I'm sorry - it's time for another rambling Tristi blog. I don't set out to ramble - it just all sort of happens when I open my mouth - or in this case, sit down to blog. But that's why this blog was created - to give us all a place to vent.
First of all, I'm starting over again. I'm setting some new goals. I'm firming up my decisions. I am going to create a new me.
I've spent the last three months battling sinus infections, foot problems, headaches - you name it, I've probably had it. (Except morning sickness. For once in my life, I'm not pregnant. :) I have watched my body grow weaker with each illness. I have wondered if I even had what it takes to get healthy, or if I was just meant to be big my whole life.
My four-year-old son told me he wanted to go to the zoo. "I want to see the giraffes and the lions and the hippos. The hippos look just like you, Mommy." Oh, sweet innocence - he had no idea that he was saying something hurtful. He was calling it like he saw it, no malice intended, yet the hurt was still there.
Last week was a huge event for Valor Publishing - we released Mark Shurtleff's new novel, "Am I Not a Man: The Dred Scott Story." I got a new blouse for the occasion and thought I looked pretty cute, until I saw some of the pictures from the event.
I don't even know who that person is. I feel like my spirit and my body are completely unconnected, like my spirit is driving around in some old clunker car that keeps breaking down.
I want my outsides to match my insides. I want to look like the professional I am. (Well, sometimes I'm a professional - other times, I'm a goofball.) I want to feel like I'm being taken seriously. I want to be healthy, and the only person stopping me from doing that is me.
So, expect to hear a lot from me. I'll probably whine and complain a lot. Please leave me nice, friendly comments cheering me on. Something has got to give. I can't continue on this way. I just can't do it.