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 The thing I find most fun about Die Hard 2 is how outdated everything is in this movie.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.