You Can Call Me Eeyore Today

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I wanted to be funny and clever and sunshiney in this blog post, but it’s just not happening. I woke up today exhausted and on-edge. I sipped on my coffee as I started my morning, and became panicky about our decision to drastically downsize our life. We are in deep—in the middle of it all—and I’m in a mode on this stormy Thursday where I am doubting. What a beautiful house we have—is it the right decision to sell, to change that when we don’t have to? What if we choose the wrong rental and are stuck in a place we hate for a year?  We only have like two material possessions left to get rid of—will this leave us feeling empty instead of liberated? Why can’t I seem to let go of a few random things here and there? This is supposed to be a ruthless “everything must go” process, yet I’m still tethered to things that would probably appear stupid to anyone else.

I’ll get over this hump of completely emotional-based drama. I know I will. Most likely, it won’t last past tonight. But the wretched mix of emotions right now are under the clouds, coming in waves of uncertainty, doubt, guilt, anxiety, and fear. I think it’s important that, no matter how brief of a storm this is that’s passing through, I acknowledge that it’s here. And that it’s okay. If I didn’t have days like this amidst the whole big experience, it would mean it wasn’t important. And it’s so important.

I actually didn’t want to post this, didn’t even think about posting at all today. For a stupid reason—because I’m 90% so amped and excited for what we are doing, that it almost feels like it should be embarrassing to feel the complete opposite today. It feels like I should scold myself for feeling this way, or for complaining about something I brought on myself.

But that’s just dumb.

When I posted my original blog on this whole adventure of lifechanging downsizing a couple weeks ago, I had people from all over, all with different lifestyles and life situations that were shouting from the rooftops, “Me too, Tab!” So, no matter what stage you’re in on your own journey, stick with it. If you’re having one of these days too, or maybe several days like this, that’s not a bad thing. It just means you’re human and that this big decision you’ve made for yourself, or you and your family, it’s one that counts for something.

xoxo,

TRF

 

P.S. Promise I’ll be back with happier tidings next go ‘round😉

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I HAVE NUNCHUCKS?!

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This week’s happenings brought to you in the form of inner, spastic monologues.

 

  • Purging material possessions feels so good! So productive! Go me!
  • We have a chocolate fountain?
  • This is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done, it’s so impulsive, this is such a bad idea…
  • THIS IS THE BEST IDEA! I LOVE GETTING RID OF STUFF!
  • Oh, look, a stress pimple.
  • You brought this stress on yourself. You’re an idiot.
  • I HAVE NUNCHUCKS?!
  • Dreamt about Altoids last night. Found 2 cans purging today. But…I haven’t had an Altoid in 5 years…so, how…?
  • Dah-ding! Quickly gives self whiplash by checking Facebook Marketplace alert. Yes, sir, you CAN offer me asking price for these 17 bags of used wine corks.
  • I’m exhausted. But so much to do. Can’t take a break…
  • …Current status: Man, I really want to buy an oversized stuffed pickle with glasses.
  • Oh, look, another stress pimple. Oh, no, wait. There are two.
  • I really should have not put the Craigslist Killer movie on as background packing noise…
  • Is Pluto a planet again, or no?
  • How many black cardigans do I really need?
  • How many black cardigans with sequins do I really need?
  • How many cardigans do I really need? Stares at mound of approximately 50 cardigans for 5 minutes, possibly without blinking. “I have a problem,” whispers out loud to self. Stares for 5 more minutes. Turns and walks to fridge to get a beer.
  • Oh, look, another stress pimple.
  • Dah-ding! Finger on phone screen immediately. No, ma’am, I will not take your offer of 6$ for my $700 sofa.
  • What if Mike was short for Micycle?
  • There’s a stress zit on my kneecap. What the actual f—
  • Dah-ding! Phone is on face at this point, eyes wiggling back and forth to keep up with all the selling activity. No, sir, I actually won’t be available at midnight on a Thursday for you to come to my house to look at this $15 dollar set of teacups to make sure you really like them.
  • Welp, spent about $294875942875932874932 dollars at Starbucks this week. Pulls through the Starbucks drive-thru. “Hi, can I get 7 flat whites, please?”
  • Looks at husband, real panic sinks in “Realtor will be here tomorrow to take pics, and then the house is going up for sale! We have so much left to do!” Sits down and watches Breaking Bad marathon
  • Clean, clean, clean, purge, purge, trash, scream, purge, clean, trash, drink.
  • Is a bleach high a real thing?
  • Dah-ding! Dah-ding! Dah-ding! Dah-di—
  • “Honey!” Husband is shaking me awake. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream!”

“A-a dream?” I ask.

“A dream!” he says. “Well, the dah-ding part. You’re just hearing that phantom sound continuously now.”

“Will it be permanent?”

“Probably. But guess what?”

“What?”

“We did it!” he hugs me.

“We. Did. It?” I repeat. I squeeze him back real hard. “WE DID IT!”

  • “But also,” he says. “Someone offered me $20 for your car. We should take it, yeah?”
  • Punches husband in face, heads to the medicine cabinet to put zit cream on beautiful, new emerging stress pimples.

 

 

Happy Hump Day, everyone.

 

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Reporting to You from the Glorious Land of TexMex

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Y’all! I know, I know. It’s been an almost 4-year hiatus. But the blog is back! Railroad Wife-ing is no joke! Seriously, Andy Cohen, I’m waiting for the proposal for a Bravo reality show like yesterday. Also, I’m now out of the Great White Arctic and into the great state of Texas (cue “Texas Forever” in Tim Riggins’ voiceover)  Other big changes since the person in 2014 last posted:

  • I’m now Level 32 (…years old…)
  • My hair is a rose gold pink (today)
  • I’m “mothering” two dogs
  • I’m living out of hotels an average of 2.5 weeks out of every month with RR hubs and previously stated 2 puppers
  • I am up to 13 novels on the market and casually scribbling away at the next 3
  • I have fallen irrevocably in love with Texas (sorry, Georgia)
  • It’s only July and it’s 112 degrees right now
  • I’m obsessed with Instagram, but still daily struggle bus with Millennial acronyms (BYOB is about all I’ve ever been solid on)

I’m back! Let’s do this! (Hopefully sans murderous mailmen this time around though, right?)

 

Cheers~

TRF

Healthy Lifestyle? Oh, do you mean, HELL?

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I’m 28 years old.

I’m not here to complain that I’m old, but I am here to complain about the natural, unpreventable truth that with age comes some serious physical change.

I was a chunky kid with a mullet who turned into a woman about 20 years into life that didn’t have to worry about physical anything. I could eat like a man, never work out, and still wear a size 2. I never needed more than 5 hours of sleep a night, could do a keg stand with the best of them, and if I ever felt bloated, I’d just skip a meal one day and be back to normal.

And then comes this cruel joke known as “The Late Twenties”.

Over the last year, my metabolism has decided to take a vacation—maybe even indefinitely. I moved up north with my hubs, so the year-long arctic winters don’t help with the whole scope of changes, either. Now, I’m ten pounds heavier, I’m wasted after one Yuengling Light, and I have to use grown up Olay brand firming cream for more than just my occasional pesky cellulite pop ups. And forget spray-tans to appear svelte—that stuff just makes acne and weird ailments materialize on the skin now… “What the hell—is that a pimple on my kneecap?”

Ten pounds doesn’t sound like a lot to you? I’m 5’2”—on a GOOD day. Even three pounds feels like twenty on me. Yes, I’m aware there are other people that have it way worse, but I’m complaining about my own woes today. #shortpeopleprobs

So after I watch 90’s teen movies and eat the last block of cheese and pack of popcorn in the house, I decide I have to change my lifestyle habits. This is tough. I’m prideful…I want to be able to say that I can do whatever I want and embrace myself as I am.

We all know that’s a lie. It’s not happening. I don’t hate myself, but my vanity is still important to me, so if that means I have to chug down poop green drinks and barely survive a Jillian Michaels workout video, I WILL DO IT!

 

We try to be positive about the idea of a healthy lifestyle, but for now, I’m gonna say out loud what we all secretly feel about it: HEALTHY SHIT SUCKS! Oh yeah, I would totally rather have this spinach smoothie than that slice of extra cheese pizza. Oh sure, I would absolutely love to go to the gym for an hour instead of taking a nap. LIES! You know it, just admit it to yourself, and then we can go back to pretending like we really enjoy gnawing on this acai berry root.

 

I try to start eating healthy and even that screws me. More fruit equals less teeth enamel so now I gotta start using the infomercial elderly people toothpaste. I try to start working out like a beast and that’s a total mindf*** because not only can I not walk for three days after, but the scale doesn’t go down—it goes up as the semblance of muscle that I’ve never had in my life begins to appear.

 

And man, the whole health kick really turns you into a crazy person, doesn’t it? Suddenly, you’re screaming at the tv, “NO, Jillian Michaels, I CAN’T do just one more set—I CAN’T FEEL MY LEGS ANYMORE!” and then, the juicer gets it, “THIS FISH OIL AND RHUBARB SMELLS LIKE ASS!”

*Jillian doesn’t play*

Sacrifice is a hard thing.

However, I’ll admit, it is working.

 

But I do—and always will—draw the line at sacrificing coffee, vodka, and pizza.

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a beet-kale smoothie and Hip-Hop Abs.