Read In Bed

I actually found a way that I can read in bed without getting angry at myself – magazine articles!
Usually, when it is night and I’m not tired and all I can think about is reading, I don’t do it because I feel like I shouldn’t start something at night [it’s some weird mentality thing..] But, last night, I had the “crazy” idea to pick up National Geographic and start reading the Hatshepshut article (I have not been caught up on reading lately – that issue was from last month!). It satisfied my reading palate and encourages me to read more at night! Hooray!
Aside from that, I am really debating whether I should go back to work on this weight issue of mine or whether I’m happy enough where I’m at. I am healthy, and I think that the issue now is just that self-confidence, goal-oriented thing that I wanted to avoid but got sucked into anyway. Ugh. I I am fine at 31″ waistline and 130-135 pounds, but now I just want to be that “wee bit” smaller. It’s saddening.
Actually, I think the more depressing part of it is that I’m just feeling as if I’m eating terribly. And that’s something I want to reverse regardless of the weight thing. I don’t want to eat chocolate and candies whenever I see them – therefore, I am going to go back on my regimen. Without the constant tracking and etc., but definitely back on the few-bad-foods program. Yay?
Life, love, and the pursuit of your dreams!
Tangentially, I wrote a small piece during some downtime in government relating to the Hatshepshut article. Sort of. I’ll post it below.
We could be remembered; we could be forgotten.
Yesterday, as I turned the pages of National Geographic, She-King Hatshepshut rose again from the pages. The smell of glossies and color ink, though unable to give the same olfactory insights as dust and myrrh, still resonated with her story. The words and color photographs raised her from the dead in all but the physical sense – this cross-dressing heroine from the anals of history.
As I turned to the first page of her article, her mummified horror opens the scene. Surprisingly, I am less afraid than in awe. Her face, just recently re-discovered on the floor of a forgotten tomb, holds a wizened beauty that makes me wonder where the social stigma of thin, pale women came from. Hidden in the pages of the article, Egyptologists and authors alike poke fun at the idea that she was described as a beauty to gaze upon when her corpse had the body more of a “wet-nurse” than a queen. I turn the page, scan the photographs of her statues, and espy her well-fed features. She is a beauty in her own right – and her power could match any pharaoh, best any man.
We are always fascinated by ancient exceptions. Reading Hatshepshut back to life brings me to think on my monologue – the colorful language of another historic female, Joan of Arc. These words are transcribed, preserved, re-written time and again. Yet they still have the power to surprise and delight. Why? Because, in that little space of the mind, we hope that we too will live on like these wonders, these relics that withstood death. And time.
But, for now, we are nobodies.

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More writing and stories are also available for your reading pleasure.