Day 150 | Indulging in the Drinkeepoo 1 Night a Week | Down 50 Pounds, 16 to Go
(What’s chicken parm taste like again?)
A 47-mile bike ride down the Cape helped me shed those few pounds to achieve the big milestone. 50 pounds. You read it right. Dropped from a 3X and comfortably sitting in a size 16. My inner thighs no longer bunch together and become one when I roll over in bed. It rocks.
I still don’t possess presence of mind, like my tagline reads, all the time. Being 52, my mind is like a sieve. Nothing stays in it for long and there’s not alot of computing going on, just anxiety. Yoga helps. My former writing coach did yoga. I wrote about it in an essay entitled My Dear Friend the Dirty which the editors of Elephant Journal scooped up and devoured nearly 3 years ago. My coach subsequently left me to work with better writers and who could afford her soaring hourly rates (and tolerate her self-importance), and I kept drinking the Dirties.
She used to say before reading one of my manuscripts: “I’m eager to read me some Lisa Mae DeMasi.”
I am writing when I can, about drinking the pain and the years away, the lament, in what Sinead O’Connor refers to in her song Famine: still feels all the painful feelings, but they lose contact with the memory. That’s unreconciled grief for ya.
My job is okay; I’d rather spend the time writing. What writer wouldn’t?
Some of my work got published in an Anthology, an essay nestled into other essays and poems by 50-something kick-ass women writers who are still enjoying sex with others and themselves. I flew out to attend the launch in Santa Barbara, but never made it due to the fires.
“The Anthology’s out and my work’s in it!”
Pick up a copy on Amazon and read it in the bathtub.
Time to go to work. Where’s my cup of Joe.
You can write to me at lisa dot demasi at gmail.
Follow me @lisamaedemasi or nurtureismynature.com
Pen name: Ginny Gruesome