Category Archives: Sadness^Pi
…And inconsistent workout facilities.
Just in case you missed it, here’s a recap of what’s going on with me: Working on getting into running shape, quitting teaching and moving to Seattle in August. (Did I cover those last two on the blog, or just on twitter? I don’t recall…) There. You’re all caught up. ;)
Disclaimer: I know I’m talking about health and fitness a lot lately, or maybe it only seems that way to me, but, as I’m sure you can imagine, it’s at the forefront of my mind. If you find this sort of thing boring, I apologize, but to me it’s vastly more interesting than my oh so common complainy pants posts, so you’ll just have to deal with it until something more interesting comes along. Here’s a picture of some otters I took at an aquarium to assuage any potential wrath:
So, yeah, turns out this post will be not only fitness related, but of the whiny variety as well. I’m having a bit of trouble this week. Pretty regularly now, a coworker and I had been taking advantage of the small exercise room provided by our district for after-work workouts. And on the days that she was busy with kid-related stuff, I would go home and either go walking with my husband or do some laps in the apartment pool. Since the beginning of the hot season here in south Texas, which started in February or March this year, walking in the afternoon was taken off the docket due to my propensity to overheat. We would still go in the morning on the weekends, but then even that got too hot, but we always had the pool.
Fate, it seems, has decided to make my life miserable. This weekend we went swimming on Saturday, noting that the pool was kind of green. Then, with much hesitation, we sucked it up and went swimming again, on Sunday, in an even greener pool. (Icky!) We decided not to use the pool again until the situation was remedied. (I think the filter isn’t working. There wasn’t any suction.) And upon further inspection yesterday, it is, in fact, closed with no sign or anything to let us know what’s going on.
Then, yesterday, after work, I changed into my workout clothes and headed over to the workout room… It had a sign on the door:
I was not only irritated that it was closed, (and I changed in the bathroom for nothing!) , but yesterday was May 31, not June 1, so the sign was a big fat liar! Way to lie, liar sign! I was pissed to say the least.
THEN! To top it all off, got into the car, pulled out my ancient muddy pond brown Zune and found this:
Note the cracks and large black spot on the upper left side. I love you, Zune! Please, don’t die!! (Although, upon further inspection, I kind of love it that Elphaba is staring fixedly at the black spot! Maybe she can fix it with her magics! Though that didn’t work out too well for her, so maybe not…) (Also, that’s Donna Vivino as Elphaba. She is amazing! I just needed to let you know.) Upon discovering the injured Zune, I called Aaron for the fiftieth huffy time of the day just to share my dismay with someone.
And this was all on top of the previous huffy calls that were due to missing texts that threw off my crock pot plans! CROCK POT PLANS THAT I WOKE UP AT 5:00AM TO BRING TO FRUITION!!!
Ahem. Sorry. It was all very upsetting.
Anyway, in typical “me” style, I’ve said all that just to get to my point: My avenues for exercise have been decreased dramatically! Too hot/humid to walk (I mean, it’s almost 100F out there, people! Heat Index! UV rays! Solar… Flares…?). Exercise room at work, closed. Pool, closed. I’m at a loss. What’s a girl to do? (ToT)
Note to self: Next time you have an awesome idea for a post, don’t wait to write it. You’ll regret it.
So, yes, the post I was planning to write that was full of inspiration and whatnot is gone. At least four times I’ve sat down to write it and the words elude me. And not only the words, but the spirit behind the post seems to have left me as well. Not cool, Dobby, not cool.
It seems that it’s not just my writing that’s being effected, either. Along with my writing inspiration, all other forms of inspiration appear to have left me as well. I feel like doing NOTHING, all the time. I don’t want to read, write, surf the wed, watch TV, play video games and housework, HA! I have no motivation. I still do these things because I know that I should enjoy them or they need to be done, but it’s only with extreme effort. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Is there a flu or something that only makes you feel tired and unmotivated?
I’ve had this post percolating in my mind for about a week now and I just haven’t had the time or, when I had the time, I had other things going on. And so, I decided yesterday that today would be the day that The Post was going to happen. I won’t go into the details right now, as I do still intend to write said post, but my mind is elsewhere today.
I’m sure I don’t have to let you know that Osama bin Laden was killed and the announcement that launched a thousand impromptu parties went out last night. And while I completely understand the jubilation that seems to be rather wide-spread across the internet last night and still today, I feel sad. Do I think it’s awesome that he’s finally been found/taken care of? Of course. But, thinking about him just reminds me of the things he’s done and the things that he set into motion. It reminds me of the pain. The fear. The terror. He, and his comrades did far more than kill thousands of people.
They changed the face of our nation.
Every story that I hear of freedoms infringed upon in airports pains me. They caused this. Every hateful statement from self-proclaimed “patriots” toward other, completely innocent, human beings breaks my heart a little more. They did this to us. For a brief moment, we stood united against them. Standing together in mourning and in defiance. And then, as time passed, the real damage began to unfold.
Little by little, America has let little bits of freedom slip away in the name of “security”. Little by little, we have stopped caring. And that is why the news of his death makes me sad. To see what we have done in the wake of the actions of a single day, breaks my heart more that words can say.
“Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.”
…To enjoy the season, but right now, I could punch spring in the face!
This morning started off pretty nicely. I woke up early and it wasn’t terrible since I made myself go to bed early. I did my usual morning routine, but since I was up a little earlier than usual, I took my time about it and ate breakfast at home instead of at my desk before work. When the time came to leave, there was the slightest hint of coolness to the air which was very nice. Traffic wasn’t too horrific and I got to work with plenty of time to spare to check email and enjoy the sounds of spring.
I love birds. Not as pets, so much, but watching and listening to birds outside is always very pleasant for me. So, as I waited for the first bell to ring, I sat at my desk listening to the cacophony of different birds through my slightly propped open classroom door. (Our campus used to be an elementary school and isn’t a single building, so much as a collection of loosly connected buildings that open to the outdoors.) The one benefit of our campus is being able to enjoy some of the rarer local wildlife. We get whistling ducks, woodpeckers, meadowlarks, tree squirrels (Which are an oddity in an area dominated by ground squirrels.) and the normal sparrows, grackles and mocking birds.
And this morning ALL of them were doing their chirpy bird thing at the same time. Except for the squirrels, which are not birds. And it was lovely.
And then, I started sneezing. And my nose started running. And I started getting assaulted by dad-blamed fleas (which were almost gone as of yesterday, but apparently we got a new batch!). And then I remembered why I don’t like spring (not to be confused with Spring, whom I like very much) and I closed my door.
“…and you can’t do anything about it. Right?”
Note: Some of today’s post deals with ::cough:: feminine health issues. I’m not going to be graphic or anything, but I just thought you should be forewarned, just in case.
I know that I’ve mentioned the health problems that I was having last year, but I don’t think I’ve really gone into too much detail because of the, hrmm, sensitive nature of what I’ve got. I think that up until now, I’ve been mostly ignoring it and haven’t really sat down and thought about it. Today, though, I was trolling about a weight loss website that I’ve been looking into and on a lark, I looked up the condition to see what kind of information they have. I was, am, floored.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s get down to brass tacks. Last year I was diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) which has a whole slew of side effects which including abnormal hormone levels (which leads to “lady problems”) , difficulty having children (which isn’t an issue since we aren’t planning on having kids) and weight problems. (You can clicky the link if you want to know more.) The “lady doctor” that I went to gave me birth control pills to regulate my hormones and straighten out my horribly confused system and pretty much just sent me on my way.
This diagnosis and the problems that prompted me to see a doctor were kind of pushed to the side as I was dealing with work stress and then my grandfather dying. I think it’s safe to say that these three factors were what pushed me into depression but the indifference that said doctor showed didn’t help. Finally, I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but thanks to the pill, I’m a lot more emotional that I used to be and I don’t like it.
(Poor Aaron! He’s been a doll through all this drama. And, of course, he gets the worst of my irritability and down swings. Thanks sweetheart. I’d be lost without you!)
Basically, my unhappiness with the effects of the pill, which was given to me to manage the PCOS, spurred me to look into in on the weight loss website and that brings us back to where we started.
Me. On the floor.
I found a couple of support “teams” for sufferers of PCOS that are trying to lose weight and I started reading some of these women’s stories. It was all I could do not to burst into tears on the spot. Hearing about the pain and suffering that they’ve been through that is so similar to my own and yet so individual brought all of the fear and stress and frustration bubbling out of the little hole that I’ve been stuffing it into as I’ve been prioritizing “important” stuff.
Is it weird to say that I had no idea how much it had been bothering me? Suddenly, I found myself faced with this bitter, raw place at the center of all the negativity that I’ve been struggling to escape and it was like a light clicked on. (Dammit. I need a tissue.)
When I looked at someone other than myself with the same struggles and worse, for the first time, since it wasn’t me who was suffering, I could admit how much it sucks and how unfair this random toss of the dice has been. Because it wasn’t me… Because it wasn’t just me being a big baby. Because when it’s happening to someone else, I don’t have to pretend that it’s okay. When it’s not me I don’t have to pretend that it’s no big deal just because it’s not life threatening.
And it does suck. It sucks big, hairy donkey balls. It sucks to find out that parts of my personality that I’ve been proud of could be because of what this disorder has done to me. It sucks to know that in treating it, some part of the core of who I am changes a little. And maybe you don’t really notice it, but I do and it makes me sad. It sucks that it’s harder for me to lose weight than it is for a “normal” person. It sucks that people are shallow and I am judged too harshly for something that I have limited control over. It sucks that there is no known cause or cure.
But it feels pretty damn good to be able to face it. And it feels pretty damn good to be able to admit it. And it feels pretty damn good to know that I have people who love and support me and do what they can to make it okay. (Seriously, bad day to wear mascara!) It feels pretty damn good to know that there is something wrong with me and I’m not just a failure. And it feels pretty damn good to look to the future and see promise and hope.
Thank you for putting up with my emotional colonic. I love you guys.
Pocket full of posies!
We’re all getting The Plague!
-Traditional Nursery Rhyme
(with a slight change by me)
While I probably won’t catch The Black Death from the fleas here on campus, this is just fair warning in case I “disappear”. (It could happen! Last year there was a case of Plague in OREGON! Straight from the CDC even!!)
Here in South Texas, Spring is most definitely upon us. This not only means uncomfortably warm and humid days but it means the return of THE FLEAS! (Not to mention the ever-present mosquito menace.) I’ve blogged before about my adventures at my campus with flea infestations and this year is looking like it’s going to be just as grueling and unpleasant in that regard. Last year it started in April, but this year, with the earlier warmness and all, they are early too.
This year, I am trying out some new techniques in flea killing, prevention and detection. Apparently, because we are a school, we can’t use pesticides in the building, so we are left to our own, non-poisonous devices while they try to catch the culprits (possums, or as they’re called around here “tlacuaches”, in the ceiling) and spray outside (hopefully). My room and the computer lab seem to get it the worst since we are both at the back end of the campus, away from most of the scary activity that would keep flea-ridden beasties from taking up comfortable residence. Plus, this wing has a convenient hole in the roof. Huzzah…
Last year, my arsenal in the battle against The Itchy Ones included hand sanitizer, cheap-o Lysol and my pinching fingers. This year, in an effort to be more cost effective and avoid the use of chemicals (mostly the former), I’ve retired the two cleaners and I’ve got a few new tricks up my sleeve. Of course, nothing (aside from poison) tops the effectiveness of well trained pinching fingers, but they don’t always get the job done.
That, my friends, is where good lung capacity and scotch tape pick up the slack. We have pale linoleum floors all over campus and they’re kept fairly glossy making it difficult for the enemy to execute their usual long jumps. If you happen to look down (which I do a lot now) and see one creeping toward you in little hops, often a mistimed pinch ends with a flea somewhere on you and in the very near future: itching and the distant possibility of the Black Death or Typhus.
The Enemy Combatant’s biggest weakness is how light they are. Either from exhaustion from the fight or in a sad attempt at camouflage, fleas will often lie still on the floor. But one well timed gust from strong lungs and you KNOW if that black speck on the floor is in fact a flea or if it’s just a black speck. AND if it is in fact a flea, it is now further away from you, which is a definite plus! Then, you simply tear off a small piece of tape and place it over the flea until it’s good and stuck, lift, fold it over and you have a tiny little prisoner and can pinch through the tape at your leisure without worry that it will escape. That little jerk isn’t going anywhere! Or, if you’re having a particularly bad day or are feeling particularly evil, you can just leave it there to die on its own…
And with that lovely image, I must depart. Happy Hunting!
I don’t know what the problem is, but lately every time I sit down to blog, every single interesting idea scatters from my head like a swarm of cockroaches when the lights turn on. (You’re welcome for that charming analogy!) Not only that, but thanks to a lack of computer time, I’m horribly behind on my blog reading! It’s not that I don’t love you wonderful bloggy people, it’s just that I’m bogged down with the new semester and looking busy when I’ve got spare time. (Let’s be honest, now, shall we. How much of your time at work is actually spent working?)
Maybe it’s just this time of year that puts me in a funk. And I can’t even say it’s the weather because of the yo-yo that has been South Texas weather this year. It should not be 89°F in January in this hemisphere! And it most certainly should not be bouncing from a high of 88°F to a high of 43°F and then back up to 89°F within the span of two weeks! And for those of you in the chilly northern states that want to bitch-slap me about now, I apologize. I know things could be worse (much, much worse) it’s just irritating to live somewhere so schizophrenic. For someone that doesn’t like hot weather, I am living in the wrong part of the world!
Mostly, though, if I really stop to think about it, which I’ve been purposely avoiding, this time of year makes me really melancholy. This was always the time of year that we reconnected with family. It seemed that even when we were living on the other side of the country we would go “home” for the holidays every couple of years. And here it is, 10 years since I’ve set foot on Georgian soil. 10 years. Is it any wonder that I feel so disconnected and disjointed?
And now, with Grandpa’s passing, I’m kind of scared to go “home”. Just the thought of that old, crumbly house without him makes my heart ache. And then there’s that ever present fear that the warmth and acceptance that have always been there, no matter how long it’s been since we last visited, won’t be there. That it will be awkward and uncomfortable and the ease of slipping into old grooves with people that have known you all your life will be too rusted. I don’t know if I could take that. It’s easier not to face the possibility. It’s easier to wonder and not not test it.
For so long, I’ve been so afraid of putted down roots to be ripped up (again) that I think they might have shriveled up and died. I hold people at arms length. I disconnect. I’m a horrible friend. A horrible sister. A horrible daughter. And now a horrible aunt. I never call. I never visit. And for all the impact I have on the lives of the people I claim to love, I could be living in a monastery cut off from the rest of the world.
It’s kind of funny (in an ironic, not-funny-at-all-but-really-really-sad, kind of way). When I read about people’s day to day lives, whether it be in blog form or on farcebook or twither, and they talk about doing this and that with a friend or family member and it’s quite clear the kind of easy connection they have with these people, even when they’re doing something as mundane as grocery shopping or having dinner or anything like that or even just talking on the phone, it breaks me up a little. I feel a little stab of pain for the real, meaningful relationships that I’ve ignored and abandoned and that feel so far out of reach. I envy you.
If we are the sum of the roots that we put down, what the hell am I?
“…’cause I don’t think it’s gonna turn out okay
It’s no fair, it’s not fun
If every time it’s gonna end the same way
Big bad world: one”
“Big Bad World One” by Jonathan Coulton
Yet again, I find myself feeling wiped out. I don’t know how driven people do it. I just don’t have that kind of crazy energy. A couple of weeks of frenetic business and I’m ready to crawl between the sheets and sleep for a month. Seriously, how do you people do it?
So, I knew going into NaNoWriMo this year, that I wasn’t going to kill myself over it. I did that last year and it caused some strain on my already tenuous social life. (Sorry guys. I’m not exciting. A thrilling night out for me includes going to eat somewhere like P. F. Wangs with friends and then a trip to a book store. Yikes! I’m boring.) Things seemed to be hurtling themselves at me pretty frequently, including some wretched bouts with writer’s block and feeling unwell. Needless to say, I got behind. Horribly behind.
Currently, I am over 10K behind, so I’m throwing in the towel. This doesn’t mean I’m going to stop writing, it just means I’ll be doing it at a slower pace. After all, this year’s story took some strange turns and I get the feeling that unless I go back and correct said detours, I’m going to end up at the same dead end I did with last year’s “winner”.
I have no regrets about calling it quits. And now you know.
Today we’re going to talk about a touchy subject with a level of candidness that some may find uncomfortable. For those of you that have trouble with my honest assessment of the treatment/judgment of “plus-sized” people, strong language and other personal things, here’s a picture of a fish:
Okay, now that we’re alone…
There is a subject that is near and dear to my heart. It’s something that has affected most of my life. It is something that I feel strongly about. A subject that is often shied away from in polite circles. At least when there are any fat people around.
::gasp:: There. I said it.
So, let’s get real. According to the BMI scale, I am obese. This is something that I never talk about with anyone other than my husband. It’s too painful and entirely too personal. It’s an Issue (intentional capitalization for emphasis) I deal with every day. Every day that I have to look in a mirror and hate what I see. Every time that I see little to no results to weeks of steady effort. Every time that I see the judgment in people’s eyes. Every time I hear a perfectly beautiful and healthy woman bemoan her weight. It’s not okay.
All of my life I’ve been fed bullshit or been looked down on. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been fed the line “But you’re not fat… (whiny voice)” by someone I’ve called on being judgmental about the weight of someone not present. I guess I’m somehow magically exempted from your disdain for fat people. Really? Don’t buy it. But you have just made me wonder what you say about me when I’m not around.
But really, I digress. There is a point to this rambling and self-indulgent post. Lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve been chubby since I was eight or nine and that can’t possibly be my fault. And on top of that, I was recently diagnosed with a disorder (not life threatening, just inconvenient) that *TADA* has a symptom of obesity. In fact, according to the Mayo Clinic, women with said disorder are twice as likely to be obese when compared with women that don’t have it. Joy. In addition to this lovely and depressing bit of information, one of the side effects the medication that I’m taking to regulate said disorder is *TADA* weight gain. FML.
And I just love the nagging by my new doctor when I’ve gained a few pounds since I started on the medication. It’s a lot to take, lady! I barely know you and this is how we’re gonna play it? Just walk and watch what I eat? Oh, really? Is it really that simple? Do those two things and the weight will just melt off, eh? Thank you! No, really! Thank you! I’m a big, fat idiot and I HAVEN’T FUCKING TRIED THAT ALREADY! Also, until you’ve exercised with the weight of a small person added to your own, don’t talk to me about easy.
Don’t pander to me. I’m intelligent and educated and this is the one (well, not the only) damn thing in my life that I can’t seem to conquer. And that, my freinds, is killing me. Ever damn day that I wake up and I look in that mirror and see the person that is not really me staring back out of a doughy face, I’ve already lost for that day. It’s over. The battle is lost and I can’t even try. If I can’t get over this one, apparently so insignificant thing, how in the world can I possibly do all of the big things that I want to do with my life? If it’s so fucking simple, so fucking easy, why is the weight-loss industry so huge? If it’s just that easy, what the fuck kind of moron am I? What kind of useless waste of breath am I, if I can achieve something so “simple’?
I know I must sound bitter and whiny to some of you, but this is the Issue that has plagued me for as long as I can remember. And you know what? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of doubting my worth over something so trivial. I’m sick of the treatment and blame that is heaped on people over something so monumentally personal. For some, the weight is a defense mechanism or eating is a coping mechanism. For others, it really is out of their control due to something wrong with their physiology. For still others, they struggle with an addiction to food. And yes, my fair readers, over-eating is an addiction just like any other. Just like drugs or alcohol or tobacco. I would beg the world at large to treat it as such and to show some compassion to people that judge themselves far worse than they ever could, but, I’ve seen the rotten treatment of drug or alcohol addicts too many times to assume that people would show any understanding of something outside of their experience.
Please, don’t be a dick. Thank your lucky stars that you didn’t lose the genetic lottery but don’t look down on people who did. Don’t look at me like I’m an abomination when I’m ordering the same damn thing you are but it’s wrong from me to eat it since I’m a fat cow and you “don’t usually eat things like this”. Eating out ::snicker:: is something we all indulge in. Don’t be all high and mighty. You do it too. It’s our national pastime. How many times have you had quality time turn into “Let’s go eat fatty food!” time? Thought so.
I’m sorry to have gone on so long, but I really needed to vent some of this garbage that poisons my heart. The mistreatment of others in any capacity breaks my heart and the pain and suffering and even persecution of the overweight is no different. Thin does not always equal healthy. I’ve known many thin people with high cholesterol, high blood pressure and other disorders associated with being overweight, while, with the exception of my newly discovered disorder (which is thought to be caused by genetics), my obese ass is healthy as a horse, thank you very much! Please, don’t pretend that the dirty looks that are thrown my way are out of concern for my health. I don’t buy it.
Okay, okay. Really. I should stop. Just know that I don’t share this for sympathy for myself. I really don’t. But I do hope that in some small way sharing my story might help shift someone’s perspective about something they think they know.
This is my burden. What’s yours?
“…Little brown jug, how I love thee!” Ah! I have to confess, I’ve always loved Glenn Miller.
On the first celestial evening
From somewhere out of nowhere pebbles drop upon the world.
Sorry. That’s a song from Trigun, one of my favorite anime series. I must confess that Vash the Stampede is one of the few blonds I’ve ever had crushes on… And YES, I have had many crushes on animated characters! Is that really any different than celebrity crushes?! They’re make-believe too!
Seriously… Sorry. I’m really, really tired and I’m sure that this post will prove that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Be prepared for a scattered and possibly confusing/confounding ride!
I do lots of thinking late at night as I lie in bed trying to sleep. It keeps me up some nights. Woah! What’s with the sudden solomn shift in tone?! Ack!! SO SLEEPY!! But it is true. My brain and even sometimes my body wakes up after 10 PM. It’s a sad state of affairs that even though my job requires me to be up before dawn, my night compatible self still strives to function in the time that it works best. This isn’t exactly ideal for me, since I do have to be up by 6 at the latest and I need more than 7 hours of sleep to be fully functional. If anything, it’s depressing.
Last night, as I lay wide away next to my snoring husband, my brain was firing and my body was eager for activity… You’ve got to be joking! Now? I thought. Now, you want to do something? (-_-) In all seriousness, if it hadn’t been 11:45-ish and I didn’t know the dangers of even seasoned swimmers swimming alone, I would have slipped down to the apartment pool to run some laps.
::sigh:: No life guard on duty (or friends to watch your back) and no pool lights when attempting to do laps in a tiny pool? Not a great idea.My overactive imagination took over even as the longing to swim tempted my muscles. I could just see myself out there in the dark, coming toward the wall, miscalculating the distance and BAM! They didn’t find the body until the next morning. Poor Aaron!
Speaking of muscles… I really wish that I could be a runner. There is a huge appeal to the freedom of speed under your own volition. Sadly, my doctor has advised me to avoid running since I had some trouble with my knee last year and she doesn’t want me to injure it further.
Woe is me. A night owl with a morning heavy job, no pool to speak of and a serious case of sleep deprived itchy eyes!