I’ve written before about my Trikke, I’m sure, because I love it.

I’m not a very materialistic person, I don’t think. I don’t care too much about name brands or fancy technology.

I cherish relationships, and adore my dog.

But my Trikkes, I love. I have had two. A big one, that’s fun to ride, and fast, but heavy. And a small one, my little pink t6. It was designed for children, more of a toy than a serious piece of exercise equipment. Mine was the original version, old when I got it used several years ago. I spray painted it pink, and later the Trikke guy in Tampa found some pink wheels to put on it for me.

The inventor himself rode MY little pink t6, and he also took video of me riding it for his promotional stuff. EVERYONE at Trikke, knows my pink t6.

This summer, I let the kids I live with ride it, and it broke. I’ve been saving up the money to take it 5 hours to Tampa for repair, and just finally got it fixed last weekend. It took all day, cost more than it would have to replace it, and the only reason they were willing to do the work, is because it was mine. They knew how much I loved it.

I didn’t even get to go for a real ride yet, and my little pink t6 was stolen from my car last night or this morning.

I am heartbroken.

I can’t believe it’s gone.

It feels like I’ve lost a friend, and I can never be whole again.

I hate my car. Every time I get in it now, I hate it for not protecting my Trikke better.

I hate myself too.

I knew the locks were unreliable and left it in there anyway, because carrying it up the stairs everyday was a pain in the ass. But now it’s gone. Forever. And I don’t think I can ever love another Trikke as much. No other little Trikke will ever be MY little Trikke that Gildo rode.

I can’t even take proper care of the one thing I truly love. How can I be responsible for anything else.

I have been crying for the past 20 hours and I’m pretty sure I’m going to feel sad forever.



After a busy start to November, I’ve been making it back to the hot room with some regularity. It feels freaking amazing! Yesterday, we had insane weather, lots of storms, tornados, semis blown off bridges. Major atmospheric changes like that seriously screw up my equilibrium. I kept tipping over in class, and even skipped a bow, which is my favorite these days.

Today was sunny and beautiful, but freezing. I took the baby to Toddler Time at the trampoline gym. Since there was enough space, I got us each our own square. She enjoyed sitting in hers while I jumped like a maniac in mine.

When I left her house, I took a run, and also went to yoga after my second job.

I had a really good class. The teacher challenges me at lot. I don’t dislike her, by any means. She just moves around a lot, her mouth is very small and hard to read, and she doesn’t have any tells. Most teachers have something that they do when they say “change”. They may move their head a certain way, or their hand, or pause their movement for a second. She doesn’t have anything! She just keeps right on talking. I get lost a lot, then I feel bad when she says “wait for me” or “stay with me” or “everyone together”. I can’t get lost inside my head when she’s teaching because I have to focus so hard on paying attention and staying with the group.

It was perfect today, exactly what I needed after my hard class last night, and long day. It felt so good.

Now, it’s 2 in the morning, and I’m all amped up on a day full of good exercise. I don’t foresee sleep in my future. 😦

Playing Pretend

I think I am invisible to my mother. I don’t exist.

First she invited me to Thanksgiving at her friend’s house. Then she uninvited me because I am a pain in the ass and no one wants to eat with me. It’s not like I was going to go anyway. She could have kept that to herself.

Today, she decided to invite herself to my place for Thanksgiving. You can’t really tell mom “no”, right? So I said I’d cook something. At least this way, I have some control over what I eat while being forced to observe a holiday I’d prefer to pretend doesn’t exist.

But, it gets better!

Not only is my mother coming for Thanksgiving, she is also bringing turkey, cream cheese dip, chili, and egg kugel to cook “all together, like a family” in MY vegan kitchen.

She’s also planning to watch movies, play games, and go shopping together. It’s brilliant really, especially given that I haven’t owned a TV in about 10 years, and don’t think people should shop on Thanksgiving.

Do I not exist in this scenario? I’m just a character in some dumb movie that she has to make up, because her real children don’t fit the bill.

I get it. Dad died, our family fell apart, and she wants some kind of nice holiday memory. Except, real life isn’t corny TV movies. Her children are neither happy, or perfect. But we’re both people, that she created, who would also like to have some kind of charming reply when folks ask “any big plans for thanksgiving?”

She could realize that her son is supremely depressed, and desperately wants to know about the dad he hardly knew. She could acknowledge that her daughter has an eating disorder, which makes holidays terrifying. She could remember that even when my dad was here, we didn’t do the stupid picture perfect pig out thing. We went to Disney, so dad could eat one of those giant turkey legs from the kiosk in Tomorrow Land, and I could get through an entire day without screaming, or throwing things during meal time, because we had special Disney/birthday rules for eating.

She could find a way to make the holiday special and enjoyable for the family she really has, instead of forcing some facade, that’s guaranteed to blow up.

I wish I had a real family, that I really mattered to. I wish I could be good enough, just the way I am.


Weird things that happen when you have an eating disorder:

This morning, I decided to have coffee and a banana. I was okay with this plan. I stopped at the store on my way to work, fixed my coffee, picked up a banana and went to checkout.

“You have to get another banana” the clerk tells me.

“But I only want 1 banana.”

“They are BOGO. You have to take two.”

So I now I have two bananas, and feel overwhelmed. My plan got all messed up. Now, I can’t eat either banana.

Sprite Ice Cream

I’ve written before about my life long friend, Miss B. Our families did everything together when we kids. Miss B would eat ANYTHING. There’s no telling how many times I heard “Don’t you want to be more like Miss B, just try it!”

When we were 5 or 6, Miss B and I went to day camp together. When you go to Girl Scout Camp, your parents fill out a paper with everything you can’t eat. They have this rule, anything that’s not on your paper, you HAVE to try a “Brownie Bite.”

Even though Miss B would eat ANYTHING, for some reason her mom put milk down on her paper. I’m pretty sure my own mom just wrote “good luck” and left very quickly.

One of the activities we did was make ice cream. I’m not exactly sure how this did or was supposed to happen, but they gave each of us plastic cups full of milk, and some other stuff, then gave us Popsicle sticks to mash it all up and turn it into ice cream.

I hated milk, like if-you-make-me-drink-that-I’m-going-to-throw-it-up-all-over-the-floor-just-to-be-spiteful hated it.

Since Miss B’s mom wrote “milk” on her list, she got to make ice cream out of Sprite.

I all together flipped out. She still talks about it. I didn’t even want to LOOK at the milk, much less hold it in my hot little hands, mix it with the Popsicle stick, and then EAT it. I’m sure the staff were like “holy hell, what kind of kid hates ice cream?” So of course, they made me try it, and of course, I threw it up. When they called my mom, she probably laughed and said “I told you good luck.” But she definitely did not come pick me up.

I was pissed that Miss B wouldn’t let me try her Sprite Ice Cream, and have spent hours and hours scouring Pinterest for “Sprite ice cream in a cup” recipes to no avail.

Have you ever made sprite ice cream in a cup?


I saw The Bish last night.

He said “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy.” I say.

What I really mean is I’ve been seeing someone.

I stay busy with work. I move around a lot, ignore texts, cancel plans.

The Three R’s
Run. Restrict. Repeat.

We’re dating.

But I think it’s LOVE!