...ask the secretary who writes smut on the side? I am an administrative professional who has always enjoyed writing, and found erotica to be the genre I've had the most success in. I am literally the brunette woman at the office with long skirts, glasses, and a pen stuck absently in her hair. At night, when not lingering on message boards or pulling random paper clips from my pockets, I am trying to think of new and exciting synonyms for graphic sexual acts, and pondering the logistics of a three-way, and wondering what story my pseudonym will be submitting to erotica anthologies.
And yes--I do enjoy the research.
Why did I think it would be a good idea to buy a Wii?
I have been listening to my husband loudly (really loudly--there is actual yelling) cursing out Mario since 6:28 p.m. It’s now 9:50 p.m.
Yesterday, he played for over six hours.
And I have never heard such profanity in all my life. All because the little Mario doesn’t run or jump or hit a mushroom when he’s supposed to. Don’t get me started when it’s a time trial for a star. He won’t give up until he’s won.
He's started throwing couch pillows across the room when his little Mario dies. He almost bit the Wiimote. Yes, bit. With his mouth. And his teeth.
I thought it would be fun. We could play Wii tennis. Maybe I could sneak a Wii Fit into the house. At the least, Mario would be fun. Mario’s fun, right? All cartoony, no real life-like violence?
JUMP YOU LITTLE (CENSORED) (CENSORED) (CENSORED)!!! C’MON MARIO MOOOVE!! YOU LITTLE G(CENSORED)! GOD(CENSORED) MOTHERF(CENSORED) PIECE OF COC(CENSORED)!!
The dog is hiding in the bedroom.
I’m not kidding—she doesn’t understand why daddy is yelling at the TV.
I never even get a chance to play any more.
For the love of god, don’t buy a Wii.
Okay, not really a curse. A binding spell.
Because I have an enemy. Actually, I have two enemies and one formidable adversary. Who knew office politics could get so damned ugly?
The last time this person, the formidable adversary, upset me and did me great harm, their house caught on fire and their relationship ended. I wished them great harm and much darkness, and lo, it did happen.
I didn't ask for that. The logical, sensible part of my mind says that I don't think I caused it.
But I feel the same way today: wronged. Helpless. Powerless. Frustrated.
But a curse? To curse someone? I wouldn't do that, not intentionally. (It seemed almost amusing, once--I said to an ally: look what happened: treated me unfairly, and house, fire, love ended, blah, blah, I said. Heart, house, and the next thing to go would be health or maybe head, because these things come in threes...)
But to actively wish someone else harm is an evil thing, and I do not want to be evil. Besides--I do think whatever you send out to the world comes back to you. I don't want that, either.
Well, once more this person and their minions have hurt me, harmed me, and done me wrong.
So I idly Googled a curse. And I found a binding spell. And tonight, I performed it. In all solemness, in all seriousness, outside in the twilight hours under a half-moon in almost-spring.
Now, do I believe that this binding spell will really cause an impact on the adversary? I don't know. Yes. No.
Maybe.
Do I think a psychological ritual to deal with my feelings and powerless might be helpful?
Absolutely.
It will be interesting to see if things change now--or if the only change I can truly affect is within myself.
Yep.
It's only Monday, and already I've seen a man in a skirt. A beige, pleated, knee-length skirt. He came into our office, and I presume, paid rent. He was not a young man, say forty to forty-five. (Okay, I am not implying he was old, either.) Yes, he had a matching sort of safari-style jacket that went with the skirt.
I was not expecting to see a man in a skirt today (we did have a different man in a Utilikilt once, and he was quite pleased that I knew it was a Utilikilt). But there you have it--it's only the start of the week, and I have something I thought was worth noting.
I think a man wearing a skirt is kind of cool, and takes a lot of self-confidence. Balls, in fact.
It’s March. I’m not skinny yet. I have been a bit undisciplined with my eating over the past week and a bit--ah, this morning told me why. (It was PMS, wherein I and potato chips become one, and I could eat Saskatchewan.) Still, looking at my February 1 and February 28 weights, I was down 2-point-something pounds from the start of the month. Slow and steady, but better than crash(dieting) and burning out. Right?
I have been diligently showing up for my SuperSlow weight training workouts and honestly trying to go to muscular failure every exercise. As my husband says, it's just once a week (really!) and I don't have to do it for another seven days. The next day I feel a little residual soreness, but it's a good kind of sore, and is gone the day after that. I actually am starting to look forward to going in and giving it all I’ve got, and hearing the praise in his voice for my efforts.
Every week, I am stronger. Every week, I either do more reps or work with higher weights. The nice thing about weight training with a personal trainer (that my husband) is that every rep and weight is recorded, so I can look and see progress.
So I'm building muscle and working on eating because I'm hungry, and stopping
when I'm full.
I’ve always felt terrible about my weight; I’ve always been overweight. I’ve lost 100 pounds twice. And gained it all back. It just seems so futile to try again, but I can’t imagine not trying, either.
I’ve always felt deeply ashamed when people ask me what my husband does. “He’s a personal trainer,” I say. Then I hasten to add something along the lines of “opposites attract, eh?”
I have to say it before anyone else does. Besides, that’s what they’re thinking. The fat woman is married to a personal trainer. Married to a personal trainer and gym owner, and she looks like that? I’ve always felt I must do no good for his business, if people know.
Oh, well. I'm also walking to lose weight. I wimped out a bit today due to having my period and the mp3 player’s battery died. I "only" walked the dog 2 kilometres. I was supposed to try for 6-7 today. I feel good, though. Better 2K than no K!
