Angelic Bliss

Happiness. A state of pure bliss it be, a state all of mankind grapples for and many achieve, but very few keep.

When sought for in wealth and luxury, it is never satisfied. When achieved only by success, it becomes twisted, poisoned. When found in validation, the world controls it.

Such things are fleeting, exhausting. The price ultimately paid is more misery than the happiness. Yet, too often mankind is seduced by their promises, if it can only be achieved.

Amidst my musings, a soft, rustled wind pierces my silence. Not a word spoken nor a tone taken, but a breath. A warm, comfortable sigh escapes the body of the sweet dog, Angel, from her bed where she be propped.

Her dark eyes peer sleepily over my pensive frame before closing once more. Soon, the air is filled with the sound of her content snores, calm, uncaring, the world & all of its problems null and void.

In the midst of her euphoria, discomfort rouses in me. What a simple creature, daring contentment when the comforts she enjoys could be so easily taken away.

But no effort is taken for something as useless to her as money. She shows no inclination to set a goal to achieve in time. And judging by the pair of shoes she so shamelessly destroyed, the validation of mankind is not her primary ideal.

And yet, she has the gall to be happy anyways, with her four legs now propped in the air. The gesture seems imploring, but we both know what happens next.

I scratch the belly of the entitled dog, whose eyes roll & tongue lolls out in what can only be the height of happiness. Surely, nirvana has nothing on Angel at this moment of time.

As my hands stroke the sleek, golden fur, my lips curve into a smile as I realize that Angel’s bliss has now become my own. And it’s good.

Thank you, sweet girl.

-Beth

No Rest for Slaves

The dawn creeps over the window and unto my bed, bringing the chirps of the waking birds. The patches of my quilt brighten at its caress, colors long faded but oddly lingering. My body stirs under its weight and I moan a soft protest. Oh, sun, you wicked fiend. I was having such a pleasant dream.

“Meow?”

Shit.

My rousing brought forth a visitor, my striped tabby cat who had undoubtedly been waiting for this moment since the night before. I quickly shut my eyes and stilled my movements, hoping today was the day he’d be fooled.

I felt his approach from my feet, the compressions of his princely strut insultingly confident as he made his way to my face.

What would it be this morning, my Leonidas? Obnoxious mewing? Face-crushing nuzzles? Or would you mount my chest and block my oxygen while you did both?

A pregnant pause followed as he seemed to ponder the same question. I stiffened. I was ready. Do your worst, cat, I’m not getting up this time!

“Puah! What the hell?! Gross!”

It seemed my Leonidas, though not as inclined as his wife, Sensei, decided french kisses were the tactic of choice this morning.

And it was enough. My recoil shot down my spine and into my innards. Oh my God, that’s right. I have a bladder!

I heave a defeated breath, opening my eyes to the smug face of a victorious feline and my exasperated mug reflecting in his gold coin eyes.

I mumble a few choice words as I stumbled out of bed. Deed done and now wide awake, I scoop the anticipated breakfast into the dish of its waiting owners. The sound of their ungrateful gobbling tells me exactly who’s in charge. Some day, Leo.

-Every cat owner

Ending Results of Psuedo Tumor Cerebri

A while back I was diagnosed with pseudo tumor cerebri, A.K.A. intercranial hypertension. A condition in which my spinal cord’s fluid wasn’t being absorbed properly in my bloodstream and was causing pressure in my skull.

I’m not sure how common this hypertension is, but it is most commonly seen in obese women (so said my doctor). But the immediate concern was troubling. As a result of the pressure in my skull, my optic nerves were swelling, and I was going blind.

I was then faced with an unpleasant call of action. Beth, you must lose the weight, or lose your vision.

I’ll spare you the story of the painstaking efforts and fast-forward to the present. Right now, I am roughly 5-10ish lbs away from being considered a normal BMI. I’ve maxed out in the resistance-levels of my exercise bike and push-ups are no longer an unbearable sh*t show.

Overall, the result is a far more useful body than before. Don’t worry, Daddy, I shoveled your snowy driveway already. Careful, Mom! Let me lift that for you!

That is enough in itself. But now I must broach the subject of looks, dear readers, and it’s a bit unsettling.

What’s that, new job offer? You’re offering me $0.50/hour more than I originally asked for?

You hesitate, Karen. What’s this? You decide now to listen to my store’s return policy?

Hello, handsome man. You think I’m pretty? What are my dinner plans? Um…

^^An honest depiction of the rewards I get from weight loss and an extremely tragic reality for when I carried extra pounds.

I’d love to discuss this further with you, my dear reader. Wherever you are in body or health, I invite you to tell me all about it in the comments section. I will most certainly reply. Perhaps we can laugh. Perhaps we can cry. If nothing else, I’m always game for a good and healthy venting. F*** you, scale! Stop lying, turkey! You don’t taste like bacon! 😖

I love you all! 😘

-Beth

Let’s talk about Karens.

There’s a unique label for this generation. A group of people many retail workers have encountered and very few have ever liked.

It’s not their hairstyle that makes them identifiable, though social media would disagree. What really grants people this label is their behavior in retail stores.

To the warriors behind the customer service desk, they are seen as a disgusting nuisance to deal with immediately. Much how a hiker sees a wood tick that is crawling on their ankle.

These are the people who shriek in outrage when told the store policies apply to them. The ones who, should even the meekest refusal be made to their demands, rage abuse at the hapless worker and demand to speak to the store’s manager. The epitome of entitlement and elitism, they are Karens.

A new type of mutant has infiltrated our happily indulgent society. God save us all.

-Beth

 

 

 

 

You’ve got to be kidding me…

20200608_143328My dearest readers,

I recently experienced Newton’s Law of Motion firsthand. I slammed the brakes of my bike to avoid an oncoming vehicle. As the law suggests, my bike did indeed stop moving, but my body did not.

Though the cement curb was generous in not making me bite it American History X style, it did insist on its solidity as my arm whacked itself on it.

I now nurse a fracture hung in a sling. As far as broken arms go, I am fortunate. ‘Tis in such perfect alignment that neither cast nor surgery is necessary.

Be safe and respect the Laws of Motion. I love you all!

-Beth

Suck it, Carpal Tunnel! Your reign is at an end.

(WARNING!!! THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS PICTURES OF A HAND AFTER A DOCTOR GUTTED IT WITH A SCOPE AND SCALPEL. IF YOU’RE LIKE ME AND GET SICK OFF THE GORE OF BODY PARTS, BEGONE FROM HERE.)

Good evening, my dearest readers! Particularly my fellow writer John, who has been very kind to read 20200507_080624

every blog post I’ve ever written. Thank you, sir! Your attention has given me reason to stay on here. ☺☺☺

Long story short, what was causing me constant pain and agony has been fixed as of May 5th. All that’s left is for those disgusting wounds to heal. Believe me or not, it actually feels much better than it did before.

I’ll write again in June. Hopefully earlier. There are so many ideas that can now be written with so little pain.

Take care, my loves!

-Beth

 

 

Carpal Tunnel Anonymous

Right hand of mine, I am very pissed.

The least you could do is make a fist.

I know you’re swollen and full of pain.

Carpal tunnel is my ugly bane.

My head is full of things to write.

Trapped in my skull all day and night.

Could someone invent cyborg tech, please!

I’d like a new hand to write with ease.

Swollen and tingly, stiff and sore.

My hand has been that and much more.

Oh surgery,  I invoke your name, and on the schedule you shall be.

Great solution! Thank you so much for being available to me.

Now excuse me, readers, as I put my hand in the snow

And I’ll pop another ibuprofen before I go.

-Beth ☺