Thanks a lot, Heather
I can't stop! I'm getting nothing useful done whatsoever.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Leather
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
An oldie but a true-ey
You know you live in Arizona when...
The birds have to use potholders to pull worms out of the ground.
The trees are whistling for the dogs.
The best parking place is determined by shade instead of distance.
Hot water now comes out of both taps.
You can make sun tea instantly.
You learn that a seat belt buckle makes a pretty good branding iron!
The temperature drops below 95 and you feel a little chilly.
You discover that in July it only takes 2 fingers to steer your car.
You discover that you can get sunburned through your car window.
You actually burn your hand opening the car door.
You break into a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 a.m.
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is, "What if I get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death?"
You realize that asphalt has a liquid state.
The potatoes cook underground, so all you have to do is pull one out and add butter, salt and pepper.
Farmers are feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying boiled eggs.
The cows are giving evaporated milk.
To which I add...
"Dry heat" ceases to make any difference whatsoever. After a certain point, it's just heat.
The opportunity to walk barefoot to get the newspaper ends at 6:15 a.m.
Dogs who are notorious for hating water (Gypsy) now beg to have the kiddie pool filled up.
Turning off the hot tub causes the water temperature to drop to a balmy 90 degrees.
More cars get stolen as the owner leaves the car running in the driveway to cool off for 20 minutes before attempting to drive it.
The electricity bill goes up to $380 a month because of the A/C.
Joggers are regarded by those passing by in air-conditioned vehicles as more crazy than usual.
You have to wait for the shower to cool off before getting into it.
The birds form an orderly line at the bird bath, and it needs to be refilled twice a day.
The "White Guy Burn Index" stands at a whopping three minutes.
Your sister gets to brag about the weather in Maine, instead of the other way around.
The birds have to use potholders to pull worms out of the ground.
The trees are whistling for the dogs.
The best parking place is determined by shade instead of distance.
Hot water now comes out of both taps.
You can make sun tea instantly.
You learn that a seat belt buckle makes a pretty good branding iron!
The temperature drops below 95 and you feel a little chilly.
You discover that in July it only takes 2 fingers to steer your car.
You discover that you can get sunburned through your car window.
You actually burn your hand opening the car door.
You break into a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 a.m.
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is, "What if I get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death?"
You realize that asphalt has a liquid state.
The potatoes cook underground, so all you have to do is pull one out and add butter, salt and pepper.
Farmers are feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying boiled eggs.
The cows are giving evaporated milk.
To which I add...
"Dry heat" ceases to make any difference whatsoever. After a certain point, it's just heat.
The opportunity to walk barefoot to get the newspaper ends at 6:15 a.m.
Dogs who are notorious for hating water (Gypsy) now beg to have the kiddie pool filled up.
Turning off the hot tub causes the water temperature to drop to a balmy 90 degrees.
More cars get stolen as the owner leaves the car running in the driveway to cool off for 20 minutes before attempting to drive it.
The electricity bill goes up to $380 a month because of the A/C.
Joggers are regarded by those passing by in air-conditioned vehicles as more crazy than usual.
You have to wait for the shower to cool off before getting into it.
The birds form an orderly line at the bird bath, and it needs to be refilled twice a day.
The "White Guy Burn Index" stands at a whopping three minutes.
Your sister gets to brag about the weather in Maine, instead of the other way around.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Resurrecting Operation::Goddess
I've resurrected the fitness blog so that those who don't wish to be subjected to that kind of talk here can avoid it, and those of you who are interested can head on over there.
So! This weblog is now a detox-details-free zone. Carry on.
So! This weblog is now a detox-details-free zone. Carry on.
Homesick
Sometimes I feel close to panic, when I think that I will never be able to move back home again.
I would love to live here.
If I knew we were moving home, I think it would be hard to keep my feet on the ground. If Calvin felt the need as much as I do, I know we could do it.
ETA: Okay, I know that this is absolutely and totally impossible unless we won the lottery, but LOOK AT THIS HOUSE. Just look at it! My world is a better place just knowing that houses like this exist.
I would love to live here.
If I knew we were moving home, I think it would be hard to keep my feet on the ground. If Calvin felt the need as much as I do, I know we could do it.
ETA: Okay, I know that this is absolutely and totally impossible unless we won the lottery, but LOOK AT THIS HOUSE. Just look at it! My world is a better place just knowing that houses like this exist.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
I've been practicing
So when Calvin and I first got together, the whole family would make fun of me for being so gosh-danged polite in my own house. Little baby burps were masked by a hand in front of the mouth, and Marie would exclaim, "What was that, a burp? Oh, COME on. Nobody cares!" And then she would rip out a juicy one. Things would go south from there, as Calvin and Michael and Marie would attempt to out-belch each other.
It was difficult, at first, to be the only person concerned with manners at the table. It seemed like every night was reduced to belching contests and the discussion of bodily functions. The more I protested, the more they thought it was funny, and so I gave up manners as a lost cause.
They still made fun of my determination to remain cultured, though. So, I began practicing in private. A couple of gulps of warm Pepsi and some deep breaths, followed by some weak sauce. Then, the sauce got progressively stronger. Until I felt ready to release my talents onto my family.
I've done it, maybe, a half-dozen times. Each time when they would least suspect it. And it causes them to stare at me as if they've never seen me before. Marie is always impressed; Calvin is always disgusted.
Today, I made us some lunch, and when I was finished I fed my leftover crackers to the dogs.
"Chicken in a Biscuit! Is it chicken, or is it a biscuit? The world may never know," I goofed around as I teased Gypsy with a cracker.
"Let's not get carried away," Calvin snarked from the couch.
So, as I opened the closet door and threw away my paper plate, I gulped some air and let out a fair ripper (mmm... beer...) that echoed a bit (hooray for tile) and added to the overall effect. I peeked around the closet door and grinned at Calvin.
"Good God, Laura, that's gross. Girls aren't supposed to do that."
"Oh, so, what," I responded, "when you do it, you're an artiste?"
"Well, yeah!"
It was difficult, at first, to be the only person concerned with manners at the table. It seemed like every night was reduced to belching contests and the discussion of bodily functions. The more I protested, the more they thought it was funny, and so I gave up manners as a lost cause.
They still made fun of my determination to remain cultured, though. So, I began practicing in private. A couple of gulps of warm Pepsi and some deep breaths, followed by some weak sauce. Then, the sauce got progressively stronger. Until I felt ready to release my talents onto my family.
I've done it, maybe, a half-dozen times. Each time when they would least suspect it. And it causes them to stare at me as if they've never seen me before. Marie is always impressed; Calvin is always disgusted.
Today, I made us some lunch, and when I was finished I fed my leftover crackers to the dogs.
"Chicken in a Biscuit! Is it chicken, or is it a biscuit? The world may never know," I goofed around as I teased Gypsy with a cracker.
"Let's not get carried away," Calvin snarked from the couch.
So, as I opened the closet door and threw away my paper plate, I gulped some air and let out a fair ripper (mmm... beer...) that echoed a bit (hooray for tile) and added to the overall effect. I peeked around the closet door and grinned at Calvin.
"Good God, Laura, that's gross. Girls aren't supposed to do that."
"Oh, so, what," I responded, "when you do it, you're an artiste?"
"Well, yeah!"
Detox - The fun side of poo.
(warning, some of this stuff might be kinda ew)
I've been thinking about doing a body detoxification for a long time (I have good reason to suspect that I really need one - but when you think about it, who doesn't?). I did a lot of research over quite a few months... all the "Hollywood" power cleanses that roto-rooter you out and make you lose ten pounds in an hour, the soak in Epsom salts and drink nothing but grapefruit juice for a week thing, the "Mind Over Body: You are the Boss of Your Colon" meditation method. I was pretty much fed up and rather annoyed by the lack of non-zelotous information out there. Then early this week I came across this process.
It's kind of a complicated process that involves including different dosages of different supplements at specific times, but all of the testimonials and doctor's supportive contents convinced me to give it a shot. Hey, if the Wall Street Journal is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
However, it also does NOT sound like a process for the weak and/or squeamish. Both of which I am. But I shall brave it all for the sake of you, my loyal (and pretty!) readers. What, you didn't think I'd go through all this shit (heh) and not tell you allllll about it, did you?
Basically, the person performs a 6-day liver and gallbladder flush that removes calcium and fats from the arteries, and actually forces stored waste, bile, and stones from the gallbladder and liver. Which are things that certainly don't sound like I need.
Then the person goes on a seven day initial cleanse that rids them of, well, years of stored up McDonalds food, buffalo wings, potato chips, and various other kinds of foods of questionable nutritional value. All that deep-fried processed goodness. Mmmm... Anyway, after the seven day cleanse, the person goes on a maintenance dose to, uh, keep things moving along.
Is anybody else here picturing The Road to Wellville? Because I sure am.
Once on the maintenance dose, the person takes another supplement that flushes the body of parasites. Here's a fun fact for you - did you know that 90% of the world's population has a least one form of parasite living in their body? That's according to the FDA, right there. You'd think they'd get that little fact out in the public eye more often. Sort of a Public Service Announcement, if you will... "Hi, this is your friendly neighborhood FDA agent, here to tell you that there could be a parasite peeking out of your butt right this very moment! Hurry, get the mirror!"
They seem to be fairly easy to get rid of, anyway, since one only has to take that supplement for 6 weeks.
Are we having fun yet?
Once beyond the six weeks, the person starts taking yet another supplement that encourages the growth, health, and balance of the body's "natural flora", the bacteria and whatnot that exist in "the body's vast internal ecosystem".
That's the whole "flush". You can maintain with the Oxy-Powder, lowering the daily intake until you find the right balance for you. Same with the Latero-Flora. Then do the liver/gallbladder flush and the Parabuster once every six months, to maintain "optimal health".
If this stuff does all the things the website says it's supposed to do, a person can expect to be free of allergies, digestive problems, skin problems, fatigue, headaches, YI's, UTI's, anxiety, mental imbalance, asthma, immune deficiency, low levels of cellular oxygen, gallstones, liver stones, worms, and critters. Plus they can expect to lose several pounds of "waste" that's been accumulated over a lifetime.
Sounds terribly attractive, doesn't it? And you shall live it all along with me. If the stuff gets here on time, I'm starting next Tuesday. I KNOW I'm not the only one out there interested in doing a detox, so I can go through the process for you first to see if it's worth it.
Don't worry, though. I'll spare you any pictures. I do draw the whole "sharing too much" line somewhere.
I've been thinking about doing a body detoxification for a long time (I have good reason to suspect that I really need one - but when you think about it, who doesn't?). I did a lot of research over quite a few months... all the "Hollywood" power cleanses that roto-rooter you out and make you lose ten pounds in an hour, the soak in Epsom salts and drink nothing but grapefruit juice for a week thing, the "Mind Over Body: You are the Boss of Your Colon" meditation method. I was pretty much fed up and rather annoyed by the lack of non-zelotous information out there. Then early this week I came across this process.
It's kind of a complicated process that involves including different dosages of different supplements at specific times, but all of the testimonials and doctor's supportive contents convinced me to give it a shot. Hey, if the Wall Street Journal is wrong, I don't wanna be right.
However, it also does NOT sound like a process for the weak and/or squeamish. Both of which I am. But I shall brave it all for the sake of you, my loyal (and pretty!) readers. What, you didn't think I'd go through all this shit (heh) and not tell you allllll about it, did you?
Basically, the person performs a 6-day liver and gallbladder flush that removes calcium and fats from the arteries, and actually forces stored waste, bile, and stones from the gallbladder and liver. Which are things that certainly don't sound like I need.
Then the person goes on a seven day initial cleanse that rids them of, well, years of stored up McDonalds food, buffalo wings, potato chips, and various other kinds of foods of questionable nutritional value. All that deep-fried processed goodness. Mmmm... Anyway, after the seven day cleanse, the person goes on a maintenance dose to, uh, keep things moving along.
Is anybody else here picturing The Road to Wellville? Because I sure am.
Once on the maintenance dose, the person takes another supplement that flushes the body of parasites. Here's a fun fact for you - did you know that 90% of the world's population has a least one form of parasite living in their body? That's according to the FDA, right there. You'd think they'd get that little fact out in the public eye more often. Sort of a Public Service Announcement, if you will... "Hi, this is your friendly neighborhood FDA agent, here to tell you that there could be a parasite peeking out of your butt right this very moment! Hurry, get the mirror!"
They seem to be fairly easy to get rid of, anyway, since one only has to take that supplement for 6 weeks.
Are we having fun yet?
Once beyond the six weeks, the person starts taking yet another supplement that encourages the growth, health, and balance of the body's "natural flora", the bacteria and whatnot that exist in "the body's vast internal ecosystem".
That's the whole "flush". You can maintain with the Oxy-Powder, lowering the daily intake until you find the right balance for you. Same with the Latero-Flora. Then do the liver/gallbladder flush and the Parabuster once every six months, to maintain "optimal health".
If this stuff does all the things the website says it's supposed to do, a person can expect to be free of allergies, digestive problems, skin problems, fatigue, headaches, YI's, UTI's, anxiety, mental imbalance, asthma, immune deficiency, low levels of cellular oxygen, gallstones, liver stones, worms, and critters. Plus they can expect to lose several pounds of "waste" that's been accumulated over a lifetime.
Sounds terribly attractive, doesn't it? And you shall live it all along with me. If the stuff gets here on time, I'm starting next Tuesday. I KNOW I'm not the only one out there interested in doing a detox, so I can go through the process for you first to see if it's worth it.
Don't worry, though. I'll spare you any pictures. I do draw the whole "sharing too much" line somewhere.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Miss Doxie: All I can say
How many more will be lost before the war ends?
Quoting today's CNN article:
Spoken like a man who has never had to "sacrifice" his son, daughter, brother, sister, or friend.
Quoting today's CNN article:
"Committee Chairman John Warner, R-Virgina, praised President Bush for "steady and unflinching resolve."
"Our great nation has an enormous capacity for sacrifice and hardship when we understand the cause is just," he said."
Spoken like a man who has never had to "sacrifice" his son, daughter, brother, sister, or friend.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Hmm.
I kind of miss my old journal. Not dissing blogs in any way, because hello? I have three of them. I only post in one, sure, but the other two do exist for the sake of my whims.
It's just kind of like reading a book (the journal) versus reading a magazine (the blog). Which is, of course, the intent of having both. A journal to spend "scrapbook" quality time putting thoughts and pictures together, and a blog to toss out quick blurbs and anecdotes. I've made a couple of attempts at writing a meatier entry in the blog, but it feels strange, somehow. Ephemeral. Less solid than a journal entry. I'm making no sense, I know.
Perhaps the journal will see a renaissance soon.
It's just kind of like reading a book (the journal) versus reading a magazine (the blog). Which is, of course, the intent of having both. A journal to spend "scrapbook" quality time putting thoughts and pictures together, and a blog to toss out quick blurbs and anecdotes. I've made a couple of attempts at writing a meatier entry in the blog, but it feels strange, somehow. Ephemeral. Less solid than a journal entry. I'm making no sense, I know.
Perhaps the journal will see a renaissance soon.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Things that I am loving.
- Overstock.com. Particularly seven pieces of luggage for $117, and two groovy bar stools for $100 (free shipping!).
- Peanut butter on nine-grain bread.
- The fact that next week is our 3rd wedding anniversary.
- Malanga chips.
- My silly cat, who "kills" Kanga every night at bedtime and carries it (her?) into the bedroom while mwrowing with a full mouth.
- Air conditioning. It's gonna be 110 F today.
- Screwing around with the camera (pics to come later).
- Reclining sofas.
- Sitting in (on?) said sofa after cleaning the entire house (and after showering).
- Calvin, who kept pinching my butt yesterday and saying he could bounce a quarter off of it. He may be a liar, but he's a sweet liar.
- The painkillers that were prescribed for my back pain. Naproxin? Something like that. I'm too lazy to get up and check.
- The quiet of the house on my telecommute day.
- The fact that our mid-summer bonus is coming up. (It's all going toward the card that paid for our Vancouver trip, but what the hey. At least the trip will be paid for before we even go.)
- Camping gear! We need a tent, new air mattresses, a set of two-way radios, fishing licenses, and... uh... some other stuff too.
- Four-day Fourth-of-July weekends. We can't head to San Diego, hopefully the kids can visit us here. We shall see, it's their decision.
- The feeling of cool ceramic tile on my bare feet.
- Sirius Satellite Radio. Particularly the 80's channel.
- Wish lists. Currently at Amazon, Solutions, Hammocks, and JustGear - dot com's. If eBags and Overstock offered wish lists, I'd have one on each of those websites, too.
- My readers, who offered so much sympathy and advice in response to my big whiney entry about my back. I owe e-mails.
- Maps. My cubicle is now pretty much wall-papered with them.
- An A&W double cheeseburger when I'm really, really hungry.
- Sitting in bed on Sunday morning with Calvin, watching Looney Tunes and cracking up. "Yoooou stupid packy-derm." "Yo-de-oh-lay-ee... Yodleay-ee-oo yo-lay-dee-oo..." "Dahling bunnyea rabbit. Come give big kiss." "Dragons is so stupid." "No good, bush-wackin' barracuda!" "Vas ist der Uppenzie, Herr Doktor?" "My, I'll bet you monsters lead innnnteresting lives." Okay, I'll stop now. Or rather, I'll stop again.
- Peanut butter on nine-grain bread.
- The fact that next week is our 3rd wedding anniversary.
- Malanga chips.
- My silly cat, who "kills" Kanga every night at bedtime and carries it (her?) into the bedroom while mwrowing with a full mouth.
- Air conditioning. It's gonna be 110 F today.
- Screwing around with the camera (pics to come later).
- Reclining sofas.
- Sitting in (on?) said sofa after cleaning the entire house (and after showering).
- Calvin, who kept pinching my butt yesterday and saying he could bounce a quarter off of it. He may be a liar, but he's a sweet liar.
- The painkillers that were prescribed for my back pain. Naproxin? Something like that. I'm too lazy to get up and check.
- The quiet of the house on my telecommute day.
- The fact that our mid-summer bonus is coming up. (It's all going toward the card that paid for our Vancouver trip, but what the hey. At least the trip will be paid for before we even go.)
- Camping gear! We need a tent, new air mattresses, a set of two-way radios, fishing licenses, and... uh... some other stuff too.
- Four-day Fourth-of-July weekends. We can't head to San Diego, hopefully the kids can visit us here. We shall see, it's their decision.
- The feeling of cool ceramic tile on my bare feet.
- Sirius Satellite Radio. Particularly the 80's channel.
- Wish lists. Currently at Amazon, Solutions, Hammocks, and JustGear - dot com's. If eBags and Overstock offered wish lists, I'd have one on each of those websites, too.
- My readers, who offered so much sympathy and advice in response to my big whiney entry about my back. I owe e-mails.
- Maps. My cubicle is now pretty much wall-papered with them.
- An A&W double cheeseburger when I'm really, really hungry.
- Sitting in bed on Sunday morning with Calvin, watching Looney Tunes and cracking up. "Yoooou stupid packy-derm." "Yo-de-oh-lay-ee... Yodleay-ee-oo yo-lay-dee-oo..." "Dahling bunnyea rabbit. Come give big kiss." "Dragons is so stupid." "No good, bush-wackin' barracuda!" "Vas ist der Uppenzie, Herr Doktor?" "My, I'll bet you monsters lead innnnteresting lives." Okay, I'll stop now. Or rather, I'll stop again.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Settling for a good whine...
...since crying about it would just make me a Big Damn Baby. Which I feel like being right now. But one must keep up appearances for the sake of one's street creds.
I am in constant and unrelenting pain. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It's been building and building for the last, oh, six months and more, until it has reached the crechendo that I am (not) enjoying today.
It is the continuing saga of my back and neck.
The chiropractor doesn't help. The massage therapist doesn't help (though I am NOT giving that up). Pain medicine may as well be sugar pills. There exists no comfortable position to sit in or lay in, not for a moment. It's a constant, burning, immobilizing stiffness and pain that extends from just below my shoulder blades, up my neck, and to the base of my skull. It's painful to not touch. It's painful to touch. I can't turn my head in either direction very far. Touching my toes is agony ("aaah-goooo-neeee").
I've tried all my usual tricks. Paying extra attention to my posture (which is normally pretty good anyway, thank you childhood ballet). Sleeping at night with my lumbar points supported (neck pillow, rolled towel along my spine, pillow under my knees). Strengthening my abdominal muscles. Doing the stretches my doctor recommended. Mediatation. Deep breathing. Taking eight Advil in the span of three hours. Drinking a half a bottle of wine.
Nothing at all is working, and I'm at the end of my endurance. It's beginning to seem that I will live the rest of my life as one of those poor beings living with chronic pain, unrelenting and unforgiveable for the rest of my days.
Melodrama. It's good for the soul. It does nothing for my back, though.
I think I may have a cry, after all.
I am in constant and unrelenting pain. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It's been building and building for the last, oh, six months and more, until it has reached the crechendo that I am (not) enjoying today.
It is the continuing saga of my back and neck.
The chiropractor doesn't help. The massage therapist doesn't help (though I am NOT giving that up). Pain medicine may as well be sugar pills. There exists no comfortable position to sit in or lay in, not for a moment. It's a constant, burning, immobilizing stiffness and pain that extends from just below my shoulder blades, up my neck, and to the base of my skull. It's painful to not touch. It's painful to touch. I can't turn my head in either direction very far. Touching my toes is agony ("aaah-goooo-neeee").
I've tried all my usual tricks. Paying extra attention to my posture (which is normally pretty good anyway, thank you childhood ballet). Sleeping at night with my lumbar points supported (neck pillow, rolled towel along my spine, pillow under my knees). Strengthening my abdominal muscles. Doing the stretches my doctor recommended. Mediatation. Deep breathing. Taking eight Advil in the span of three hours. Drinking a half a bottle of wine.
Nothing at all is working, and I'm at the end of my endurance. It's beginning to seem that I will live the rest of my life as one of those poor beings living with chronic pain, unrelenting and unforgiveable for the rest of my days.
Melodrama. It's good for the soul. It does nothing for my back, though.
I think I may have a cry, after all.
Friday, June 10, 2005
I walked right into that one.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Juggling Act
In order of priority:
1. Family
2. Work
3. Finances
4. School
5. Household
6. Fitness
7. Me
In order to prioritize my family, I need to spend quality time with them. This is hampered to a large extent by #2. So I schedule vacation time, which requires extra focus on #3. Thrown into the mix is a doubling-up on classes, which takes away from #1 in the form of homework (I'll have to spend all day at the library this Saturday if I'm to have any hope at all of catching up). The maintenance of #5 starts to slip ("Laura, do I have any clean underwear?"), which requires focused time and energy cleaning, doing laundry, grocery shopping... impacting #1 and #3 and #4. My time and energy is limited to such an extent that, during the week, I'm more inclined to want to eat out. Goodbye, #3 - and #6. With all this crap going on, #6 is hardly ever even thought of, let alone accomplished. Which impacts how I feel about #7. Meanwhile #1 is fussing about being ignored, and #2 is jam-packed all day long with work-related tasks and personal stuff (balancing checkbook, making appointments, etc.) so that I barely have time to eat, which should positively effect #6 except that it isn't, really. Because of all the busy-work during the day, I can't use my lunch hour to deal with #4, which necessitates that I do it at home in the evening, which impacts on #1 and #5 and #6. And round we go again.
There is no time, absolutely none, for #7.
1. Family
2. Work
3. Finances
4. School
5. Household
6. Fitness
7. Me
In order to prioritize my family, I need to spend quality time with them. This is hampered to a large extent by #2. So I schedule vacation time, which requires extra focus on #3. Thrown into the mix is a doubling-up on classes, which takes away from #1 in the form of homework (I'll have to spend all day at the library this Saturday if I'm to have any hope at all of catching up). The maintenance of #5 starts to slip ("Laura, do I have any clean underwear?"), which requires focused time and energy cleaning, doing laundry, grocery shopping... impacting #1 and #3 and #4. My time and energy is limited to such an extent that, during the week, I'm more inclined to want to eat out. Goodbye, #3 - and #6. With all this crap going on, #6 is hardly ever even thought of, let alone accomplished. Which impacts how I feel about #7. Meanwhile #1 is fussing about being ignored, and #2 is jam-packed all day long with work-related tasks and personal stuff (balancing checkbook, making appointments, etc.) so that I barely have time to eat, which should positively effect #6 except that it isn't, really. Because of all the busy-work during the day, I can't use my lunch hour to deal with #4, which necessitates that I do it at home in the evening, which impacts on #1 and #5 and #6. And round we go again.
There is no time, absolutely none, for #7.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Sunday, Sunday.
Can I just say? Prince is an awesome actor. I just don't understand at all why he wasn't heaped with awards for his role in Purple Rain. Really, it's a staggering injustice. (sarcasm, yo.)
I would like to know why it is that I wake up feeling hung over after I take a nap. I replace a feeling of sleepiness with a slight headache and unsettled stomach. Even as I fall asleep, in the darkened bedroom at 2:00 in the afternoon, with the AC up and two fans aimed at the bed, I know that when I wake up I'm going to feel like crap. I don't feel that way when I wake up in the morning, why do I feel that way when I wake up after an hour or two in the afternoon?
I can't find any information about it on-line, either. The first time the internet has failed me. I feel so disillusioned.
Another weird thing, which probably falls under the category of TMI, is that while I'll have to make a bathroom trip (stagger) maybe once or twice during the span of a night's sleep, I may have to get up five or six times in the course of a nap.
Yes, people, these are the kinds of things I wonder about.
I'm thoroughly enjoying being home this weekend (input from the other side of the bed is less than enthusiastic - the "entertained-to-boredom" ratio is tipping in an unfavorable direction). We cleaned the hell out of the house on Friday night, which is a liberating feeling in that you know, once you're done, that you can walk barefoot around the house with complete confidence for the rest of the weekend. Calvin kicked his own ass on the front yard, and spent a few frustrating hours re-plumbing the front spigot and affixing new fixtures. Now we get water whereabouts we direct it with the hose, instead of sprayed all over the side of the house and dripped into a muddy mess under the faucet. He got a wee baby torch and sweated a fixture onto a pipe - I helped by holding the pipe steady with a wrench while he torched and soldered. I was geeked. Have I mentioned lately that he knows how to do EVERYTHING?!? It's unreal.
Saturday a friend picked up our old couch and loveseat and ottoman, and La-Z-Boy delivered our new couch and loveseat, and an area rug for the living room. The room seems quite a bit bigger now that we don't have the ottoman in the middle of things. And it's quite a bit warmer-feeling with the rug. We're just waiting on another area rug to put under the dining table, then we'll see how much it reduces the echo-factor in the house.
Then Chem-Dry arrived just before 1:00 and cleaned the four carpeted rooms in the house. So now the interior of the house is as fresh as the day we moved in. We spent the rest of the day lazing (heh) about on the couch, surfing the web on our individual laptops (welcome the 21st century - the family that surfs together stays together) for more decorative things for the house. The black-and-white pictures above the TV no longer work with the room, and we find ourselves with space on either side of the couch for actual end tables. I spent a pleasant couple of hours compiling a wish list on Solutions.com. I also searched for snow bunny gear for Marie and myself for our trip in December, and a new tent for our Big Lake excursion in July.
I may be slightly disillusioned by the Internet, but I still lurve it.
Speaking of Internet Lurve, a journaling friend informed me of her pregnancy, but I'll have to let her announce it. Taking the fun out of something like that is just plain wrong.
Today will be dedicated to finishing the (fucking) laundry, helping Calvin with the back yard, experimenting with a new recipe (skillet lasagna), and making some progress on my Pacific Rim paper. The topic I've decided upon is the impact of the construction of the Three Gorges Dam on the communities along the Yangtze River. My English class started last Thursday - the whole nine weeks will be devoted to instruction on (gasp!) how to write a research paper! For the love of web footed friends in the forest. So this will be a one-hand-tied-behind-my-back class. I've decided to write an argumentative paper on why oil drilling should not be allowed in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.
The first class had me TOTALLY rolling my eyes, and "raising my hand" like a teacher's pet. In an on-line class, one indicates that one has something to contribute by clicking the "raise my hand" button, which changes the student's icon - present in a small "attendance" window in the right corner of the screen - from a little face to a little hand. Then the teacher selects you to speak, you hold down the Ctrl button and speak into the microphone on the headset, and the rest of the class can hear you. No one else volunteered to answer when the class was asked if anyone knew what alliteration was, what the difference was between a bibliography and a list of references, and how to narrow down a wide subject into a good topic for a research paper (I can't believe I actually used the phrase "bringing things down from a 10,000 foot level to a 200 foot level" in real life).
Okay, from that level of geekdom, to this final mention. I just saw the video for the Pussycat Doll's "Dontcha". And I must say, I wish I possessed even just a fraction of their hot-n-sexy-ness.
Oh, and Nine Inch Nails' "Hand That Feeds" is an AWESOME song.
As my friend Archibael would say, "I'm off like a prom dress!"
I would like to know why it is that I wake up feeling hung over after I take a nap. I replace a feeling of sleepiness with a slight headache and unsettled stomach. Even as I fall asleep, in the darkened bedroom at 2:00 in the afternoon, with the AC up and two fans aimed at the bed, I know that when I wake up I'm going to feel like crap. I don't feel that way when I wake up in the morning, why do I feel that way when I wake up after an hour or two in the afternoon?
I can't find any information about it on-line, either. The first time the internet has failed me. I feel so disillusioned.
Another weird thing, which probably falls under the category of TMI, is that while I'll have to make a bathroom trip (stagger) maybe once or twice during the span of a night's sleep, I may have to get up five or six times in the course of a nap.
Yes, people, these are the kinds of things I wonder about.
I'm thoroughly enjoying being home this weekend (input from the other side of the bed is less than enthusiastic - the "entertained-to-boredom" ratio is tipping in an unfavorable direction). We cleaned the hell out of the house on Friday night, which is a liberating feeling in that you know, once you're done, that you can walk barefoot around the house with complete confidence for the rest of the weekend. Calvin kicked his own ass on the front yard, and spent a few frustrating hours re-plumbing the front spigot and affixing new fixtures. Now we get water whereabouts we direct it with the hose, instead of sprayed all over the side of the house and dripped into a muddy mess under the faucet. He got a wee baby torch and sweated a fixture onto a pipe - I helped by holding the pipe steady with a wrench while he torched and soldered. I was geeked. Have I mentioned lately that he knows how to do EVERYTHING?!? It's unreal.
Saturday a friend picked up our old couch and loveseat and ottoman, and La-Z-Boy delivered our new couch and loveseat, and an area rug for the living room. The room seems quite a bit bigger now that we don't have the ottoman in the middle of things. And it's quite a bit warmer-feeling with the rug. We're just waiting on another area rug to put under the dining table, then we'll see how much it reduces the echo-factor in the house.
Then Chem-Dry arrived just before 1:00 and cleaned the four carpeted rooms in the house. So now the interior of the house is as fresh as the day we moved in. We spent the rest of the day lazing (heh) about on the couch, surfing the web on our individual laptops (welcome the 21st century - the family that surfs together stays together) for more decorative things for the house. The black-and-white pictures above the TV no longer work with the room, and we find ourselves with space on either side of the couch for actual end tables. I spent a pleasant couple of hours compiling a wish list on Solutions.com. I also searched for snow bunny gear for Marie and myself for our trip in December, and a new tent for our Big Lake excursion in July.
I may be slightly disillusioned by the Internet, but I still lurve it.
Speaking of Internet Lurve, a journaling friend informed me of her pregnancy, but I'll have to let her announce it. Taking the fun out of something like that is just plain wrong.
Today will be dedicated to finishing the (fucking) laundry, helping Calvin with the back yard, experimenting with a new recipe (skillet lasagna), and making some progress on my Pacific Rim paper. The topic I've decided upon is the impact of the construction of the Three Gorges Dam on the communities along the Yangtze River. My English class started last Thursday - the whole nine weeks will be devoted to instruction on (gasp!) how to write a research paper! For the love of web footed friends in the forest. So this will be a one-hand-tied-behind-my-back class. I've decided to write an argumentative paper on why oil drilling should not be allowed in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.
The first class had me TOTALLY rolling my eyes, and "raising my hand" like a teacher's pet. In an on-line class, one indicates that one has something to contribute by clicking the "raise my hand" button, which changes the student's icon - present in a small "attendance" window in the right corner of the screen - from a little face to a little hand. Then the teacher selects you to speak, you hold down the Ctrl button and speak into the microphone on the headset, and the rest of the class can hear you. No one else volunteered to answer when the class was asked if anyone knew what alliteration was, what the difference was between a bibliography and a list of references, and how to narrow down a wide subject into a good topic for a research paper (I can't believe I actually used the phrase "bringing things down from a 10,000 foot level to a 200 foot level" in real life).
Okay, from that level of geekdom, to this final mention. I just saw the video for the Pussycat Doll's "Dontcha". And I must say, I wish I possessed even just a fraction of their hot-n-sexy-ness.
Oh, and Nine Inch Nails' "Hand That Feeds" is an AWESOME song.
As my friend Archibael would say, "I'm off like a prom dress!"
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
42.
I've been thinking Deep Thoughts today.
As I ate my lunch at my desk, I read Patrick's journal entry for today. To summarize, in case you don't care to follow the link, a good friend of Patrick's committed suicide by jumping in front of a train. Patrick himself suffers from depression as well, and had come close to using that same method in the past. He closed his entry with:
As a person with no shortage of mental issues myself, I got to thinking about the limits that a person must have reached in order to even contemplate - let alone commit - suicide. I do believe there is absolutely no joking around about the subject - if a friend or loved one even breathes a hint of harming themselves, everyone should wake up and listen. It's not a bid for attention, it's a cry for help. Even if they don't yet realize it.
Suicidal thoughts and feelings have always been a bit alien to me. I understand despair, desperation, loss, loneliness, grief. I understand that there are times when the end to the pain is an unfathomable, unreachable concept. I understand how depression and anger and sadness begin to define who you are, instead of what you feel. And I understand that even as people with depression wish to be happy (better? "normal"?) again, they also sometimes cling to their depression because they fear a loss of identity. It would be like looking into a mirror one morning and seeing brown eyes instead of blue, blonde hair instead of brunette, and the facial features of a complete stranger looking back.
I can say with certainty that I have never felt suicidal. My method of escaping depression lies in turning my mind off - usually sleeping for as long as I can force my body to remain so. Being completely antisocial. Forcing my mind to drift, drift, and not to narrow down or examine or focus on anything. Drinking copious amounts of wine.
Now, of course, I have a successful "cocktail" that has enabled me to be mostly free of depression for... (thinking)... oh, I'd say six months or so. After trying off and on for a few years, I began my search for a change in earnest on August 18th of last year. The improved feelings increased and built until I saw a significantly noticeable change, around February. But I had to stop and think about it.
It's funny. When you're feeling bad, dwelling on that feeling becomes your whole world. There's a litany of "sad. depressed. sad. tired. sad. sad." running at the back of your mind no matter what you're occupied with. But when you're free of depression, you actually have to stop, think, feel, take a stroll through your mind, and realize that it has dissipated. Days have been going by in which you've just been living life, without that knot in the midsection and tension in the temples, and you haven't even realized it until you made yourself do so. Then one day, you have a bout of perfectly normal blues, and you're reminded with a jolt of that darkness, and scared that you might be relapsing.
It's a pain in the ass to have to take constant stock of your mental self, but that's what folks suffering from depression learn to do. It becomes automatic, and it prompts us to examine our feelings more closely than perhaps a person without depression might do. When a "normal" person gets mad, they're mad. That's it, they just are, until they're not. When a person who has experienced mental issues gets mad, they have to understand why they're mad, what it feels like to be mad, watch their reactions from the outside, watch their reactions from the inside, analyze, compartmentalize, and dissect the feeling and the circumstances that created it.
I, like many others, question myself, "Am I sad because something is making me sad, or is it depression?" A rush of anxiety jolts me if I'm in the middle of my work day and realize that I forgot to take my meds. I wonder occasionally if I'm not feeling and reacting to enough. Should I be more worried about money? Should I be more stressed at my job? Have I lost my sense of urgency? Are my priorities straight? Should I get mad at that? Should I have let that go?
With the resolution of one problem comes a slew of others, I suppose.
I'm glad that, for me, there continues to be success. I continue to learn more about myself so that in the days to come I'll be able to stop taking pills. I'm fortunate that my in-born sense of optimism, though buried sometimes, still was stronger than my darkest feelings during my darkest moments. And even then, I knew that life was infinitely better than death.
Not everyone is as fortunate as I am. Their darkness is loud, overpowering. A single solution seems to be their only way to escape it. And when they do end their lives, the darkness only goes on to share its shadow among that person's friends and loved ones.
There are always options. There is always another way. Always. Be a friend. Listen even when there are no words. Examine ourselves and our own minds. Pay attention. Don't see depression as a weakness, in yourself or others. It's a challenge and a struggle against the hardest type of adversary - one that is intangible. Recognize it for what it is, because a single moment, a single word, an unconscious interruption may make THE difference.
Sometimes we will feel helpless and to blame when we see a friend or loved one succumb. There is no blame, there is no fault. The strength must come from within that person, in their own way and at their own pace. We may not be able to fix everything, or even anything. The outcome may still be a tragic one. But we still need to do everything we can to prevent the darkness from claiming any more friends.
I'm probably not making any sense at all. It all comes down to this:
Patrick, I'm so sorry your loss. You have friends that care about you and support you, whose lives are made better because you're in it. Please take good care of yourself, and lean on and be leaned upon by the friends and family that share your grief.
As I ate my lunch at my desk, I read Patrick's journal entry for today. To summarize, in case you don't care to follow the link, a good friend of Patrick's committed suicide by jumping in front of a train. Patrick himself suffers from depression as well, and had come close to using that same method in the past. He closed his entry with:
"I'll try to remember you whenever I hear or see a train pass by. What I almost did, what you did do. Two trains; two outcomes."
As a person with no shortage of mental issues myself, I got to thinking about the limits that a person must have reached in order to even contemplate - let alone commit - suicide. I do believe there is absolutely no joking around about the subject - if a friend or loved one even breathes a hint of harming themselves, everyone should wake up and listen. It's not a bid for attention, it's a cry for help. Even if they don't yet realize it.
Suicidal thoughts and feelings have always been a bit alien to me. I understand despair, desperation, loss, loneliness, grief. I understand that there are times when the end to the pain is an unfathomable, unreachable concept. I understand how depression and anger and sadness begin to define who you are, instead of what you feel. And I understand that even as people with depression wish to be happy (better? "normal"?) again, they also sometimes cling to their depression because they fear a loss of identity. It would be like looking into a mirror one morning and seeing brown eyes instead of blue, blonde hair instead of brunette, and the facial features of a complete stranger looking back.
I can say with certainty that I have never felt suicidal. My method of escaping depression lies in turning my mind off - usually sleeping for as long as I can force my body to remain so. Being completely antisocial. Forcing my mind to drift, drift, and not to narrow down or examine or focus on anything. Drinking copious amounts of wine.
Now, of course, I have a successful "cocktail" that has enabled me to be mostly free of depression for... (thinking)... oh, I'd say six months or so. After trying off and on for a few years, I began my search for a change in earnest on August 18th of last year. The improved feelings increased and built until I saw a significantly noticeable change, around February. But I had to stop and think about it.
It's funny. When you're feeling bad, dwelling on that feeling becomes your whole world. There's a litany of "sad. depressed. sad. tired. sad. sad." running at the back of your mind no matter what you're occupied with. But when you're free of depression, you actually have to stop, think, feel, take a stroll through your mind, and realize that it has dissipated. Days have been going by in which you've just been living life, without that knot in the midsection and tension in the temples, and you haven't even realized it until you made yourself do so. Then one day, you have a bout of perfectly normal blues, and you're reminded with a jolt of that darkness, and scared that you might be relapsing.
It's a pain in the ass to have to take constant stock of your mental self, but that's what folks suffering from depression learn to do. It becomes automatic, and it prompts us to examine our feelings more closely than perhaps a person without depression might do. When a "normal" person gets mad, they're mad. That's it, they just are, until they're not. When a person who has experienced mental issues gets mad, they have to understand why they're mad, what it feels like to be mad, watch their reactions from the outside, watch their reactions from the inside, analyze, compartmentalize, and dissect the feeling and the circumstances that created it.
I, like many others, question myself, "Am I sad because something is making me sad, or is it depression?" A rush of anxiety jolts me if I'm in the middle of my work day and realize that I forgot to take my meds. I wonder occasionally if I'm not feeling and reacting to enough. Should I be more worried about money? Should I be more stressed at my job? Have I lost my sense of urgency? Are my priorities straight? Should I get mad at that? Should I have let that go?
With the resolution of one problem comes a slew of others, I suppose.
I'm glad that, for me, there continues to be success. I continue to learn more about myself so that in the days to come I'll be able to stop taking pills. I'm fortunate that my in-born sense of optimism, though buried sometimes, still was stronger than my darkest feelings during my darkest moments. And even then, I knew that life was infinitely better than death.
Not everyone is as fortunate as I am. Their darkness is loud, overpowering. A single solution seems to be their only way to escape it. And when they do end their lives, the darkness only goes on to share its shadow among that person's friends and loved ones.
There are always options. There is always another way. Always. Be a friend. Listen even when there are no words. Examine ourselves and our own minds. Pay attention. Don't see depression as a weakness, in yourself or others. It's a challenge and a struggle against the hardest type of adversary - one that is intangible. Recognize it for what it is, because a single moment, a single word, an unconscious interruption may make THE difference.
Sometimes we will feel helpless and to blame when we see a friend or loved one succumb. There is no blame, there is no fault. The strength must come from within that person, in their own way and at their own pace. We may not be able to fix everything, or even anything. The outcome may still be a tragic one. But we still need to do everything we can to prevent the darkness from claiming any more friends.
I'm probably not making any sense at all. It all comes down to this:
Patrick, I'm so sorry your loss. You have friends that care about you and support you, whose lives are made better because you're in it. Please take good care of yourself, and lean on and be leaned upon by the friends and family that share your grief.
It's what's fer lunch.
I am trying very hard not to examine too closely the spoonfuls of AcronymCo cafeteria chili that I am scooping into my mouth. It tastes quite reasonable, but there are... well, bits that I'm hoping quite desperately are little chunks of garlic. Except that I can't imagine that the cafeteria employees would take enough time to chop up bulbs upon bulbs of garlic in the creation of the vats of chili they serve up each day.
And that's all I'm going to say about that.
And that's all I'm going to say about that.
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Books Read in '08
- "The Ungrateful Governess" by Mary Balogh
- "Silver Angel" by Johanna Lindsey
- "To Kiss A Spy" by Jane Feather
- "The Bourne Identity" by Robert Ludlum
- "The Wedding" by Julie Garwood
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Started counting at 2003 days
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