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Because daylight savings time doesn't wreak enough havoc, let's add a CPap to the mix, shall we? Almost a decade ago I was involved in a bad romance with Darth the full face mask. It was a tumultuous relationship with me often tossing Darth out of bed before dawn. The affair ended badly and while I kept the Resmed machine for awhile - I lost track of it in the trek to the third coast. Enter Cyrano. Cyrano is quiet. Cyrano is more discreet than its predecessor. But Cyrano perches on my nose and I - mouth breather that I am - find it most unpleasant. I'm told a soul can be trained to breathe with one's mouth closed. I suppose one swallows less spiders in one's sleep that way. But for me, I've spent the last few nights taking over the autonomy of breath. The husband already loves Cyrano. Cyrano is quiet. I've ordered a chin strap because why not truss up like a Thanksgiving bird - that'll help a soul sleep and its romantic too. My hope is that in fifty pounds or so - Cyrano can be banned from my bedroom. But for now the shnoz gets a nightly mauling and that's just the way it goes. Peace. #letsaddatierra
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The rule that governs condiment laden bread landing face down on a surface is directly proportional to the cost of said surface is also applicable to rice cakes. In a hedge effort to mitigate the rule and accomodate my restrictive diet, I determined myself to ingest a layer of sardines, carefully placed atop one saltless rice cake, while standing over my sink. As hypothesized, the puffy piscean vehicle failed not once, but twice, resulting in a fishy fallout. What I had not envisioned was the Murphy effect wherein fishbits bounced off my person - specifically my hair, prior to their terminus in my sink. While olive oil may be beneficial - sardine infused stuff does not a perfume make. After washing my graying tresses with hand soap in my bathroom sink I have come to the conclusion that delicate rice cakes are best used for a veneer of almond butter or home made hummus. Live and learn. #followmeformoresnackideas
73 Days, enough tears to get the Rio Grande flowing to the Gulf, several dog fights, a brain fuddling date with COVID and an indefinite ban on half of the stuff I love has resulted in the removal of all the nasty fat I've acquired since I moved to the 3rd coast in 2015. I'm still by definition morbidly obese. I'm still desirous of a smothered burrito. At any given moment my mood vacillates between rejected teen and feral toddler. The face in the mirror still sports four cheeks and three chins. But 3.6 BMI points lower is a good thing. I still don't have the severe sleep apnea handled - file that under "dogfight" and perhaps it is slightly insane - but I am hardwired to keep headbutting the wall until the plaster cracks.
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TL BOehmDo people blog anymore or is it just me? Archives
January 2023
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