I wasn't happy because I was thin. I was thin because I was happy.

I wasn't happy because I was thin. I was thin because I was happy.

I'm repeating this truth to myself a lot lately. My focus can't be on being thin as a means to the end of being happy. It just doesn't work that way. I look back a couple years. And the simple truth is that I managed to drop the dreaded 20 pounds because I was in a good, positive, I dare say happy place. Don't get me wrong. being thin pleased me greatly. I didn't think about my weight all the time. I felt healthier. I had more energy. These thing all by themselves made me happy. But it's not like I suddenly had this smaller, more efficient body and then became happy.

And I gained the weight back that I have when I allowed things in my life took me to an unhappy place. 

When you have your shit together mentally and emotionally... only then are you ready to get your physical shit together. So here I am... staring ahead... trying not to look behind me... and attempting to figure out exactly how to get my mental and emotional shit back together so I can get my body back.

Don't I already have my body? Yes. I do. And I am grateful for it. It's treated me well even if I constantly throw hate at it. Undeserved hate. What has my body ever done to me except respond to what I either put in it or make it do? And then I turn around and hate it. My body listens to me. If I choose to make it exercise and eat well then it responds. If I sit on my ass and eat shitty foods it responds then too. So why do I hate it? I know, but am unsure how to put it into words. But it is undeserved.

On top of it all I know very well that my image of myself is skewed. And I do fight to find a balance when I look in the mirror. I try to be realistic and not sugarcoat my weight as "cute" or "fluffy" or "curvy" if I am actually in an unhealthy class of overweight. But it's easy to make excuses and sugarcoat. It's also very easy to fall on the other side and blow my weight out of proportion. It is a bit of a tightrope walk really.

Anyway, I'm still teaching my BodyFlow which I love infinitely. But I feel like looking outside of my group fitness classes for inspiration. Not as a means to lose weight... but as a means to find myself again. I'm thinking about martial arts. I haven't taken karate since I was 15... but I did enjoy it. I loved the movement and the discipline of it.

So we'll see if I can find something I can afford and see where it leads me. I remind myself it is important to keep moving forward in life. Stagnation is my enemy. :)

What things have to align to make changes? When will I be ready this time? What will be my catalyst?

March 2010 (My before)

A few years ago... somewhere around September of 2010 I had a catalyst, a simple comment from a friend, that spurred me into action to get myself healthy. But it wasn't the comment alone. That was the ignition I suppose, but other things had to be in place for me to keep the inertia going after the initial movement. And I kept it going for a long time. I lost weight and I maintained it.

March 2012 (My after. Same shirt, same chair, just less of me... before I lost my job)

Of course, there is this thing called life that happens sometimes. And your finely tuned schedule and routine can get all in a kerfuffle. And looking back about a year that's what happened. I actually managed to maintain my weight loss through my Mom dying. I'm still really proud of that. It would have been a perfect excuse to eat everything I wanted. But I didn't. I kept doing well with my eating and working out. But a bit over a year ago I lost my job. In the grander scheme of things I lost my schedule. I lost my routine. And I put on a couple pounds. Then I found a job, but I hate it. And other bits of my life were changing in large ways. And the depression hit. So more pounds came along with that.

Me now (not all the way back to big... thank you to the added muscle mass)

So here I am. I look back at almost 3 years. I had 2 years of improving health and maintaining health. And one year of decline. I don't feel like me at this point. I'm too heavy... physically and emotionally. I feel like I'm slogging my way through my days. I'm trying to figure out what I need to do mentally and emotionally to be able to pick up physically. I know it's possible. Hell, it's not even all that difficult. But your head truly has to be in it. I'm not quite sure how to get my head back in it. I need another catalyst. And I need to care.

Ruminating on "Time"... the Pink Floyd version, not the Hootie version.

So it's Saturday. I'm broke until pay day so the roommate and I have just hung around the apartment all day. It's been pleasant, but I find myself getting restless and uneasy. Not physcially, but mentally and emotionally. Then I read this article about what you will regret as you get older. The one guy had a long and thoughtful essay. And the scariest part was what he called "the heavy cost of the time you've wasted." And he directed the reader, me, to the lyrics of the Pink Floyd song "Time." I was never an adolescent male so I missed out on the Pink Floyd fandom and love that most men I've ever known have for the band. But I googled the lyrics. I find them incredibly sad, true, and maybe a little inspiring. I still don't know which way to go in life, and if the doors will open in that direction if I want them to... but it's a reminder that I don't have forever. I regret a lot of my youth. So much of it feels wasted. I don't want to regret all of my adulthood. Here are the lyrics:

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run you missed the starting gun

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun
But it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
the sun is the same in a relative way
but you're older shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way

The time is gone
The song is over
Thought I'd something more to day

Home
Home again I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It's good tow arm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field tolling on the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees to hear the softly spoken magic spell...

Heavy sh*t for a Thursday night.

I'm not sure what's going on with me these days. I do not feel like I'm sinking back into depression. But I feel off. I feel perplexed. I feel like I'm floating in limbo.

I feel like I'm standing in the middle of an empty space... all around me, just out of reach, are parts of my life spinning around me. And it's not exactly that I can't reach them, but I'm not sure where I want to reach. I feel alone. I recognize the large chunk of me gone since Mom died. And I'm just standing still... waiting for the other part of me to be gone too... waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to be an orphan. Waiting to be completely alone. There is no date on this... it could be tomorrow... it could be ten years... but it's there. And I feel like I have to be on guard for it. I need to be ready. Even though I know damn well there is no way to be ready.

And I so desperately want to talk to my Mom lately. I want her advice (even though I often didn't take it). I want her reassurance. I'd like to have her just listen and tell me I'll figure it out and not to worry.

I want to not be standing in this empty space all alone. It's exhausting. I'm strong. I'll survive. I am Cathy's kid after all. But some days it's like just the act of living hurts... even when nothing is happening. I start to worry about my health. I'm 40 and have never had any serious health issues. It can't last forever. And who will be there for me when it does?

It's been a while since I had a good cry. I suppose I was overdue. And it's not good to fight feelings. Better to feel them and let them go. They do far less damage that way. And perhaps writing about them gets them out too.

Telling people's stories

A long time ago my Mom decided to help an old lady who lived down the street write down her life story. They would sit together, and she would tell Mom all sorts of things, and Mom would take down notes. I bet she wrote it in shorthand. She was one of the old school secretaries before dictation machines and the proliferation of word processors and computers who actually knew shorthand and used it for years. She would sign notes to Dad with shorthand. I am guessing it meant "I love you" but I'm not sure.

Once she had all her notes she went and typed up the story, made copies for the woman, and she distributed it to her family. I guess everyone loved it. So over the years Mom would find people who would let her "write their stories" as she called it. I remember Mom saying email made it easier because she got more detail from the people and it made the stories better. Of course, not all old ladies would use email. :) Mom seemed to really love doing it. But she never did write her own story. I don't know if she felt the need to do so. I don't know if she ever wrote in a journal either. She seemed to live so much in the present. She also had the mentality of not spending time worrying about yourself... I wish she had worried more about herself, but then that just wasn't her way.

My father, when he was out of high school but before the Air Force, went in with a couple friends and bought an old Model A Ford and drove from Iowa to California... stopping along the way to work and earn money to pay their way. Then they drove back and sold the car. At one point Dad bought several model cars like the one he had driven on that trip. He even bought an old atlas from the year of his trip that showed all the roads before the interstates. He talked about sitting down and mapping out the route he had taken. I wondered if maybe Mom would write his story too. But it wasn't to be.

I think Mom was a woman of many talents. I hope she knew she was talented. But I know if you tried to tell her she was talented she would have said "No, anybody can do this!" 

CrossFitting my booty. :)

I am starting CrossFit this week... at 6am on Wednesday. Yes... my non-morning person, Velcro sheet-loving, lazy ass will be getting up at the butt crack of dawn twice a week to go exercise. And I'm actually looking forward to it. The truth is I'm barely exercising these days. And I'm eating fairly poorly. My portions aren't bad, but my choices are high in sugar. And you know... I know this will be tough to believe... I am feeling like crap lately. It's funny how you can ignore how bad you feel for a long time. I am thankful that I'm noticing it now, though, before it gets too bad.

I miss feeling good. I miss feeling energetic. Now... going to the gym twice a week won't fix this... but I'm hoping the intense workouts will propel me (as they did when I did a boot camp a couple years ago) into eating better because it makes working out so much better. Diet really is everything. You don't have to work out seven days a week to be in good shape. But you do have to eat well... at least more often than not.

So we shall see. :) But I feel good about it. Once in a while you can just feel yourself reach a point where there is no other option but to make a change. That's kind of how I feel right now.

Health first, then vanity

I have a lot of ideas of what I'd like to do in life. Projects and such... lots of creative things. There are a number of them that will be physically challenging... which in their own way are actually huge mental challenges as well.

As is my usual mode of operating my thinking always falls back onto how thin, or chubby as the case may be, I am. And it always gets into my head and makes me feel bad about myself when I don't feel I've lived up to what is my ideal. It occurred to me tonight that I've been making my rookie mistake for months now. When I think about wanting to lose weight my entire mindset is on how I look. Now that is understandable in some ways. I teach group fitness now, and I am bothered that I am not as thin as I was when I began teaching. A room full of people staring at you as you wear spandex and tell them how to do things makes you want to feel like you look the part. But when I embarked on my quest to get in shape a few years ago I didn't go in with the "vanity" in the front of my mind. I looked honestly at myself and figured if I didn't get control of this now I where would I be in 20 years? And I now know 20 years will happen in the blink of an eye. I began with the idea of being healthy. And I truly credited that mindset for my success. How could I have forgotten? Focus on health... and the looks will follow.

The funny part is that my face looks younger when I'm chubby! I mean... WTF? I understand it, fat fills in the wrinkles, but it just seems ridiculous. The healthier I was the more age my face was showing.

The simple truth is I miss feeling good. I need to get back into the mindset of eating so I can work out... not working out so I can eat. When I eat well I actually have the energy to work out. It's not such a challenge to get to the gym.

So we'll see. I am the only one who ever gets in my way.

Introverted moments

I had this incredibly overwhelming introverted moment today! Let me set the stage. I get off work at 5pm. I had to be at the gym to teach by 7:05pm. I live 30 minutes away from work, and 20-25 minutes from the gym. I had packed my gym bag. I could find something to do in town. I could get something to eat and kill some time. But at 5:00pm today I had an almost uncontrollable need to be somewhere quiet and by myself. I crossed my fingers that there wouldn't be any wrecks to ruin traffic for me, and I headed towards home.

I don't mind people. I enjoy being at the gym. I enjoy interacting with folks. I even enjoy interacting with some people who come into my workplace. But introverts need quiet time too. So I drove all the way home knowing it would give me 40-50 minutes of time in my apartment. I ate some cereal, changed my clothes, and laid on my bed in a darkened room... and re-energized myself. This was interrupted slightly by the really loud landscapers mowing outside. But it was enough. By the time I got to the gym I was no longer on edge.


Sometimes the key to finding enough energy to live is finding stillness.

Down time

Sometimes we all need down time. And as life gets busier it is important to actually schedule down time for ourselves. Today I took the night off. Every other day this week I had commitments. Now they were fun commitments involving the gym... I love what I do so it is not a complaint. But at the same time I need a day a week when I can just go home after work. Tonight I came home, went to supper with my roommate, watched some Red Dwarf in my PJs, and just had a nice night without having to be anywhere.

My mom knew the importance of this... she raised 8 children. But she had one hour of every day that was hers and hers alone. She took a bath at 7pm every single night of my life... even after I left home and there were no more kids to raise she still had that hour in a room with the door closed. She had a little TV in there, and she'd watch TV for an hour while she took a bath. It was her hour. And I learned later in life that it really helped keep her centered and sane.

At least at the moment I'm not taking that day off to "crawl back in my hole" as I called it when I was teetering on that edge of depression. Now I just know I need to be able to not be around tons of people for an evening... I need the recharge of my batteries.

Choosing a direction

Well, I seem to be feeling quite a bit better these days... mood-wise. I no longer feel like I'm teetering on the edge of depression. I probably wasn't really teetering. I was there. But I am very fortunate to have the support of friends and a good therapist.

So now that I'm no longer feeling at the bottom staring up the long climb back to feeling sort of normal... well, now what? I've still got so much uncertainty around me. That's tough for a planner like myself. I want to start feeling like I'm choosing my direction again. I've spent lots of my life just sort of floating along where life has taken me. A few years ago I started feeling like I was choosing the direction, at least in some areas of my life. This past last year has kind of thrown me and I've had that floating feeling again. Time to see the directions around me and make choices that take me in the healthy directions. No floating... moving with purpose. :) And when bad choices are made I must remember every day is a new day. Every moment is a new moment. If a bad choice is made... just make a good choice to get back on track. :)

Enough self-help psychobabble for tonight... my good choice at the moment is to shut down and go to sleep. :)

Weird day

I've had such a weird day. It didn't seem weird, but looking back it was just an odd combination of both good and bad things.

First I spent a part of my work day discussing with my coworker how we think they're going to close our branch this year. This is bad because I need a job. I've been looking the entire 6 months I've been at this job and haven't found anything. It would be good because I hate this job passionately and being laid off and getting unemployment again while I job hunt doesn't sound horrible.

Then I went to an aerial silks class. This is good. It's always a good thing to do something physical and meet new people. But I weighed myself before class. This was bad. I spent the entire class surrounded by mirrors knowing I have now gained the majority of my weight back. I can no longer say I'm just a little chubby. For my frame, for my health, for me... I am fat. Period. So in a way weighing myself was good. I know I have to do something now. When I'm teaching I feel strong. I realized I can ignore the weight. But in the aerial silks class I can't ignore it. I'm out of my element and hyper aware of my weaknesses.

So I drove home trying not to cry about it. I get home and had a check in the mail from the "unclaimed cash" website... I had sent off a form months ago to claim the cash. I had no idea how much it was. It was over $300! It will cover my vacation next weekend. So then I was all happy again. :)

So yeah, my day is a bunch of first world problems I suppose (though the idea of losing my job is a real problem)... so hopefully I'm getting my act together enough I will actually take care of this stupid weight and send it in the right direction.

Human Polaroids

You know I could line ten people up in front of me. And if each of them could become a human polaroid camera and produce a picture of who they see and what I look like... well I would be looking at ten completely different pictures of ten different people. And all ten would be different from how I think I actually look. So which vision is real?

The answer is none of them are real... and all of them are real. Everyone's version of reality is colored by their own thoughts, feelings, insecurities, confidences... basically everyone is a custom made polaroid camera. No two lenses are the same.

So I may feel like a wallflower. I may feel like a geek and an introvert. But someone else sees a bold, funny, confidant girl. Someone else sees me as sexy. So who is right? Everyone is right. All of that exists in me. I am all of those things. And one of the beautiful things about getting older is you begin to meld together what you think you are with what others see... you can embrace all the parts of you and start to believe the good stuff. :)

Mom, me, middle age, and the need for creativity and expression

One day long ago, I was at least a teenager, my mom bought a hand sized block of molding clay from the craft store. After playing with it for a while she presented a bust of a young girl wearing a bonnet. I looked at it in a rather dumbfounded way. I looked at her and said "where did you learn to do that?" I don't remember her exact words, but basically she learned it nowhere. She just wanted to try it. A few years later one of her coworkers was a very talented artist. She learned about acrylic paints from him. She had always assumed that people who painted used oils, and that didn't sound like something she wanted to try. But when acrylics were explained to her (they dry quickly and you can paint right over them if you don't like what you painted) she must have been intrigued. So around the age of 50 my mother started painting.

I remember being very impressed, and yet confused, by mom's sudden interest in painting. I was impressed with her obvious ability, though she would say anybody could do what she did. She was very technical. She would break down her canvas into a graph. She would graph out a picture she wanted to paint. Then sketch in each block... But I assured her that her technical approach to creating art was still a talent not everyone possessed. But my confusion came from the fact I had not seen mom ever be artistic. Even at age 20 my mother was still only a mom... my mom. Over the years I have started seeing her more as a three dimensional person... and even now I'm still making discoveries.

Today it occurred to me that I understand why she started painting. I understand why she molded that block of clay. I understand why she started tap dancing, choreographing dances, and making costumes in her 60s. I think we reach a point in life where we feel the need to truly be ourselves. We spend so many years going through motions. And suddenly the need to create, to express, to feel alive, to be authentic... that need starts to gnaw at us.

So here I am at that point. I teach at the gym. I write this blog (though I'm not sure it's creative, but it is a good outlet for my mental and emotional health... which I guess is part of the point of being creative). I've started working on a costume I want to make. And I've started collaborating on a short story with a friend. Fiction! :) And in doing all this I feel like I know my mom a little better. I do wish she were around to discuss it. I feel like I know what she'd say, but it would be better to hear her voice saying it. :)

Mom lights up the room!

My mother was seriously like a source of light. I almost said "ray of sunshine" but that just sounds too sugary sweet. And she wasn't sugary sweet. But when she walked into a room she brightened it and lifted the moods of anyone around her. She was always smiling and joking... always helpful. When she was in the hospital hooked up to all those machines my sister and I talked about how what a bummer it was that the nurses hadn't gotten to spend a few minutes with her awake. She'd already befriended everybody in the other section before her surgery, but the people in the Cardiac ICU didn't get to know her. We did our best to convey the fact that this pediatric sized elderly woman was a ball of energy and light. I hope some of them understood.

I find that writing about her helps keep her memories alive for me, but it also seems to be introducing her energy to people who never even met her. Friends of mine tell me how they like reading the stories about her... and the comments they make... well, it seems I am representing her accurately.

I was thinking about her last night. I have purchased 2 old dresses from the thrift store which I am going to attempt to turn into a Steampunk costume (google it if you don't know what that is). I figure it will be fun to try, and maybe it'll turn into something I can wear to conventions instead of my standard jeans, sneakers, funny t-shirt. When I get nervous about trying or starting the project I just remember the curtains mom made to match a single she already had... they looked the same. She just worked it out and did it. Or the costumes she would make for herself and her fellow dancers in The Silver Tappers. She was not a great seamstress... but she just went ahead and did it anyway. And I do seem to be following in her footsteps in that mentality... just do it. Very Nike of us.

She taught me to sew. She taught me to try. She taught me to do. Some days I feel like I carry the same light she had... I'm not sure it comes as naturally for me... but I do try to let it shine. :)

So who's view is accurate? Mine? Yours? or a Strangers?

I don't think it's possible to have an accurate idea of what I really look like. I think we all look completely different to each person. I catch glimpses from people sometimes that confuse the heck out of me.

Tonight I taught a small class at a BCBS center. It's usually pretty small. I had a lady stay after asking me about some Pilates and we were discussing general core training. Now I'm standing there in my normal teaching outside which is some version of cotton, lycra, and spandex. And I'm feeling pretty pudgy, as usual lately. And this woman, who is smaller than me, is complaining about her stomach area. And she makes the comment while gesturing my direction "yeah, but you've got a really small waist." What? Blink blink. What? I know my measurements. I know my size. I also know I am shaped in such a way that I am a bit of an optical illusion. I have always weighed more than I appear. But to me it seems quite obvious I do not have a small waist. But this stranger sees me that way. And I viewed her as being smaller than me. So who the heck is right?

Of course, I tell myself later "Oh, yeah, well, I have such a big butt and boobs that my waist just looks small." Then I told that voice to shut the fudge up. :) That voice is a loser.

I'm pretty awesome. I wish I could either quit wanting to be in better shape... or just get in better shape. That, of course, requires the dropping of my food vices. And that's just scary as hell.

That is all my rambling for tonight. :)

The weird saga of my ugliest hoodie attracting attentions to my, um, assets

I looked especially crappy today. Now, let me say I'm not really being down on myself. I'm just stating a fact. I woke up earlier than normal on this Monday after daylight savings time because the alarm on the living room clock had inadvertently been set while the clock was being changed. Then my stomach hurt so I couldn't go back to sleep. I crawled out of bed, showered, and put on clean clothes to the best of my groggy ability. Jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie sweatshirt are my typical attire. Today for some reason I grabbed my crummiest hoodie. It is by far the most ill fitting and least flattering, and it has little holes starting at the seams. I reserve use of this sweatshirt for sitting around the apartment. It is part of my "house clothes/pajamas." But I grabbed it this morning. It was cleaned, but let's just say I was dressed to unimpress today.

So I'm sitting at work truly unconcerned about my crummy clothing. I work around folks I don't care about impressing. In the afternoon I had one customer come in and while we were discussing his order I noticed that he seemed to not be able to make eye contact with me... It was like I had an eyeball on my left boob that he was intent on having a conversation with. I found this strange, but after a while it occurred to me he seemed somewhat awkward in a way that led me to believe he was just avoiding eye contact, and not really aware he was in a staring contest with my boob.

Then another guy came in toward the end of the day... and he did the same damn thing. I found myself checking my sweatshirt to see if I had some sort of bullseye on it... or just some weird spot that would call attention. Nope... nothing.

So what the hell? I deal with dudes every day. I'm aware I have boobs. Guys often like boobs and will look. It is what it is. But I've not noticed this in 6 months at this job. Then, on the day I have the grungiest, baggiest hoodie-clad boobs (and I do mean the hoodie is baggy and grungy... not my boobs thank you very much! They're holding up ok for their age) I have 2 dudes unable to make eye contact with me, but able to make eye contact with the girls? I was neither offended nor excited about this. Just extremely perplexed.

Whatever the case this ugly ass hoodie will be staying in my apartment from now on. :)

Could it be? I am who I want to be?

It is so nice to have a reminder once in a while that the way other people view you is not how you see yourself in your head! Today I made an appointment with my hairdresser, and friend, to get my hair colored. As we were talking she said "Tracy, you could pull off any hair color... just because of your personality. You could have blue hair, and you'd be like 'Yeah, my hair is blue! Awesome!'" And this woman has known me, been cutting my hair, for 15 years. I walk around feeling like a wallflower half the time... and there are people who see me as bold and crazy and not afraid of anything. Maybe I'm actually the person I want to be after all. :)

My pesky inner dialogue needs a serious attitude adjustment

I've been trying to keep an eye on my inner dialogue. I am not doing a great job. You read a lot of those inspirational memes on Facebook about the fact that "we are our thoughts" or "what we think is what we will become." There is truth in that I think. And I also know the things I say to myself... well, if someone said them about someone I loved I'd beat the shit out of them. But I love myself, right? So why do I allow it?

The worst thing lately is that I keep allowing some form of "worthless" in my mind. That I am somehow not worthy of good things. But do you know how I know that's not true? Because my mom thought I was worthy. And if Cathy thought I was good enough... for whatever... well, then I must be. Now I do know that the worthless thing is completely irrational. But if we allow the thought then we start to feel it. Hence the policing of my thoughts has begun. Sometimes I'll just make myself think things almost like a cadence: "I am strong. I am powerful. I am worthwhile. I am beautiful." Anything that is in the positive. I figure if I say the negative and feel it... well, then I can feel the positive too. Either side requires maintenance. Awareness is the key. Awareness is only the first step. But as we know the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. If you don't take the first step you can't reach the goal.

Goal? What is the goal exactly anyway? I suppose the goal is being able to wake up in the morning and be glad to be living in my skin. It should be easy... I'm Cathy's daughter. I can't imagine being anyone better, right? :)

Hormones vs. Depression

Hormones suck. It is such a drama to deal with them. I mean... they get me all irrational with my emotions. I was driving home today holding back tears and just telling myself "You're almost home. You can sit in your recliner and eat ice cream and it'll be okay." And the stuff I was thinking about was all manufactured... stuff my brain conjured up to feed it's stupid hormone driven needs.

I'm thankful I can usually recognize the hormonal stuff, though. I warned my roommate that I had been in a low-grade amount of pain all day (stupid abductor muscle pull) ,and I was really emotional due to hormones. I asked him to please avoid pushing any of my buttons. LOL. I find it's good to give advanced warning to those close to you when you're hormonal... then any weird behavior they can understand. I held it together pretty well actually. And now, almost bedtime, my hormones have finally chilled out.

It's my age. It's one of those early pre-menopausal things that happen. Your hormones go out of whack. Thankfully my doctor changed me to a different birth control that helps an incredible amount. The one I was on before... OMG! I missed work one day because I laid on my floor crying uncontrollably... for no reason whatsoever. That was a bad mix of hormones. And that's when I went to my doctor and said "HELP!" Now it's just "oh, I'm hormonal today... it'll pass." Not so bad. I'm not really looking forward to menopause, though, when everything really goes nuts.


It really is kind of weird being able to work out what's hormone related sadness/moodiness and what's depression related. This morning I had a really hard time getting out of bed. That seemed depression related (and I hate my job related). The rest of the day's moods I could say "hormones."

How Mom and Dad met and married... for their 45th anniversary today

Today would have been my parents 45th wedding anniversary. So to celebrate I am going to tell the story of how they met and married. It is a story my mother told often. And I've told it often. It's rather ridiculous... and it colored my expectations for many years. I no longer think I'll have anything like it. It was just for them. :)

A little back story: My mother was married at age 18. She had been married for 7 years before she left. I believe it was a bad marriage. She almost never spoke of it. They had no children. Dad had been married before. He had custody of his 6 children (ages 5-12ish I think) and was in the U.S. Air Force. They had both decided without a doubt they would never marry again.

Mom and Dad in the late 60s I think

Dad was stationed in Sumter, SC. He worked with my mom's brother (Uncle Woody) who was also in the Air Force. My mother was visiting her brother and his wife (Aunt Evelyn). They got a call from my Dad who had apparently wrecked his station wagon with his 6 kids in tow and could use a ride. So Mom, Woody, and Evelyn go to help him out. Mom said that they were all sitting in a room talking. She hadn't spent any time alone with Dad. But on the ride back to my uncle's house my Mom told Evelyn "I'm going to marry that man" very matter of factly. Evelyn just laughed at her.

So they are back at my uncle's house. Mom is looking out the window. Evelyn asks what she's doing and Mom says "Oh, I'm waiting for Ben (my Dad)." As Mom told me she and dad had not discussed that he would be coming by or anything. And shortly after she said that he comes driving up. He asks if she would like for him to show her around the town. So they go out. She never really told me what they did. She did say there wasn't much to the town, but they had a nice time.

In the mid 80s... I think at my b-day in Busch Gardens

A couple days later, on the weekend Mom, Woody, and Evelyn head up to Morehead City in North Carolina for the week. Mom gets a call from Dad and he asks if it's okay if they drive up to see her because he has something to ask her. She says sure... and as she told the story "I knew what he was going to ask me."

So she said they were sitting on the beach while his kids played in the sand and water. Dad pulls out his bank book and says something like "This is how much I owe (which Mom said was a lot), this is what I have, and will you marry me?" She said yes.

In Florida in early 2000s I think

Then after about 5 months when Mom's divorce was finalized (she hadn't bothered to start the process... you know because she wasn't going to marry again) she and Dad went to the courthouse to get their marriage license. The guy at the courthouse said "If you want I can marry you now." They figured what the heck. The bride wore a black pant suit with a blue shirt. Then they went out and bought furniture. Apparently the 6 kids were upset they had gotten married without them.

Last picture together, August 2011

So that, my friends, is the ridiculously true tale of Ben and Cathy. They did not repeat the mistakes of their first marriage. In my 39 years of knowing them together they did not fight. I never heard a voice raised in my home. And my Dad made my Mom laugh all the time... which is why I suspect she married him. This is not to say their marriage was easy. I know it was tough sometimes... all relationships are... but I was the most fortunate kid in the world when it came to the parent lottery... at least in my opinion.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. I love you.

Viewing ourselves as who we want to be

I think in my heart I am an athlete. I also think in my heart I am adventuresome. These are the opposite of my outward appearance growing up... even into adulthood. Also it is the opposite of how I viewed myself. I was quiet and introverted and fat. I watched A LOT of television. And I ate way too much. I can still be quiet and introverted. And sometimes I can be fat. :) But there is such a difference in the way I see physical challenges now. I ran an 8k yesterday. I've run a number of 5k races. I ran one 10k. I've run a marathon. But I had never done an 8k. A friend was signing up, and honestly without allowing myself to think I couldn't do it I said "Sure! I'll sign up!" I never did get around to training for it. The last time I ran was in October in a 5k. I wasn't worried about finishing. I knew my legs would get me to the finish line even if I had to walk. I was a little worried about finishing last. Thankfully that did not happen. I finished. I was not last.

And this coming Friday I've signed up for a beginner's class in aerial silks. Yup... I'm gonna suspend my big old ass up in the air and hopefully do some slight acrobatics. I saw the flyer, it was free, and I didn't hesitate. That's why I say I'm adventuresome. I just feel like I've reached a point in my life where physically it really will be downhill from here (I can slow the downhill descent by keeping in good shape... but let's be honest... we don't get progressively better after 40), and I want to do things that come my way that sound fun. I don't want to regret not trying.

I try really hard not to use the word "can't." It does no good. There is truth to the idea that if you really want something you'll do it. If you don't do it then you didn't really want it. So I'm trying to do as much as I can. It's not always easy. I know the depression takes a toll some days, but I do think I'm slowly climbing out of that. I hope I've already hit bottom and pushed back up. All I can do is keep moving forward.

It is important to view ourselves as what we want to be. So I say again. I am an athlete. I am adventuresome. What are you?

Work... part of my "real life"

A friend of mine was blogging about her job working in a kitchen. It's an interesting blog. It's called "The Kitchen's Gringa." She was talking about what direction she may like to take with her career. One of her possibilities was being a translator which to me sounded very fulfilling and worthwhile. And it got me thinking about why I hate my job so much.

Now, first I always have to say... I am grateful for my job. But I do truly hate it. Getting up in the morning to go there seems impossible more days than not. I'm sure some of that is depression related, but I know some of it is simply my hatred of the job. But why do I hate it? I think that's important to recognize so I can try not to repeat it. I hate it because it's meaningless. At the end of the day what I do there does not matter to anyone. I sell cabinet hardware to contractors. When I do have to deal with homeowners I want to crawl under my desk and scream because it's all so pointless. I don't care if your hinges match your hardware. I don't care if you can't understand why you see copper in the oil rubbed bronze finishes. I. Just. Don't. Care. And at the end of the day I make no one's life better.

Two days ago I taught a class at the gym... not a regular gig. I was just a substitute. I teach a class called BodyFlow which is a combination of tai chi, yoga, and pilates. And it's awesome. I always feel like I get so much out of teaching. But that night I had a girl come up to me after class and tell me that my meditation at the end was so amazing because it was the first time she'd been able to truly relax during meditation... and it helped her release some pain. Apparently she suffers from some chronic pain issues... and things I said helped her feel less pain. And she said she'd be following what I described in class from now on and ignoring the other people's meditation. I could not stop smiling. She truly made my day. I mean... I actually helped someone who feels tension and pain all the time... I helped them let some of that go.

I wish I could feel that every day. I wish my job meant something. When I was in my 20s right out of college I used to think that my job was just a way to pay for my "real life." But now I realize that 40 hours a week is part of my "real life" whether I like it or not... and it would be nice to be doing something that didn't drain my soul every day.

Anyway, I also am watching a documentary about Auschwitz... and all I can really think right now is "I am the most fortunate individual alive." I mean... really... I don't have problems when I look at this kind of horror. But at the same time I feel I need to not take my fortunate life for granted. I need to make it as good as I can.

Musings on Die Hard 2: Die Harder

I'm watching the movie Die Hard 2. I watched Die Hard last night (Dad lent me his DVD set). The thing I find most fun about Die Hard 2 is how outdated everything is in this movie. I mean everything! Technology? Ooh... phones on the plane and complicated fax machines. Airports? Smoking allowed. Easy access to the baggage area (not feasible after 9/11). Airplane? An old lady has a stun gun in her purse. It's all just so darned old fashioned and charming.

The other thing I find really funny in this movie is the whole beginning scene with a naked William Sadler in his hotel room doing tai chi... naked. I remember this scene because I was 18 at the time. And I had absolutely no knowledge of a naked man. So to suddenly see this dude doing some sort of martial arts in the buff was quite shocking. I may have been watching this with my Mom... which would have added a level of embarrassment as well.

Now I watch the naked tai chi scene with a different eye. Here's what I see. First of all... William Sadler? Damn. nice body dude. He obviously worked out a lot. Second... he is doing this in a hotel room with no shoes on!!!! That's just gross. Third... he squats at some point, our view is from behind, and there is nothing hanging down. My current knowledge of male anatomy lets me know this is just incorrect unless Mr. Sadler is built like a Ken doll. :)

But really... what exactly is the point of this? It's a total dude movie. It's not like back in 1990 they were thinking hey we need some eye candy for the ladies. Really it just made him seem odd and creepy.

Also... James from Good Times was in this movie. Every time I see him I hear Florida saying "Damn, damn damn."

Okay... off to watch the movie. :)

I hate my body more days than not :(

Disclaimer: this particular post may be a bit fueled by hormones. While a large amount of my depression has not been hormonally induced, I do recognize the current strength of these feelings may be. It still helps to write it and release it. 

2nd disclaimer: My ramblings about weight have no bearing on what I think of other people of any size... these truly are feelings I direct only at myself.

When I was young I would often lay in bed at night and daydream about being in a car accident. I would think if I could just get hurt, not tragically... not so much that it would impact me for the rest of my life... but hurt enough to put me in the hospital so that I couldn't eat so much and I could just get skinny. Seriously... I used to wish for things like that. I was willing to be physically hurt, to trade broken bones and hospital bills to be skinny. Who thinks like that?

I'm far more aware of my thoughts these days, but the truth is sometimes things like that creep back in. I actually said to someone tonight that I'd be willing to not have all my teeth if I could be really skinny. And as soon as I said it I thought OMG... you freak! How could you even think that? Even now, at 40 years old, when I should be far more comfortable in my skin than I was in my youth, it seems as though I'm becoming less comfortable. At least on some days. I truly allow my self-worth to be far too involved in my physical size. But it's true. I feel worth less... some days worthless... depending on how heavy I feel or how tight my clothes fit.

It's a vicious circle. Dealing with grief and depression has caused me to fall back onto my vice of eating too much. So I gain weight. Then being heavy depresses me more. And I eat more. It makes no logical sense, but it makes perfect emotional sense.

I wonder if I'll ever be happy with myself. The only times I am even close is when I'm working out every day and eating really well. But OMG that's so hard when your emotions are screaming at you the way they are recently. Let me digress from the whining. It all boils down to what we want in life, and what we're willing to do to get it. I just get so tired of this damn weight, the emotional as well as the physical. It seems like I should have been able to put it down by now.

Mom and my style

Favorite Snoopy Jacket!

I have always been a bit of a tomboy when it comes to clothes. I have not ever cared for dresses. The exception to this rule is that if I am going to get really dressed up I do like a dress and heels. But for the most part dresses and skirts have been the exception in my wardrobe... not the rule.


I have always remembered that once when I was in Kindergarten I decided it would be a fantastic idea for me to wear my older brother's navy blue three piece suit to school. Mom was pretty game and let me wear that suit to school. I didn't wear the tie, but I can remember hanging the jacket in the cloak room and wearing the blue vest buttoned up over the light blue short sleeve shirt all day.

As I got older I always thought it was great of mom to just let me be who I was... I played with Barbies... I had a lot of them. I even had a Barbie kitchen. I also played with Star Wars action figures and Tonka trucks. I wore girlie stuff too sometimes... I remember wearing a long dress with my nice shoes to school... stepping off the bus, stepping onto the skirt and doing a face plant onto the concrete and busting my lip. Mom came and got me and took me home.

Me in a girlie moment with Dad

Now, though, I know the real reason Mom quickly okayed the 3-piece suit. Apparently I was a nightmare child in kindergarten and 1st grade when it came to getting dressed in the morning. I think the fact I expressed an interest in wearing anything at all meant Mom would say "Yeah, great idea!" I sometimes suspect she sent us to Catholic school not because it was a better education, but because she didn't have to fight with me in the morning over what to wear. :)

But at the end of the day it made an impression on me that my ideas about what I wanted to be were okay with her. And if they were okay with her... then they were okay for the world. :)

Turning corners... a depression saga :)

I suppose I write about this stuff for a number of reasons. One is because I feel lonely some days... and throwing my feelings out in the world somehow makes me feel less lonely. I'm not sure why it does that, but some days it just does. I can only go with what seems healthy. :)

I do feel like I've turned a corner on the depression in which I was sinking. I may not be swimming yet, but I'm at least floating. Turning that corner, however, does not mean I don't still struggle with bad days... though I suppose it is more like struggling with bad moments. Awareness is key. I feel myself start to delve into one of those miserable places... the places with anger... and I have to shift my thinking. I mentally have to walk away. It's not always easy. I'm not sure what it is about us human beings that makes us want to wallow.

I am looking back at the whole anger phase. And wow. I really did not like that person. I didn't like it when I was in it. It was painful. I guess I'm not in a thrilling place right now. I still can't stand my job though I'm grateful for it. But I'm looking... and hopefully I'll find something sooner than later that suits me more than what I'm doing now. And I know soon I'll be starting up teaching my own class at a new gym... not just being a substitute teacher. And that's exciting.

All I know is I have to keep moving forward. Keep challenging myself. Keep my friends around them and treat them well (something I wasn't doing well during my anger phase... thankfully they didn't abandon me). And eventually there will be good days with bad moments instead of bad days with good moments. :) I have to keep hoping anyway.

Hair boredom strikes! :)

Okay, I feel like writing but don't have much to say... everything in my head sounds either depressing or very rambling... like I could just write for ages about nothing with no sense made whatsoever. So instead I'm gonna write about my hair. :)

I love getting the urge to cut my hair short. Do you know why? It's easy to feed that urge. Pick up the phone, drive myself to my hairdresser, say "Michelle, chop it all off!" And away we go. And I walk out with short hair... big change... love it!

You know what's less fun? Having the urge to have long hair. That's right... I now have the urge for long hair... long enough to put in a ponytail. But there is no real fix for this. I realize technically there are hair extensions in the world... but they look like crappy doll hair on rich celebrities... no way mine would look any good. So when you get the urge for long hair... well, basically you sit around and wait for it to grow. So that's what I'm doing now. I imagine at some point the boredom will get me and I'll dye it dark again... just to have some sense of making a change.

Yeah... hair boredom is the name of my game. :)

A little light

I was itching to write something last night, but having complete writer's block. I have a bit to think on today, though.

Today was an interesting day... hopefully not an anomaly when it comes to my mood and general disposition. As you may know I have been dealing with depression issues lately. I feel like I have been teetering on the edge of a full blown depression. At the very least I've have been dealing with some severe stages of grief with regards to some areas of my life. Well, today felt different. It wasn't a perfect day. There was news I'd hoped for that I didn't get which was disappointing. There was little today that was extraordinary really. But I didn't have that uncontrollable need to "crawl back into my hole." There have been too many days in recent times that the only thing that gets me through my day is the idea of getting back to my apartment, getting in my pajamas and not having to be in the world.

But today I had a list of tasks to do after work. And as I wrote them down around lunch time the thought of them didn't make me want to cry (believe it or not a couple weeks ago it would have). I went to the gym and enjoyed it. I got my kilt dropped off at the tailor to be hemmed. I hit the grocery store. I put together chili in the crockpot, and I cooked breakfast for dinner. :) I was on the go until after 9pm. And I actually felt okay. I had the energy to make it through.

I may very well wake up tomorrow in the pit of despair. But I don't really think I will. I'm in the process of some heavy weights being lifted off me. I have had one mostly lifted. I look forward to the others. This life... it sure isn't easy. But I laughed today. I suppose that makes it a good day.

Smiling... and meaning it.

I seriously need to get back to working out regularly. Now, do not take this to be an absolute declaration of intent. Knowing what I need to do and doing it are two very different things. But today I am just acutely aware of my lack of movement lately. I have been sick for a week and today I'm finally feeling rather like me again... only a big lump-like me. Just sitting around all day (other than a quick drive out to get lunch... but that included me sitting in a car and sitting at a table). My poor ass is getting all this work sitting. The rest of me needs some work.

The good side of being sick? I ate a lot less over the last 7 days. I had already begun to eat a little less. And this really kicked it into gear. I still ate... I don't ever starve myself. I just didn't have much of an appetite. Wouldn't it be nice if we just didn't have appetites all the time? Or all food tasted bland? Okay, so nice is an overstatement... I have missed my food tasting good... but it would be easier when it comes to not being a fat ass. :)

I look back before mom died. I was working out between 5 and 9 hours a week... depending on my mood. Every Saturday I got up and hit the gym for an hour of BodyPump followed by an hour of BodyFlow (weights and yoga). 2 hours! Every Saturday before noon! Now? Oooh... Saturday? I can sleep in. Lots of things have happened between then and now. I understand where I am. I don't judge where I am. But is it where I want to be? If I stay here then yes. If the answer is no, then I will have to make changes.

It's funny... I can so easily talk myself into eating something terrible for me because it will make me feel good for a little bit. But the fact is that working out makes me feel good too. At first for a little bit. And the more consistent I am the more I feel good. Yet it is so much tougher to talk myself into than a cup of ice cream. :)

Okay... this blog is really just for me to remind myself where I want to go. And maybe writing it is the first step... the step before the step. The steps leading back to my favorite version of me... the athlete. I love her. She smiles, and she means it.

Aging... a partial, silly list!

I was never much of a party type of gal. But damn... sometimes I feel just old. Then again I don't always mind. Here's the way I view getting older... good and bad things (in no particular order)... at least my opinion at this particular moment.

Good things:
*Enjoying being in early on a weekend night and watching Netflix instead of being out dealing with loud ass drunk people
*Not caring what people think about you
*Appreciating friends that have been around a really long time

Bad things:
*Boobs heading south

LOL... yup, that's my blog for today! It can't all be depressing. :)

Valentine's post: the good one

I was a very late bloomer when it came to dating. I met what I consider my first real boyfriend when I was 27. We only dated for 7 or 8 months before he moved away but I did love him. And I still miss his friendship as we lost touch. And I miss the laughter he brought.

We met in late January. He lived in the apartment next door to me. We quickly started spending tons of time together. And then Valentine's Day arrived. I knew we hadn't been dating too long... and my V Day track record sucked so I didn't expect anything. I came home from work that day and as I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs my heart stopped. Flowers! Sitting in front of my door! I ran over and picked them up... only to discover they were delivered to the wrong apartment. :( So I walked them over and left them at the correct door around the corner. Oh, well... back to normal.

Not the actual pizza. :)

I was in my apartment. I do not know if I had talked to him yet that night when there was a knock at my door. I walked over and opened it up to find, not flowers, but a white pizza box sitting at my front door. I opened it up and saw a handwritten note to me on the inside of the box, and what at first glance looked like a small pepperoni pizza with a slice missing. The note was funny and made me laugh, though I can't remember what it said now. So I walked over and knocked on his door with the pizza. We start talking and I come to realize that no... he did not give me a partially eaten pizza for V Day (that would have been pretty sad I suppose). He had heard me mention this pizza place a couple times. So he called them up and talked them into making a heart shaped pizza. The folks there had even made a smiley face out of the pepperonis.

Years later I saw that pizza place in a segment on the news talking about how they would make heart shaped pizzas for you per request for Valentine's Day... and I laughed and thought my old boyfriend started that! And I had the first one. :)

So what was special about his gift? It wasn't extravagant. But it was thoughtful. It was something specific to me that showed he had listened to me... and he had put in thought and effort. And as long as I have my memories I'll remember it.

I did get a card this year from a good friend... and it was very funny and obviously from someone who knows me. So I call this V Day a success. :)

Valentine's Post: the crappy one

Well, Valentine's Day is here. So here it goes... my hatred of the holiday stems back to high school... don't worry... I'll write about a decent memory shortly. :)

I was okay with V Day in grade school. At the parties we were forced to give everyone in the class a card so our moms would buy those packs of 30 cards for us to use. And I always got lots of cards even though I knew that most of them were forced upon me. At least I was included.

Flash forward to high school. I went to a school out in the middle of Dudley, but it was a pretty big school. And for some reason V Day was really, really big there. How big? Well, I'll tell you. There was a separate building from the school for the ROTC classes. It was divided into 3 rooms. One room, on V Day, was set aside for floral deliveries as they were too overwhelming for the front office to handle. Students got selected, I never knew how, to work the floral deliveries in shifts. I am pretty sure some kids got out of class to do this. And they kept rotating a list on the outside of the building with names of people who had flowers inside. So between classes people would run out and check the list.

I would walk out there with my friends. I am sure I even looked at the list. But I had no illusions. I was not on the list at any point, in any year. So then I remember every class having girls with their big vases of flowers sitting on their desk. And the cafeteria? OMG... it was like someone had vomited red carnations and roses all over the room. The girl with a vase full of 3 red carnations looked vaguely pathetic due to all the dozens of roses (I didn't say the guys in my school were creative).

I know my value as a person was not defined by my lack of flowers. But at the time it sure sucked to not get anything. And I always remembered that feeling.

One year my mom and dad sent me flowers for my birthday... intentionally not putting their names on the card... and I got home from school to see mom on the deck saying "where are your flowers?" I said "what flowers?" We called the school and the delivery person had just arrived... 30 minutes after school let out. They were gorgeous flowers, though. And my mom and dad's love to send them was more powerful than my lack of flowers before... but I still laugh at the lateness of their arrival. :)

6th Grade Valentine's Memory

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. I really can't stand Valentine's Day. It's just a huge marketing scheme, in my opinion, designed to force men into buying tons of shit for their girls. I officially apologize to all the men.

I have a few Valentine's related stories. I will tell one tonight that is appropriate because it involved me being sick:

I was in 6th grade at St. Mary's in Goldsboro. On Valentine's Day all the afternoon classes were cancelled and basically we had a Valentine's Day party in our homeroom from after lunch until we went home. I had my generic Valentine's cards to put in everyone's envelopes... you remember that? You'd put a decorated envelope taped to your desk and people would put their cards for you in it. I had 2 or 3 "special cards" that were for my close friends (looking at you Kim!). So I was very excited even though I only got generic cards... no boys wanted to be my Valentine back then (fat geeky girls were just wallpaper, ya know?). I woke that morning with a fever. It was 99 or 100. I begged Mom... begged her to let me go to school. She finally said okay but told me "DO NOT tell Phyllis you are sick." Phyllis was the woman who drove us, and her son, to school in the morning (looking at you Mark!). So I climbed in the back seat and said nothing about feeling bad.

I sat through all my morning classes. And as the day progressed I felt worse and worse and worse. So at lunch I went to the office where they took my temperature. It was 102. I had that glazed over look by that point. So I went and gave my friends in the cafeteria their cards. Mom came and picked me up and I went home. And I was out of school for the next week. So yeah... I begged to go to school so I could work and still missed the party. :)

Tomorrow I'll tell about my favorite Valentine's Day (there is only one that was any good) as well as part of why I can't stand Valentine's Day.

Bravery comes in different forms I suppose

A friend of mine who reads my blog told me tonight that she considers me brave to talk about my depression and therapy. I've had another person use the same word. Brave. I take it as a compliment, though I'm not sure of it's accuracy.

I write because it makes me feel better. Now... hitting "Publish" and actually posting it may qualify as brave. I am putting myself out in a very bare and exposed way. But it somehow makes me feel better.

In college I went through a period of mild depression. In truth it was just that early 20s trying to find yourself phase of life... that point where the childhood pains start to manifest. Little did I know those childhood wounds don't ever go away really. At the end of the day almost every therapy session can end up back in childhood. It's kind of crazy! Okay... back on topic. I was referred to a weekend long "group therapy" thing. Basically 8 or 10 girls sitting around talking about our woes. But I left with an amazing realization. Every one of us had a completely different set of circumstances... but at the heart of each of us we wanted the same thing. We all wanted to feel accepted and loved... even if just by ourselves. We wanted to walk with our heads held high and believe that we were worthy of good things. I try to remember that when I encounter people in this world. At the heart of it... we want the same things... even if we go about our lives in different ways.

But what I also learned in this group was that sometimes hearing people talk about these issues makes the biggest difference. It helps more than talking about yourself. I always remembered one girl saying in the group that it was very important to her that I keep talking. Somehow what I talked about resonated with her and made a difference.

So a lot of my writing feels very self indulgent, but I also know that maybe someone will read it and think "hey, it's not just me." Or maybe someone scared of a therapist will try going to one and find it helps. I don't know... maybe just me talking might help someone... and in return help me.

At the end of the day I am just trying to take care of myself the best way I know how. Right now that means I see my therapist (not as much as I'd like, but I have to stay in budget), I talk to my friends (I am very fortunate to have psychology minded friends with wonderful insights), I work out (though not nearly enough), and I just keep getting up and moving forward... even when I do not want to. I know there is light out there. I can feel it even if I don't see it yet. :)

The "anger" stage of grief is a bitch

They say there are 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. They don't always happen in order. And they don't always happen in relation to the death of a person... sometimes it has to do with a major life change. Sometimes we don't even see that we're in a specific stage. I've just come out of a rather ugly stage of anger... I knew I was angry, but I didn't understand it exactly. I almost felt like I was hiding behind the anger. Anger happens when you can no longer deny... but your mind and emotions aren't prepared to accept. So you lash out... at yourself or at others or at nothing at all. The anger somehow feels active... like you're actually accomplishing something while dealing with sadness and simply surrendering to the reality of life seems passive. But all you're doing is avoiding. The beautiful thing is once you put down the anger and just deal with how you feel the load does actually begin to lighten... and it happens more quickly than you expect. The anger, while a necessary step, really is just in the way.

So the past few days I've let the anger go... and the strangest thing happened at the exact same moment. I've been eating less. I didn't have the desire to go buy Famous Amos cookies and a pack of Starburst to go with my morning Dr. Pepper the last few days at work (and yes, that's been my breakfast a lot of mornings... no surprise that I have gained some weight, huh?). I didn't even have ice cream before bed last night (another bad habit... sugar really is my drug of choice). I've even brought home half my food from restaurants because I just didn't feel like finishing it. I'm no fool. I know for a fact I eat as a coping mechanism. It relieves stress temporarily even though the weight gain adds stress. Silly vicious circles.

I guess I'm writing this to help remind myself that the things we need to deal with aren't as bad as we think. We fight so hard to avoid them, and we hurt ourselves in the process.

Psychobabble... :)

Okay, I've had a string of depressing posts. For tonight I'm gonna throw some psychobabble at you.

Anger and hate are a nasty pair. They are also a distraction. These emotions are my minds way of letting me sneak around the emotions I actually need to feel. It's a coping mechanism for me to be angry and hateful... most of my anger and hate are internal... but it gives me a way to feel like I'm being active... these feel like active emotions. But it's all full of shit. So today I made myself steer clear of any ugly thoughts about myself especially but also other people and things. And guess what? I had to deal with all the real emotions. I sat at my desk fighting back tears for 4 hours and through my lunch hour. But a funny thing happened in the afternoon. I felt calm. I felt just a little bit lighter.

The crazy thing in this world is that the coping mechanisms we use to avoid dealing with the things we really need to handle are the things that hurt us. People use drugs, alcohol, gambling, food (I'm guilty of this one), and any number of other things to avoid feeling... but the feelings don't hurt us. Not really. If we just stop and let them run their course they will go away and leave us alone.

So I'm not suddenly cured of my depression. I still have some heavy weights on me. But at least I'm not angry. And it feels good to let that go. I'll continue working on it too... my poor roommate has been putting up with a total bitch for a while. I thought I was keeping it all inside... but apparently not.

Logic and emotion are enemies

Rational thoughts. Logic. These things mean nothing when it comes to emotion. I am not sure they can coexist. Emotions can be crushing sometimes. And then the thoughts become irrational. I know I am not worthless. I know I am not deserving of bad things. And yet there are moments when those thoughts invade. And I feel them. But I fight them. I know they don't last. I know this time is fleeting. Life is a rollercoaster... hold on through the low times because the good times will come. And enjoy the good times because they won't last.

Some in the world believe everything is transient... things don't last. It appears to me that this is true. But what do you do with that? What is the purpose? I know the right answers are that you learn and you grow. But dammit... sometimes the growing pains sure are painful.

I'm not quite sure what I want out of this life. I'm not sure what waits for me down the road. I can only see a short distance. I suppose there should be some freedom in that. So for now I'll do what I have to do. I get up each day. I make it to the end of the day. Today I end my day with Strictly Ballroom... one of the only romantic movies I can stand. I don't even get bitter about the romantic part of it... I suppose it's because it's one of those movies where the ugly, geeky girl wins in the end. And it makes me smile. So that's a good thing.

Counting days

My mom died one year, three months, and 2 days ago. It feels like yesterday and forever ago all at the same time. I sat in my therapist's office tonight. I said something in reference to Mom and obviously got a little somber. My therapist asked me if I was missing her a lot lately. And I just started crying. I sat there in silence with my head down sobbing on and off for the whole hour... speaking softly because it's all I could muster.

It's funny how the grief hits. I sometimes wonder if it's getting better or if it's getting worse. They say time heals... but to me it feels some days like it will only get worse because I have to experience more and more things without her as a witness. It really bothers me that she didn't get to see me teaching. She didn't even know I was considering it. She would have loved it. And I would have been proud for her to see me.

I'm not terribly sad right now... therapy is cathartic, and I feel lighter for having gone... but I do miss Mom. She brightened every room she walked into... that's what I strive to be. I have a long way to go I think. :) But I will keep going.

My only thought on the Super Bowl :)

Well, a Super Bowl has come and gone. I really don't care at all about football. But I was hoping the San Francisco 49ers were going to win. I only hoped this because my mom LOVED Joe Montana. She used to talk about what a cute butt he had. Now I found this a pretty gross conversation when I was young... and honestly I still do... but I understand it more now. It's just that you don't think of your parents as people when you're a kid... they're just your parents. But Mom was a woman and found Joe Montana and his butt to be attractive... ewww... okay, Go 49ers... even though you lost. :)

Old happy memory of Mom brought to me by a new happy memory

I had the opportunity today to participate in an event with a new gym that I'll be working with in the new future. I got to team teach a BodyFlow class today. I went a little early just to show some support and chat with some folks. At one point I was standing in the back watching people taking a dance aerobics class. I noticed the daughter of the gym's owner in the class, and then I noticed her mom in front of her... both of them dancing in unison. And suddenly I was 17 years old again... in an aerobics class my mom and I used to take together on the air force base. We would go several times a week and dance around in unison. We would stop and buy a Gatorade for me more often than not. And we would joke and laugh on the way there and on the way back. It was a memory I hadn't thought of in years. And I was sincerely happy to revisit it. I wished Mom could have been there today to see me... but I always wish she were there to see me teach. In a way, since she rarely is far from my thoughts, I suppose she is there.

Avatar - my humble review

I'm drawing a blank on personal stuff right now. So instead I'll tell you about watching the movie Avatar for the first time last night.

First of all I have always liked James Cameron's movies. His female characters are always strong-willed, often strong physically, and generally don't take shit from anybody... even back before that was cool. Sigourney Weaver in Aliens, Linda Hamilton in the Terminator films, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio in The Abyss, Kate Winslet in Titanic... all bad asses really. So I have no idea why it took me so long to see Avatar. I think maybe there was just too much hype. I needed to see it with no expectations.

I have to say I still love Sigourney Weaver. Not sure why they needed to make her a smoker in the film. I don't think it really added much to the story or her character. But she's still awesome. I loved the main guy... Jake Sully... I loved how he ran the first time he woke up in his Avatar. Really I loved the movie... even though it reminded me a lot of the Disney version of Pocahontas... but without the now annoying presence of Mel Gibson.

The movie was just stunningly beautiful to watch. I got to watch it on a nice TV and on Blu-Ray so it was pretty great. I am sure it was better in the theater, though. Maybe they'll bring it back to Imax someday.

Also, I thought that all of the special effects were awesome, but the best had to be Jake Sully's legs as a human. They actually made him look paralyzed. It was quite amazing.

I did have to wonder why every single one of the Na'vi were super skinny with small boobs. I mean... where was the variety? It just didn't seem realistic that the entire species had one body type.  Also, couldn't they have come up with a less ridiculous name for the mineral they were searching for... I mean "unobtanium?" Silly. :)

Anyway, that's this girls opinion on the movie. I felt the need to write something, but the mood is still a bit on the dark side, and I don't need to write about that all the time. 

Rene Russo and the loss of the age appropriate female co-star

I really miss Rene Russo. She is still around, but now she plays Thor's mom. Which is great... she's still gorgeous and amazing. But there was this time during the mid 1990s when Rene Russo was the girlfriend/wife character in quite a few movies. And she is one of the only ones I can ever remember, before or since, who seemed age appropriate to her love interest. Now she wasn't the lead... there was always a male character in the movie with her... but she always seemed equal and strong and tough and intelligent... and age appropriate. She was with Mel Gibson in Ransom and a couple Lethal Weapon flicks. She was also in The Thomas Crown Affair with Pierce Brosnan. Even back then, when I was in my 20s, I appreciated that they gave the roles to a woman in line with the man's age.

Rene Russo in The Thomas Crown Affair

Well, I've not seen many examples of this age-appropriate female since Rene fell off the map. So I was more than a bit excited when I saw the trailer for the movie "Parker." First of all it has Jason Statham who is truly one of the sexiest men in movies. And the woman in the film with him is Jennifer Lopez! She's actually in her 40s just like Jason Statham! OMG... an age appropriate love interest... or so I thought. *Spoiler alert... read no further if you care about knowing anything in this movie* 



I saw "Parker" today. Jennifer Lopez looks amazing. They manage to show her in her Victoria's Secret bra and underwear and she has ridiculously toned abs for a woman half her age with no kids... and she's 42 and has twins. So kudos Lopez. But is she the love interest? No... she's a bitter divorcee living with her mom. Jason is with, and stays with, a woman who looks to be in her 20s. I don't ever see what the attraction is between Statham and his chick other than they are kissy-face.

This crap actually did bug me when I was in my 20s. It bugs me more now. I know I'm all mid-life-crisis-y... but what the fuck is so wrong with actually casting couples of the same age together? Why does every fucking girlfriend in movies have to be perfectly pert and gravity defying and young enough to be the leading man's kid?

It must suck to be in Hollywood. I'm annoyed and angry at what my body is doing at 40, and quite honestly a bit terrified at the loss of my desirability... I can't imagine living in a place and working in a job that truly judged me on every wrinkle, every pound, and by the mid-30s you're too fucking old to be cast opposite a male star of the same damn age. It must just suck monkey butts.

That is all for now. I'm gonna go be an old lady and take a hot bath. :)

Khan!!!! In honor of Winter Storm Khan.

Okay... gonna geek out a bit here...

I'm hunkered down on a cold, cold night where the roads are bad. It's been dubbed "Winter Storm Khan" by The Weather Channel... that's right... KHAN!!!!! Just in case you're not familiar click here.

I decided to watch Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan tonight... It just seemed like a good plan. And I just have to say it... Spock is awesome. I was right to love him when I was a kid. I totally crushed on Spock. He was my favorite. And he still is. I'm gonna watch Search for Spock next... even though Leonard Nimoy doesn't show up until the end he still kicks ass when he does. Plus it has William Shatner's best acted line of all time (in my humble opinion): "Klingon bastard. You killed my son." Actually chokes me up when he says it. I wish Netflix would get off it's ass and make Star Trek IV available for streaming so I could finish this trilogy. :)

Done with my geekiness for the moment. :)

To quote Inigo Montoya "I hate waiting."

I am waiting on news about a job. I interviewed Monday. Today is Thursday. She did say they wouldn't make a decision until next week. But waiting sucks.

Honestly I don't have a good feeling about getting this job. Then again the last time I interviewed at this place I was sure I nailed it... and I didn't get it. So obviously I know jack and shit. I'm not even sure the job sounds all that great. But the hours are good. The location is good. I get to hang around dogs. And the health insurance is cheap. And I hate my job right now so much it makes me want to cry every day. Now... I know people have it worse. And I'm grateful for my job. But the sales rep was trying to give me some scare tactic about trying to get more business because if we don't pick up they could close our branch. And all I could think was "I don't give a rats ass if they close this branch... just wait a couple months so I can collect my unemployment again. Then I can go away and not have to smell this smoke infested energy vacuum of a co-worker anymore."

I know that if I look for them lots of little good things happen every day. But I'd really like something big and good to happen. I don't claim to deserve it. But I sure could use it. :)

Mom and her retirement fun

My mom had a good time in her retirement. She started tap dancing in her 60s. Even though she hadn't danced before she picked it up so quickly she was moved from the regular class to a member of the Silver Tappers. She she would say they danced for food. :) They would often perform at retirement communities and get lunch for free.

She was also the founding member of her local chapter of The Red Hat Society. I still remember Mom telling me that one of the members had paid to have them officially registered. Mom had come up with the official name for their chapter. They were the V.I.Ps... now that sounds innocent enough... but mom said it stood for "Varicose in Purple!" She laughed and laughed. Yup... they were the Varicose in Purple... and she was the leader. :)

Depression sucks

I see a therapist. I've been going to one every 6-8 weeks for about 3 years now. I started going right after the break up of a long term relationship that really did some damage to me emotionally... the relationship more so than the break up. My reasoning to seeking someone to talk to was 1) I didn't want to sink into a depression and 2) I wanted to know why I had allowed myself to stay so long in a relationship I knew was unhealthy so I wouldn't repeat the mistake. After a few months with one therapist I found another one who could help me with some other issues and who just suited me better. She is very insightful and sometimes can just say things so clearly to me that it is very light bulb like.

My last appointment was in the beginning of October. I had to cancel my mid-holiday appointment... and last week, in the middle of a particularly horrid and non-hormone-induced mood, I came to the nasty conclusion on my own that I was slipping into depression. So yeah... had to call and make an appointment.

I left with an appointment scheduled for 2 weeks from now. I came home, ate ice cream, crawled into my bed and cried in the dark for a bit. Therapy isn't exactly a cure. LOL. I have instructions to go get some blood work done to see how my vitamin levels are doing (I tend to be D deficient). I have permission to be sad... I really do have lots of real world things to be sad about... I'm not just whining about sand in my vagina. :) I also have permission to allot one night per week to come home and crawl into bed and do nothing but be sad... but only one night per week. :) I also have to keep working out even when I don't want to. I have to get up and move even when I don't want to... eventually I'll want to again. I know this. I left hearing her words behind me "Remember, Tracy, this too shall pass." A good therapist really is priceless.

Mom's emailed wisdom continues

About a week before mom went into the hospital I had emailed her about how I noticed I was starting to act a lot like her. I was being very social with people. I noticed people just talking to me out of the blue. And I had really noticed it while giving blood as I carried on conversations with about 5 different people and pretty much pulled everyone around me into the conversation. It was a very "Cathy" moment that made me laugh. Well part of her response in her email was "LOL - that is the only way to go... I actually have always looked forward to talking to people - just makes life more interesting and 4 out of 5 times you end up laughing at something." It's something I mention often... Mom and her unbelievable desire to laugh.

I have a job interview on Monday. It is a job in a large building with lots of people. And I truly hope I get it. I've been working in jobs with no more than 2 or 3 other people in the entire building since about 2001... and I'm so tired of it. I'm in a job where I sit next to one dude all day... and he snores half the time. I feel the need to interaction... it goes against my introverted nature... and I'll need my alone time at night to recover. But it will be nice to laugh more.

Oh, the rest of mom's email to me that day was this: You were talking about doing that writing for a month... well, u know what they say... write what u know. You could write a story about your life - remember the book Owen (something) can't remember the name of the book but do remember how his description of absolutely everthing was like you were standing right there looking at it. Just the fact of moving from Iowa to the south and living in a single wide trailer. The description of the neighborhood, etc., would be awesome... just write like u were looking at everything for the first time... know what I mean? You have such a mastery with the written word... us are awesome." It's nice to hear her voice even in writing... I think she'd be happy I write on this little thing often. I don't think I have a mastery of the written word... but knowing she liked me writing helps me write. :)

 

Snow stories, part 1

Once there was snow in the forecast when I was a kid. I was at St. Mary's at the time so it was somewhere between 2nd and 6th grade, but I really don't know when exactly. We were very excited. The weatherman was confidently calling for snow for the entire area. So Mom said happily let us go to sleep and didn't set her alarm clock. Hey, she got to sleep in too!

She finally woke up... and there was no snow at all. I think it ended up being nearly 70 degrees that day. She let us stay home for the day. She said to just tell people at school we were out because she believed the weatherman.

A somewhat happy dispatch from the crappy "lost a parent" club

I started teaching group fitness after my Mom died. I hadn't ever mentioned to her that I was considering it. I had considered it before she died, but as soon as I read the requirements I had tucked it away as an "I can't do that." After she died the thought of doing it entered my mind again. This time I read the requirements and said "I can... even if it scares me." I wonder if I would have chosen to face the fear if Mom hadn't passed away. I'll never know. But it puts things in perspective. After the loss of her not much seems that scary.

It does make me tremendously sad that she didn't get to see me teach. I've seen fellow instructors bring their mothers to class. And it makes me so sad that I can't do the same.

Tonight I was on stage. I was wearing a new blue shirt I'd bought to teach in. It was toward the end of the hour. I was on the floor bent over my leg with my head down and I had this sudden flash of my mother smiling... standing just over by the door... watching me. I didn't look up. I just smiled at how very real it felt. I am sure she'd be proud.

Once in a while I have that distinct feeling she's nearby. It's in the car a lot. If a good song comes on and I'm singing... I'll feel like she's in the seat next to me singing too. I won't look. I'll just enjoy the idea of it.

Now I don't claim to profess the truth of these "visits." The human mind if powerful. But I am grateful for the feelings of serenity and contentment they bring.