The Common Cold

At least, that’s what I’m assuming this is. If it’s not, well, sue me.  Anyway, here’s the tally so far: 2 1/2 days missed from work (fortunately, I already had my 40+ by the time I left last Friday, and I have PTO to cover Monday and Tuesday); some probably annoyed co-workers (but they are probably less annoyed than if I’d actually been there coughing and hacking and blowing and snotting); 4 days spent in bed (less fun than it sounds); no reading done because I feel too puny to concentrate; fell asleep during whatever movies I tried to watch; two boxes of Nyquil and I’m on the 4th box of Kleenex; and a really grody nose where it got all irritated by the combination of copious amounts of snot being wiped by paper tissues (and where’s the logic in wiping a snotty nose on something made out of wood anyway) that I’m treating with Vaseline so it won’t make anyone who looks at me immediately want to hurl.

I’m cranky. Sorry. But it’s better. I’ll be back to work tomorrow. I can breathe, most of the time. 

Hack! Cough! Whimper! Whine!

Yes, it’s that time of year. I went to bed Wednesday night feeling fine and I woke up Thursday morning feeling puny. It just got worse and worse, so I ended up leaving work early today (not to worry, though–I got my 40+ hours in anyway). I tried to lie down when I got home, but the dogs and the husband wanted some Faithie time, so I had to let them stick around for a while.

They’re gone, and the room is dark, and I’m fixing to take off my glasses and see if I can get some sleep. 

And speaking of glasses, I’m getting intraLASIK (I think that’s what it’s called) on March 1st. Soon, no more glasses! Woot!

Hello, it’s me. i’ve thought about us for a long long time….

Yeah. It’s been a little while. What, 6 months or so of a little while? The job continues to be insanely busy. We’re back in the house, which makes my 9-10-11 hours days intl 11-12-13 hours days. Which means I don’t get much of anything else done. But we’re hiring, so I’m hopeful that I’ll start getting some of my life back. 

I’m writing again, which is a brilliant feeling. 

I managed to see all but one of the best picture nominees for the Academy Awards. And considering I have to go either to Hulen Mall in Ft. Worth or the Magnolia in Dallas, I’m not sure I’ll catch that one. But they were all brilliant, and they all deserve the nominations. Right now I think Argo is my vote for best picture. Not that my vote counts one lick of course, but there you have it.  If they gave an award for most visually arresting movie, it would definitely go to Life of Pi. An award to a small child who carries a whole movie? I’m about to massacre her name, but Qu’venshene as Hushpuppy in Beasts of the Southern Wild was ah-maaaaaazing. Tommy Lee Jones in Lincoln. And I will shamefacedly confess to cheering when Christophe Waltz shot Leonardo diCaprio’s despicable Candie in Django Unchained. Speaking of Django, did you know the D is silent? Don’t like my lame jokes? Argo f*** yourself!!

I’m maneuvering myself back to a vegetarian mostly vegan diet, and feeling so damned much better. I was born to be vegetarian. Joe complains that it takes so long for food to get through his digestive system. Me, I eat a bowl of cabbage soup and an hour later my interior plumbing is clean and shiny. TMI, I know. Sorry. I’ll try to start blogging more frequently. Hope you’ve missed me enough that you might rejoin me on my journey back.

peace out

time goes by so slowly…..

Not really. It’s actually been flying by. That would be because the new job keeps me so damned busy that there’s scarcely 5 minutes between 7:30 a.m. and 7:00 p.m. And I was really making progress today, and wished I could have stayed another 5 hours. Not really, not unless I could have delayed coming in tomorrow morning by 2 or 3 hours.

Anyway, this is a TMI thanks for sharing not! post, so if you get easily disgusted, you might want to stop reading now. Kthxbai.

1. When Joe took her for one of her interminable daily walks today, Emmylou rolled around in poop. She had to have a bath, and thank goodness I was working late and didn’t have to help because dude, that girl HATES getting bathed. So why is it that dogs love rolling in poop, and hate getting baths? She loves to swim, but hates baths. Give her a dirty scummy pond and she’ll delightedly swim as long as you’ll let her, but  put her in the bathtub and it’s Johnny bar the door. No, really. You have to lock the door so she won’t find a way out. And when I’m home, I help by holding her down while Joe does the dirty work.

2. I have to just accept that I can’t eat at Rosa’s. Well, I could, but it would only be beans. Rosa’s is on my way home, and they make a great cheap guacamole and bean tostada. And every time I eat it I puke. Not just the “oops I ate too much for my band” puke. No, the kind of violent retching where the contents of my stomach meet the toilet with such force that it hits hard and splashes all over me, and then I have to eat 2 Gaviscon and take a shower. This is particularly bad tonight because I took my nighttime medicine BEFORE the epic bout of puking. Why is this bad, you might ask? Well, it’s bad firstly because it was really horribly bitter and nasty tasting coming back up. And it’s bad secondly because I’m out of one of them. I dawdled getting my refill request in, so I won’t be able to pick them up until tomorrow after work. This is the medicine that if I don’t take it, I don’t sleep.  Sleep is good, especially when you’re putting in 11 hour days at work.

So there’s my complainey post. I don’t post for days (weeks? I don’t know how long it’s been), and then when I post it’s all disgusting and stuff.  Sorry.  I’ll try to check in again in a few days. Hope you all have a lovely non disgusting week.

Body Revolution

I like Lady Gaga. So when I saw some photos allegedly depicting her huge weight gain (I think she looks fabulous) and then people nastily commenting on either how she’s a fat slob or else how the fact that she’s rich and famous means that she shouldn’t have any problems or at least shouldn’t be crying to her fans about them.

Well, I am with her.  I have fought with my body image for years, waging a constant battle as I ate all of my emotions and depression and everything, carrying on my body a tangible reminder of the struggles I’ve had.

And yeah, I had lap band surgery almost 2 years ago, but it didn’t automatically make me lose weight. I lost and gained just like always. The differences are that I can only eat so much at any given time, and certain foods make me throw up because they get stuck. I’ve struggled with osteoarthritis and fibromyalgia. I have a bionic knee that doesn’t always work very well. I have frequent back pain. It’s freakin’ hard to exercise because everything hurts. Joe brought my recumbent bicycle over to the apartment, and as soon as my sparty is over on Saturday, I’m going to get the incomparable Izzybella to help me bring it in from the garage. Yeah, it’s not attractive, but it’s a way I can get some low impact exercise that won’t make my back hurt more than it already does.

I try to remember that my food choices have nothing to do with whether I’m “good” or “bad”—and I put that in quotation marks because I have so frequently said “I’m bad. I ate this.” or “I’m good–I ate this or didn’t eat that.”

So tonight I’m taking care of myself. I’m sitting in the really comfy chair Joe got from Ikea today–and assembled for me. I had a good dinner (Trader Joe’s chili with a little cheese). Now I’m going to take my medicine and try to get a good night’s sleep.

As much as I love my new job–and I do–going from a straight 40-hour week to working crazy overtime whilst simultaneously learning so much I feel like my brain is melting is making me really tired.

 

Hi, body. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to be stressed. It’s okay to be hungry, and it’s okay to nurture yourself. Do what you can, push yourself a little bit, but don’t beat yourself up.  You’re pretty cool, actually. You’ve taken care of me for quite a while, and I hope we have a good long while to go. Let’s take this journey and go from a place of joy and happiness.

Love you!

Pink Pinkies

So I started my new job Monday, and I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it!!!!  I am busy from the time I get there until the time I go home, and I’m learning a lot, and it’s really great. I’m even already working a wee titch of overtime, which will be nice on the paychecks.

Yesterday I dragged myself home, turned on Sherlock on Netflix, and vegged.

I was even more exhausted at 5:00 today, so I schlepped over to the nail salon near work for a pedicure. I picked out a beautiful sky-blue nail polish and went to sit down.  Oh, man, it was bliss. The lovely woman working on my footsies adjusted the chair for me so I could lean way back; she adjusted the massage thingie to gently massage my head and neck; the water was the perfect temperature; she didn’t dig into my cuticles; she gave me a sugar scrub followed by a hot oil massage followed by a lotion massage followed by hot towels. It was loverly.  And when I woke up and looked at my toes, they were, um, well, not blue.

Not one teensy tinge of blue.

They’re bright, neon pink, the colour that looks beautiful on slim suntanned young teens. Not quite what I was going for, but I was not about to complain because I felt so completely pampered.

So I thanked her profusely, tipped her well, and my pink toenails and I are home, and I’m about to watch an episode from Season 2 of Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch? Sex-ay!) and then sack out.

Hope you all are doing well!

Dear Mr. Romney

This:

“There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you name it. That that’s an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what,” Romney said.

Romney added: “My job is is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives. What I have to do is convince the 5-10 percent of people who are independents, that are thoughtful, that look at voting one way or the other depending upon, in some cases, emotion, whether they like the guy or not.”

I am voting for President Obama. I used to be a die-hard Republican. Then I started thinking for myself. I can’t say that I identify with either of the two major parties, as I see defects in both. But I am also realistic enough to know that, at least at this time, I have to choose one of the other.

I’ve never been on welfare. Never had public assistance of any kind. I’ve worked my way through life, through university. I pay my taxes. I was fortunate enough to not have to take out student loans, but it’s not because I had parents who were able to pay my way nor because I got grants (which, by the way, I totally support). I got laid off one job, and one of their benefits was that they would pay for either a year of college studies or for me to work with a head-hunter. I chose to go to school, where I got good grades and joined an honour society. Later on, I finished up my bachelor’s degree while working full-time and dealing with a serious medical condition; since I worked at the university, I got a break on fees, and since I had good grades and was in honour societies, I managed to get scholarships. During the times in my adult life where I was not working a paying job, because my husband and I were able, for those brief times, to maintain a very modest living on his income, I did volunteer work for the LDS church, as I know you have all of your life.  I’m one of the fortunate people–even though I may never have the kind of money the 1% have. I’ve always had food to eat, clothes to wear, a roof over my head.

I used to work for Child Protective Services. During my too-brief tenure there, my clients were in that 47% you’re talking about. There were single parents doing their dead-level best to provide for their children while working minimum-wage jobs that did not provide enough of an income for them to not need public assistance. So tell me, really, who you expect them to vote for? Someone who understands there is a genuine need, or someone who dismisses them as feeling entitled. Trust me, Mr. Romney, they would have done anything to take care of their families. If they were making enough money to live on, they wouldn’t have taken one dime from the government or any other form of assistance. They did what they had to in order to survive.

I won’t deny that I also had some cases with families who absolutely felt entitled to whatever the government would give them. But they were by far the minority.

So please–before you dismiss that 47% as feeling entitled to whatever the government will hand out, please take some time to find out what their real concerns and issues are. Because I can guarantee you, a single mother making minimum wage is barely able to feed and shelter her child, and if supporting Obamacare will provide medical care for her small family, damn straight she’s going to vote for his reelection. If the Democrat party supports raising minimum wage, damn straight she’ll support that party.

I’ve been seeing various stories and emails about how you’re compassionate and thrifty. With all due respect, being thrifty at your income level is completely different from being thrifty when you’re way below the poverty line, and not for lack of effort or desire. If you want to win those people over, show them that you care about their plight. Show them that you realise that they are struggling, no matter how hard they’re working. Shouldn’t they have a right to have shelter, food, clothing, medical care?

Okay. Gotta stop. I’m getting a little overheated here.

For the record: Yes, I am supporting President Obama. I will vote for him in November. Mr. Romney may be a likeable enough person, but I don’t like his politics.

Self Acceptance & Personal Growth

Yesterday I had to stop at the pharmacy after work to pick up a prescription. While I was waiting in line to pay, I saw a magazine proudly emblazoned with, “1000 ways to dress thinner!” I didn’t look at it, didn’t buy it. And just now in my email, I got an email about 10 ways to dress thinner.

I have decided that instead of worrying about how to dress thinner, I’m going to dress in a way that is flattering (in my own eyes), comfortable, cute, makes me happy. I don’t think it’s a crime to be heavy. I read an article last week about a woman who is a plus size model. Guess what size she wears. 16? 18? 24? Nope. This relatively sylphic beautiful woman wears a size 12. Since when is 12 a plus size?  I don’t want to know. I just want to like what I see when I look in the mirror. Like today. My hair refused to cooperate, so I’ve got cowlicks sticking out all over. I plopped on a thin black headband with a black fabric flower and a gaudy clear stone. I’m wearing a dark grey shirt with asymmetrical buttons on the upper left shoulder. I’m wearing a light grey scarf with dark grey peace signs imprinted on it. I’m wearing jeggings and black flats. I’m wearing the hyalite opal necklace I’ve been wearing nonstop for the last month or so. And when I look in the mirror, instead of focusing on my fat, I’m focusing on the whole picture. And today I look cute, and I’m happy about that.

Moving on to self growth: Today’s assignment for Mondo Beyondo was to think of a person I admired, and write down the qualities I like in that person. Then select another person and perform the same exercise. From that, pull out 5 or 6 qualities that are the most meaningful to me. And then expand on those. Afterward, I was to share them with at least one friend in my every day life and ask zir to give me examples of how they see these values in operation already, and remind me of ways I’ve been longing to see these values develop and grow.

So here’s my list, and if you feel like leaving comments, I absolutely welcome them!

TRUE TO MYSELF

• Don’t change anything about myself solely because someone else is critical of it
• Question why or how I do things–is it through authenticity or because I’m trying to fit in somehow?

OPEN TO LEARNING

• Travel
• Blogging/journaling/personal study
• Reading whatever I find interesting
• Discovering new blogs/authors/etc

ARTISTIC

• Writing
• Collages/photography/oil pastels/chalks
• Guerilla art

HUMANITARIAN

• Give generously to causes I believe in
• Give locally as well as globally
• Get involved in more ways than just making cash donations
• Amnesty International; Cystic Fibrosis Foundation; charity:water

SPIRITUALLY IN TUNE

• Meditation
• Prayer
• Finding my personal guides
• Chakra balancing
• Journaling
• Morning pages

HEALTH

• Learn to eat from hunger, not from emotional need
• Find ways to be active that are fun (and do-able, considering my physical limitations)
• Massages/chiro for back pain
• Get to a healthy weight (below 200 pounds)
• Get cholesterol to healthy level
• Find things to do besides the routine of going to work and going home and being lazy

My Heart’s Desires

For Solstice last winter, Jehara gave me and Izzybella a gift certificate for Mondo Beyondo, “an online class about DREAMING BIG.”  This week is zero week. We’re getting inspiring emails, and are being encouraged to start dreaming.

I dream big, but I am really good at finding reasons why I cannot do what I dream of. I was just talking with a co-worker about it, asking her what she would do today if someone came to her and said, “Today you can do anything you want to want to. No limits.” At first she said she wanted to take an entire day to herself, spa, getting her nails and pedicure done, facial, hair, massage, etc. So I told her to make an appointment and do it.  Then she changed her mind and said she wanted to spend 3 weeks in Paris and be able to spend as much money as she wanted, no limits. I told her to write it down, put it out there, and be open to it.

Easy for me to say. It’s something I periodically struggle with. I see all the limitations, all the reasons why I can’t do something, and believe them. So in the spirit of DREAMING BIG and just putting my ideas out there, here’s my first list:

• I want to be an artist of some type. Maybe mixed media? Not sure.  I used to try photography, but didn’t have the equipment to be able to take the photograph that was in my mind’s eye. So I will need a good camera.  But I also love doing collages and working with pastels.
•  I want to travel to Europe, Africa, Australia. I want to go on a U.S. History tour that I create for myself and my travel companions.
•  I want us (Izzybella and me) to finish writing and publish our books.
•  I want us (Izzybella and me) to write “Our Bleeping Town” so Vanessa can put it on
•  I want to be a size 10 and be able to shop at H&M.  I want to be in charge of what I put in my mouth, rather than letting food be in charge of me. I want to be able to find some forms of physical activity that I enjoy and that will help me be strong and healthy.
•  I want to make and sell chakra baskets and zen boxes and make a profit.
•  I want to be able to work from home doing said writing, chakra baskets, and zen boxes.
•  I want to become a certified Reiki master.
•  I want to be a licensed massage therapist.  I don’t want to work for a salon—I’d do it by making house calls or having people come to my home.
•  I want to heal people, through massage, reiki, chakra balancing, etc.   I know how important the human touch is just because I get it so seldom. If I can help others through the power of touch, I want to do that.

So there are today’s dreams. I’m going to believe that I can make them happen. I’m going to ignore all the little voices in my head telling me why I cannot possibly achieve them, and I’m going to open myself to possibilities.

What are your dreams? What would you do if someone gave you a day, and said there are no limitations?

My Legitimate Rape

There were two incidents. The first was actually an attempted rape. I was 14, I think. We lived in Georgia and were preparing to move to Texas. My parents were both in the Navy Reserves and were in Atlanta for the weekend. My friends in the neighbourhood were dropping over frequently to commiserate with me over having to leave when the cute boy I was crushing on had finally started noticing me (my skin was the wrong colour–he preferred black girls, and no one at school could understand it or at least would admit to understanding it). The woman who was staying with us for the weekend was very ditzy. I was in my parents’ bedroom, changing the sheets on the bed, when one of my friends arrived. He came into the bedroom and was chatting me up. I don’t remember how it happened, but suddenly I was on my back on the bed and he was on top of me, pressing his lips hardly against mine, pressing his body against mine, attempting to pry open my legs. I remember finally getting the strength to shove him off, and ordered him to leave. He was ashamed. He let his emotions for me take over, and lost me as a friend because of it. My mother was a police officer, and I knew to call the cops. They came, and smirked at me because I was wearing a tank top and short shorts (please–it was in the 70′s), like they thought I was asking for it. After they left, I took a shower and scrubbed every inch of my body until it hurt. The case did go to trial, and if I recall correctly he was given community service. I could never look at him again. Even seeing him in the courtroom was painful. How had my friend turned into a predator?

My legitimate rape, where my rapist succeeded, got me when I was drunk. I might have even been high–I think I smoked pot definitely once, perhaps twice. I was 19, living on my own. I was lonely, scared, needy. He was a new neighbour–his family had just moved in next door and I, trying to be a friendly neighbour, took over a cake or some cookies or something to welcome them to the apartments. A few days later, when I was either drunk and/or high, he came over and started kissing me. I wasn’t prepared to have sex with him or anybody else, but he forced me, and I did not have control over my body. He was on top of me, there was a sharp pain, and he got dressed and left. I was just laying there, wondering what the hell had just happened, seeing the blood stain on my comforter. He took my virginity when he raped me.  I didn’t get pregnant, but it’s not because it was or wasn’t a legitimate rape. It was a rape. He hurt me. I couldn’t consent. I couldn’t fight against him. I don’t even remember his name, or what he looked like. I just remember that he hurt me.

Another man at that same apartment complex tried to rape me. Fortunately that night I hadn’t smoked any pot, and I don’t know if I’d even had any alcohol. It was the night before I was moving to live with my mother in another part of the state, and I’d asked if I could stay at their apartment that night. They were going to help me load my trailer in the morning. So I was on the sofa, almost asleep, when I felt a hand on my breast. I screamed, got up, grabbed my shoes and ran to my apartment and bolted the door. That man sat outside my door, knocking for literally two or three hours before he finally gave up and left. I couldn’t call the police because I didn’t have a phone. At 3 a.m., I threw whatever I could move by myself into the trailer, and abandoned everything else and left at 4 a.m. I didn’t trust him or anyone else at that point.

When people try to say that a situation wasn’t rape, or that it wasn’t legitimate, it’s like being raped again. Eve Ensler wrote a brilliant article on that issue in Huff Post (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eve-ensler/todd-akin-rape_b_1812930.html). Take a few minutes and read that. Sadly, the men and women who share opinions comparable to Mr. Akins probably will never read it, never understand why the things they are saying and doing are so terrible. I hope that they never have to deal with it in their own lives and families, but I do hope that somewhere along their journey they are able to develop compassion and understanding.