Writer's block. I have it. Normally, I have a ton to say. That hasn't changed, as I've had some really great ideas float through my head lately. But the motivation to put it together just hasn't been there. I think the California sun fried my brain. Which is actually fine with me, except that I had to come home and try to get back to normal life. I need a writer's vacation. Like Colin Firth takes in Love Actually. A quiet spot on a lake with no distractions. But I'd bring my cat.
Unfortunately, I don't have the time for that. I'm booked through the end of the year, and then I start school. That's right. School. I finally qualified to go to college as a Virginia resident. Everything fell right into place with the transfer program and the finance stuff. To be honest, if there had been a snag with either of those, I wouldn't have followed through. I've tried to go back to school here before, but something always got in the way. And in less than a month, I register for classes. Somewhere in there, I need to meet with the transfer advisor. Busy girl!
Today is Sunday. Once again, my favorite day of the week. I got up. I went to get coffee and a donut. And I saw a man get out of his car with his two little girls. The older one was carrying the newspaper like it was made of glass, straight out in front of her. They were at the cash register next to me, and he ordered two bottles of chocolate milk, and let the girls pick out what donuts they wanted. The girls stood there and debated and picked out their donuts like it was the most life changing decision ever. And they all sat down at a table, the girls with their milk and donuts, dad with his paper, and quietly hung out.
I've never been able to imagine my husband as a dad. And this is not an insult to Jere (seriously, hun), but for those of you who know him, try and picture him changing a diaper. Are you imagining it? You can't, can you? Jere, at 45, does not seem like a diaper changing man. However, while watching that man and his daughters today at Dunkin' Donuts, I actually saw what kind of dad my husband will be. He's going to be the dad who chills out with his kids and spends mornings giving them sugary foods before he brings them home for me to deal with. It makes me even more excited for him to be home so we can have a family. Someday.
There's a lot of change coming down the chute. There's school and an upcoming move closer to Jere's mom. And after Christmas, it'll be time to buckle down into full fertility diet mode. I also suspect the doc will increase my meds, making me a sick girl once again. But finally getting the right diagnosis gives me hope, and the motivation to do my part. And I really have done my part so far. I've lost 17 pounds. 17, yeah, that's right. That's a little less than a pound a week since Jere left. Slow and steady. And permanent. No more of this yo-yo diet crap.
Well, it's piano practice day. And we'll see if I go to the gym or not. Maybe a little distraction will kill the writer's block.
Today's lesson: There's beauty and inspiration in the little things. Like watching a man with his kids, or looking in the mirror at 17 pounds that are no longer there.
Note: In case anyone doubts what a huge accomplishment 17 pounds is for anyone, know that a gallon of milk weighs 8 pounds. 11% of my body weight. That's two gallons of milk I'm not dragging along with me anymore. Good for my heart, good for my knees, and good looking in a pair of skinny jeans. Only 3 1/2 more gallons of milk to go.