Betsy Horvath

Category: Health and Well-Being

  • The Voice Speaks

    threatening cloudsPreviously on Betsy’s Blog…

    Harry, Betsy’s Quest Guide, is afraid Betsy has become derailed in her Quest to be a successful indie author.  This fear appears justified when he finds her lying in a slovenly heap in the temporal lobe of her brain, drowning her grief and sorrow in a sea of sugars, fats, and chemicals.  He tries to snap her out of it, and seems to be making good progress when suddenly another Voice speaks.

    Who is this Voice?  What does it want?  Why didn’t Betsy know it was there?  Why is Betsy’s mouth smeared with confectioner’s sugar?  Join Betsy and Harry as they strive to find the answers to these important questions…

    (and now, we resume Betsy’s and Harry’s conversation, already in progress…)

     

    *Harry evades Betsy’s outstretched arms*  Okay, so, first of all.  Who else is in here?

    *Betsy blinks*  Who else?  Nobody.

    *Harry shakes his head*  I know I heard somebody else in here.

    *Betsy frowns*  No.  Seriously.  It’s just me.

    I don’t–

    BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

    *Betsy looks around her brain*  Who’s that?

    Who’s that?  *Harry stares at her*  It’s your brain.  Don’t you know?

    No.  *Betsy considers*  But the voice does sound strangely familiar.

    OF COURSE MY VOICE IS FAMILIAR.  YOU HAVE HEARD IT ALL OF YOUR LIFE.

    Who are you?  *Harry stands on his back legs, hands on hips*  And why are you shouting?

    Oops.  Sorry.  I am so powerful that I forget to tone it down sometimes.

    Powerful?  *Betsy frowns*  How can you be powerful when you’re in my brain and I don’t even know you?

    I thought we covered that.  You know me.

    Okay.  *Betsy stands, dislodging Harry*  I said your voice was familiar, but I have no idea who you are.

    Well, I do hide.  I kind of…lurk.  Then I…nudge.

    *Harry looks at Betsy*  Nudge?

    This way or that.  *Voice sounds amused*  Hither and yon.

    *Betsy crosses arms*  I’m not sure I like the idea of being nudged.

    I would imagine you don’t.  You normally hate me when you’re in your right mind. *giggles* But it so easy to get you out of your right mind.  When you’re in your WRONG mind you do whatever I say.

    *Betsy bites her lip*  Harry?  Harry, I’m scared.

    *Harry stares up at her*  I’m a freaking gerbil here.  What the hell am I supposed to do?

    *Betsy stamps her foot*  You’re my Quest Guide, aren’t you?  I think this is one of those obstacles you’re supposed to Guide me around or something.

    Oh.  Yeah.  Right.  *Harry clears his throat*  Okay, so what the heck are you anyway, Voice?

    What am I?  I don’t know.  *Sounds dreamy*  Addiction.  Compulsion.

    Addiction?  *Betsy’s voice squeaks*  Like…like… food addiction?

    Remember how you created “butter balls” when you were young?

    *Harry looks at Betsy*  Butter balls?  What the heck are “Butter balls”  Although, frankly, I’m not sure I want to know.

    *Betsy gets a far-away look on her face*  Ohhhh….White bread.  Margerine.  Squished in my fist.  Margerine between my fingers.  Sometimes, if I could sneak it, I used confectioners sugar.  Mmmmm…

    Okay, not exactly what I was picturing, but it sounds disgusting.  *Harry shrugs*  So, what did you have to do with all that, Voice?

    Who do you think gave her the idea?  And kept her at it?  Then there were the pints of ice cream she sneaked into–

    Stop!  *Betsy holds up her hand*  *Blushes*  Not in front of Harry.

    *Voice laughs nastily*

    *Harry puffs up his little body to try to look bigger*  So, what’s all this about, Voice?  This just a trip down memory lane or something?

    No, my little Guide.  This was a demonstration.

    Demonstration?  *Betsy looks around nervously*  Demonstration of what?

    You think you want to move forward?  You think you want to get out of your rut?  Well, I like your rut just fine the way it is.

    *Harry struts forward*  Oh, yeah?  She’s got a Guide now, buddy.

    Yes, she has a Guide.  And the first time tragedy struck, she turned to me.  Just like she always does.

    I wasn’t thinking right!  *Betsy wipes away tears*  Don’t you take my sweet Emily and my sweet Oliver and make them something you can use!  Don’t you do that!

    I already did.  I sang to you of their loss, and you turned to me.  You followed my Voice.  Like always.

    I didn’t know!  *Betsy stands defiant*

    You knew.

    Well, I sure as hell didn’t know.  *Harry runs up Betsy’s side and perches on her shoulder*  And now we both do.  Now I know I need to watch out.

    You may see me….you may not.  I swim through this brain and sing my songs.  Night and day, I am the one…

    This is MY brain.  *Betsy fists her hands on her hips*  This is MY BRAIN!  And you are not welcome here, Voice!

    You’re going to throw me out?  Well, you can try.  I’ll just come back later.

    Get out.  Get out now!

    Are you sure?

    GET OUT!  *Betsy and Harry scream it together.

    Very well. See ya….or not.

    *silence*

    *Betsy pants*  *Looks at Harry perched on shoulder*  I’m sorry.

    *Harry pats her cheek with a paw*  It’s okay, doll.  We both know what we’re up against now.

    Do we?  *Betsy chews on her lip*  I’m not sure.

    Well, regardless of this Voice thing, you know that you need to start writing again.  Right?  *Harry glares at her sternly*

    Yes.  *Betsy nods*  Looks down*  And the Voice was right.  I guess I knew I was making excuses to eat and not do my work.

    You’re only human, doll.  But let’s get going.

    Can I shower first?  The sugar I have sticking all over my body is icky.  And I might attract ants.

    Of course.  *Harry jumps down to the floor*  And I’ll get the Muse propped up with a cup of coffee.

    *Betsy nods*  Sounds like a plan.  *Smiles*  Thanks for coming to get me.

    Any time, kiddo.

     

    But is that the end?  Has the Voice gone for good?  Has Betsy thrown it out of her brain?  Only time will tell…

     

     To be continued…

     

    light breaking

  • Sugar-Coated

    sugarhazePreviously on Betsy’s Blog…

    When Betsy loses two of her beloved cats within six weeks of each other due to cancer, Harry, Betsy’s Quest Guide, leaves her alone for a little while to grieve.  However, when he returns to Betsy’s brain, he’s disturbed to find molecules of sugar and chemicals flying around everywhere and Betsy’s Muse sound asleep on a ratty sofa pushed into a corner.  Talking to the Muse causes more concern.  Harry knew Betsy was a wreck, but he finds out she hasn’t written anything at all since he’s been gone.  Harry and the Muse both know that writing will help Betsy work through her emotions, but Betsy doesn’t seem to know that.  In fact, Harry begins to suspect that Betsy might have gotten herself completely derailed.

    Another wave of sugar and chemicals hits, sending the Muse into a sound sleep.  Harry makes a dash for Betsy’s temporal lobe to see if he can figure out what’s going on.  What will he find?

    Betsy!

    HELLO.

    *Harry skids to a halt and stares*  Who the hell are you?

    *The shadows shift* *The ganglia wiggle*

    *silence*

    Huh.  Weird.  Better find Betsy. Betsy?  Where are you?

    …because….the world is round….it turns me on….

    Betsy!  *Harry leaps forward again*  Where are you?

    …because….the world….is….round….aaaaahhhhhhhh

    And why the hell are you singing a Beatles song?  *Harry pushes aside some cells*  Great googly moogly Betsy’s sprawled all over her brain like a limp noodle.

    …because…the wind is high….it blows my mind….

    For God’s sake, stop singing.  Especially that freaking song.  *Harry jumps on Betsy’s chest and prods her with his little paws*  What in the world have you done to yourself, woman?

    love is all…love is new….*cough* Harry?  Harry is that you?  *Betsy blinks sugar-encrusted eyelashes*

    Of course it’s me, you moron.  What are you doing?

    It’s so good to see you.  *Betsy smiles goofily, then frowns*  What do you mean, what am I doing?

    What have you done to yourself?  *Harry slaps her across the cheek*  Snap out of it!

    Ow! *Betsy puts hand to cheek*  I’m just laying here.  I’m allowed to lay here.  It’s MY brain.  I’m allowed to hide in it if I wanna.

    *Harry settles back on his hind legs*  The last time we talked you were all motivated.  You were gonna be an indie publisher.  You were gonna be an authorpreneur.  You were gonna write, damn it.

    *Betsy looks away*  But then Emily died, and…

    I know she did doll.  *Harry tilts Betsy’s head back with a gentle paw*  I’m sorry.

    *Betsy blinks*  Thank you.

    But what happened?  *Harry looks around*  *notices that the entire temporal lobe is covered in layers and layers of sugar*  What have you been doing?

    *Betsy looks away again*  Eating.

    Betsy!  *Harry sighs*  You KNOW that doesn’t help.  You KNOW the sugar and fats and all of the chemicals in the food just make you crazy.  You KNOW it’s not going to do anything but make you feel worse.

    I know.  *Betsy sniffles*  But when I eat the sugar and the fats and the pastries and all of the things I’m not supposed to eat then I can escape from everything for a little while.

    But it’s only a little while.  And then your blood sugar is out of control and you crash.  Besides, it’s poison for you!  It’s like you’re poisoning yourself!

    Maybe.  *Betsy blushes*  But it feels good at first.

    *Harry sighs*  Does it feel good now?

    No.  *Betsy frowns*  I feel kind of crappy, to tell the truth.

    Are you ready to stop eating the way you have been?

    *Betsy picks at the fabric of her blouse*  It’s not that easy.

    What do you mean?  *Harry starts to pace*  You feel crappy.  You know that writing will help.  So you stop eating badly, you stop poisoning yourself, and you write instead.  Instead of escaping through food, you escape through writing.  Easy.

    *Betsy looks at Harry, eyes wide and frightened*  *whispers*  I hear ice cream.

    *Harry blinks*  Huh?

    I hear ice cream.  And pastries.  And brownies.  And chocolate.  And cheesecake.  And larger than advisable portions of food that would otherwise be considered halfway decent.  I…I want to stop eating like this.  I swear to you.  I’ve tried!  But I hear them singing to me in my DREAMS!  Calling me!  Telling me to come to them. *sobs*

    *Harry settles*  I don’t get it.

    *Betsy sits up*  *gazes furtively around the brain*  *whispers even more softly*  I started eating badly when Emily died.  I just wanted to escape.  I just wanted to numb my brain for a little bit.  Can you blame me?  CAN YOU?

    Uh…

    And now I can’t stop eating.  I start out the day doing okay.  I do.  Honest.  I have things under control.  Then around three o’clock… *Betsy swallows*  It all goes to hell and I end up here.  Stretched out in my brain.  Covered in sugar.  Singing “Because”.

    Wow.  Huh.  *Harry starts to get up*

    You can’t leave me.  *Betsy clutches at him*  I know you’re just a gerbil, but you’re all I’ve got.  You have to help me break this.

    *Harry shakes his little head*  Well, I know you’ve got to break this, doll, but I’m not sure–

    You have to help me!  *Betsy squeezes Harry with both hands*  You have to!  I’ll never become an authorpreneur if I don’t get this under control.  I can’t keep losing time like this!   I can’t…I can’t…I’M NOT GETTING ANY YOUNGER!

    Okay, okay.  *Harry struggles and finally breaks free*  *smooths down his coat*  *itches at his ear*  Sheesh.  You’re right, okay?

    *Betsy blinks tear-filled eyes*  I am?

    Yeah.  There’s no way you’ll become an authorpreneur if you keep up this way.  You need to get over this…this…food addiction or the next time you hit a bad spot you’re going to end up flat on your back in your temporal lobe singing “Because”.

    *Betsy tries to hug him*  I knew you’d understand!

    *Harry evades her outstretched arms*  Okay, so, first of all.  Who else is in here?

    *Betsy blinks*  Who else?  Nobody.

    *Harry shakes his head*  I know I heard somebody else in here.

    *Betsy frowns*  No.  Seriously.  It’s just me.

    I don’t–

    BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

    *Betsy looks around her brain*  Who’s that?

     

    To be continued…

    sugar

     

     

  • Derailed?

    derailed_trainPreviously on Betsy’s Blog…

    Betsy and Harry, her Quest Guide, determined that the first step Betsy needs to take to become a successful indie author is to write more.  They also discussed Betsy’s production schedule and decided Betsy would finish the first draft of her work in progress by May 11.  Unfortunately, in the meantime Betsy experienced a heartbreaking loss.

    But now we are left to wonder – has Betsy been able to write at all?  Has her grief blown her schedule completely out of the water?  Is her life totally off track?  And why is her trash can full of empty ice cream containers and plastic cheesecake trays?  Why are more and more sugar molecules zipping through Betsy’s brain?

    Join us as Harry tries to figure out what’s up with Betsy…

    *snore* *grumble* *snore*

    Geeze, is that the Muse?  *Harry scampers closer to an old, ratty, pull-out sofa shoved into a corner of Betsy’s brain* *pulls himself up on a cushion so he can see the face of the sleeping woman*  Oh, man.  It is her.  Muse?  *reaches out with a paw and pokes the Muse in the face*  Wake up.

    *grumble* *snort* *Muse blinks eyes open*  *pushes herself up on her elbow* *looks down at Harry*  Oh.  Hey.  *collapses back on the sofa*

    You gotta get up. *Harry pokes her again*

    Can’t.  Too.  Tired.

    Well, get over it! *Harry climbs on Muse’s chest and glares down into her face* You should be helping Betsy write.

    *Muse swats at Harry, but he jumps away*  Too bad.

    Whaddya mean, too bad?  *Harry sits back on hind legs* *folds forelegs across chest* We’ve got goals.  A schedule.  I mean, I know she’s been through a lot lately and she’s a total wreck–

    *Muse turns her head away*  Poor little kitty.

    –and that’s only to be expected.  But we have to get her working again.  You and I both know that writing is going to help.  You saw how much better she felt after writing Sunday’s blog post.  She NEEDS to write or she’s gonna go nuts!

    *Muse props herself up on her elbows again*  Look, I know that, and you know that, but SHE doesn’t seem to know that.

    *Harry frowns*  She doesn’t?  What’s going on?

    *Muse rolls her eyes*  Oh, come on.  Don’t be stupid.  You live in this brain too.

    Well, I know she’s been grieving.  *Harry shrugs uncomfortably*  I’ve kind of stayed away, if you want to know the truth.  I hate it when a chick cries.  I never know what to say.

    Oh, GREAT! *Muse flops back on the sofa and stares at the ceiling of the brain*  The one time she needs a freaking Guide and you run away.  Such a typical man.

    Hey!  I’m a gerbil here!  *Harry paces back and forth on Muse’s chest* So you’re telling me she’s still all screwed up?

    Well, duh.  *Muse yawns hugely* Uh oh.  Here comes another dose of sugar and chemicals.  She’s self-medicating again. I’ll be asleep in… a… second…

    *Harry stares at her*  What the hell are you talking about?

    Go to the *yawn* temporal lobe…and…see…. *snore*

    Huh.  *Harry pokes at the Muse*  *Muse grumbles and turns on her side* *Harry jumps nimbly to the floor before he gets squashed*  Darn it, what the heck has Betsy gotten herself into now?

    *Harry ducks flying molecules of sugar and chemicals and serotonin* *Floor of brain begins to quake and then break apart*

    What the heck?  *Harry grabs onto the basal ganglia to keep his footing* *Electrical sparks fly from cell to cell*  Oh my gosh!  *Harry makes a break for the temporal lobe*  Betsy!  Betsy, what’s going on?  Betsy!

    *Harry makes a leap down a neural pathway* *dives into temporal lobe* *comes to a skidding halt*  *stares*

    Betsy?

    HELLO.

    Who the hell are you?

     

    To be continued….

     

    harryonorange

  • No Rush

    AAARGH

     

    Sometimes I look at what I’ve done in my life as opposed to all of the things I still want to do.  That’s almost always a mistake.  It’s really easy for me to think I have accomplished very little.  Then I judge myself and tell myself I should have gotten a lot more done by this point.

    That’s when I usually panic.  Ahhhh!!!  Time is slipping away!!!  My life is waning!!!  The zombie apocalypse is coming!!!  I need to get things done NOW!

    Now

    Now

    NOW!!!!!

    The problem is when I feel like I have to get things done immediately, I rush around like a deranged chicken clucking at windmills.  Seriously.  You should see me.  I pull things out of my mental (or physical) closet and throw them around the room.  I dash from one end of the house to the other.  I mutter to myself about my plans.  I make lists.

    And lists.

    AND LISTS.

    Then, invariably, I feel overwhelmed and stuck in a prison of my own making.  Which is when I curl up on the sofa, sobbing softly while I eat carbohydrates and play solitaire.  It ain’t pretty.

    So here’s the thing I have to remember.

    There’s really no need to rush.

    Yes, I have a lot of things I want to accomplish.  And yes, I need to move forward.  I can’t just sit in my rocking chair and watch the world go by.  But just because I recognize there are things I still want to do doesn’t mean I have to get them all done this second.  In fact, as in Mario Kart, rushing to get everything done at once only increases the chance I’ll run off the road and crash into a brick wall.

    I think the most important thing is to move.  If you move, you’ll eventually get things done.  How do you eat an elephant?  One bite at a time.  Sitting and staring at the elephant isn’t going to get it eaten.  By the same token, trying to stuff an entire elephant into your mouth all at once isn’t exactly productive.  

    So join me in taking a deep breath.  Ready? Okay, INHALE….hold it, hold it, hold it….EXHALE.  Good.  Let us all be calm.  Just because we may not be moving as quickly as someone else we know doesn’t mean we’re failures.  We don’t need to judge ourselves.

    We need to move, but we don’t need to rush.

     

     hamster

  • When Did I Lose Control?

    As I wandered around the house this weekend, I kept wondering when I’d lost control.

    Where did the control go?

    When did control run giggling manically into the night?

    I was doing so well. And then…I wasn’t. If you are one of the hardy few who read this blog, you may have noticed the downward spiral playing out over the year. Kind of like a slow-motion ballet.

    I had three goals this year. Only three. 1) not to eat sugar 2) pay down the debt and 3) write every day.

    Upon reflection, I think the first crack in the wall probably happened as early as April with my nut addiction. That’s when the eating started to go. The debt snowball began melting in earnest in May, I believe. The writing lasted longer. That one didn’t start to break up until September.

    Then came October. Between a birthday, the storm of the century, thinking my book was finished, trying to start something new, realizing my book wasn’t quite finished as I thought and still needs work, and a variety of drama at work and home, and I found myself caught up in a surge of Sandy proportions, tossed hither and yon upon a violent sea. The eggshell-thin layer of control I had slathered about myself, already cracking, broke into pieces as if I were a hen who doesn’t get enough calcium. Isn’t that the way it always goes?

    Suddenly I was eating sugar again. Every time I saw sugar I stuffed it in my mouth. Heath bars. Muffins. Cheese cake. Ice cream.

    Suddenly I was spending again. Amazon started to send me love notes. I spent money on gear for the next storm of the century. I decided to reinvent myself after my birthday and thus spent money on clothing and jewelry. Because THAT will help.

    Don’t get me started on the books, audiobooks and music downloads.

    Suddenly I wasn’t writing. I started to rework on my book and then around the middle of October I just…stopped. I guess I was too busy eating sugar and shopping the Internet. I haven’t even blogged regularly (well, I guess I get a pass on that for the week I didn’t have power).

    In other words, I’ve been acting as if I live in an alternate universe. It’s kind of a nice universe where I can eat whatever I want to eat, spend oodles of money, and pull fully finished (and, naturally, brilliant) books out of my…head. I really like that universe. It makes me sad that it’s not real.

    Which brings me…here. *looks around* Um, what now?

    Regroup.

    Again.

    Okay. *takes deep breath* *flexes muscles* Here we go.

    I have three goals. That’s it. Only three. They are the same three goals I had at the beginning of the year. They are the same three goals I will have next year.

    1) Don’t eat sugar.
    Well, I didn’t eat sugar today. So, that’s good.

    2) Pay down the debt.
    Well, I didn’t charge anything today. So that’s good.

    3) Write every day.
    Well, I’ve been writing every day for the last four days. So that’s good.

    Okay, good. Now, everybody SING!

    Just what made that little old ant…think…he could move a rubber…tree plant


    *sigh*

    ….everyone knows an ant…can’t…
    move a rubber tree plant.

    *shifts in chair*

    But he’s got
    high hopes

    *sits straighter*

    he’s got
    High Hopes

    *throws back shoulders*

    he’s got
    High apple pie in the sky hopes!

    Watch out world! Here I come!

    [tube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XR14hsxNbm0[/tube]

  • Care And Feeding

     

    Feed me, Seymore. Feed me all night long.

    Audrey II – Little Shop of Horrors

     

    I would like to share some things I’ve discovered over the past couple of weeks.

    1. A person needs to eat properly.
    2. A person needs to sleep enough hours.
    3. A person cannot live on coffee, no matter how hard they try.
    4. If a person does not eat properly, sleep enough hours, and tries to live on coffee, that person cannot do anything that’s worth anything.

    I figured these things out as I was falling asleep over my laptop in a carb coma while my heart thundered from caffiene. I’m intuitive that way.

    So basically, to do anything creative, you have to take care of yourself.

    Thank you! I’ll be here all week! Don’t forget to tip your waitstaff!

    Oh, okay. I’ll give you more. It occurred to me that my creativity is anchored in my brain and body. Yes, there may be a larger creative spirit generated by the soul, or by a higher power, or by talent, or by something else, but creativity – wherever it originates – has to run through my brain and my body to come out. And since my brain and my body are connected, and since my brain is actually PART of my body, then the state of said brain and body impact the ability to create (in my case, write). Therefore, if my body feels like dog dirt and my brain feels like dog dirt, then my creative pursuit is going to be…what, class? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? That’s right…dog dirt.

    I’ve starting thinking of it almost as a reverse sewage treatment plant. Instead of being purified, my idea can become, um, stinkified as it works its way through my brain and body.

    In other words, my friends, our creativity is tied to our physical being. And if our physical being is poo, then the rest of it will be too.

    I guess it’s all a matter of priority. Right? Right.

    So, what are my goals for the next month? Eat better. Sleep more. Drink more water, and less coffee (WHAT! Be quiet, Coffee) Maybe take a walk every now and then. Win the notice and admiration of Hugh Jackman. Check, check, check, check.

    Piece of cake.

    Cake? Wait – did somebody say cake?

    [tube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7SkrYF8lCU[/tube]