I tend to do what works for me. The Fashion Police want me in one size smaller than I favor. I might look better, but I hate being squeezed by my clothes. Nothing personal, clothes, I just like to not even feel myself wearing you.
I like my own company more than being in a social setting where I have to play by the rules. I mean, some of the rules may be okay, but Vicki lets Vicki be Vicki. No one is vetting her to see if she belongs when I am alone.
I grocery shop about once a week and mostly eat a mixture of things both good and bad for me. I am no purist when it comes to food. Snacking is a sin of mine but I keep a trim figure, if I do say so myself. I moderate my diet so that I don’t outgrow my clothes. It is okay to outgrow them when you are twelve. In adulthood, it usually means you are eating too much.
Sleep is my biggest challenge. I am a natural insomniac. But I got to bed before eleven and get up around 8. No late nights; they don’t work for me at all.
My phone stays in the Off mode unless I know someone will be calling me on purpose, to set an appointment, etc. Otherwise, the machine takes the message and I reply when I get them.
I get my hair cut once a month at a generic clip and go place. I used to spend the requisite amount for an expensive fashionable cut, but the stylist was snooty and I finally left for good. Now I enjoy my silver hair and pay almost nothing to maintain it.
This whole note is about doing what works for me.
I write constantly although I have been advised to focus more on myself than on others. That is a hard thing for me to do. The words come tumbling through my fingers, not even having a chance to be thought about. I could slow down a bit. I tend to be impulsive.
By the way, I am the only way who gives a rat’s you-know-what about how I live my life. Why not do what works for me, I say. In the words of the Master, “My kingdom is not of this world.” I agree. This world is for the Kardashians apparently.