A Little Bikeride

It was lovely Sunday afternoon.  A perfect day for the message in a bottle to take a ride on a cute pink bike with a delightful wicker basket.

Several, yes several, hours were spent the day before writing that message in the bottle. Everything that ever wanted to be said but couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t. Everything.

Songs played on repeat and years of moments replayed. Stop your judgement. A girl isn’t responsible for the emotional gluttony that happens while Aunt Flow is in town. Ok, she is a little responsible, but the blame falls heavily on the hormones and the ninjas that attack her uterus.

The message gets set on fire, and a wind blows and there were ashes every where. Inside the itsy bitsy beach apartment, and outside. Ashes. Everywhere. Clumsy girl.

Most of the message gets burned, with the exception of a page of song lyrics. Damn you, Aunt Flow!

Catsup remained around the rim of the bottle as the letters’ ashes and little seashells got carelessly shoved in the bottle. 

The message in a bottle was placed carefully in the delightful wicker basket on the cute pink bike and pedaled to the favorite little beach.

The sky was grey – which seemed appropriate. This is the day. The day it all got Let Go. 

The message in the bottle in the delightful wicker basket on the cute pink bike was met by wedding on the favorite little beach.Overly ironic. Even for an overly dramatic clumsy girl.

You’ve. Got. To. Be. Flipping. Kidding. Me. 

A quick loop around the parking lot. This is not the place for the Let Go. 

Clumsy girl pedals to next little beach – the water is crystal clear and still.

You’ve. Got. To. Be. Flipping. Kidding. Me.  Crystal clear and still water?

When the moment of Let Go happens in the overly dramatic clumsy girl mind… there is a storm, and thunder, and lightening, and rain, and waves, and everything that was happening internally is manifested in the surrounding environment.

So clumsy girl does what any dignified grown woman does. She lays in the sand and has a temper tantrum. Full on legs kicking, arms flailing, sand going everywhere-ing temper tantrum. She is now completely covered in sand and makes her way into the still water to get the sand out of everywhere.

The message in the bottle is placed back in the delightful wicker basket on the cute pink bike.

Clumsy girl is on a mission to have a (now conjured) cathartic moment.

She pedals to a crowded beach, parks her cute pink bike on a hidden pathway. Takes her catsup encrusted message in a bottle to the beach, where it, and it’s contents, and what they represent, will float into eternity.

Not wanting to leave her phone in the delightful wicker basket, she hands it to two strangers “to hold onto for a moment”. Because some how, that made more sense.

Throwing the message in the bottle into the water? Oh, No! That won’t do. Clumsy girl must swim. Swim farther than she has ever swam before. Out past the buoys. So she swam. And stopped. And swam. And stopped. And swam and swam and Good Lord Jesus those buoys are out far!

Clumsy girl and the message in the bottle reached the buoy.

After a moment of breathing it got thrown far far into eternity. A whole three feet past the buoy. 

Oh, No! This will not do! What if the message reaches the shore before clumsy girl and this haunts her the rest of her days? She feverishly swam. And stopped. And swam. And stopped. And swam and swam and Good Lord Jesus those buoys are out far! Clumsy girl reached a boy wearing the snorkeling mask.

“Are you the white girl who gave her phone to two black girls.” 

“Yes, that’s me”

“They leaving”

“Ok, I’m on my way”

Other voices chimed in, making clumsy girl slightly realize that she may have been a spectacle.

“Miss, did you drown?”

“No, I just had to do something I never did before”

“You looked like you drown.”


Clumsy girl swims past the other voices and questions to reach the shore, the two girls, and her phone.

“We were gonna call your daddy!”

“Really, and what would you have said?” 

They all laugh.

“Thanks for holding my phone.”

Looking down she realizes that she has no idea how long she had been swimming.

She walks the hidden path to find her cute pink bike and goes to place her phone in the delightful wicker basket.

It rings.

“Honey –  are you trying to reach me, is everything ok?”

“No, Daddy – everything’s good, just taking a little bike ride.”

I don’t like the gym.

It’s no secret that I don’t like the gym.
But here’s some honesty friends.

I don’t like that I went undiagnosed with a thyroid disorder my whole life and every diet and workout plan was therefore ineffective. That no matter what I did, I would gain. That doctor after doctor missed it, and acted surprised when my labs came back that I was really healthy.

I don’t like that.

I don’t like that I can’t go into the same store as you and pick out an outfit because I like it, not just because it fits.

I don’t like that I still have panic attacks when flying because the belt didn’t fit once, when I was 50 pounds heavier than I am now.

I don’t like the the cruelty of others wasn’t limited to the endless childhood bullying. I don’t like other peoples thoughts and actual verbalizations on my excess weight. That I am lazy, a glutton,  asexual, and even “God will send you your husband once you get that weight situation figured out.”

Judgements on my physical, spiritual, relational, and even sexual health.


I may not like the gym, but I am trading in a whole crap load of things that I don’t like and that are far more uncomfortable than feeling insecure at the weights or doing cardio for an hour.

Make Coffee, Not War

No, it’s not a political statement. It’s a statement that my manager reminds me of.

When I want to make war.  Barista War: Operation Entitled Imbecile Annihilation.

Customer on their cell phone, and grunts an order to me, then changes it at the bar because they ordered it wrong, because of being on the above mentioned cell phone.

Make Coffee, Not War

Customer: Can I borrow the store phone? Me: Sure.  Customer: (putting the store cordless phone between her exposed breasts) What? You don’t mind if I put that there, Do you? ANSWER ME.

Make Coffee, Not War

Calling in an order because you are “running late and can’t wait in line” for your one latte and a bagel.

Make Coffee, Not War

I have a printed out label with how I want you to make my drink. And you should not charge me for the two shots of espresso, or extra syrups, or extra milk.

Make Coffee, Not War

Me: Goodmorning *smile*… Customer: Grande Mocha.

Make Coffee, Not War

Ohh I wanted that (ridiculously customized drink) iced…

Make Coffee, Not War

Is that my Mocha Frappichino? (as they pick up an obviously hot drink)

Make Coffee, Not War

That tastes different if you shake it in the other cup.

Make Coffee, Not War

This is not 195 degrees.

Make Coffee, Not War

But I just put money on my card (showing me a month old receipt, with an old balance on it.)

Make Coffee, Not War

Oh I want that  iced grande mocha, in an iced venti cup, with extra milk, with light ice. Why are you charging me for the extra milk?

Make Coffee, Not War

But you shouldn’t charge me for the extra shot or the soy or the syrups or the caramel drizzle or or or, they don’t charge me at “my” store.

Make Coffee, Not War

But Barnes and Noble sells Starbucks, why isn’t that considered a refill?

Make Coffee, Not War

I have the whole Starbucks set up at home. It doesn’t look right how she made it.

Make Coffee, Not War

It’s Complicated.

Not a week goes by where someone doesn’t ask me why I haven’t written on my blog.

I usually blame busyness.

Blame is lame.

If I were in a relationship with julieunscripted, in Facebook terms we would be defined as “It’s Complicated.” (I couldn’t even remember my password to write this post for goodness sake!)

For me, blogging meets a need that writing in a journal just doesn’t. I like to write, and I like when it is read.

This has never been a space for recipes or photos or crafts or celebrity stories or movie reviews or any other such things blogs can be. I imagine it would be easier for me if it were.

I am my own shtick, I am the content of this space.

julieunscripted is an invitation to eavesdrop on the conversations in my clusterfluff of a heart.

But If there is an invitation is it eavesdropping? And why am I inviting others into a heart I try so desperately to guard? And why do I try so desperately to guard it if my true desire is to be known, accepted, and loved for who I am?

Anywho, back to the thought already in progress….Like eavesdropping, context is missing but instead of a whisper -blogging is standing on my platform with a megaphone.

As it gains traction and my writing is shared with friends as well as strangers, I find myself strangely fueled until I freak out and retreat for months at a time.

When I write I question why I write as much as I question what I write as much as I question when I write. (That was fun!)

This process can be as exhausting as reading that last sentence. I eventually get over it and write in my cozy little space here, and it has proved worth it every single time.

The good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the glitter and the grit – I have put myself out there.

But recently I haven’t, I can’t. It’s complicated.

I find myself in a position where I can’t be fake, and I can’t be real.

There are so many things I want to write about: working in and leaving the corporate setting (speaking up, shutting up, standing up and then laying it all down), leaving the traditional church setting (and then kind-of going back), Christmas, Christians, Jews, definitions of holiness, weddings and being a bridesmaid this summer(… again..and then again), reactions to certain songs, my health or illness in all the aspects of “me”, self care (and/or lack there of), self love, self loathing, boundaries, the apathy/stagnation/fervor/celebration in relationships and how I am haunted by some and healed by others, hanging on and letting go, deferred longings and the resuscitation of dreams ….and… and…. and….

I haven’t, I can’t. It’s complicated.


Apparently, I have an auto immune disease that is making my body attack itself, specifically my thyroid, which now has nodules on it.

There was really no building up to it, and I’m a blurter, so there it is.

Whathadhappenedwas…. (Yes, this is going to be long, because it is all connected.)

A few months ago my foot started hurting. Plantar Fasciitis. So I do what I always do, I turn to Google, ask my friends (and even asked a doctor) and learned some stretches and rolled things under my foot, and was on the road to recovery. Woooo Whooo!

Or so I thought.

My foot pain soon turned into hip pain. And when I say pain, I mean it felt like someone was stabbing me in my lower back if I moved a certain way. But it never was a predictable certain way. Any which way would cause pan at any moment. It caused pain to sit down. It caused pain to stand up. It caused pain to sleep. It was difficult to dress, or shower, or get in and out of my car.

I went to get massages. I tried different stretches. I was taking about 6 pills a day of any combination of Aleve/Advil/Tylenol I could stomach. I would have taken more if I wasn’t afraid of frying my liver.
It just got worse and worse. I couldn’t even walk the 3 minute walk to the beach to watch the sunrise. I couldn’t bend over to pick up my friends baby. It was starting to affect my emotions, combine that with lack of sleep: Fan.Tas.Tic.

I tried to hide it, but it was obvious to anyone who had spent any amount of time with me that I was in excruciating pain.

I didn’t want to go to a doctor who was only going to prescribe muscle relaxers or pain killers so I visited Natural Medicine Clinic.   I met with Dr. Bob for my back. Things didn’t get better right away. He was honest enough to tell me they wouldn’t. I actually think I was more sore after a few visits.

As the days and weeks went by I went from being pain-free for a few hours, to taking Aleve only at night,  to a  pain-free day,  to my back and hip being now almost all better!

So then I asked Dr. Tom about their Nutrition Services.

I filled out a boatload of paperwork and questionnaires. I took blood tests. And then we had a conversation to explain results.

I eat relatively “healthy”. I adopted a (mostly) vegetarian/vegan diet awhile back.

I work out. I walk. I do yoga. I can even survive spin class.

My vitals are consistently good and not even “just for a fat girl”. My blood pressure is excellent, so is my cholesterol, and according to traditional tests, so is my thyroid.

I couldn’t figure out why I was still not losing weight. And why I had this skin rash. And why I have this one nasty toenail that Lamisil wouldn’t even kill.

Is it because I was stressed? More lazy than I wanted to admit? Eating more unhealthy than I thought?

Nope. Antibodies. And yeast. And fungus. And all sorts of things I don’t quite understand fully yet.

Because he did a nontraditional blood test he found that even though certain levels looked normal on my physical last year, there is alot more going on that is causing a chain reaction throughout my body. Then since those levels are off he ordered an ultrasound of my thyroid. They found nodules that are thankfully smaller than would  need a biopsy.

I’ve changed my diet from being a (mostly) vegetarian/vegan-ish to following a strict Paleo diet (meat, veggies, greens, and limited fruits, nuts, and seeds. No grains, no sugar, no processed foods, no vinegar, no flour, no dairy, no alcohol,no anything other than what I just listed above.)

I’m drinking more water, and taking some recommended supplements.

On the 4th of July I said goodbye to almost all of my favorite foods/drinks. And when I say I said goodbye what I mean is I ate. Alot. It started with a bagel in the morning, and the eating went downhill from there.

I cleaned out my cabinets and cleaned the fridge. Replacing beans, rice, and quinoa with Salmon, chicken and lots of lemons and onions.

It’s been a whole two days of obedience.

I thought I wanted to punch the sample lady at Costco in the face when she was making Ghirardelli brownies. I thought I was going to have a breakdown driving past Chick-fil-A. I can’t think about it all too much because it becomes overwhelming.

Even with the daunting truth of massive change, I find myself thankful.

I am thankful for the pain in my back.  If it would not have been so severe I would have never gone into that office, or asked for help in other areas.

I am thankful for the ability to do things pain-free, which has helped me be more active even when I “don’t feel like it”.

I am thankful for supportive friends and family.

I am thankful I can walk the beach again.

I am thankful for the hope I have that this road will lead to healing.

awe-inspiring and lackluster


There are days when the sunrise is  awe-inspiring. All seems right with the world as you stand in enjoyment of a masterpiece seemingly painted just for you.


Well, and then there are days, where the sky is gray and lackluster and you can’t hear yourself think over the sound of the waves crashing over and over and over again.

Remind yourself, consciously, deliberately remind yourself of this truth: There are gifts, there are things to be grateful for in this day. Awe-inspiring or lackluster give thanks for today.

It’s only a “bad day” when we focus on our feelings rather than that truth.

Just has it has for thousands of years before, the sun is going to set in the west tonight, and rise again in the east tomorrow.

Give thanks for today – and have hope for tomorrow.

NBA Arena full of children died today.

Children died in CT today. Gunfire – Over 20. Children died in China today. Stabbed -Over 20. It’s horrid, my heart hurts, and I honestly don’t much know more than that. Deliberately I have avoided the news. I’ve avoided Facebook – for the most part, and then this happened.



Over 45 children have died of preventable causes since I have started writing this blog.

Yes, Preventable. By my choices, by your choices, preventable.

Today in a flurry of opinions about gun control and legislation and seemingly everyone running their mouth about this and that and the other, I offer you a true opportunity to save the lives of children.

Give Clean Water

Feed The Children

Now, what will we do?