Scibbling Away

NOTE: Woke already happened. I forgot to post this earlier.


While things look quiet on the blog front, behind the scenes, I furiously scribble away in my journal from my daily grind to ideas for stories, to premises for jokes. Right now it’s jokes for tonight’s Woke Comedy Hour at X-Cues. It means I have two regular open mics to say my hit-and-miss-but-mostly-hit routine. The support I received has been nothing short of amazing. Winnipeg has a deep well of comedic talent and nowhere does it show but in the women on the scene.

Woke itself came into existence thanks to Elissa Kixen and Dione Haynes, two funny women recognising a need and in true Winnipeg style, rolled up their sleeves and made it happen. If you want to know more, a former Red River Creative Communications student wrote an excellent article on the open mic, and it will move to a twice-per-month format starting in September at the Good Will Social Club. While I sound quite excited, right now my brain has begun the process of sending out messages to my body to make me anxious and doubtful before going heading out. I accept this mind-effery comes with undergoing something like this.

Most of the time, I scribble to kick the crippling doubt. It’s better to journal than not write a word, and that’s bad news for a naturally nervous person as myself. Also good for the obviously nervous person-laughing. The more I make people laugh, and in turn laugh myself, the better health wise. My doctor expressed concern about my blood pressure. It’s one thing to limit my sodium, it’s another to figure out some other non-drug ways to treat it. (Although my mom has taken medication for a long time.) Yes, a little weight loss has been suggested.

Hold it right there, it’s not what you think.

I had read a lot about doctors immediately sounding the weight loss bell without clarification about how much or fixate on a woman’s body they miss an important diagnosis. It’s not a delusion but fact after fact written online, with even doctors saying hold it. When my doctor told me to lose weight, she reminded me of my fitness while I ran. I ran half-marathons and 5/10k and still have one woman tell me I needed to lose more weight to get faster. I fit a size 16 and still couldn’t fit the XLs at The Running Room. The woman giving the advice? Well, she kept getting injured. The moral of the story? Well, my body has officially said, “Dude, we are getting older and can’t do what we normally do.” I inch towards actual middle age, and my body reminds me while my mind feels like a 25-year-old and embraces new ideas, my body needs some TLC. I can go with that.

Besides, I write better after moving around for a while.

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