I have such a kinship with righteous indignation and it will win out over any situation. As I was leaving my office yesterday, the receptionist asked if I had seen the news about the three girls that were kidnapped and I said I was still trying to digest the attitude of the 911 operator. She kind of looked at me crazy. When someone uses the words " I told you that....." it just hurts somewhere in me. Condescension is abuse.

Tuesday Morn

2013-05-07T05:44:00.000-05:00

LOOK- I painted a wall in my entry a nice teal-ish color. I like it. Can you see the Great Dane figurine MaryinAfrica? The pine cones on the stairs are dipped in white paint with ribbons tied on them, this is from my pine cone phase last year.

I went to bed with a book at 8:00 last night because I was just plain old tired from a Monday work day. I feel a little more rested today.

I am asking God to intervene on my crazy thinking and leaving it at that. I firmly believe in "God could and would if he were sought", if I didn't believe this statement I'm not sure where I would turn.

Small Epiphany

2013-05-05T09:02:00.001-05:00

Pleading with God. When I heard myself this weekend, pleading with God to help me stop smoking, to help me fully accept that I can not smoke anymore, a light bulb went off in my brain. Pleading with God is a form of begging him to come over to my side. God is already on my side.

I'm so embarrassed about being powerless over my cigarettes. The people who know I have COPD and continue to smoke, just shake their heads at me. It creates "screw you" cycle in my head.

Giving this to God instead of pleading with God is the direction I need to take.

You'd think I know this stuff, right?

PS: My Trumpet plant ready to burst:

Friday Night

2013-05-03T20:01:00.003-05:00

I'm such a damn cynic at times. I want to be entertained.

OK....so, instead of the first lady or her equivalent in other countries trying to always make their agenda about education and health, how about changing that up a little?

How about these crusades:

Use your twitter to catch serial killers. Get the whole country involved, offer lotto size cash prizes, special awards if it's a family member. Wipe out the Serial Killer Population - platform.
Outfit professional lobbyists in black and have a stealth unit of night time chicken free-ers. Open the cages of all the poor damn chickens confined to a space that's not much bigger than their bodies. Wipe out the Chicken Sandwich - platform.
Just Say No to reality TV. Have one special night where all reality stars are shipped to that Survivor Island show (something like that) and the last one standing gets to keep the island.
Provide every man, woman and child with a coloring book and box of crayons and tell everyone to sit quietly for one hour and color. No talking. No electronic devices what so ever. Quiet around the globe. Wait.....Quiet around the globe....what an awesome concept.

That's all I have say right now. Good bye. Be Kind.

Wednesday

2013-05-01T17:56:00.001-05:00

My thoughts on smoking:

I’ve always said that smoking is what grounds me. I think that this sounds rather poetic, to be grounded. It seems that poetic reasoning gives credence to excuses in my way of thinking. There is nothing poetic about COPD. My reasoning is a bunch of crap.

My thoughts on my present weight:

I over eat to escape the feeling of living in my own life, pounds of unsaid words and procrastination, with gravy on top. That’s another excuse that has a ring of deep poetic awareness. Really? My own life, consists of a fantastic job, beautiful suburban home, caring husband, self supporting adult children.

I always want to be somewhere else doing something different. I want my surroundings to be dripping of orange, purple and red mosaics, smelling of nag-champa. My surroundings are dripping in cream, black and beige, but damnit there is more than one red throw pillow, aqua paintings and bright yellow flowers.

I want to be sober and I am. I want to love and be loved, and I am. I do not want to worry about my mortgage payment and my meals, and I don't.

I'm not in Key West running a live bait and bar-b-q sandwich art gallery. That's sorta, kinda what I'd rather be doing today.

I've been painting

2013-04-29T19:39:00.000-05:00

I've been gone so long I forgot to tell y'all that I've been painting!
The ones here are all on canvas drop clothes, using acrylic paints. I use several coats of polyurethane over the paint and it makes it look and feel like leather. It's also heavy because a drop cloth is meant to soak up paint and boy howdy does it!

This 3' x 2' and hangs in my entry way

This one is 18" x 18" and hangs at my daughters.....oh wait, I wasn't even finished when I took this picture, it's got more stuff on in now. LOL

This is 5' x 5' and has thousands and thousands of stars that don't really show here. It hangs over sober daughters couch.

And this one I've polyurethaned so many times that I'm using it as a rug, I can sweep and mop it. It's 5'x5' as well.

Texas Gulf Coast Day

2013-04-26T16:14:00.002-05:00

Decided to take off work today and drive down to Surfside Beach. Quiet little town about an 1-1/2 hour drive. Set up camp and figured out within the first 5 minuets that it wasn't going to fix anything. Skipping work and going to the gulf to watch the waves did not fix my weight or cigarette addiction. But it was a nice break from the norm.

I know I sound like a drama queen, believe me, I'm not oblivious to that. I gotta start somewhere and I think whining about it must be my START line. I was hoping that I would spend the day giving myself a stern talking to. But I read and walked and just enjoyed the beach.