Several months ago I went to this awesome sort-of book club, a group of about 100 people broke out into a few separate rooms and talked about one or two of their favorite books. I kept a running list of ones I wanted to check out and walked away with 15 new recommendations. The dangerous part of this is that I added 15 new books to my already towering “To Read” pile. Sigh. It’s a never-ending battle, me vs. the irresistible novel. At any rate, at this book-a-thon, there was a particular title that was raved about by several intelligent, witty persons I respect: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It came so highly recommended I excitedly ordered a used copy and waited somewhat impatiently for the Big Brown Truck to deliver the booky goodness to me. I started reading. I stopped. I made a sandwich. I started again. I stopped. I watched an old episode of Project Runway. I started reading. I stopped. I flipped through the J. Crew catalog. I started reading….this went on for a solid three months before I gave up on the book completely, I read about 80% of it and haven’t picked it up since. I tried, really I did, but I just couldn’t get over the pages and pages of philosophical ranting: quality over quantity. I get it, can we skip to the end now?
There is only one bit of this book that I really liked, the author is talking about going on long cross-country motorcycle trips and about how important it is to tune his bike every time he uses it. To check all the gauges and wires and everything and make small adjustments to prevent big problems later. This is an idea I love, it is a practice I can respect and one I would like to incorporate more fully into my life.
I am a work in progress. I have flaws, lots of them. I make mistakes, lots of them. I have hurt people unintentionally and I am ashamed to admit that at times I have even hurt someone intentionally; I am not proud of that, but it is part of who I am/who I was. Sometimes, I’m a complete mess. Sometimes I have breakdowns and emotional meltdowns and sometimes I can blame it on PMS and other times I can’t. Most of the time I feel pathetically inadequate for the task at hand and can see these huge gaping holes where I am found lacking. I get scared and balk at change, I get scared and run away, I even get scared and lash out. Sometimes I am aware of this fear while it is taking it’s toll, and sometimes it isn’t until after the fact that I can point out where I went wrong. And sometimes I can’t point out where I went wrong.
So let me try and apply the idea of making continuous small adjustments to myself in order to prevent a big, messy, emotional clustercuss.
…
This is actually harder than that first nonchalant sentence would lead one to believe. The fact is I have not been taking care of myself for quite a while and I have found myself smack dab in the middle of an enormous clustercuss one that seems unmanageable and scary and all-around impossible. (Isn’t that, by definition, the case with any clustercuss?) I have spiraled to a place I can no longer control, and if you’ve seen my color-coordinated closet and alphabetized spice shelf you’ll know I can be a complete control freak prefer having a firm grasp on the situation at hand. When I find myself in a place where I am no longer in control, I tend to panic. I don’t act rationally, I don’t think logically, I don’t behave in any kind of linear way. I have had the fortunate experience to be in that place of internal chaos with someone who has the inexplicable skill to defuse the situation and infuse my frenzied brain with a sense of calm. I have also had the misfortune to be in that chaos with a someone whose own sometimes irrational or illogical behaviors can push me over the edge of sanity.
I am not pinning my emotional spin on him, I am as much to blame as anyone else. I knew I was spinning, I didn’t walk away. Well, I did, literally, but then I kept turning around. He kept asking me to turn around and I didn’t say no. I could have, but I didn’t. Without exception, I am one-hundred-percent accurate in identifying when I am headed towards a collapse. Ninety-eight percent of the time I walk away ages before I reach that precipice. Ninety-eight percent will get you a raise, ninety-eight percent will get you a 4.0, ninety-eight percent is awesome in most areas of your life. But in this particular case it is not enough. I feel like 98% is a fail. The simple fact is I lost control. I had gone too long without a tune-up and I lost it. When a motorcycle breaks down you may be stranded, you can get caught in the rain or the blazing sun and you may get wet or sunburned or be uncomfortable. When a person I break down you I end up sitting in the bathtub reopening old scars I swore I’d never touch.
The theory behind cutting is that the person feels they must be in control of their own pain, so when they are hurt by an “outside” person or situation they then hurt themselves to feel like they are the one in control. I am not a cutter, never have been. But when I felt so stuck and helpless in my abusive marriage I started to scrape the skin off my legs with a pumice stone. It was never a rush, but it was oddly therapeutic. As soon as I moved into my own apartment I stopped, I didn’t need to manifest my own control anymore. I was no longer a victim. As much as I may regret admitting this on The Internet for God and strangers and everyone to read, I feel like I need to get it out to prevent it happening again. Heidi, take a deep breath and do this. It will help. I promise.
Last night I sat in the shower and scraped the skin off my legs with a pumice stone that is usually reserved for the callouses on my feet. I sobbed. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I let the hot water run until it was luke-warm and then I toweled off, bandaged myself up a bit and crawled into bed. I am not looking for sympathy. This is my beast and I have to deal with it, and I have already set up appointments with Professional Beast Killers to help me do that. I cracked. I made several mistakes and ignored several blaring warning signs and ended up in the bathtub. I am better than this. I am going to take better care of myself to prevent this from happening again. This will not happen again. I am flawed and I make mistakes, but I do not have to be flawed like that, and I don’t have to make that mistake. I can control this; I have controlled this for five-plus years.
I don’t want to sound bossy, but if you feel the inclination to comment please tell me something positive, something empowering, or even an experience where you have regained control. Please, tell me something that is not “I’m so sorry.” If you can’t think of anything else, tell me your favorite kind of pie.
There has been much rejoicing in the last 18 hours at Casa de heidikins. You see, I have recently acquired a new-to-me car that has completely revolutionized the way I feel about driving. Now, before you get any awesome ideas–and believe me, I’ve been dreaming them for months–I am not driving this:
[Image Source]No, my new-to-me vehicle is not shiny, or sporty, or particularly zippy, or even cute. In fact, it’s hardly even photo-worthy. But this is what it is not:
Mallard has served me well the last several months…actually, that may be a bit of an overstatement. Mallard served me well for a little while, and then everything began to break. There was an oil leak, and then the AC went out, and may I remind you the driver’s side window doesn’t roll down…and then the passenger door wouldn’t open so people were literally climbing through the window for the pleasure of allowing me to chauffeur them around town. And lately the “Check Engine Soon” light has been blinking and it’s been sputtering and shaking to a spectacular degree. Add to all of that some awesome peeling teal paint, a side-mirror that just won’t stay straight, one missing hubcap, and rust on the inside of the car (I’m convinced the floor will fall out soon). In short, Mallard is ready to die.
My new-to-me-vehicle is an older black Mazda, but let me tell you all the things about it I already love.
- I love that it is a stick shift–goodness, I forgot how much I missed having a clutch!
- I love that it has power locks AND power windows. I don’t have to crank down on a handle while leaning half-way across the vehicle (remember the driver’s side window is permanently stuck in the “up” position) in order to get a little breeze! Parking garages, drive-through banking and the To-Go window at Starbucks are now easy-peasy!!
- I love the smooth ride–no shakes, no sputters, no worrying that the engine will fall right out of the body at the next stoplight.
- I love the air conditioning! Now that the summer is ending I finally have AC that works–but hey, I’m not complaining! September and August can still get 90 degree days!
- After a good scrub inside and out, a “New Car” scented air freshener, and removal of a parking sticker from my rival university, this baby will be perfect for me, for now.
I have yet to name the new car–I just picked it up last night and I think I need to settle into it a bit, learn it’s quirks and personality. Not that I expect it to have real personality, as far as cars go it’s is more Actuary and less Rockstar, more Tax Accountant than Hipster. Not that there is anything wrong with Actuary’s or Tax Accountants–I love and respect both my Actuary and my Tax Accountant–they are honest, straight-forward, no gimmicks, respectable, conservative and dependable. Yes, after the wheezing and shaking and near-death experiences of Mallard (who could probably be described as having the personality of a meth addict) I am very much looking forward to something dependable. And with air conditioning.
Filed under: All about me
I am no longer a virgin! Well, more specifically, my hair is no longer it’s virginal blonde. For the first time in my life I have put color on my hair…and by “color” I mean bleach. Yep, I’ve gone blonde! Um, blonder!
Before: My hair was getting scraggly, and shapeless, and darker than I really wanted it to be. I feel it should be noted that here I am, at age 27 and-a-half, and had never colored my hair. No highlights, no jello dye, nothing. It was darker than it has ever been, and I now have strict rules about staying out of the sun, which leads to darker hair. There’s no summer break to lighten it up a bit. I miss my white-blonde hair! I know–it probably still looks crazy-blonde to you, but to me it was getting all ashy and yellow. I don’t want ashy-yellow, scraggly, shapeless hair. I wanted something different. Something shiny!
During: Yep, that’s shiny all right!
After:
Yep, I love it. That’s all. I realize that you may not be able to even tell that there are bleached bits–they are there. They look pretty natural, which I wanted. I feel like I am going back to my roots–my roots just happen to be platinum.
[insert the sound of my head exploding.]
[while you're at it, why don't you make that a double head-explosion.]
I have entered a new kind of life, the kind where my head explodes at least once per day. My head has been packed full of all sorts of drivel lately it’s like a ticking-time-bomb, waiting for disaster.
This summer semester I went back to school—nothing fancy, I’m still working on a bachelor’s degree. That being said, I haven’t taken a full-load of classes for five years. I could sleep until ten every day, go to class, go to work and stay up until 3 am every day without feeling any adverse affects. Um, apparently I’m old now because that sounds like hell. Except for the sleeping until 10 am every day, that part I could do. I have class four nights a week, that means Monday-Thursday evenings until I am cooped up in a classroom for 3 hour blocks trying to digest a barrage of information about the financial markets, the banking system, the federal reserve and the job market. I’m an economics major and while that may sound really horrible I actually don’t mind it. It’s interesting, relevant, and I only have 6 more classes to take before I’m done—which prevents me from jumping into another, more glamorous major. Six classes! That’s it! I should be graduating in May 2011. (Can I please get a collective “Woot Woot!” from the blogosphere? Thank you.)
A few weeks ago I started a new job, a really great job. I have no real complaints except that it takes up approximately 9.5 hours of my day when you factor in lunch breaks and commute time. This would not be a problem under normal circumstances, but with my evenings full of school and my days full of work I have approximately 4 hours of free time per day. I have been on a bit of a health-kick lately, cutting out sugar and soda, reducing carbs, and going running 5-6 times per week. Stop. Hold on. Five or Six Times A Week?! Yep, that’s right. I have a schedule. Every morning at 6 am I meet Andrea at the high school track and we run. Or, she runs and I huff and puff and heave and wheeze and pretend that I can run. I’m getting better—but it’s been tougher than I thought (again, I’m getting old.)
The fitness regimen has helped keep my stress level manageable, but it also leaves me with only 3 hours of free time per day, an hour of which is generally spent doing things like showering and getting dress and curling my eyelashes. Things like laundry and dishes and scrubbing the bathrooms are left undone for days (or weeks!) at a time.
If you are doing the math in your head, all of the above leave me with little time to do anything but stare at the wall, stuffing chocoalte-covered potato chips celery sticks into my mouth like a drone. Sigh—only another month until the end of the semester and a much needed break.
Stresses: I has them.
- Last week I swore myself off sugar in an attempt to drop a bit of weight; a good idea in theory, but the timing couldn’t have been worse!
- I have a final tomorrow for my Math for Economists class (uh, what?) and the very thought of partial differentials and income functions makes my heart beat faster and a feeling of nauseous panic rise from my chest to my throat.
- Relationship Drama: It’s a factor.
- Personal Drama: An even bigger factor.
- The rest of my stress mostly comes from the explosions of my life (see: above) that have taken over my apartment. I’m the kind of person who craves a clean apartment. At the moment I do not have a clean apartment. Not one little bit.
Add these factors up and what do you get? A big, old mess. And how do I deal? I bought several boxes of sidewalk chalk and spent all day Saturday coloring on the cement at a family reunion.
The beginnings of my sidewalk-chalk masterpiece.
The “black” piece of chalk was really more like “concrete-gray”, so I hoisted a few pieces of charcoal from the fire-pit and used those instead.
Ta-daah! My sidewalk-chalk version of Starry Night may never hang in the Louvre, but I think it’s cool.
“Building” my city, heidikins-opolis.
Finished, complete with all my favorite things: shoes, cupcakes, world-travels, books, and the Crimson Nation taking over the biggest, reddest building. (In case you missed it, my school was inducted into the PAC-10 (now PAC-12) last week and I celebrated a little. Please also note the teeny little “Y” building in the corner, included to irk my die-hard Y-fan uncle more than anything else. For more on “The U” vs. “The Y” please see this post. Or just look up “Holy War“.)
All in all, the sidewalk-chalk weekend was just what I needed to recharge for yet another really hard week; I highly recommend it.
Filed under: All about me
I’m back from Washington DC and I have several hundred photos and stories to sort through.
I survived a bout of food poisoning (although not without the humiliating Incident Where I Threw Up In Public!) and am currently fighting off a pretty nasty cold.
Tomorrow afternoon I am heading to San Francisco for a girly weekend in my favorite town with a few of my favorite people.
Overall? Life is good. Except for the cold.
Yes. I travel a lot. I don’t have pets, or plants, or a child, or a husband to depend on me or really miss my presence. So I travel, and I love it. I am working some temp jobs at the moment to pay the bills. It’s not a career–in fact, it hardly deserves being mentioned except for the fact that it helps finance my travel habit. In the last week or two I have received a bit of guff from friends and acquaintances regarding my traveling schedule, I know they are probably just jealous, but the criticism and judgement doesn’t help. You have a family or a lover or a dog. You have a career with benefits and a 401k. You have a brood of kiddies or some other enormous goal you are currently spending massive amounts of time, energy and money to accomplish. For that, I applaud you. I have none of those things, regardless of how much I may want one or more of them. Instead of staying home brooding about who or what I don’t have, I choose instead to spend my time seeing the world. (Yes, actually, I do escape my problems via airplane. What’s it to you?) Don’t judge. Mmkay?
I’ll be back next week with stories from sea to shining sea–except I didn’t actually see the sea while on the east coast… Whatever, it was a nice metaphor.
Filed under: All about me
Before:
After:
So, apparently, this is what I would look like as a brunette. Or as Snow White. Or something.
Filed under: All about me
There are several things that every girl should have.
- A flattering black dress
- A small tool kit
- A fantastic, no-fail recipe for dinner or cookies or something
- The skills (and equipment) to sew on a button or hem a pair of slacks
- A good face moisturizer
- A well-fitting bra.
People, it was not until recently that I realized the importance of that last one. Sure, women have raved about the benefits of a great bra ever since that scary pointy cone-bra came in style, but it wasn’t until a few months ago that it occurred to me that I was wearing an ill-fitting bra. The subject somehow came up at brunch with a girlfriend, Uzi, and she mentioned that she had been fitted a few months earlier and was shocked at the difference between the size she had worn for years and her current, correct size. I nodded knowingly and sympathetically, wondering how on earth a woman as smart and talented as she could possibly have worn the wrong bra size for so many years. I almost pitied her. Then she said something that has changed the life of myself and “my girls”–she said Did you know you aren’t supposed to be able to hook your thumb between your rib cage and the band of your bra? There should not be enough room to get your thumb in there without a serious struggle.
Wait…what?
Stop everything. Hold the phone. Put down the cheese.
Really? Um…so, you’re saying that I’ve been wearing the completely wrong size for as long as I can remember? Damn.
It wasn’t long before I was dragging Uzi down to Victoria’s Secret* to have a proper fitting. I asked for their best salesgirl and stuck out my arms, ready for the tape measure. And I was shocked at the results. Now, I have been a 36B since I was in high school, I have a style of bra that I love so much I now own it in something like 9 different colors. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that sometime in the last decade I might have changed bra sizes a bit. I guess I assumed it was like shoes; once a 10 always a 10 (that would be my shoe size, not some twisted announcement about my opinion on my own bazoomas).
Ladies, I am not a 36B. Not even close. (At the risk of attracting a lot of pervy attention from any uninteresting parties, I’m about to announce my actual bra-size. It’s for science. Or the good of women everywhere. Or something.)
I’m a 34D.
I am still shocked about this. Many of my girlfriends who I have expressed my shock to have been surprisingly unsurprised. If they knew I was bigger than a 36B why didn’t they mention it? Hello, could have saved me several years of bad-bra-itis! At any rate, after trying on several different bras in this strange, surprising size, I walked away with three new ones; black and white in my old, favorite style (which is my new favorite now that it fits me properly) and a hot pink one in a new style the salesgirl promised I’d love. I have never been so aware/unaware of my chest. My shirts fit me better, my button-ups no longer gape open at the chest, I no longer have the dreaded “side-boob” problem. I actually look thinner! I am continually surprised at my reflection. Who knew so much could be changed with simply wearing the right bra size! Simultaneously, I am no longer pulling or tugging on my bra during the day. I no longer have to constantly adjust to feel comfortable. My new, correctly-sized bra doesn’t move. It stays put from the moment I put it on in the morning until I take it off to go to sleep. Apparently, this is how bra’s are supposed to work. Who knew? Uzi knew, and she told me, and now I’m telling you.
So, the moral of this story is for each of you to go to a women’s lingerie store or department and get fitted for a bra. Go today. On your lunch break. Or on your way home. Or this weekend if today is a little crazy. But GO! Make sure you shop carefully and try on a bunch of different things to get the style(s) that are perfect for you. Take a friend if you must to be an unbiased second opinion; Uzi will probably go directly to heaven for her honest-and-hilarious boob advice. And for heaven’s sake, please get a bra with enough padding that you won’t be poking through when you wear a thin sweater. Or when the air conditioning turns on. Or when you walk down the street to get a cup of hot chocolate. These things are part of daily life and you should be prepared so as not to parade around in public with your perky bits in front of you like headlights. Showing nipple through clothing is tacky-bordering-obscene and best suited for a strip club, not school/work/grocery store/library/restaurant/anywhere where children, teenage boys, adult men, creepy old dude’s or the general public frequents. Keep those things under wraps, for the love of Pete!
*I know there are some women who have major problems with purchasing every-day lingerie at Victoria’s Secret. Here’s the thing…it is the only proper lingerie establishment in a 60-block radius of my home. For reals. Out of the three shopping malls that used to be downtown, only one is open for business and it doesn’t have a single big-box department store. That disclaimer being said, I always shop at Victoria’s Secret anyway. It’s just my thing. Don’t judge.
Filed under: All about me
Because everyone is or will be doing it, here is 2009 in review. You know, in case you missed it the first time around. (Note: despite the fact that I live in the middle of the desert, I am shocked at how many of the photos below involve large bodies of water. Perhaps my subconscious is telling me something?)
JANUARY:
While January ended on a good note with a free trip to San Francisco, the bulk of the month was crazy stressful with the impending threat of joblessness. I survived the layoffs, went on a diet, and then took a much needed trip to San Fran to visit Steph and fell in-love with the city all over again. (Favorite Things 1-3)
FEBRUARY:
Sadness hit when I had to cancel my annual trip to the Phoenix Booksale at the very last minute. Incredible Sadness, I’d been looking forward to it all year. I turned twenty-six (Favorite Thing 4) without complaint or crisis like a big girl. My dad got remarried to someone lovely, and now–through no fault or design of my own, I SWEAR–I have an x-boyfriend for a cousin. Sigh.
MARCH:
The bulk of March was spent with a life-debilitating cold/cough thing. I was sick for several weeks and was not allowed to take any time off work–at the time I was working for a health insurance company. The irony kills me–then and now. I also had to deal with a freezing cold apartment–no heat, no hot water–and a lot of relationship issues. March was a rough month, yo. (No Favorite Things)
APRIL:
April was a lot better month for me. I started a new kind of retail therapy–making over thrift store purchases. Initial projects included painting and refinishing a ceramic lamp, and making a chalkboard for my kitchen. (Favorite Things 5 & 6) April also marked the one-year anniversary of my super-scary car accident. To celebrate, I visited Red Rock country–Arches National Park and Dead Horse Point. (Favorite Things 7 & 
MAY:
Self-imposed bloggy break. Not much going on online–too much going on offline–but I did surface to gush about my classes to become Scuba Certified, or a Bonafide Shark Whisperer…you know, whatever strikes your fancy. (Favorite Thing 9) Also–an epic meet-up with bloggers that was about 14 different kinds of awesome. (Dear Ladies: Our pink brick is still there, still bright pink, and still showing our signatures. Awesome!) (Favorite Thing 10)
JUNE:
Work woe’s hit again. I leave my position in healthcare to take what has been presented as my dream job…only to be laid off 3 weeks later, and then rehired the same day. This begins an ugly 8 week cycle of torture at this particular place of employment until I am ultimately laid off via text message by the company accountant. Bad form [redacted company], bad form. To cope, I decorate with a vengeance: dining room re-do, magnetic message board for recipes, re-upholstered side-chairs. (Favorite Things 11-13) I even went so far as to try a self-brazilian wax (note: not recommended, stick with overhauling furniture with spray paint and sand paper).
JULY:
July was another rough month for me, emotionally. My last un-wed sibling tied the knot, and I broke up with my boyfriend of 18-months. Somewhere squished in there was a trip to Seattle where I met, honest-to-goodness, Téa Leoni…and she told me she liked my outfit. It was awesome. (Favorite Thing 14) I also went to Denver (Favorite Thing 15) to visit some friends and try and recoop from my emotional turmoil (note: trying to catch a 6:05 am flight does not help cope with emotional distress. Please remember that.)
AUGUST:
If April showers bring May flowers, and July emotional roller coasters must bring August crushes…it doesn’t rhyme…whatever. After a (proverbial) clean bill of emotional and mental health from my shrink, I started dating again–slowly. I also did a lot of other things: my first soccer game and my first time camping in a decade. And then I fell in love, several times. Firstly on my first trip to the Bonneville Salt Flats–I still day-dream about this morning, what a perfect day. I also fell in-love with the Shakespearean Festival, attending for the first time as a spectator; this love was promptly eclipsed by an amazing secret clot canyon. (Favorite Things 16-18)
SEPTEMBER:
Starting with a fabulous trip to San Diego with Andrea, (Favorite Thing 19) September began life looking really good. I’d just come back from vacation, I was dating a cute boy, he seemed to like me…then everything went to hell. Firstly, I had cockroaches in my apartment, then the cute boy started treating me like I just didn’t matter, at all…and to cope with everything I booked a ticket to Boston and got nakey on the internet…not really, but as close as I’ll ever get to it.
OCTOBER:
After an emotional beginning that included making 47 costumes for a high school Shakespeare competition team, coaching said team, and chaperoning said teenagers for a weekend, I loved watching them take home some awards (Favorite Thing 20). And then I took a MUCH needed nap. A few weeks later, and only after a frantic missed-flight experience, I arrived in Boston. This was the highlight of my fall, actually; pumpkin festivals, bad ghost tours, pilgrims, fall leaves, bloggers…what more could a person ask for? (Favorite Things 21-24) Halloween found me as both Little Red Riding Hood and Alice in Wonderland–the saucy (but not slutty) versions of them, obviously. (Favorite Things 25 & 26)
NOVEMBER:
At the beginning of November I started working a new job with insane hours but steady paychecks. I take care of a 51-year old disabled man; he is deaf, diabetic, autistic and vegetarian. I love it more than I thought possible, and–added bonus–I no longer work for Corporate America. It’s refreshing. I also had a bit of a Come to Jesus experience regarding several different things: boys, beef, baby elephants (Favorite Thing 27) and buffalo (Favorite Thing 28). Here’s how it works: I decided that boys–the right boy–might be worth it; baby elephants are the cutest things on the planet–yes, the whole planet; beef is totally okay when raised responsibly; and buffalo’s and, specifically, their island home are among my favorite Utah destinations. I spent Thanksgiving in Phoenix with my niece and nephews and Frank Lloyd Wright (Favorite Things 29 and 30).
DECEMBER:
Working 90 hours a week has started to catch up with me…I didn’t take a single photo the entire month (seen/not seen above: no photographic evidence that December even existed). I hardly wrote. I hardly did anything but work and hang out with The Boy Who Has Yet To Be Named (Favorite Thing 31) on my few days off (Goal for 2010: Name Boy)(and cease using extraneous parentheticals)(seriously). As the year winds down I am confronted, yet again, by my X. I think it is only fitting to mention that today is my Divorciversary, and after five years things are finally over. Done. The End. No Mas. I’m thrilled. (Favorite Thing 32).
What are your favorite things from 2009?
When I get nervous I tend to start cleaning things with a vengeance. When I get scared I can usually be found baking something (and then consuming said baked goody). Under normal weather circumstances (read: not freezing cold and blizzardy) I will usually go for a long, muscle-cramping run to get something off my chest. When I get freaked out I have this tendency to revert inside my shell and process the crisis. (Or, I tend to write thousands of words, venting my problem to the universe, only to chicken out and never publish the thing.)
My apartment is clean (or was on Sunday afternoon, which is the last time I was home). I have several weeks worth of sweets in my fridge. My running shoes are wet and soggy and my toes may need to be amputated from hypothermia. And I have hours and hours of silent time a day to think about, categorize and process a million different little things.
What does this tell you? Well, if you can’t divine some kind of cosmic meaning from the above jibberish, you should take into account the fact that last night for dinner I had a bowl of ice-cream with chocolate sauce. For dinner. Goodness, it was delicious!
So what is going on? Well, you could easily blame these manifestations of CrAzY on any number of factors, not least being this new job (that I still love) and the insane hours I am pulling lately (again, for a job I love). Working 90 hours a week (every week) is bound to take it’s toll. Spending days on end away from the comfort of your own bed and your own apartment will mess with your head if you aren’t careful. And trying to maintain some semblance of a social life (and the ensuing frustration when you discover you only have 48 hours worth of free time in which to smoosh an entire week’s worth of dates, lunches, shopping trips and laundry.
Lots of changes going on over here, people. And if we’re being completely honest I don’t know how well-equipped I am for that kind of turbulence. I’m running out of chocolate chips and I’m on my last bottle of 409. This cleaning/baking binge is going to have to stop soon, right?
Right?
It’s customary to applaud the heroine when she admits to shortcomings, and if you wanted to throw chocolates or tasteful flowers they would be graciously accepted…just sayin’.
Most of the time I claim to like change, I claim to thrive on the constant revolving door and reinvention that has somehow taken over most aspects of my life. I have lived in the same apartment for three years, but it is the only thing that is remotely stable. I have had an innumerable number of jobs, boyfriends (ok, maybe not “innumerable”, probably closer to six), cars (three), and crazy ideas (somewhere in the ballpark of 3,472). Things are constantly changing, and I don’t know why I keep telling myself that change is exactly what I want.
Clearly, I am delusional. I don’t want change. I don’t want to be stagnating or anything, but I don’t want everything to be upheaved yet again. I would really like a bit of stability. There is some good news, I have a stable job in a queasy economy. I have a warm and well-loved roof over my head (and over my shoes…very important). My besties are a constant and a source of endless support. And I am constantly meeting new people who surprise and amaze me–and, if we’re being honest, new people that terrify and disgust me. But let’s not focus on them, okay?
………
Actually, there are parts of the above two paragraphs that are completely untrue. Yes, I want stability. But I only want that kind of comfortable, contented living if it comes with The Good Things. What are the good things, you ask? Well, besides the ones already mentioned–spiritual contentment, stable job, comfortable home, reliable transportation (check, check, check and check) there’s…um…well…hrm. When you put it out in a list like that it kind of seems like perhaps I should just let go on whatever neuroses I’m holding on to and just see how things go.
Right. Let go of neuroses. Okay.
…Is there some kind of magic switch for that? Perhaps a weekly injection? No?
Blast.
