And I'm not talking about the biblical kind. I'm talking about the loser-y kind. I just feel lame. You ever had that day, where you just sit and look at yourself and say "Well, is this it? Is this the best I've got? What did I accomplish today? A whole bunch of nothin', that's what." I feel like that today.
I think one reason is that more and more, I'm becoming less excited about my "big" 30th birthday party, and more apathetic. The reason is because very few people - not counting family- are coming, or at least have RSVP'd to come. I know, I know, - it's Christmas. It's unfair to ask people to choose between me and family or me and religious worship or me and an office party that was planned 6 months ago. I get it. And, normally, I understand. I've had to for 30 years. I never got to have cupcakes brought to school to celebrate my birthday because we were never at school for my birthday. I never could have a party on my birthday because- well, it's a major holiday. And you'd think I'd be used to it by now. But I'm not. I think what's the most depressing, if not hurtful, part is that of all of the people that I've invited only 9 have said, "Yep, I'll be there no matter what!" And 5 of those are family members (and husband). There are a dozen or so "Maybe"s, and some other amount of "Not attending". There's an ungodly amount in the "Not Responded" category, which hurts almost more than the not attending. At least with the not attending, I know how you feel or what you're doing up front. "Not Responded" just tells me "I'll get to it later." Of course, how shitty would I feel if, after writing this whole blog, weeks later some awesome surprise party is thrown for me. I'd have to write an apology blog. But what if there's not a surprise party? What if 9 people is all that really comes & instead of my super fun 80's/90's party that I've always dreamed of (lame, I told you), we end up eating mexican, getting some beers, opening some small gifts, and then hugging good bye? I guess it wouldn't be so bad because, really, it's about the people who DO show, and the fact that they are there for YOU. And I realize that I should stop bitching and be thankful and appreciative for the friends and family who want to celebrate my birthday with me even though they could be doing other holiday type things. For those people, I am grateful. And for anyone reading who's been invited and truly can't come, please know that, despite what this blog might sound like as you read it, I truly do understand and it's ok with me. This blog is for those people who say they're my friends, but aren't really willing to put into it for me.
I'm almost embarrassed by the selfishness and seeming arrogance of this post, but you know what? I'm sooo tired of giving to and caring for people, and getting jack shit in return. It sucks. But I keep doing it because, .....well, it's just who I am. I am a nice person, I do genuinely care about people. Besides, it's the right thing to do, even if it means you get stepped on sometimes. So, even though I might sound bratty and whiny right now, I'm not going to quit being nice and helpful to others even if they aren't the same to me. I suppose it's the TurnTheOtherCheek disease in me.
Well, I've got early Christmas presents to go buy. Please don't think I'm a hateful, selfish, conceited brat. I'm just letting off steam. :)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
I've lost 5 lbs., but not by exercise.
Sunday morning I woke up with this dry, sore spot in the back of my throat. It wasn't painful, just annoying. Keep the fluids in, blow my nose really well before bed time (to cut off that relentless "post nasal drip" at the pass) and it'll pass. But then I couldn't sleep Sunday night. I finally drifted off at about midnight or so, and had to drag myself out of bed at 5 am. Except now, that little spot that hurt on Sunday was a very painful area that covered at least half of my throat. But I was determined to keep going. So I showered up, put make up on, and was forcing myself to down a glass of pomengranet/blueberry juice when I just realized "This hurts, A LOT. And I'm taking a sick day, and I won't feel bad about it." So I did. Typed up my sub plans & emailed them to my fifth grade teacher neighbor & begged for her help. Actually, I really didn't have to beg as I had to cover her ass for 2 weeks last year when she had a horrendous case of the flu, and then again when her father died. At any rate, typed them up, washed the make up off, and crawled back into bed.
Later that morning when I got up, I realized that I was in a lot of pain. But I was still able to work on some school work that I had put off, so I got that done. Matty & I took the recycling down the dump bins & then I went into BiLo to buy some cough drops. That's got to help, I'm thinking. A little zinc, a little echinacea, I'll be back on my feet.
Tuesday morning- technically I woke up at 3 am with searing pain in my entire throat, and what felt like softballs resting in the back of my mouth. It's what I liken to having someone take sandpaper to the raw tissue of your throat. It was so swollen, and hurt so bad, I would literally spit my normal saliva out rather than have to swallow. In fact, when I did swallow, I would brace myself, and grip the sheets as if I were in labor. I'm not trying to be dramatic here. This is as accurate as I can describe it. Managed to wrangle a doctor's appointment in Simpsonville, which led to two strep tests (aka - "How many times will Heather gag when you shove that Q-tip down her throat?") The first came back negative (of course), so they had to do a "strep culture" test which I can only assume tests for the possibility of strep. At this point, I couldn't have cared less what I had. "Mrs. Waters, we think you have the Ebola virus." "Fine, whatever, give me drugs NOW." I left not really knowing what I had but in my hand I carried a prescription for what shall now be known as "Magic Mouthwash".
Magic Mouthwash has to be created by the pharmacist. They could put mop water & crack-cocaine in it for all I cared. All I know is that the first time I took it, a warm,numbing sensation ran down my throat & I was finally able to eat & drink. So Matty cooked me up some scrambled eggs, cheese & grits. I sat at the table & gingerly at a few spoonfuls. I wasn't feeling quite right, but then again, I realized I hadn't really eaten or drank anything all day. Ate a few more spoonfuls, then went to the restroom. Feeling slightly better, I'm "cleaning up" when Matthew calls , "Hey honey, have you drunk from my waterbottle since you've been sick?" And I would have answered him, but OUT OF FREAKIN' NOWHERE I threw myself over the edge of the tub where I vomitted everything I had eaten. Violently. It sort of scared me. I mean, I haven't thrown up in years. But, after about 5 or 6 minutes of that, I felt better. Well, at least well enough to lay back down on the couch & sleep for 2 more hours. ( I felt so bad for the grits & eggs that Matty made me I covered them with saran wrap so I could try to eat them another day)
Wednesday- mucho, mucho better. The swelling is down, the amoxicillin seems to be working, and I've only had to use the mouthwash once today. I actually got up and accomplished some stuff today. Swept the sunroom, picked up my sheets & blankets & piles of laundry I'd left from disrobing wherever I stood. Did the dishes & cleaned off the table. I've made the bold assertion that I will be back to school tomorrow. I've been out since Monday. Three days - that's the longest I've ever missed school. And you know - I actually want to go back. Hopefully, this is the downward slope of whatever third world disease I've picked up. In fact, it's time for that second dose of meds.....
Later that morning when I got up, I realized that I was in a lot of pain. But I was still able to work on some school work that I had put off, so I got that done. Matty & I took the recycling down the dump bins & then I went into BiLo to buy some cough drops. That's got to help, I'm thinking. A little zinc, a little echinacea, I'll be back on my feet.
Tuesday morning- technically I woke up at 3 am with searing pain in my entire throat, and what felt like softballs resting in the back of my mouth. It's what I liken to having someone take sandpaper to the raw tissue of your throat. It was so swollen, and hurt so bad, I would literally spit my normal saliva out rather than have to swallow. In fact, when I did swallow, I would brace myself, and grip the sheets as if I were in labor. I'm not trying to be dramatic here. This is as accurate as I can describe it. Managed to wrangle a doctor's appointment in Simpsonville, which led to two strep tests (aka - "How many times will Heather gag when you shove that Q-tip down her throat?") The first came back negative (of course), so they had to do a "strep culture" test which I can only assume tests for the possibility of strep. At this point, I couldn't have cared less what I had. "Mrs. Waters, we think you have the Ebola virus." "Fine, whatever, give me drugs NOW." I left not really knowing what I had but in my hand I carried a prescription for what shall now be known as "Magic Mouthwash".
Magic Mouthwash has to be created by the pharmacist. They could put mop water & crack-cocaine in it for all I cared. All I know is that the first time I took it, a warm,numbing sensation ran down my throat & I was finally able to eat & drink. So Matty cooked me up some scrambled eggs, cheese & grits. I sat at the table & gingerly at a few spoonfuls. I wasn't feeling quite right, but then again, I realized I hadn't really eaten or drank anything all day. Ate a few more spoonfuls, then went to the restroom. Feeling slightly better, I'm "cleaning up" when Matthew calls , "Hey honey, have you drunk from my waterbottle since you've been sick?" And I would have answered him, but OUT OF FREAKIN' NOWHERE I threw myself over the edge of the tub where I vomitted everything I had eaten. Violently. It sort of scared me. I mean, I haven't thrown up in years. But, after about 5 or 6 minutes of that, I felt better. Well, at least well enough to lay back down on the couch & sleep for 2 more hours. ( I felt so bad for the grits & eggs that Matty made me I covered them with saran wrap so I could try to eat them another day)
Wednesday- mucho, mucho better. The swelling is down, the amoxicillin seems to be working, and I've only had to use the mouthwash once today. I actually got up and accomplished some stuff today. Swept the sunroom, picked up my sheets & blankets & piles of laundry I'd left from disrobing wherever I stood. Did the dishes & cleaned off the table. I've made the bold assertion that I will be back to school tomorrow. I've been out since Monday. Three days - that's the longest I've ever missed school. And you know - I actually want to go back. Hopefully, this is the downward slope of whatever third world disease I've picked up. In fact, it's time for that second dose of meds.....
Monday, October 20, 2008
What's the saying about horses & falling off & stuff?
Last week was a bust - gym wise. I forget why I didn't go Monday, but I'm sure it was for no good reason. Tuesday & Wednesday the in-laws were visiting, and it would be rude to go to the gym after a long day of work. Thursday -well, I was tired & figured if I hadn't gone the other three days, what good would there be in one day's attendance. Friday-date night. Saturday morning yoga was skipped in order to attend the Farmer's Market with mi madre (and a side order of Dunkin' Donuts wheat bagel & cream cheese). Sunday afternoon yoga was ALSO skipped in order to complete school work, and to grab a wee afternoon nap. In conclusion - I pretty much just took up space & used oxygen last week.
But that was last week, and this is a new week. I'm all about new beginnings, and today was no exception. So this afternoon, at approximately 4:20, I tore out of the school parking lot & headed to the gym to meet my nemesis, elliptical machine. However, my allergy to kryptonite was acting up & I opted for the less brutal treadmill. I still managed to hoof it at about 20 minutes & made 1.58 miles. Not too bad for one doing exercise pennance. Tomorrow night will reunite me with my old friend, Pilates. Oh, leg circles. How I despise you........
But that was last week, and this is a new week. I'm all about new beginnings, and today was no exception. So this afternoon, at approximately 4:20, I tore out of the school parking lot & headed to the gym to meet my nemesis, elliptical machine. However, my allergy to kryptonite was acting up & I opted for the less brutal treadmill. I still managed to hoof it at about 20 minutes & made 1.58 miles. Not too bad for one doing exercise pennance. Tomorrow night will reunite me with my old friend, Pilates. Oh, leg circles. How I despise you........
Monday, October 13, 2008
The wind beneath my wings, ...well, sort of.
I'm a pretty selfish person, and I say that with no amount of pride. In some ways, I feel stunted in the fact that - when it's all said and done- I'm thinking about whether things worked out the way I wanted them to or not. I'm selfish about a lot of things : my food (quit eating off of my plate & begging me for more! Quit taking the biggest, best piece of pizza/cobbler/chicken/etc ! Quit asking for a taste of whatever it is I'm eating!), my sleep (Quit getting me off schedule just because you want/don't want to do something) my music (I love that song and I don't care if I have the CD - I want to listen to it now). I swear, in my own head sometimes, I sound just like Veruca Salt from "Charlie & the Chocolate Factory".
I don't mean to be selfish. And though it doesn't sound like it, in regards to other people, I am very generous. At least I like to think I am. I try to remain considerate of others' needs, wants, abilities, personalities. I cry (literally) for the homeless, be they people or animals (one of the reasons why I cannot watch "Animal Cops" shows ; they just tear me up). I love my students and coworkers, family & friends, and most people in general. I want to help others, in any way I can. It makes me feel good to make others feel good. Which is why I recently decided to allow a practicum student into my classroom in upcoming weeks. I mentioned the fact that I am a selfish person because, truthfully, I don't want anyone disrupting my routine. It's not like I expect her to come in my room, sit in the back and start shooting spitballs or something. I know she's there to learn. Why, just a mere 8 -10 years ago- that was me. And I appreciated the fact that teachers would change their daily schedules & lesson plans to allow me access to their room where I would try to "teach" a lesson. But, I just don't want someone - ANYONE- in my room with my kids when I'm teaching. I'm thinking "Leave us alone, please!" But that's wrong. My room should be open to all. By the way, Jim Rex (State Superintendent of Ed) will be visiting our school this month - WOW! And even though it would be neat to have that kind of a big-wig in my room, at the same time I'm thinking, "Quit coming in to see everything I'm doing - we all know you're going to forget me as soon as you close the door".
It's ridiculous, I know. I know. I mean, I don't want to paint the picture that I'm an anti-social psychotic teaching nut. I really don't mind if anyone is observing or visiting in my room. I would just rather they didn't. I don't even like sharing my class with the other teachers. That's crazy!! I should welcome it! But deep down - waaaaaaayyyyy down- I don't. Maybe I'm slightly OCD, and it rocks my world to have to change things up so often. I am , afterall, a creature of habit. I love & thrive in routine. And to break this nasty habit of same-old/same-old, I am opting to have a practicum student in my room. She's going to observe a few lessons, and she has to teach 2 science lessons (luckily, that's Sandy's room). But I need this. It's time I gave back to all of those who opened their doors for some stupid doe-eyed Lander practicum student who didn't know what in the hell she was doing. You know what will happen? The day she comes to observe will be the day I get observed by the principal (who knows- maybe the State SuperI, too!)
So, I end this post with a pledge: I shall do my best to let go of the thought that my classroom is only MY classroom, and open it to those who want only to learn, to be taught, or to point out all of the things I did wrong.
(Let's be honest- what are teacher/admin observations for?)
I don't mean to be selfish. And though it doesn't sound like it, in regards to other people, I am very generous. At least I like to think I am. I try to remain considerate of others' needs, wants, abilities, personalities. I cry (literally) for the homeless, be they people or animals (one of the reasons why I cannot watch "Animal Cops" shows ; they just tear me up). I love my students and coworkers, family & friends, and most people in general. I want to help others, in any way I can. It makes me feel good to make others feel good. Which is why I recently decided to allow a practicum student into my classroom in upcoming weeks. I mentioned the fact that I am a selfish person because, truthfully, I don't want anyone disrupting my routine. It's not like I expect her to come in my room, sit in the back and start shooting spitballs or something. I know she's there to learn. Why, just a mere 8 -10 years ago- that was me. And I appreciated the fact that teachers would change their daily schedules & lesson plans to allow me access to their room where I would try to "teach" a lesson. But, I just don't want someone - ANYONE- in my room with my kids when I'm teaching. I'm thinking "Leave us alone, please!" But that's wrong. My room should be open to all. By the way, Jim Rex (State Superintendent of Ed) will be visiting our school this month - WOW! And even though it would be neat to have that kind of a big-wig in my room, at the same time I'm thinking, "Quit coming in to see everything I'm doing - we all know you're going to forget me as soon as you close the door".
It's ridiculous, I know. I know. I mean, I don't want to paint the picture that I'm an anti-social psychotic teaching nut. I really don't mind if anyone is observing or visiting in my room. I would just rather they didn't. I don't even like sharing my class with the other teachers. That's crazy!! I should welcome it! But deep down - waaaaaaayyyyy down- I don't. Maybe I'm slightly OCD, and it rocks my world to have to change things up so often. I am , afterall, a creature of habit. I love & thrive in routine. And to break this nasty habit of same-old/same-old, I am opting to have a practicum student in my room. She's going to observe a few lessons, and she has to teach 2 science lessons (luckily, that's Sandy's room). But I need this. It's time I gave back to all of those who opened their doors for some stupid doe-eyed Lander practicum student who didn't know what in the hell she was doing. You know what will happen? The day she comes to observe will be the day I get observed by the principal (who knows- maybe the State SuperI, too!)
So, I end this post with a pledge: I shall do my best to let go of the thought that my classroom is only MY classroom, and open it to those who want only to learn, to be taught, or to point out all of the things I did wrong.
(Let's be honest- what are teacher/admin observations for?)
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Hit the gym: Fo' Shizz!
Wednesday. I made it! Woo-Hoo! And I did it again- I just got on that fargin' elliptical, cranked up my MP3, and checked out into HeatherLand. I did it for 30 minutes at a pretty good, aerobic pace. The first 15 were ok, but for some reason, the next 10 took FOREVER. And it was only for 30 minutes! But, I made myself do the entire thirty. I didn't skimp out at minute 27 or 28. Right at 30:03, I stopped the machine, and walked down stairs where I walked the track two times to cool off. Then I went to the mat & did some really good yoga stretches on my legs. Every time I do it, I forget how good it feels to stretch. Some poses, like Pigeon and Double Pigeon, feel soooooo good on those outer thighs. It's such a release! Anyway, I just wanted to let you know - for the record- that I did officially hit my 3rd day at the gym this week. I don't know about you, but at this blog, we celebrate the little victories as much as the big ones. WOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Hit the gym: check
Last week I made it to the gym a total of 2x. Monday and Tuesday. I was good, too. I did cardio for about 40 minutes on Monday, and then anything I could possibly remember from Pilates class for another 40 minutes on Tuesday. Wednesday I didn't go, because I wanted to rest & I had a crap-ton of school work to do. Thursday I didn't go because I forgot my stinkin' bag at home, and it would have taken an extra twenty to thirty minutes to run home & get it and THEN go to the gym, so I just went home instead. Friday I took my brother & his girlfriend to see Jim Gaffigan at Clemson. FUNNY!! Saturday was yoga in the a.m., followed by Sunday with yoga in the p.m. All of that to say, that today I hit the gym again. Second Monday in a row. I'm feeling pumped, and I will feel free to celebrate the small victory of two consecutive weeks of gym attendance. I plan on going to Pilates tomorrow night, following a luscious "brinner" dinner of whole wheat pancakes & scrambled egg product. Wednesday will be the big day- the THIRD day in a row. The deciding factor: will this be a week of promise or a week of failed dreams?? I'm gonna do it- it's gonna happen!!!!
There's all sorts of different information out there about exercise & nutrition & BMI and what not. I'm just gonna shoot for a goal of 30 -40 minutes of "working out" a week. They may be cardio, it may be Pilates, it may be walking/running intervals. Who knows? I have to change it up though, or else I'll go bored out of my skull. Then I won't come back until an additional 7 pounds has crept up. And if I don't have my MP3 player? Forget it. I'll just go home & take a short walk after dinner. I don't know about anyone else, but I've got to have my music. It keeps me motivated, and I'm just OCD enough to try to match my walk/run/ breathing pattern with the rhythm of the music.
But there is something I have discovered: I have endurance. What kind of endurance, I don't know. I was on the dreaded elliptical (I hate it because it never fails to make my feet feel hot & cramped) and was really going. Maybe 67 rotations per minute. Really hoppin'. And I was watching news channel 4 and concentrating on reading the closed captioning and keeping my breathing pattern the same......and it hit me. I had been doing this for almost fifteen minutes, and it didn't feel like it. I felt like I could have kept going at that pace forever. I had found a rhythm and a "zone", for lack of a better word. And I just kept going. Then, my goal turned into "keep this rhythm up until it's time to go". And I did! Well, for the most part. I did wimp out at the last 6 minutes, but really it was because my feet were hot, and my chest was hurting (never mind I was convinced I was on the verge of a heart attack. That's an anxiety-disorder, for you!) But I did it, and it made me feel good in the discovery that I could make my body do something while my brain checks out. Not completely, of course, since a large part of what I'm doing is for my mental wellbeing. I hope to not only lose weight, but also find a way to replace my anxiety medication w/ regular exercise, as much as possible. But I could give my body a job, find a rhythm it could work with and concentrate on, and then......fly off anywhere in my mind. It was enlightening, to say the least!
So, for any gym rats out there, keep it up. I'm sweating along with you, and hating it as much. Just pony up on that treadmill, look those step machines in the eye, and think..... "Semper Fi"
Oooh - Ra!! (as they say in the Marines)
There's all sorts of different information out there about exercise & nutrition & BMI and what not. I'm just gonna shoot for a goal of 30 -40 minutes of "working out" a week. They may be cardio, it may be Pilates, it may be walking/running intervals. Who knows? I have to change it up though, or else I'll go bored out of my skull. Then I won't come back until an additional 7 pounds has crept up. And if I don't have my MP3 player? Forget it. I'll just go home & take a short walk after dinner. I don't know about anyone else, but I've got to have my music. It keeps me motivated, and I'm just OCD enough to try to match my walk/run/ breathing pattern with the rhythm of the music.
But there is something I have discovered: I have endurance. What kind of endurance, I don't know. I was on the dreaded elliptical (I hate it because it never fails to make my feet feel hot & cramped) and was really going. Maybe 67 rotations per minute. Really hoppin'. And I was watching news channel 4 and concentrating on reading the closed captioning and keeping my breathing pattern the same......and it hit me. I had been doing this for almost fifteen minutes, and it didn't feel like it. I felt like I could have kept going at that pace forever. I had found a rhythm and a "zone", for lack of a better word. And I just kept going. Then, my goal turned into "keep this rhythm up until it's time to go". And I did! Well, for the most part. I did wimp out at the last 6 minutes, but really it was because my feet were hot, and my chest was hurting (never mind I was convinced I was on the verge of a heart attack. That's an anxiety-disorder, for you!) But I did it, and it made me feel good in the discovery that I could make my body do something while my brain checks out. Not completely, of course, since a large part of what I'm doing is for my mental wellbeing. I hope to not only lose weight, but also find a way to replace my anxiety medication w/ regular exercise, as much as possible. But I could give my body a job, find a rhythm it could work with and concentrate on, and then......fly off anywhere in my mind. It was enlightening, to say the least!
So, for any gym rats out there, keep it up. I'm sweating along with you, and hating it as much. Just pony up on that treadmill, look those step machines in the eye, and think..... "Semper Fi"
Oooh - Ra!! (as they say in the Marines)
Thursday, October 2, 2008
I think, therefore I procrastinate
I had all these good intentions: I was going to get all of my lesson plans done so I could just enjoy my weekend with no paperwork. And then, I got home. And I sat down. And the Hubs and me laid on the bed and chitchatted for a bit. And the more I sat/laid down, the more it became apparent that I just wasn't going to work. At all. It's going to sit there until Sunday, MAYBE Saturday while Matt works. It will sit there, and I will do it when I feel the pressure on me, which is when I do my best work.
Besides, it's just a bunch of BS anyway. I have to have this gay crap like "intro", "materials","& "closing" in each lesson plan. (P.S- my lesbian friend told me it was ok to describe things as gay if, and I quote, "if they're queer, then they're queer. What's the big deal?") I mean, I literally have to write/say in my intro "Today we will...." and then in my closing I have to use the "today we/tomorrow we will" format. For example: "Today we learned how homesteaders used the environment to help them survive. Tomorrow, we will learn about another type of homesteader called an exoduster." Whatever. I really, really wish people would just leave me alone & let me teach. Which, according to many people (and I include some teachers in this) is something I should NOT want. My old principal asked us in a grade level meeting one time, "Do you need my help or do you want me to just leave you alone and let you teach?" I really did almost say "yes!". Somehow, though, that response is wrong. I guess I'm supposed to want help, want collaboration, want input, want "constructive criticism". But I don't. I'm not saying I don't want to work or collaborate with my coworkers or even my admin. For the most part, I enjoy working with them and getting input. But at the end of the day (or, actually, the beginning) I really want to take everything I've gleaned from everyone, shut my classroom door, and do my job w/out anyone else bothering me. And if that's wrong of me, then fine. I'm wrong.
As a side note, I am currently in the process of losing weight, or rather, trying to lose weight. Within the past year I have developed a touch of hypothyroidism (in a nutshell, my 'roid isn't keeping up with its duties, per se), and I started my lifelong regimen of thyroid medication. That being said, before I found out about this underproductive part of my body, I was constantly tired, constantly hungry, and constantly gaining weight. And of course, its all in the lower belly/waist/ ass/ thigh region. Why, oh, why could it have not accumulated at my boobs? At any rate, it's there and mocking me on a daily basis. "Psst! Remember when you were in high school and you only weighed 110? You'll never see those days again! Oops! Another pocket of cellulite! And how about - for shits and giggles- we add a good 7 pounds around your waist so all of those new pants you just bought feel like garote wire, all the while making you look 5 months pregnant?!" It's horrible to feel this way because A) I've always been petite and this just reminds me on a daily basis that my body is rejecting everything that ever reminded it of youthfulness, and B) I feel guilty for feeling bad about feeling like I'm overweight. Confusing? I feel bad about feeling like I've gained weight (which is a scientific fact- I HAVE gained weight) because I feel like I don't have the right to feel bad. According to other people, I look the same, so why should I complain, right? I have to live with this body. I have to feel the rolls that are growing at my sides and hips, even if you don't think they're there. They are. I have to shimmy into the pants (that just fit last week ) on the bed, and deal with not being able to breathe when I bend over. I have to feel that nasty 4 inch roll of skin and whatnot that overhangs my pants line every day. I have to look down and see my gut consistently poking out, only to suck it back in and much as I can and tell myself "It's an ab workout." I have to remind myself that every woman on the planet, even the ones on the cover of "US Weekly" have cellulite, and if they don't it's only because they paid someone to remove it. Why am I obsessed? I wish I knew.
So I will have to be much more consistent in my gym attendance, as well as my snacking/cravings. I snack all the time, and never realize it. And I'm ravenous in the mornings and evenings, which causes me to eat like I haven't in weeks. Slowly but surely, I'm working on it, and trying to achieve small goals. This first small goal: hit the gym no less than 3x a week - and yoga doesn't count. I mean it does, but not towards this. After that goal, I'll work myself up into a goal dealing w/ my actual workout program. My final goal is my reward: if I lose about 8-10 pounds, and have developed exercise & eating habits that I can acceptably & reasonably live with..... I will get a tatoo. It's true. I'm going to get a peacock feather. I figure all the time I'm going to spend running/ lifting/ walking/ ab-bing this work off will give me a chance to figure out where it's going to go.......
Besides, it's just a bunch of BS anyway. I have to have this gay crap like "intro", "materials","& "closing" in each lesson plan. (P.S- my lesbian friend told me it was ok to describe things as gay if, and I quote, "if they're queer, then they're queer. What's the big deal?") I mean, I literally have to write/say in my intro "Today we will...." and then in my closing I have to use the "today we/tomorrow we will" format. For example: "Today we learned how homesteaders used the environment to help them survive. Tomorrow, we will learn about another type of homesteader called an exoduster." Whatever. I really, really wish people would just leave me alone & let me teach. Which, according to many people (and I include some teachers in this) is something I should NOT want. My old principal asked us in a grade level meeting one time, "Do you need my help or do you want me to just leave you alone and let you teach?" I really did almost say "yes!". Somehow, though, that response is wrong. I guess I'm supposed to want help, want collaboration, want input, want "constructive criticism". But I don't. I'm not saying I don't want to work or collaborate with my coworkers or even my admin. For the most part, I enjoy working with them and getting input. But at the end of the day (or, actually, the beginning) I really want to take everything I've gleaned from everyone, shut my classroom door, and do my job w/out anyone else bothering me. And if that's wrong of me, then fine. I'm wrong.
As a side note, I am currently in the process of losing weight, or rather, trying to lose weight. Within the past year I have developed a touch of hypothyroidism (in a nutshell, my 'roid isn't keeping up with its duties, per se), and I started my lifelong regimen of thyroid medication. That being said, before I found out about this underproductive part of my body, I was constantly tired, constantly hungry, and constantly gaining weight. And of course, its all in the lower belly/waist/ ass/ thigh region. Why, oh, why could it have not accumulated at my boobs? At any rate, it's there and mocking me on a daily basis. "Psst! Remember when you were in high school and you only weighed 110? You'll never see those days again! Oops! Another pocket of cellulite! And how about - for shits and giggles- we add a good 7 pounds around your waist so all of those new pants you just bought feel like garote wire, all the while making you look 5 months pregnant?!" It's horrible to feel this way because A) I've always been petite and this just reminds me on a daily basis that my body is rejecting everything that ever reminded it of youthfulness, and B) I feel guilty for feeling bad about feeling like I'm overweight. Confusing? I feel bad about feeling like I've gained weight (which is a scientific fact- I HAVE gained weight) because I feel like I don't have the right to feel bad. According to other people, I look the same, so why should I complain, right? I have to live with this body. I have to feel the rolls that are growing at my sides and hips, even if you don't think they're there. They are. I have to shimmy into the pants (that just fit last week ) on the bed, and deal with not being able to breathe when I bend over. I have to feel that nasty 4 inch roll of skin and whatnot that overhangs my pants line every day. I have to look down and see my gut consistently poking out, only to suck it back in and much as I can and tell myself "It's an ab workout." I have to remind myself that every woman on the planet, even the ones on the cover of "US Weekly" have cellulite, and if they don't it's only because they paid someone to remove it. Why am I obsessed? I wish I knew.
So I will have to be much more consistent in my gym attendance, as well as my snacking/cravings. I snack all the time, and never realize it. And I'm ravenous in the mornings and evenings, which causes me to eat like I haven't in weeks. Slowly but surely, I'm working on it, and trying to achieve small goals. This first small goal: hit the gym no less than 3x a week - and yoga doesn't count. I mean it does, but not towards this. After that goal, I'll work myself up into a goal dealing w/ my actual workout program. My final goal is my reward: if I lose about 8-10 pounds, and have developed exercise & eating habits that I can acceptably & reasonably live with..... I will get a tatoo. It's true. I'm going to get a peacock feather. I figure all the time I'm going to spend running/ lifting/ walking/ ab-bing this work off will give me a chance to figure out where it's going to go.......
Thursday, September 18, 2008
I'm so vain, and I know this blog is about me.
So I've come to accept that I shall be 30 this December, and right now, I'm ok with it. 30's a big deal, afterall. Not quite like 40 or even 50, but a big deal nonetheless. It's like "real" adulthood. I feel like anyone in their 20's still has that "I'm an ignorant dumbass when it comes to this stuff" card in their pocket, and it's legit to pull it out every now and then at opportune times : buying a car all by yourself without a co-signer, setting up (or maybe not setting up) an IRA or retirement fund, doing your own taxes, hemming your own clothes. Whatever. But 30. It's like the gig is up, and you're either a full grown, fully functional adult or a brainless twerp who doesn't know where the hell he is in life. I'm lucky in that, I am in a job that I feel like I'm meant to be in. And I'm married to a great man (don't worry, I've gotten over the wrath I had a blog or two ago) whose knowledge in many things makes up for my lack of. I'm happy and content with my life now, and I hope to have a baby in the next year or two.
And even though on paper 30 looks old, I know it's not. I mean, Drew Barrymore is 30 something and she looks great. I'd never think of her as old. Some good friends of mine are in their 30's, and they certainly don't seem old. I think my biggest two worries are: 1) I'll FEEL old. 2) I'll be expected to have knowledge about crap I know nothing about. Let's be honest - I've got no clue what it takes to buy a house. I mean, I know the basics & some terminology (mortgage, ARM vs. FRM, equity, escrow) but I have no idea what else that entails. I know nothing about how to cook a Thanksgiving turkey - I can't even make homemade biscuits. I dont' know how to "rip" stuff to or off of a computer. I have no idea in the world who I'm voting for in Nov (DONT' YOU DARE SEND ME YOUR PROPAGANDA, PLEASE!!) I feel like there is tons of stuff I should have learned by now that I haven't, and that somehow, I'll still be seen as a little girl.
Which is something I struggle with a lot, and I include struggling with myself in that. I fight myself on a daily basis to assert the fact that I am a grown up. I'm a woman, not a girl. I have to tell myself that everyone else sees me as a grown woman, why can't you see yourself that way? I still feel like a 14 year old when I have to speak with my principal or even some of my parents. Uggh!!! WTH???? I really thought I would have outgrown this by now. If anyone else out there is struggling with this type of inferiority complex, feel free to comment.
So, I end this with a tribute, of sorts. To my 20's : they were fun, they were turbulent, they were drama riddled. They were the best of times, the worst of times, and everything in between. Here's the girl I was, the woman I am, and all that I hope to be.
Cheers.
And even though on paper 30 looks old, I know it's not. I mean, Drew Barrymore is 30 something and she looks great. I'd never think of her as old. Some good friends of mine are in their 30's, and they certainly don't seem old. I think my biggest two worries are: 1) I'll FEEL old. 2) I'll be expected to have knowledge about crap I know nothing about. Let's be honest - I've got no clue what it takes to buy a house. I mean, I know the basics & some terminology (mortgage, ARM vs. FRM, equity, escrow) but I have no idea what else that entails. I know nothing about how to cook a Thanksgiving turkey - I can't even make homemade biscuits. I dont' know how to "rip" stuff to or off of a computer. I have no idea in the world who I'm voting for in Nov (DONT' YOU DARE SEND ME YOUR PROPAGANDA, PLEASE!!) I feel like there is tons of stuff I should have learned by now that I haven't, and that somehow, I'll still be seen as a little girl.
Which is something I struggle with a lot, and I include struggling with myself in that. I fight myself on a daily basis to assert the fact that I am a grown up. I'm a woman, not a girl. I have to tell myself that everyone else sees me as a grown woman, why can't you see yourself that way? I still feel like a 14 year old when I have to speak with my principal or even some of my parents. Uggh!!! WTH???? I really thought I would have outgrown this by now. If anyone else out there is struggling with this type of inferiority complex, feel free to comment.
So, I end this with a tribute, of sorts. To my 20's : they were fun, they were turbulent, they were drama riddled. They were the best of times, the worst of times, and everything in between. Here's the girl I was, the woman I am, and all that I hope to be.
Cheers.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Pump up the Jam - skating rink style
I'm listening to one of those cable music stations - the good ones, not like crappy VH1. This one is dedicated to one of the best decades of music ever. Yes, folks, I mean the 90's. It's the best station to listen to for a few reasons.
1) I know most, if not all , of the songs played & can thus sing them all shamelessly.
2) It's that weird mix of pop, rock, grunge, pseudo-Techno, ballads, and alternative that helped define a better part of me. Seriously- what memory comes to your mind when you hear Pearl Jam's "Jeremy" ?
My father-in-law is coming to visit this weekend, and his timing is perfect. I say that with sarcasm dripping at the corners. My long range plans are due tomorrow, but they won't be turned in simply because I'm not finished and I refuse to kill myself over them. I am having to clean our pig sty of an apartment by myself since dear husband is working his last night shift rotation for the next six weeks. I have lesson plans for next week that need to be completed (I would like to do them now & not have to worry about them over the weekend, but oh well). I'm going to have a crap ton of papers to grade. I need to buy a new shower curtain liner because the one in the guest bathroom is pretty skanky looking, plus I need to buy a few groceries for Saturday morning breakfast. ... the list goes on.
I was looking forward to having a weekend with Matthew all to myself now that he can start keeping a normal sleeping schedule. But - that is not to be. Don't get me wrong, I love my FiL. He's a great guy- funny, generous, very unpretentious. Though it does bother me that his wife (my stepMiL) hasn't come down here except for our wedding two years ago. I asked Matthew if she was coming and he said, "Probably not. If she did, they'd be staying in a hotel and not with us." Which kind of hurt my feelings a little bit. We seem to get along great, and she's never been anything but kind to me, but I can't help but feel sort of - oh, I don't know- inferior or something. But instead of overanalyzing it, I'll consider it her loss and assume that it's because of her OCD that she is not coming down. Who knows the real reason.
So, back to the 90's music. I mentioned it because I am currently in the process of cleaning my apartment and excellent 90's music seemed to be the action soundtrack that I needed to motivate me. I can totally vacuum the entire house if I can do it to LL Cool J's "Round the Way Girl". Couldn't you??
1) I know most, if not all , of the songs played & can thus sing them all shamelessly.
2) It's that weird mix of pop, rock, grunge, pseudo-Techno, ballads, and alternative that helped define a better part of me. Seriously- what memory comes to your mind when you hear Pearl Jam's "Jeremy" ?
My father-in-law is coming to visit this weekend, and his timing is perfect. I say that with sarcasm dripping at the corners. My long range plans are due tomorrow, but they won't be turned in simply because I'm not finished and I refuse to kill myself over them. I am having to clean our pig sty of an apartment by myself since dear husband is working his last night shift rotation for the next six weeks. I have lesson plans for next week that need to be completed (I would like to do them now & not have to worry about them over the weekend, but oh well). I'm going to have a crap ton of papers to grade. I need to buy a new shower curtain liner because the one in the guest bathroom is pretty skanky looking, plus I need to buy a few groceries for Saturday morning breakfast. ... the list goes on.
I was looking forward to having a weekend with Matthew all to myself now that he can start keeping a normal sleeping schedule. But - that is not to be. Don't get me wrong, I love my FiL. He's a great guy- funny, generous, very unpretentious. Though it does bother me that his wife (my stepMiL) hasn't come down here except for our wedding two years ago. I asked Matthew if she was coming and he said, "Probably not. If she did, they'd be staying in a hotel and not with us." Which kind of hurt my feelings a little bit. We seem to get along great, and she's never been anything but kind to me, but I can't help but feel sort of - oh, I don't know- inferior or something. But instead of overanalyzing it, I'll consider it her loss and assume that it's because of her OCD that she is not coming down. Who knows the real reason.
So, back to the 90's music. I mentioned it because I am currently in the process of cleaning my apartment and excellent 90's music seemed to be the action soundtrack that I needed to motivate me. I can totally vacuum the entire house if I can do it to LL Cool J's "Round the Way Girl". Couldn't you??
Friday, September 5, 2008
The List of Sisyphus
I chose the title of this post because it best represents how I feel : a list of things to do that, when accomplished, only repeat themselves, causing one to live the "hamster wheel" existence of running towards a goal that will never actually be yours. I have many, many lists in my head. Lists of things I need to do for school this week. Lists of books I need to read to help me with said school. Lists of things I need to clean/ dump/ reorganize/ buy/ salvage/ replace. Lists of places I want to go one day. Lists of names for my future children (closely followed by Lists of names NOT to name my children- more on that later). Lists of future Christmas gifts. Lists of books I want to read. Lists of exercises & regimens & recipes & diets that I really should do / follow/ cook /eat. Lists of topics to talk about. I have lists of lists. Listing is my nature - I really do like doing it. It makes me feel like my goals & objectives are attainable; afterall , they are right there on paper, in my hands. But I'm not going to write down every single thing in my brain. First of all - can you imagine how much paper that would be? Second of all, there's no way I would remember what list has what. Oh sure, the list of "Books to Read" seems pretty easy, but what if I put a book down that someone says "Oh, you have to read it!" and then, months later, I look at that title and say "What the hell is this? Am I supposed to read this? " Really, that book should have been on the list "Recommended Books to Read" followed by a catalogue of who recommended it & a brief summary. So, you can see my conundrum here. No list of lists for me.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Today's Rail
Second post, but not same as the first. The first was "Hello- not sure I belong here." This one is "I've got to say this to someone or something, whether someone reads this or not."
Please let it be known that I love my husband. I adore him, and would do anything in this world for him. I trust him implicitly, I believe in him, and enjoy making a life with him. But today, he sucks. He's sucked for a while. When we're around others, he's so sweet & funny. But if it's just he & I, the jaws all of a sudden wire shut, and all I get are mono syllabic answers to things like, "How was your day?", "Your shoulder feeling better?" "Would you rather have chicken or pork for dinner tonight?". Ok, the last one would get a longer response, but still as bland as the others. And that's not the only thing. He doesn't ask how my day was. He leaves the dishes in the sink as if they are waiting for only me to do them, he points out all the weird little things I do that I know are weird & follows it up with a sweeping statement like "I was just making an observation." Well, thanks. I almost flew under the radar just then but luckily, you kept that from happening.
Mostly though, I think the shittiest thing of all - at least I think it is- is that I get the feeling, impression, vibe (whatever you wanna call it) that the problem here is me. Like today, I came home from work to him cooking dinner, and obviously frustrated about something. I later found out he had screwed up the sauce to the meat and had to redo it, thus expanding dinner time by 20 minutes or so. So, I enter the apt & smell everything cooking, drop my load of crap on the floor, and say "Hey, honey!"
"hey"
"How are ya?"
"fine"
"Smells good!"
"thanks"
"You allright?"
"yep"
"Need help with anything?" "nope"
I know you're pissed just reading this, right? Ok - whatever. I continue about my "decompression" time by immediately dislodging my shoes, changing clothes, and petting the dogs, who by this time are throwing thier world famous "We're Orphan Dogs" eyes at anyone in a 3 mile radius. Blang! Thud! stir, stir, scrape. Slam! I continue ignoring, and decide that Facebooking in the next room would be a nicer, quieter escape. Not 3 minutes in and -- "dinner's ready". So, up I go & fix my plate & start to eat. In silence. Why? Because he's in a bad mood and - as I carefully think ahead of previous scenarios of this kind- what would the outcome be if I tried to start conversation? Similar to the aforementioned one that makes me want to shove lit cigarettes in my eyes. So, I eat my broccoli in quiet, & watch what I can of "King of Queens" or whatever was on .
"you're dying to ask me something, aren't you?"
"No, not really. I could tell you were not in the best mood ever & just decided that you probably wouldn't want to talk. And to be honest, I was sort of waiting to see if you would ask me how my day was sometimes. "
" i do ask you how your day was . sometimes. "
" I know. "
"i mean, you gotta know i'm not gonna talk much when i just got out of bed."
" I know."
And the silence continued until the newsstory about a local car dealer who (ironically) died in a car accident came up, then he asked if I had heard of it. I nicely volunteered to make his lunch for work tonight, and did the dishes because that's the rule (whoever cooks, the other does the dishes - not a bad rule, per se). And there was quite a stack of them. So while I'm slinging butter knives and spatulas and sauce pans around, I'm stewing the whole time. Why should I HAVE to know that ? Why is it always me that has to adjust to him? If I make an "observation" about him, then I'm being a bitch or he'll say "thanks for telling me" in a snotty, condescending way. I HAVE to understand that he deals with his anger or frustration by yelling & slamming stuff and that's how it is. But if I do the exact same thing, suddenly I'm acting ridiculous over something simple.
He complains that I never tell him how I really feel, but to be honest, I don't want to. I mean, it's just an invitation to a never ending argument between 2 defensive people who have issues left over from their respective upbringings.
OOoh! And I just thought of this. I am, apparently, not to be trusted on my own with the following items or I'll damage them forever beyond repair (not his EXACT words, mind you): the large kitchen knife on the glass cutting board ( I'll dull it by my constant hacking on the glass), the gear shift pedal in his truck (I'll wear it out because I was taught to push it in when I brake), the Teflon pans (I'll scratch them up by stirring or cooking with metal utensils). I'm sure I'll think of others as soon as I post this, but these will suffice. I mean, WTF?? I managed to live on my own for 26 years - quite successfully, I might add- doing all of these things, and never once did something completely crap out on me because of it.
Well, I needed to say that. I still do, actually. So,I think I need to make a date with my husband to "talk". And I need to be honest and forthright. I've been told I have good customer service- perhaps that will work in my favor here? I shouldn't be anxious or worried - he's my husband, my partner, my equal. He wants to know how I feel, and I said I would work on it & try to do better. So here I go. And I should make a list of the 3 most important things that are weighing on me right now. I suppose my rant about the knife & gear shift can wait for another time.
Please let it be known that I love my husband. I adore him, and would do anything in this world for him. I trust him implicitly, I believe in him, and enjoy making a life with him. But today, he sucks. He's sucked for a while. When we're around others, he's so sweet & funny. But if it's just he & I, the jaws all of a sudden wire shut, and all I get are mono syllabic answers to things like, "How was your day?", "Your shoulder feeling better?" "Would you rather have chicken or pork for dinner tonight?". Ok, the last one would get a longer response, but still as bland as the others. And that's not the only thing. He doesn't ask how my day was. He leaves the dishes in the sink as if they are waiting for only me to do them, he points out all the weird little things I do that I know are weird & follows it up with a sweeping statement like "I was just making an observation." Well, thanks. I almost flew under the radar just then but luckily, you kept that from happening.
Mostly though, I think the shittiest thing of all - at least I think it is- is that I get the feeling, impression, vibe (whatever you wanna call it) that the problem here is me. Like today, I came home from work to him cooking dinner, and obviously frustrated about something. I later found out he had screwed up the sauce to the meat and had to redo it, thus expanding dinner time by 20 minutes or so. So, I enter the apt & smell everything cooking, drop my load of crap on the floor, and say "Hey, honey!"
"hey"
"How are ya?"
"fine"
"Smells good!"
"thanks"
"You allright?"
"yep"
"Need help with anything?" "nope"
I know you're pissed just reading this, right? Ok - whatever. I continue about my "decompression" time by immediately dislodging my shoes, changing clothes, and petting the dogs, who by this time are throwing thier world famous "We're Orphan Dogs" eyes at anyone in a 3 mile radius. Blang! Thud! stir, stir, scrape. Slam! I continue ignoring, and decide that Facebooking in the next room would be a nicer, quieter escape. Not 3 minutes in and -- "dinner's ready". So, up I go & fix my plate & start to eat. In silence. Why? Because he's in a bad mood and - as I carefully think ahead of previous scenarios of this kind- what would the outcome be if I tried to start conversation? Similar to the aforementioned one that makes me want to shove lit cigarettes in my eyes. So, I eat my broccoli in quiet, & watch what I can of "King of Queens" or whatever was on .
"you're dying to ask me something, aren't you?"
"No, not really. I could tell you were not in the best mood ever & just decided that you probably wouldn't want to talk. And to be honest, I was sort of waiting to see if you would ask me how my day was sometimes. "
" i do ask you how your day was . sometimes. "
" I know. "
"i mean, you gotta know i'm not gonna talk much when i just got out of bed."
" I know."
And the silence continued until the newsstory about a local car dealer who (ironically) died in a car accident came up, then he asked if I had heard of it. I nicely volunteered to make his lunch for work tonight, and did the dishes because that's the rule (whoever cooks, the other does the dishes - not a bad rule, per se). And there was quite a stack of them. So while I'm slinging butter knives and spatulas and sauce pans around, I'm stewing the whole time. Why should I HAVE to know that ? Why is it always me that has to adjust to him? If I make an "observation" about him, then I'm being a bitch or he'll say "thanks for telling me" in a snotty, condescending way. I HAVE to understand that he deals with his anger or frustration by yelling & slamming stuff and that's how it is. But if I do the exact same thing, suddenly I'm acting ridiculous over something simple.
He complains that I never tell him how I really feel, but to be honest, I don't want to. I mean, it's just an invitation to a never ending argument between 2 defensive people who have issues left over from their respective upbringings.
OOoh! And I just thought of this. I am, apparently, not to be trusted on my own with the following items or I'll damage them forever beyond repair (not his EXACT words, mind you): the large kitchen knife on the glass cutting board ( I'll dull it by my constant hacking on the glass), the gear shift pedal in his truck (I'll wear it out because I was taught to push it in when I brake), the Teflon pans (I'll scratch them up by stirring or cooking with metal utensils). I'm sure I'll think of others as soon as I post this, but these will suffice. I mean, WTF?? I managed to live on my own for 26 years - quite successfully, I might add- doing all of these things, and never once did something completely crap out on me because of it.
Well, I needed to say that. I still do, actually. So,I think I need to make a date with my husband to "talk". And I need to be honest and forthright. I've been told I have good customer service- perhaps that will work in my favor here? I shouldn't be anxious or worried - he's my husband, my partner, my equal. He wants to know how I feel, and I said I would work on it & try to do better. So here I go. And I should make a list of the 3 most important things that are weighing on me right now. I suppose my rant about the knife & gear shift can wait for another time.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Umm..
So, it's weird being out "there", you know- the electronic world. Other than Facebook & various emails, this is my first foray. Please be kind.
Also a poem I just thought of. Be nice - don't copy.
Ensconced in a hull of sunlight
house fly stands, motionless,
waiting
rubrubrub the hands together
as if to prepare for the task ahead-
surveys the room and wonders,
"Is no one watching?"
It's ok if it sucks. It just came to me as I was about to go to bed. And if this is your first reading, I'm sorry. I'm really tired. Next blog will be better. Promise
Also a poem I just thought of. Be nice - don't copy.
Ensconced in a hull of sunlight
house fly stands, motionless,
waiting
rubrubrub the hands together
as if to prepare for the task ahead-
surveys the room and wonders,
"Is no one watching?"
It's ok if it sucks. It just came to me as I was about to go to bed. And if this is your first reading, I'm sorry. I'm really tired. Next blog will be better. Promise
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