It’s like an overdue library book you’ve lost under your bed.

There’s old Glamour issues, there’re boyshorts five years too old and two sizes too small, there’s a few scattered cheerios from godknowswhat drunken night from months earlier in which you were snacking on before a 4am bedtime. There’s a shoebox of embarrassing notes from back in the day when sneaking ’em into your BFFs’ lockers was still cool (and this is when you all tell me I’m not the only one with an entire shoebox. It’s for the memories, no?). There’s loose glitter and crumpled-up forgotten to-do lists. And then there’s just pure chaos.

Why did you just waste 3 minutes of our lives, Court? This has been my life for the past three weeks, messy messy messy. Messy and beautiful. (Sometimes I also pretend I’m awesome at metaphors, just go with it.) You see, I realized within 24 hours of officially starting up my “blog life” that truth be told, my life in the real world just didn’t have the time for it at this point in my life. (Editor’s note: this is all speaking in three-weeks-ago tense, so I’m baaaaaacckkk!)

In the past 40 days, my life has merely consisted of:

  • My sista’s wedding (holla at THE most beautiful bride I’ve ever laid eyes on!)
  • Playing the most supportive and helpful maid-of-honor I knew was in my potential, via wedding setup/clean up/wedding itself. Whew! Breakin’ a sweat in my dress just to see the bride happy as a clam and NON-stressed as can be? So worth it.
  • Various family camping trips, roadtrips and mini-vacations that everyone should be entitled to in the summertime. (Can one be exhausted from too much vacation? I need a nap.)
  • Working. And working. And working. What’s that I hear, a beautiful paycheck with multiple zeros? I can’t complain too much, my social life may be slacking but my bank account’s sure sittin’ pretty. Work work work sleep eat work starbucks work poop work.. out? Welcome to what feels like a very deprived lifestyle. Any entertainment/enlightenment/Johnny photos to get me through the day can just be mailed to: thechissuslife0021@verizon.net . It is what it is. Can I get an amen?
  • On a more depressing note, finding out the boutique I’ve been assistant manager to for almost the past two years to is temporarily shutting down isn’t exactly a mood-lifter. Nor my cup of tea, period. The unemployment market just isn’t really my style, you know? Blah. “Taking a break” in my boss’s words. Mid-30’s MILF very attractive/perky/high-energied mom of three little ones? I cut her some slack, and guilt-tripping. It still means I’ll be unemployed by the 31st…
  • –> …which leads me to extreme job-hunting adventures. How much luck have I had so far may you ask? Let’s just say I might as well wear a sign around my neck that screams “Willing 2 Eat/Sleep/Sing/Dance/Shop/Blog 4 Money” on the least busy corner in the neighborhood. In related news, apparently Seattle’s economy is the only one still stuck in the recession. I knew it would be a good idea to pack my bags and run away to Cali right after high school…
  • Visiting the doctor after Kardashians-wannabe family drama and my mother practically making an appointment for me and forcing me to show up. With a weak smile on my face. And not the expression of looking just about like I wanna kill someone. Mainly, my mother.
  • –> …Sitting sweetly in the doctor’s office and listening to my doctor tell me I’m in the 2% population of girls ages 18-24 under the 98lbs. category. (I adore her, for the record. Going to the doctors is usually the last thing I want to do, ever, but with her it’s like going to meet for tea with a dear old friend.) Do I wear size 00 and bring a whole new meaning to rockin’ the Victoria Beckham skinnies-and-oversized-tees look? Yes. Do I have a tiny waist and weigh anywhere from 92 to 97lbs. whenever I step on the home scale? Yes. Am I also built like a pre-puberty 11-year-old with a teeny weeny frame? Absolutely. Am I smart about nutrition a nutrition/fitness junkie and eat close to 7 small meals and snacks a day? Yes, yes, and yes. So there you have it. I know in order to reach a weight that’ll be considered healthy, “normal” and one that’ll be completely healthy for fertility whenever I choose to have children of my own someday down the road, I need to get serious about my body and my expectations/standards/self-esteem/etc. Which leads me next to…
  • The past three weeks in particular have been nothing but some major, and I’m talkin’ major, soul-searching. In a nutshell, I’ve gone on-and-off with body and likewise confidence issues in the past two years – the past year more specifically. You might be curious, but I have never suffered from anorexia, bulimia, or any other similar eating disorders. I’ve semi-convinced myself throughout talking with my doctor and the rough emotional states I’ve been struggling with that I do suffer from a borderline eating disorder, however. One that includes a mix of emotional eating (too much sugar or not all when stressed/depressed), confusion and an internal battle of self-value, and just plain a messed-up mentality. Rough and dramatic break-ups to blame, soon enough it sent me in an overwhelming state sometime back in the school year that I just remember not being able to handle on my own. The right and healthy way, at least. Conclusion of the doctors’ appointment to get to the point? She suggested getting help, more for my mentality and thus for my physical self to consequently follow, and to start seeing a therapist specialized on eating disorders.
  • I have been on-and-off considering this. And looking for another (stronger) push in that direction. Why must I feel so weak in resorting to seeking help? Especially professional help. I don’t even get it.
  • More so, I’ve been learning so so so much about myself these past few weeks/months, more than ever. It’s ridonkidonk, like who knew my heart belongs in the kitchen and it’s 5901% more satisfying in whipping up a batch of cookies myself than desperately hinting at my mom whenever my sweet tooth kicked in? Fact: I never thought it possible to taste-test my own homemade baked goods, and not die. And smile. And like them. Wrong again, I guess I was born to cook after all. *insert happy dance* Basically, there’s been lots of “Look Mom loooook, I really can move outta the house and into my own place soon!”s and “Wow, I won’t go starving after all (or gain the freshman 45) when I run away to Washington State University after all,”s. Beautiful. Pure beautiful, baby.
  • Eaten my weight in cherries, fro yo, yogurt, almond butter, and hummus. And cereal. Oh, cereal. Cereal, thou art my crack. I love/hate you. HollA at my new favorite nightly bedtime snack?, I THINK YES. 97lbs. but 97lbs. of delish fruit and dairy, bahaha.
  • I’ve also realized with these all-day work shifts, ziplock bags and stocking up on fruit/veggies/snack-like food is key. You can just call me Queen of Sack Lunches. Bam! I’m already halfway mother material and I don’t even have to drive a minivan with little soccer balls hanging from my rearview mirror. Call me fabulous, I like to think I’m a little like magic.
  • I’ve discovered my newly-established addiction: I present to the Starbucks’ light caramel frapp. With cinnamon<3 sprinkled on top, just for an extra kick. *insert orgasm here*

And there’s an oddly painted picture of my life since the beginning of summer or so. One more thing before I check out for the day and get to work in the real world (just kidding, I’ve been here since 10 o’clock, but have I mentioned it gets slow? Freetime is lovely.), and that’s that I’ve recently realized writing is the best high I know how to achieve. Crazy, eh? I love writing. I need writing. I crave writing. (see Big Dreams tab when it’s a finished product) (basically, I’m Courtney and I’d like to be your next generation’s Cosmopolitan editor-in-chief? OMG, drool.) Don’t get me wrong, I smoke hookah on the very occasionally. I’ve tried nut butters of all sizes, shapes, colors, brands and nutritional value. I’ve even fallen in love once or twice (you could say I grew up fast), but writing remains at the top of my list. It’s my key to self-happiness. I don’t need broccoli, give me a pen and paper (or wordpress account) and I’ll reach my good mood peak of the week (actually, that’s a lie, favorite veggie award what what!).

With that said, I hope I have all your forgiveness for taking a lame forever-and-a-half break away from cyber-spacing but am now back for good to deliver you with talks on food, fitness, recipes, and daily random musings (and all the creative juices that flow along with) from my lame very exciting life. Free entertainment if you ask me, anyone? No one? Going once, going twice?

I am SO PUMPED to be back, and start my walk down a new journey, open a blank page to a new chapter. Round two, but who’s really counting… My pen’s ready, and so is my heart, and I plan to give it my all this time.

This just in. Tell me what you think and make it a great rest of Thursday! Like y’all say, TGIAF<3 (Sometime I also pretend I’m really cool.)

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About The Viva la Vida Project

I drink coffee for every meal, crave adrenaline like it’s crack, sing Jack Johnson offkey and have more sass/spunk/spice than what’s probably healthy. The world is my playground, c'est le bon. Life is now, meet it. I am Court, hear me roar.
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