Day 64 has me smiling! Because it’s fun, back in the spirit of the book and the challenges. Smack dab in the middle of PMS Town, no less, I am grinning. Go, me. Day 64’s challenge “Today send a letter at random with a photograph of yourself and a $5 bill with no return address, see what comes of it.”
So, if you think I don’t know your address and you’d get a kick out of a five spot and a picture of yours truly leave me an anonymous comment that will make me keep smiling. I’ll pick one of you at random and drop you a line, a picture and enough cold hard cash for a cup o’ Joe. I’ll delete the comments immediately so your address isn’t out on the interwebz for all to see. And you can put a BS email in the email line. Actually, come to think of it, anyone that bothers to give me their mailing address in the next day or two will get something in the mail. But one of you lucky ducks will get a five spot. Shit, I ought to pay you for reading. It’s still cheaper than the therapist.
Day 63′ s challenge encourages you to try and break a Guinness World Record. If I was eight or nine and it was summer time there’d be no question as to what I’d do. I’d pogo stick my little ass off. I held the Highridge Street record for pogo-sticking, very likely for time and mileage. I could pogo stick (uphill, mind you) all the way to the Fischer’s and back three times. For all those unfamiliar with the neighborhood layout, it was a good .25 miles to their house. So there and back three times, we’re talking a smooth mile and a half. Via pogo stick it was at least 45 minutes. Maybe longer. At 8 or 9 years old I had time to kill. Nowadays… not so much.
So, on my way to work this morning I was doing two things. Contemplating my Guinness Book entry and listening to a book I’d downloaded. Pretty common, for me.
I like to listen to books in the car when I am by myself. I don’t get enough time to read so I enjoy it. But because I tend to listen in ten minutes increments I listen to my fair share of “light reading.” I am about 3/4 of the way through Life, Keith Richards’ memoir, but it is 700 hours long, or so it seems, so I thought I’d break it up a bit with something amusing. A friend mentioned reading Tucker Max’s I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell recently and I remembered that it was kinda funny, the excerpts I had read, anyway. I downloaded it knowing absolutely what I was in for. If you’re not familiar – Tucker Max is a jackass, Duke University law student. He started a website where he told stories of his late night carousing, stories of booze fueled hook ups with idiotic college girls and what not. There are some admittedly hilarious parts of the book…and a whole lot of reasons for anyone with even a minor feminist inkling to find it appalling. His website took off and he has since made a career out of behaving like a douche-bag college student well in to his thirties.
That was a lot of back story… all to tell you that this morning I finished his book. And in five hours of listening to this fuckwad talk about women in a degrading manner it was his mispronunciation of the word absinthe in the final thirty minutes that made me bonkers. He pronounces it with the emphasis on the last syllable. I thought at first I could let it go. And then he just kept saying it. And saying it. And it made me crazy. And I started thinking, maybe Tucker Max is NOT the World’s Biggest Asshole. Maybe I am. Because in five hours of listening to him spew forth his garbage, this was what made me crazy. Mispronunciation of an alcoholic beverage.
So, I was giggling to myself that maybe I’d post that I am the World’s Biggest Asshole. Because evidently misogyny is fine by me so long as you can pronounce your drink of choice properly.
And then I started thinking. I might actually be the World’s Biggest Asshole. MQD is home today with his back all out of whack. (I know, isn’t it me that is supposed to be the bad back have-r in this relationship?) And as I walked by him this morning, flat on his back with an ice pack on the floor, I made a joke. And kind of acted like a jerk. You’d think I’d not do that. Considering.
After a few minutes doing that kind of question and answer with yourself that you can do if you’ve been through any therapy at all (“And why do you think you do that?” “How does it make you feel when you behave that way?” “What is your desired response?” ) I had a mini epiphany. I think I am an asshole when he doesn’t feel well because it scares me. We joke about “The Diabetes” but in all sincerity…. I love that guy, crazy love. And when he doesn’t feel well I can’t help but look in to the future. And it scares me. There’s a sea of “what ifs'” for all of us. But his are more overwhelming to me. So, yeah… I act like an asshole because I love him and I worry about him. That wasn’t a very fun epiphany.
So, once I realized I was the biggest asshole of all time I spent the rest of the day cheering myself up, admiring my shiny ring and my painted fingernails. All this “self discovery” takes its toll. Sometimes you need a little shallow.
Day 62 asks you to “prepare convenient circles everywhere you habitually go.” The circle in this case is meant to invoke a protective spirit. In the morning I had a chiropractor appointment and it seemed like as good a place as any to cast a circle of protection. I thought about this for the rest of the day. About the pleasant sense of peace I had this morning as I walked in the door, on my way for my fourth visit. “They” say you only need to do something three times in order for it to become a habit.
And as I got out of the car this morning and drew a circle around my feet I giggled as the receptionist walked by and lifted my head and said “Good morning,” dropped my chalk in to my purse and locked my car.
Right or wrong. I have made a decision. I have a Plan. Six more weeks of adjustments. A detox and cleanse of my organs. (Incidentally if you see me mid February please be sure to compliment my respiratory system, my gastrointestinal system and my urinary tract. They should all be sparkling clean by then.) A plan… it feels good.
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined. As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler. ~ Henry David Thoreau
I don’t have the confidence part down just yet…. but I am goin’… and I’m dreamin’…
Day 61 asks you to measure your face with string and to calculate the distance between your center line and each pupil, the corner’s of your mouth, etc and ultimately determine just how symmetrical is your face. Several years ago a study was released that showed that “attractiveness” can essentially be measured across cultures (and species) by determining just how symmetrical a person’s physique is or is not.
I tried to measure my face with a piece of tape (this was highly amusing!) and quickly became frustrated with my process. And as a person that was secretly concerned that she was going to do all these calculations only to determine that she was actually ugly… well, I wasn’t trying to spend all day getting it done. With a little googling I found a website that could help me out.
I think I might have had better results if I’d not taken the picture myself, since it is virtually impossible to get a full frontal (heh) face picture without a little tilt. But here we go….
My original picture: (showcasing the marks on my nose from my glasses, the dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep and my crow’s-feet, proof positive that it is in no way touched up.)
And here’s what I’d look like if both sides of my face looked like the left side:
Like a pinhead… which is not really that far from the truth. But a pinhead with a kind of cute cupid’s bow, no?
And the right side:
So what did I take away from this assignment? A few things. One – I need to invest in some decent under eye concealer. Or kick everyone out of the bed for a night or two and get some sleep. Two – My bangs are really growing out finally… it almost looks like I have these layers on purpose. And three – I kinda think the right side duplication pretty much looks like me. Leading me to believe that my face is pretty damn symmetrical. Thus… in the least few days I have determined that I am not crazy and that I am beeeyoootiful. Or that a primate would likely mate with me. Or something.
I think this challenge wants you to call up and order a pizza with 1/8 mushrooms, 1/3 extra cheese, 2/5 pepperoni and on and on…. but much like the dine and dash challenge I just can’t do it. I love a lot of things in this life. My pizza place among them. So I am not about to call them up and be a pain in the ass. (More of a pain in the ass than I already am…) So…. what would my impossible pizza look like?
Well, a lot like this….
But that looks like a bowl of cheese and pepperoni? I KNOW. And this is what I live with. Can’t blame a man for trying to prolong his life, I suppose, but seriously? When your commitment to eating a low carbohydrate diet in an effort to control your blood sugars (thereby lowering your insulin usage) is so strong that you eat BOWLS OF CHEESE AND PEPPERONI instead of PIZZA….. that’s really… something.
And what that something is is a buzzkill. It’s no fun to eat a bowl of ice cream topped with M&Ms and dip sourdough pretzels in to the soupy blend once you’re half way finished when next to you on the couch is a man eating a bowl of ricotta cheese flavored with vanilla extract. Don’t bother to try this experiment. I have now done it enough to tell you with certainty it is no fun.
But if what is good for the goose is good for the gander and all that…. I’m thinking I might eat alongside him for a bit. Can’t hurt. I’m supposed to start obsessing about my weight soon, right? Isn’t that on the Bride To Do list?
So, a really smart person asked me another really smart question. And for a second I wished she’d knock that shit off. But it was asked with just the right amount of “tell me if I am stepping on your toes and I’ll shut up” to know she really meant that. And given that she knows whereof she speaks, I paused. And really thought about the answer.
And the more I thought about it the quieter I felt like being… and now that I think I have an answer for her, I figured it was as good an excuse as any to choke back out some words right here so I can get past the pre-christmas pity party I threw for myself. Barfing up some whiny mess here is like barfing up tequila at a party. You’re not really even sorry you did it, because you really do feel better, you’re just sorry you have to see any of those people again, the people that saw you leaving the bathroom, sweating, dazed and stinking of a Cancun party bus.
So, what she asked me is if I was “depressed.” Or suffering from “minor depression” with an apology for the use of the word minor, which was fair, as all who have suffered from it know that it feels like being told you were in a “minor car accident,” only your car is totaled and uninsured. Short answer. No. I’m not. I have been, in my life, and so I took some time and stepped back and thought about it. But nope. But I am suffering daily. On two fronts. That I am hard pressed to believe are not related.
Several months ago when I had my IUD removed I started paying really careful attention to my body. Oddly, at the same time I stopped taking particularly good care of it. Thank you very much, holiday food and drink. But in an effort to keep my psychosis and paranoia from consuming me I started charting my temps and watching my ovulation signs so I would know when to expect my period, consequently limiting the amount of time I spend convinced I am pregnant mere months before the Biggest and Most Fun Party Ever, I mean our wedding. At about this same time I started experiencing terrific back pain. Being a nerd, I logged all these symptoms in to my phone. Since the holidays were a bigger priority to me than running or the gym has been the last couple months, I couldn’t blame it on the gym.
Stepping back now I can see I am in pain more often than not.
In the morning I struggle to get out of bed. Mornings are the toughest, as I wince through making coffee, struggle to get back up from a crouched position to get something from the fridge. I am short with Em and MQD. I am angry. A hot shower and a heaping handful of Advil go a long way. But it’s not my favorite way to wake up. Angry. Hurting.
The pain in my back lends itself nicely to feeling sorry for myself. Not only does it contribute to my lack of exercise, but it causes me to dwell unnecessarily on the process of aging. I think, and think about how lucky I was that I was so healthy for so many years, and really have experienced very little physical pain.
And as soon as I make that distinction….. no physical pain, the pain I did feel all comes back, because I am already crying, might as well make use of it. And before I know it, I am crouched on the floor in the kitchen in front of the fridge, or bent over the trying to pick up my shoes, crying… because my back hurts, and because I am sad I went so long without doing the hard work to get happy. Now that I have it, this capital letter h Happy… I can’t believe I went so long without finding it. The easier my relationship becomes with Jer the more I wonder why I didn’t just let him go sooner. We have our family back. Em’s got her dad, I have my friend. And we have MQD. Who daily is more than I ever could have imagined a man to be.
So… the short answer to am I depressed is no. But I am in pain. My back hurts. And my heart hurts. And hurting makes me angry. And being angry makes me unreasonably frustrated with everything.
I am having a hard time reconciling the fact that I am really fucking sad. Right smack dab in the middle of the happiest time of my life. And I am confused by it.
Marriage is a leap of faith. One I am prepared to make. I feel confident and secure. As secure as someone like me gets anyway…. but all of it, all of this capital letter “H” Happiness is stirring up Sadness and Anger and Failure and all kinds of bullshit that has no repository. So, how do just I barf it up like that cheap tequila so I can make it all over with quicker? The same way I used to try to then… drink more of it. I wallowed in it, hoping that one good splash of feelings would come up from deep inside me and the sweating would stop and I’d feel better. But it’s just not coming. So… where do I go from here?
To have someone help me pull it all out. Let me look at it and then step over it.
My back hurts. My heart hurts. And it’s getting in the way of me sucking up all the Good that is surrounding me. So in the last couple of weeks I did a couple of things that were hard, but not as hard as carrying this weight. I asked MQD to help me with Em so I can take care of me. I made an appointment with someone “to talk to” so I can move on. And this morning I called the chiropractor. It’s either my heart making my back hurt or my back making my heart hurt. I’m not wasting any more time…. gonna fix ’em both up. And take a load off….
Day 59’s challenge asks you if you have psychic powers, and suggests you try and move an object with your mind. I have been writing this post in my head for a week, but I couldn’t quite post it. Because it wasn’t and still isn’t wholly true. I was going to use my “psychic powers” to lift the big black cloud that is hanging over my head. And I thought for a day or two I had done it… but nope. Back in full force. The holidays are hard on everyone, nothing new there. I am staying home this year, with MQD and Em and I am thrilled to begin anew, new nuclear family holiday, new traditions. But I am sad all at the same time, sad that I will be missing my family, sad that MQD will be missing his, worried that the Christmas we make for Em will not be “enough.” Even though I know, cognitively, that makes no sense at all. She has only a few years of Christmas expectations, I have thirty some and it is me that I fear disappointing.
Something about walking around feeling like you have it all for a few weeks… I suppose the letdown of “holy shit, is this it?” is inevitable. But I don’t even know if that’s it. I am just cranky. Blue. Sad. Irritable. Part of MQD’s christmas present says it has been delivered, according to Amazon and it’s not here. So I cried. And resisted the temptation to break shit. That’s not like me. I roll with it. That’s what I do. But underneath the sad and the scared and the insecure and the holy-fuck-it’s-freezing is something else… and I can’t seem to tease it out. It feels like anger. Or at least that is how it is manifesting. I am being short, snippy, rude to the people I love the most while I maintain my cheery disposition for everyone else.
I carried this feeling for ages in my twenties, that no matter what was happening on the surface, underneath I was unsettled. Fearful. Sad. I am angry with myself now for feeling robbed of enjoying this time. A time when I have nothing but love and joy surrounding me… how dare I rob myself and those around me of that? It is self-indulgent and childish, and I so wish I could just “get over it.” But to someone who has never felt it, it is impossible to explain. It’s like being nauseous. When you know you won’t really puke. Only I feel like I might burst in to tears. I am constantly choking it back.
And in case all this drivel wasn’t whiny enough my back is aching daily again. It makes me feel old and broken and impatient. So the radio silence of late… I don’t have much to report.
So what am I going to do about it?
Get some exercise again. Regularly. Move the blood. Maybe it’s silly, but I can’t help but feel like when I have no energy or bad energy that moving it all around will help reorganize things in that old body of mine.
Mind my mouth, keep at this. At least now I hear it, and I apologize immediately. Next step, just shut the fuck up if I have nothing nice to say.
Trust.
And with all the psychic power I can muster… I am gonna try and move this out
and see more of this.
Ahhh, but at least I have my sense of humor. When all else fails… at least I can laugh at myself. What song is playing?
Try to stop my hands from shaking
Something in my mind’s not making sense
It’s been awhile since we’ve been all alone
I can’t hide the way I’m feeling
As you leave me, please, would you close the door
And don’t forget what I told you
Just cause you’re right, that don’t mean I’m wrong, another shoulder to cry upon…
But it’s true. I don’t “want to lose your love” and it has “been awhile since we’ve been alone.” I don’t expect MQD to fix it. And I thank him regularly for his patience. I know he didn’t “do this.” But he fell in love with me just the way I was, which was sad, impatient, broken and scared. I need to remember I was also hopeful, renewed, optimistic… even then. I’ve come so far. Now is no time to go backwards. One foot in front of the other. And if I am angry… I am angry with myself. For not being mindful of the joy and the love that I live every day.
I think if I can attack #1 (exercise) with a vengeance and really focus on #3 (trust) that #2 (my shitty disposition and accompanying smart mouth) will solve itself. And then maybe I can land a Date with that sweet boy that asked me to marry him. And sit back, with a smile on my face, my little lady asleep upstairs with visions of sugarplums dancing in her head, and start getting my Christmas on. Because seriously, Bad Mood, roll out. I don’t have time for you now.
Day 58 challenges you to think about what it is you will pass along to your children, specifically what skills. The suggestion that they offer is whittling. Not being particularly fond of whittling I had to come up with something else. While I was thinking about this, letting the challenge roll around in the back of my head until somethign crops up organically, Em was having herself a dance party in the living room.
Dance parties consist of a lot of various moves. But the single move that she has embraced from a very young age has been the air-guitar. She employs it mid power-slide, while head banging, even while absent-mindedly looking out the window. But recently she has added a new element. The “wheedling.”
I looked all over youtube for an appropriate clip showcasing this skill and I can’t find it. And she will not do it for the camera. If you don’t watch Metalocalypse on AdultSwim you should . Dethklok, the band on this cartoon show, features Skwisgaar Skwigelf , the fastest guitarest ALIVE! When he is playing sometimes he makes the sound we’ve all made, usually when all alone practicing our air guitar. It can best be spelled out “Wheedly, wheeedly, wheeedly, wheeeedly….” etc.
So, anyway… I am thinking about whittling when I observe MQD assisting Em in her wheedling. And there you have it… what skill have we passed along to Emily? Wheedling.
Perhaps it goes deeper than that. Like her mother, Emily will do anything for a laugh. She values the joy of those around her more than maintaining decorum. She has no problem making herself the butt of the joke, so long as the joke gets a laugh. And I could be no more proud. The kid is funny. She had me rolling last night at dinner.
Is it okay to call your kid an ass? As in “My kid loves to make an ass of herself.” I hope so. Because man, does she ever. And I fucking love it.
In lieu of a wheedling video I will share here my all time favorite Emily June original tune… (only slightly better than last night’s “I wanna RED! RED!” song about popsicles to the tune of Twister Sister’s “I Wanna Rock!”)
The last of the Ten Day Challenge has me a little uncomfortable. I don’t have a lot of secrets. So, a confession isn’t easy for me to come up with. The only real option is to say something “out loud” that makes me uncomfortable. It is not a secret, so it isn’t really a confession, that I want to get pregnant next Spring.
The confession is that I am terrified. I am scared I won’t be able to get pregnant. I am scared that something will go wrong with a resulting pregnancy and I won’t know how to not be heartbroken, even though I “have a perfectly healthy child already.” I am scared that my age will have caught up with me and another pregnancy might not be as easy as my last. I am scared that “trying” to get pregnant will become the most unromantic thing ever, thereby ruining whatever honeymoon phase MQD and I get to experience after our wedding. I am scared I will get pregnant and everything will go beautifully until I have an infant in my arms. And then I will begin to mourn the loss of the time when it was just me and Emily and I will never love another as I do her. I am scared that the peace I have come to with my post-baby body will not come back to me again. I am scared. Of everything.
I am scared to say it out loud. That I want another baby. I wanted another child not long after I had Emily. I loved being pregnant. I want Em to be a sister. I want MQD to experience fatherhood from conception. I want him to be a Daddy and not “just a Mike.” Even though I absolutely know he is not just a Mike, and I hope against hope he knows that, too. I want to trust that it will happen when it’s right, if it’s right. But I want it so god damn badly. And as I have written about in the past… I don’t feel really comfortable when I want something so badly. Because wanting something opens the door for failing to achieve it.
The scariest part? I truly believe it will all be fine. I do. But I sure do love worrying about things I can’t control. Call it a hobby.
Super pregnant with Emily…. this reminds me, I need new Reefs. They are fabulous flip-flops. I loved this day. I felt huge. And ready. This was about two weeks before Em was born.
About five months pregnant at a Panic show in Portsmouth. Proof that I stick my tongue out if you point a camera at me, even when I am not drinking.
About two month’s pregnant at Scott & Lauren’s wedding. Proof that I hug my brother occasionally, even when I am not drinking.
Thanksgiving and the few days following allowed me to crank out two more challenges. Day 56 suggested I live the Rock n Roll lifestyle at it’s most decadent. The book kindly recommends hookers, cocaine, prison hospitals and international travel. Given that I had a fairly good idea I would not get around to all that, I decided I’d just consider the “decadence” that I did live to suffice and call it a day.
Thanksgiving Day decadence included, but was not limited to the following: absurd accessories (in the form of my favorite bird headband,) a truly ridiculous amount of food and wine consumed, loudly announcing time and again that I was “having a great time!!” and many real-time shout-outs to the friends and family that were present. While I did not exactly yell out “Thank you very much, Carrboro, and Good Night!” before I left I did announce as soon as we got home that I was going immediately to bed. And I am fairly sure I tacked on a “Thank you very much!” as I was terribly thankful all day.
Friday morning quickly blended in to Friday afternoon which became Friday evening before I knew it. All of a sudden it was Sunday night and a shower and some new sweatpants seemed in order. There is little more decadent in the life of a mother than uninterrupted couch time. I was under the weather enough to justify sitting on my ass all weekend. Friday afternoon I was convinced I might be a wee bit hungover but when Em was feverish and intermittently sweating and then freezing I realized we might all have the “funk.” Em and I whiled away the weekend with ABC Family’s movies and in a desperate plea for entertainment I watched 5 hours of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills in one sitting Saturday evening. Can’t imagine why MQD opted out of the evening’s entertainment?
So, while it may not have been the wild times of my youth ( a fine example seen below) it was a decadent weekend. Good food, wine, naps and craptastic TV.
And Day 57 – it was quick and delicious! Day 57: Try a food that scares you. I detest raisins, so I have never even considered a dried fig to be a good idea. However, wrap that sucker in some bacon and stuff it with bleu cheese and I was game. It was delicious!! Seen below is our charming hostess. (And incidentally, totally not the source of our “funk.” Her cold and our fevers, aches, and chills do not seem to be the same set of symptoms!)
Many thanks to E&T for sharing their home, their food, their friends and their family with us on this day!
But that looks like a bowl of cheese and pepperoni? I KNOW. And this is what I live with. Can’t blame a man for 
Day 59’s challenge asks you if you have psychic powers, and suggests you try and move an object with your mind. I have been writing this post in my head for a week, but I couldn’t quite post it. Because it wasn’t and still isn’t wholly true. I was going to use my “psychic powers” to lift the big black cloud that is hanging over my head. And I thought for a day or two I had done it… but nope. Back in full force. The holidays are hard on everyone, nothing new there. I am staying home this year, with MQD and Em and I am thrilled to begin anew, new nuclear family holiday, new traditions. But I am sad all at the same time, sad that I will be missing my family, sad that MQD will be missing his, worried that the Christmas we make for Em will not be “enough.” Even though I know, cognitively, that makes no sense at all. She has only a few years of Christmas expectations, I have thirty some and it is me that I fear disappointing.
Excitement on the side 