“The fears are paper tigers.”

31 Dec

It’s New Years Eve, the kids are in bed, Mogo is working, and I’ve widdled away the majority of a bottle of Pinot Gris.

Becoming an alcoholic would be remarkably easy I think. I could suck back wine until there’s no tomorrow. And on Lithium-hell, cheap drunk city.

So I’m warm, and fuzzy and wordless.


It seems incapable of not snowing here lately. 10 cms here. 20 cms there. I like snow, don’t get me wrong. But this is a bit much even for me. I have no where to put the snow. You can’t walk anywhere. Everywhere you look it’s like marshmallow land, without the sugar.

It’s blinding really. And messy. After Christmas, I have no use for snow. And it’s now after Christmas.

Now, it’s just a crap shoot til May.


I keep trying to think of resolutions, but I’m terrible with those. I never hold my own bargains, and I’m terribly afraid of failure. So I don’t try. I also cannot STAND having other people through my promises to myself in my face, so I just don’t make any. It’s half the reason I don’t exercise. I hate dealing with the “I thought you were…” lectures. When I quit smoking, I didn’t say a word to anyone until a week had gone by. That way, most of the hell was done. I want to eat better, but everyone around me is constantly not eating better (and no Dad, just because it’s got veggies in it doesn’t make a puff pastry dish with cream good for me) and it’s just this battle I have to run uphill against and I’m not our favorite internet metaphor Sisypus….

So there will be none. There might be some quiet decisions to get walking again once the sidewalks clear, and get an elliptical machine if I can afford it when I get my bonus, but otherwise….eating is hard, since my father does all the cooking and his idea of health food is rooted in the 50’s and frankly, most of it scares me. I want change, I really do, but I can’t help but feel that change is almost impossible when men are involved.


Change is good, right? I changed and bought some different clothes. Fat clothes. Sick of being fat. Sick of having no time. Sick of wondering if the Lithium is helping or hindering in that regard. Sick of not really caring, and yet caring. Sick of missing the body I hated 10 years ago. I know, if only I had known.

I fear that I will start to be successful with change again, to only have another bipolar incident, and be stopped in my tracks.

I hate this fear.


My fear and I are off to drink the rest of this wine. G’night.


5 Responses to ““The fears are paper tigers.””

  1. sweetsalty kate December 31, 2007 at 11:55 pm #

    You know, I’m a total chickenshit with stating intentions aloud, too.. just in case I peter out / lose steam / change my mind.

    And I’ve been drinking wine, too, and it’s seven minutes shy of midnight, and I was just over saying hello to Bon, and now you, and if I can’t be somewhere in clicky kitten heels than what the hell, I may as well be in my kitchen with my pants undone, eating yet another frozen kit-kat and holding company with you fine folk.


  2. sweetsalty kate December 31, 2007 at 11:57 pm #

    Hang on, that sounded really kind of callous, I didn’t mean it that way.. given the end of your post. It’s just all I can manage to string together.

    I hope there’s less of 2007 in your 2008. Change is so, so hard. People who do it completely mystify me. But they do, don’t they? When however things are going becomes intolerable.

    Alright, that’s all I can manage. It’s three minutes to midnight now and if I don’t turn this off soon, I’m going to be short one husband. Nighty night thordora, you are loved out here.

  3. karriew January 1, 2008 at 9:53 am #

    I fucking hate snow. It is official.

    Wine sounds nice though. I think one of these nights when we’re staying put for a few days, I need to buy myself a bottle. 🙂

    Happy New Year!

  4. jen January 1, 2008 at 12:23 pm #

    ah yes. fear. let’s kick it’s ass, shall we?

  5. meredith January 2, 2008 at 8:45 pm #

    “Sick of missing the body I hated 10 years ago. I know, if only I had known.”

    A-Fucking-Men, sistah.

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