I’m a bit fiery. I am a redhead afterall. I don’t like being told no. I’m a 5 year-old with pigtails stomping my foot whilst sputtering the F word freely, profusely and creatively. Today, it’s been in every part of speech. I have used it loud and proud, under my breath, and in my head as an adjective, an adverb, a noun, a verb and even, I think, as a proper noun. I’ve had some pretty cool iterations using it as a compound word and even created some new Portmanteaus. I’m that good, or bad, depending on your opinion of the big bad F Bomb. Honestly, I’m not a fan. Not in my real life. I think it’s an ugly word that makes one seem crass. Today, you can bet your ass, I’m crass. That, and nobody could really hear me except my hubby, and I think that secretly it makes him laugh.
I woke up feeling like dog. I think sweet Doris tried to warn me about the Keto-Flu. Oh, but she was not kidding. Everything felt bad and I got up to tinkle at least 32 times; all that water, all that detoxing and p.u… all that danged asparagus. I must admit, the asparagus part gave my inner 13-year-old boy a laugh every time. I emerged from my bed with a migraine, though I’m pretty sure that had mostly to do with the mold count being asininely high, and feeling achy with mild chills that came and went. AND I’m starving. Seriously, of course you lose weight when you DON’T F’ING EAT!
I’m told that this too shall pass. Please… please…