Category: Life

I have not written about this yet … I’ve set my quit smoking date.

Bette never did but I gotta…

I’ve been making a lot of positive changes in my life.

• I’m walking more.
• I take the stairs and not the elevator. In fact, I climbed six flights recently — usually I do just two or maybe three.
• I’m eating better and I’ve lost some weight too.
• I’m thinking more positively.
• I’ve taken up yoga — ok, that’s a lie. But you get the idea … I’m trying.

But yet I smoke. Not as much as I used to. I used to smoke a pack a day and now I usually smoke about a pack every 5 days. I say every five days because I mostly smoke at work and not at home and not much at all (if any) on the weekends.

I want to stop smoking. I’m getting older and I don’t feel as healthy as I used to. Plus, smoking aggravates my GERD. I want to be fit.

I’m cute as a button now but I won’t be forever if I keep smoking. Any day now it will catch up with me…

It’s hard because I have an obsessive compulsive and addictive personality. Plus I love smoking. I admit it — I love it.

I don’t want to feel tense anymore if there are only a few left in the pack — I don’t want to think about the damn pack. I don’t want to worry about my health. I want to take up running— again I jest. But who knows what I’ll get up to. Speed walking? Dancercize?

My (dumb-assed) fear is that things won’t be as fun anymore. That’s sounds nuts but I’ve read it’s quite common to feel this way. I’ve been reading a lot. The bottom line is that I’m ready.

Sorta. I hope. Oh, man …

I have not written about the wedding yet. I’ve been too absorbed in my evening eyeball acrobatics. But I’m committed to not writing about my GERD, my eyes or my ears.

That’s it for today….

Ahem.

Okay so my cousin got married on the weekend. I went to the wedding. She looked lovely and the wedding was very tasteful but there was dancing. There always is and it’s not the fun kind.

The kind where you hold hands with little old ladies and second cousins you don’t know and dance around in a big circle. Not only are you whipping around but there are complex steps to remember. I don’t know these steps. None.

A lot of parents sent their kids (and teens) to Macedonian dancing lessons — fun evenings in a church basement where one is forced to learn the complex steps in question.My parents didn’t make us go to these lessons. Well, I actually think we refused to go but the result is the same — I don’t know any of these dances. Now, this doesn’t bother me but it sure bothers all my relatives. Perhaps bother is too strong a word— it concerns them. Worries them. Makes them unhappy that I can’t enjoy myself properly. (My gin and tonic was most enjoyable.)

They coerced me into dancing (it was the gin and tonics). Begging and pleading will do it. I tried my best and danced (ha!) about four dances. I hated it but it seemed to make them happy. I actually enjoy the music a lot though. Macedonian music is very peppy.

And I can’t sign off before I mention the husband hunting…

Unknown Female Relative (60 ish):

“Christine … (they know who I am even if I don’t know them) … look over there at table 17 — he’s divorced. Very nice man. Come, I will introduce you.”

Yes this happens often but I know I’m getting old now. This is the first time they’ve tried to set me up with a divorced guy.

I told her I have plans to become a nun. Someone’s gotta take over.