My first embroidery piece.
My first embroidery piece.
My original embroidery art.
Cauliflower rice, diced sweet potatoes, julienned carrots w/a bacon mozzarella cream sauce & bacon bits.
Egg drop soup
Farm fresh eggs scrambled with zucchini noodles, cheese, salsa, sour cream, & green onion
Loaded cauliflower mash with extra bacon
Enchalada skillet with sweet potato noodles
Asian zucchini noodles
Chicken, cauliflower broccoli rice, zucchini noodles, & cheese sauce
Yam & eggs
Thai peanut sauce with sweet potato noodles
Jalapino sausage with avocado cream sauce and zucchini noodles
*Pinterest recipe inspired
If you’re familiar with the Spoon Theory, you can probably guess what a spoonie is: Someone who has a limited amount of spoons. I live in a spoonie house, and have loved ones and friends who are spoonies. I’m making this post especially for a special spoonie in my life, who’s name shall remain annonymous, but they will know who they are, and hopefully in the process, I can help a few other spoonies get a new dinner idea while I’m at it.
With a limited amount of spoons, often times dinner is the hardest meal because it’s at the end of the day, not to mention to a spoonie, the most important because spoonie’s often skip breakfast and lunch because we’re too tired. I understand how common it is for us spoonies to shirk off meals throughout the day. But at some point we have to eat. This meal is focused on getting that job done. It’s not particularly healthy, or unhealthy, it just is. But for us spoonies sometimes that’s all we need to keep on (mildly) kicking. 😉
Without further ado: Burritos For Spoonies
You will need:
Your favorite hot, medium, or mild sauce for flavor. *I like Verde’s guacamole salsa, with tapatio coming in a close second.
Soft burrito shells
Cheese (preferably shredded)
Refried beans *one can
Ranch dressing for flavor
Paper plates *if you are lucky 🙂
1. Take about half of a can of refried beans and put them on a paper plate.
2. Add about 4tbsp of both your favorite hot, med, or mild sauce & ranch dressing.
3. Mix together with a fork.
4. Place two burrito shells positioned like the photo above on a new paper plate.
5. Pour the mixture of refried beans & sauces into the each burrito shell using the fork, half and half.
6. Topple that thing with cheese.
7. I hope I illustrated in the #7 photo how I fold a burrito, after that photo was taken, I rolled the rest of the shell over until it made a sort of funnel with one side folded up into the shell.
8. Take a breather.
9. Microwave for 2minutes and 25 seconds.
10. While microwaving throw the dirty paper plate in the trash, and put the ingredients away in the fridge.
11. Be sure to let it cool before you take a bite, but viola! There you are. Hope you enjoy! ❤
“Not being assaulted is not a privilege to be earned through the judicious application of personal safety strategies. A woman should be able to walk down the street at 4 in the morning in nothing but her socks, blind drunk, without being assaulted, and I, for one, am not going to do anything to imply that she is in any way responsible for her own assault if she fails to Adequately Protect Herself. Men aren’t helpless dick-driven maniacs who can’t help raping a vulnerable woman. It disrespects EVERYONE.”-Emily Nagoski
When I was 12 I was raped by a guy in his 30’s. At the time, age 12, I didn’t realize the difference in mentality between child and adult, and naively believed that I was mentally and emotionally on par with my rapist. We met in a park while I was babysitting and he was with a group of children from a daycare. He asked for my phone number, knowing full well my age. We later met in front of my house, I was wearing a short skirt and high heels, I got in his car and he took me to his house where he instructed me to tell his roommate that I was 16, because that’s better(?)
I honestly just thought he was a cute guy that I wanted to be around, and didn’t predict him attempting to do anything physical with me, please remember that I was 12. I had no idea what kind of situation I was putting myself in.
About two months later I was late, and scared. I told my brother I was afraid I was pregnant and unbeknownst to me, he went to the police, and also every bar in town looking to beat the motherfucker down.
I remember the police trying to get information out of me, at the time (12) I blamed myself for wearing a short skirt and high heels. I remember feeling immense guilt over the idea that someone might go to jail or prison because *I wore a short skirt, and high heels* I remember an officer telling me that, even if I were naked it still wasn’t a good enough excuse for a man to have sex with me against my will. I however, was unconvinced and went on blaming myself for years.
I cried, I said no, I tried to push him away, but I still blamed myself because of what I was wearing. I believed I was asking for it.
As an adult, I know it’s bullshit. THIS is rape culture. THIS is why I need feminism. Men have just as much ability to control their libido as women. Men do not have stronger, uncontrollable urges. Rapist’s suffer from weak minds NOT strong, overpowering dicks.
Every time a girl is sent home from school because her shirt was cut too low, or jeans too tight, her entire class is taught that a hard dick is her fault. Every time a girl was sexually harassed, assaulted, or raped, and what she was wearing, drinking, did she have a reputation, comes into consideration, we are taught that a hard dick is our fault.
It’s a sick joke to say women and girls bear the responsibility of a hard dick when we have nothing to do with the body or brain that owns and controls said apparatus. Teach boys self control, teach boys they are stronger than an urge, stop underestimating men. Men, manly men, have 100% control of their “wondering eyes” and urges. We know better, and we need to speak up for women and girls that have internalized sexism, who will be sexually harassed, assaulted, raped, and blame themselves.
You may believe that a woman who is drunk, walking naked in the streets at 4am is asking for it… well, so did I.
Three weeks after my diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) I sit alone in my studio apartment hovering my finger over my keyboard. My screen set to Google search. I’m hesitant to type, terrified of learning what behaviors I display that are the result of this new, to me, mental illness.
I was diagnosed with bipolar in 1993. I was so young that I never had a grieving period for the person I thought I was pre-illness, I had not yet gotten to the point of defining myself. Throughout the years, I’ve lived my life through the lens of someone who is bipolar. It is not who I am, but a distinctly undeniable part of what makes me me. It never scared me because it was always there.
I struggle with Agoraphobia, I have PTSD, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. But this (BPD) feels different. All of the mentioned illnesses I’ve aquired were undeniable and obvious when they struck. When I became ill with each new disorder I still knew who I was, I still understood my own triggers, ticks, and quirks. I was still there, sometimes barely recognizable, but I never lost hold of this basic understanding I’ve formed about who I am as a unique, individual person.
Borderline Personality Disorder is not blatantly obvious, if you do not know the hallmarks to look for. It’s a lot like bipolar, not in all the symptoms, but in the stigmas. People generally understand anxiety and rarely fault you for it. PTSD is widely talked about and almost never seen as a personal fail. Agoraphobia, is basically the need to isolate, or fear of public spaces, again, not seen as a personal fail. Borderline though, like bipolar, comes with a lot of assumption and judgment. They are both often misunderstood and treated as a personality flaw.
This new diagnosis makes me feel like I don’t know anymore, who I am. I learned for the first time in over twenty years that there are behaviors I show that are the result of an illness that I know nothing about. I could not stop crying when I got home from seeing my therapist who confirmed what my boyfriend had suspected and even researched for six months prior. He kept saying, in hopes to comfort me “nothing has changed, you’re still the same person you were before the diagnosis” but, what I could not put into words was that, maybe nothing has changed, but everything is different. I may still be the person I was five, ten, even fifteen years ago, but how I think of myself has shifted. I feel upside down, as though the grasp I thought I had, of my own identity, was false. As if I have to relearn what and why I act the way I do, and learn new ways to cope, deal, or curb actions I thought were under my control, or in the very least within my understanding.
I reached out to someone I trust, who in an attempt to comfort me advised that I pay no attention to the new diagnosis. As if ignoring it would somehow make everything ok. I would love to ignore it, but this is not something I can unlearn. Now that it is confirmed, that I have this illness, it is my responsibility to understand it, because how else can I get better or learn to navigate myself if I deny the root of my behaviors?
I don’t know. I like to wrap up my writings like a present, you untie the bow, open the box, and have some sort of satisfactory ending like a shiny new toy. But today, it’s like I didn’t have time to buy wrapping paper. So here it is, in a paper bag, the price tag still hanging off the side. I don’t have an easy way to end this post because I am still grieving for a perception of myself that is now gone. Maybe next time I will have had a revelation, good news, a shiny new toy. But for now all I have to give is the truth, and it isn’t pretty. ~Davs
Image by Davs at http://www.Davs.Etsy.com