Wednesday, January 31, 2007
But what about my story? My story that I spent longer working on than I care to admit? My story that I'm still not satisfied with, but don't know what to do with?
I know not to expect the number of comments that Trista gets, because I don't have anywhere near the number of readers she has, but c'mon, somebody, comment!!!!!!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
"Her father was always over in them furrin' parts, digging in the sand. That's where he got that thing she was allus wearin' around her neck."
The woman leaned forward so emphatically that her rocking chair creaked in protest. "He actually wanted to name her Circe, after some heathen witch woman, can you imagine it? Accourse her mother wouldn't allow that, and gave her a good God fearin' name. No sir, Abigail Grace she was christened and blessed, and Abigail Grace was the name she was buried under. Her tombstone's out there, but you won't find it, no sir, because it crumbled to bits years ago. Iffen you ask me, she shouldn't have been buried in consecrated ground. No sir, the one she served took her to himself, and I'll warrant she's going to be burning forever." She leaned back and smiled smugly.
I showed her the tattered old photograph that I'd found in an old book I purchased in a second-hand bookstore.
I obediently followed her. Indeed, I had no choice. I knew that I must follow her wherever she commanded me.
I bought the bitch boots at Payless for about $15 this year, so they are definitely on the cheap side. I'm very fond of them, though, and will probably wear them until they fall apart. I wear them with almost everything, because they go with everything, as long as you have the most important ingredient: attitude.
Monday, January 29, 2007
As you can see, they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps. I got them at DSW Shoe Wearhouse. I do not recall how much I paid for them, but it was probably between $30 and $50. They're extremely comfortable, even if they are completely utilitarian, non-glamourous, plain-jane black pumps.
With them I am wearing a pair of black cuffed cropped pants, black nylons, a black tank, and a black and white striped cardigan (it's mostly white near the top, then graduates to mostly black at the bottom--very cool). I chose to wear the plain pumps because they ended up looking the best with this particular outfit. But now that I get to take pictures of my awesome shoes, I will wear way cooler shoes the rest of the week, she says, rubbing her hands together gleefully.
Want to join in? It's easy! Take a picture of your shoes (a different pair each day), post it on your blog, and tell us about them.
I was really gonna go to the gym after work on Saturday, honest!
Wanna know what happened?
Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway! :>
Work on Saturday whupped my butt as much as a strenuous workout. So I said, "Screw the gym," and didn't go. I cleaned out two sets of cabinets/cupboards; cleaned out the storage closet; went through all the unused desks and got all the crap that had been left behind; and began sorting through said crap and deciding if it needed to be shredded, junked, or put away. I could easily have put in a full 8 hours, but they only let me work 4 hours.
Then after work I went and took a batch of stuff from home to Goodwill (decluttering the office, decluttering the house--anyone seeing a pattern here). Then I went to the other thrift store, Thrift Town, and found a nice pair of black pants for work, along with three tops (one from Ann Taylor Loft, for only 99 cents!, and one from Casual Corner). This is one of the fun things about losing weight: getting to find cute and cheap clothes, second-hand, for next to nothing.
And then I went home and wanted to take a nap because I was tired and had a headache. But I had too much energy. So I helped Joe clean up the debris from the master bedroom. And then we went to the store to buy Propel, Flatout Light wraps, and nylons. The only extra things we got were a bottle of nail polish in a yummy reddish-blackish color and a bottle of OJ. So how's that for sticking to the list? Oh, and for the record, buying nylons is less expensive now that I don't have to buy the plus-size brand. I still have to buy kind of fatso sizes, but not so fatso that I have to buy the plus-size brand, so it's cheaper. Yay!
And then we went to visit Clover and Chase. Some of the other kids were home, but they were upstairs hanging with friends, and the others weren't home. Chase is doing beautifully since his surgery. His stomach is smaller than it's been in quite some time, and he looks healthier than I can recall seeing him in a long time. We had a very enjoyable visit, and talked about everything from my farts to my boobs. With Clover, not with Chase. I'm not sure where Chase was during that part of the conversation. Anyway, the consensus was that my farts smell dreadful (as do everyone's) and that my boobs are much better post reduction than they were in the unpleasant years pre reduction. I'm not sure how we got onto those topics, and I had to specifically request a change of topic, but it was still a fun visit. I was still so energetic that for about half an hour I was standing up practically dancing because I was unable to sit still.
And then we went home. I managed to get tired enough on the way home that I was able to lie down, read a book, and fall asleep.
Sunday was a lazy day for me. I slept in a bit, read scriptures, went to church, took a nap, read some more, and went to sleep. Lazy day. I liked it.
This morning when the alarm went off at 4:40, it jolted me out of my dreams so abruptly that I didn't get time to remember them, which was frustrating because it seemed that they were interesting and I wanted to remember them. For about half a second I thought about not getting up, and just going to the gym after work, but of course I got up and went and had fun. I did half an hour on the elliptical today, and loved it way better than the recumbent bike. I still haven't taken the time to go experiment on the weight machines. That is still going to have to be something I do in the afternoons, because there's just not time in the mornings. I'm thinking that if I just extend my cardio in the mornings from 30 minutes to 50 minutes, and then do weights 3 or 4 days a week in the afternoons, I'll get great workouts without being so rushed in the mornings.
I got the rehearsal schedule from M.A. today. We start rehearsals on 2/19, and opening night is 3/23. I took that day off work, as I feel quite sure I'll have pterodactyl-sized butterflies and won't feel like doing a damn thing that day. Izzybella, who is also in the play, said she'll take off that day as well. We'll get to Addison early and have a late lunch early enough that I won't be puking before the show, and keep each other amused until our 6:00 call. So I'll begin researching Gertrude Stein.
One of my really nice co-workers took me to lunch today, and 4 others joined us there. It was very enjoyable. I splurged a little, eating a handful of chips with some salsa, and two corn tortillas with butter. It was the first time I had any butter since Christmas. And for my meal I got spinach quesadillas light (the menu said they were light on the cheese, and they were)--the quesadillas had fresh spinach, poblano chiles, and fresh mushrooms. Very tasty. I ate two wedges of the quesadillas, and have 4 wedges left.
Sam asked if the dreams that he popped up in were nightmares. No, Sam, they were not nightmares. In the dreams I was at the 2007 World Fantasy Convention in Saratoga Springs, New York. (That would be in my dreams, because right now I don't see my way clear to affording to attend the convention.) And you were there, and I recognized you from the photo you had on your poetry blog. And I said, "Sam?" And you denied being Sam. But I knew it was you. And then later on you came up to mine and Clover's hotel room, and admitted it was you, and you explained why you were pretending not to be you, and it was this long weird dreamlike rigamarole that only makes sense in dreams and that I no longer remember. I dreamed that a few times. I think part of the reason I was dreaming about you is that I was concerned about you. And I think the other part of the reason is because Izzybella and I were talking one day about what we thought you looked like, and then when we saw your photo, we were both wrong, and were very amused by the fact. Anyway, very interesting dreams about a very interesting person I hope to meet someday.
You may notice I have now posted a small snapshot of myself finally. I don't really like it, but there it is. It's the photo from my badge at work. I personally think that I'm much better looking than that photo makes me appear, but at least it gives you a little idea of what I look like.
And now that I've blathered on about nothing important, I'll stop blathering and go see if any of y'all have blathered ona bout anything important.
Friday, January 26, 2007
I heard my mind say, "It's what she would have wanted," and I laughed. It really is what she would want. Of all people, A. would NOT want us to sit around and wallow in sorrow and misery and guilt. She would want us to live our lives, be happy, be productive, and not make the mistakes she made or even the mistakes we had been making. She believed in living life to the fullest, even if she didn't know how to do it in a positive fashion.
I went to the gym this morning. Getting up at 4:40 was much easier today than it was on Wednesday. I did a 30-minute ride on the recumbent bicycle. I chose a hill workout pattern, level 3. I know, that's such a wussy level. But I got a good workout still. I was definitely sweating by the end. Tomorrow when I get off work I'll go to the gym and experiment on the different machines when I'm not in such a rush, and maybe I'll do it again on Sunday after church. I'm thinking that I'll alternate upper- and lower-body workouts every day after my cardio work. I can afford to spend 50 minutes every morning before I have to get home and shower and dress and dry my hair and get to work. So if I do 30 minutes on the bike or elliptical glider (which I'd love to try out, but they're all taken before I get there at 5--which means that even though the gym allegedly opens at 5, it must open a little earlier) and then spend 20 minutes on the machines, I can get a good workout in every day.
I got my Newport News bathing suit catalog in the mail yesterday. I was drooling over the bathing suits. They have a nice selection of halter bathing suits this year, and I look really good in halters. They play up my shoulders and bust beautifully. Normally I would be burying the bathing suit catalog in the bottom of the recycle bin, but this time it was fun to look at it. Of course, no matter how hard I'm working out between now and then and no matter how much weight I lose, bikinis are probably forever out of the question, between stretch marks and the possibility (probability?) of loose skin. But the one-pieces are still beautiful, and knowing that I'll be smaller than I've been even since I was a senior in high school by this summer makes thinking about bathing suits a positive pleasure.
I haven't written poetry in years, and I apologize for subjecting you to poetry over the last two days. I know I'm a horrible poet, which is why I don't write poetry anymore. But the feelings I had to get out had no other way to express themselves. I'll get a little more upbeat again; just give me a little more time.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
And I protest.
"You don't understand," I tell him,
and I see your pale face peeping out from behind his shoulder.
You shake your head at me.
"No," you indicate, "You are the one who does not understand."
"I still love her, no matter what she did or didn't do."
My protests fall on deaf ears.
"But thinking of her brings you down, just like she always brought you down,
And I won't have it, and you are to keep going. You've been doing so well,
And I won't have it. You are my wife."
His voice is stone cold.
"You don't understand," I say again,
and again your pale face peeks out from behind his shoulder
and again you shake your head at me.
"No," you say. "You don't understand."
We argue and I tell him I don't want to talk about it and
I hang up the phone and
He calls me back twenty minutes later to tell me
He got me a treat and
He loves me and
I'm his wife and
I've been doing so well
he loves me
he loves me
Please no tears for someone who doesn't deserve them
And he doesn't understand
And there you are again, shaking your head at me.
"You don't understand. He does. You do not."
So he came home from the store with warm dinner
and hugs and caresses
and I didn't talk about you because he doesn't understand
and you say it is I who do not understand
and then I went to sleep because I had a long painful day
and I slept and dreamed not of you but of everything else
but really of you
And I woke up and I understood.
You lied to everyone, I never quite knew why,
perhaps you never quite knew why.
You knew I'd forgive you anything.
You knew she would forgive you anything.
You knew they would forgive you anything.
But you knew he would be sternly just, not merciful.
I don't know if you lied to him.
I don't know if you told him the truth.
I don't have to know.
I do know that what you told him was so different
from anything you told to anyone else.
You let him be your judge jury
So in a sense you are right that I did not understand
But in a sense you are wrong because
He does not understand
The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice.
And you were almost wrong not quite but almost
thinking that I would forgive anything
Because you hurt me so deeply
And it took me so long to forgive
That I didn't get to tell you one more time
That I love you
And now I can't forgive myself for that
And I look at the moment of you and your daughter
frozen in time
sitting on my desk
I watch you forever kissing her freckled face
And I know that I was coming around
just before you died
And I'm mad at you for dying
Before I could tell you that I forgave you
And he's wrong.
You were wrong.
But you're not wrong now.
That pale face of yours that peered from behind his shoulder,
That was just a shadow of you. You're not that pale face anymore
because you are somewhere else now.
I see you bathed in light
glints of gold shimmering off your red hair
warmth and light and life in your eyes and your face
because now you know what you couldn't know before
and you couldn't see before
and you couldn't believe before
you are loved
you are loved
you are loved
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
it cannot be hidden behind the smooth porcelain veneer of benefit and clinique cosmetics on my face and the thriftstore clothing finds that finally fit my smaller body
it slides down my cheeks leaving trails in my powder and smearing my mascara
it makes my face crumple in violent paroxysms of silent sobs
as i remember a life unlived
oh sure in the first days and weeks i ate the chocolate frosting and laughed and cried
the easy-bake oven and felt guilty for being angry
the slut shoes and felt guilty for being angry
sitting on the front porch with our arms around each other
and felt guilty
for being angry
giving the afghan to your son no longer your son
and felt guilty for being angry
holding your son no longer your son
and felt guilty
for being angry
weeping for the man i never met who now is gone
and felt guilty
for hurting more for you than for him
and wondered why you were there
and if you did it
and felt guilty
because i knew you did not
and felt guilty
because some people did
and felt guilty
because i wouldn't talk to you
the last time you called
and felt guilty
because you'll never call me again
and felt guilty
because i love you and you're gone
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and felt guilty
and i still feel guilty as now i think of you
and i wish i could talk to you and tell you how much i love you
and i wish we could sit on my front porch one more time
and put our arms around each other
and lean our heads on each others shoulders
and say i love you
i love you
i love you
and i'd un-throw away your slut shoes
and i'd un-give away the easy-bake oven
and i'd buy you the damn can of chocolate frosting and watch you eat it with your child's glee and joy and watch you savor every bite and i'd smear chocolate frosting on your face and i'd hug you and maybe things would be different
and maybe they wouldn't
but you'd know
you'd know how much i love you
and i always have
and i always will
because you're my sister
and that's what sisters do
they love each other
like i love you
and i'd still cry when you had to leave but it would be different because we'd know
i hope you know now
Perhaps I should back up.
Yesterday after work I went home and changed clothes, and then went to the gym. I immediately got the presentation, and the deal was so good that I went ahead and signed up. I had an 8-week pass from the Discovery National Health Challenge. If I signed up, Discovery paid the initiation fee; I got a reduced monthly rate for two years; and Discovery paid the third year. At least, according to the guy who signed me up. Perhaps it's a deal Bally and Discovery worked out. Either way, I get a good rate, didn't have to pay an initiation fee, and don't have to pay anything during the third year. So I signed up, got a quick tour of the facility, met with a trainer, and signed up for my free training session. We made the appointment for 5 a.m. today.
Yes, you read that correctly. A.M., ante meridian. 5. That meant I would have to crawl out of bed at 4:40, get dressed, put my hair in a pony-tail so I wouldn't whip beads of sweat all over the place, make sure I had my lock and key and membership card handy, drive to the gym, and be there at 5 a.m. I was there at 4:57 a.m., and people were already inside exercising. Mental note: apparently they open before 5 a.m., even though they say they open at 5. That's good.
So I went in, swiped my membership card the wrong way. Swiped it the right way. It still didn't take. Shrugged, went into the locker room and locked up my purse. Tied my key to my shoelace, and found the trainer. She whipped my butt! Not literally, of course, but it might as well have been. She worked me hard for 50 minutes. Then I crawled (again, not literally) to the locker room, got my stuff out of the locker, gave her my membership card, she swiped it the right way--it took when she swiped it--, signed the book indicating that I had received my free personal training session, got home, stripped before I had gotten down the hall to the bathroom, took a shower in the unheated bathroom and didn't even care that it was unheated because I was still so hot, got out of the shower to find that my face was still beet red from the workout, went naked as a jaybird down the hall to the bedroom to get my undies on, and then whined until Joe got up and dried my hair for me.
About the red face: since I changed my diet, my rosacea has cleared up. Apparently my facial skin doesn't like processed food. That's okay, because my body doesn't like it. Well, it does, in the sense that it holds on to it. But when I quit eating processed food, my body lets go of it and I lose weight. Anyway, I don't have to use green primer under my makeup anymore, which is nice. But I do still have the problem about my face turning beet red as soon as I do any physical exertion. Which means that my face probably turned beet red within 5 minutes of starting my workout, and it stayed beet red until my husband finished blow-drying my hair. That's two hours of having a horribly red face. It's not a pretty sight. I'm not talking about a delicate rose blush on a porcelain face. I'm talking about a normally porcelain face that turns a hideous shade of red ALL OVER. I'm not dying, may not even be physically uncomfortable (although I was this morning). I just turn red. On my face.
Anyway, it felt good. But I noticed as I sat down that my entire body, every muscle, is quivering. Not in a "wow that was great sex!" way. In a "wow what the hell did you do to me and are you going to keep doing this because I'm not sure I'm up for it" way.
And the answer is yes, I'm going to keep doing this, because I enjoyed it and I like getting smaller and feeling good about how I look and feel and being healthy. So you'd damn well better be up for it!
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Okay, last night's audition was fun. There's no other way to describe it. The play? It's just odd. Bizarre. I've not read much by Gertrude Stein, so I'm not familiar with her work. It didn't make any sense to me, although there were flashes of beauty in some of the images. It's a 5-act play, and the whole script is 5 pages. It's not a typical play with roles and characters and meaning that hits one over the head with a sledgehammer. It's going to be fun to help this unfold and see what comes of it. Assuming, of course, that I do get to help this unfold.
I'm finally going to Bally tonight to redeem my 8-week pass from the Discovery Health Challenge. I can't afford to buy a membership to Bally right now, but free, well, hey, the price is right! A 1-year membership to my city's fitness center is only $70, so I figure I'll take advantage of the free 8-week pass to Bally's, learn how to use everything, and then go to my city gym and continue what I'll learn at Bally's.
Today I'm wearing my tribute to NYC shirt. I bought it shortly after 9/11--it's black and white and silvery and still shows the Twin Towers standing proudly erect. I'm not sure it's quite the thing to wear to my office, as they have a kind of strange dress code, but I am wearing it anyway, with black pants and a black blazer. No one's said anything, so I'm assuming it's kosher. That's one thing that losing 41.4 pounds (thank you very much!) is doing for me--helping me to find the confidence to wear whatever the hell I feel like wearing without worrying more than just a wee titch if I'll get in trouble for it!
Monday, January 22, 2007
I don't know why I became so obsessed with that truck. It was just an old pick-up truck. Not a cool shiny, loved, well-cared-for antique, although in years it probably qualified as an antique. I couldn't even tell what color it had originally been. It was coated in rust, and had multiple holes where the rust had eaten through the metal. The tailgate hung askew, missing some of the bolts that once held it securely to the pick-up bed.
The truck sat on the side of a private road next to a barbed-wire fence. It had been there for so long that a sapling had sprung up through a hole in the floorboard and was growing out one window. The springs were visible through the seats, and flowering weeds decorated the interior of the cab from one season to another.
I passed the truck every day as I took the back roads to college. I didn't like getting onto the freeway and inhaling the carbon monoxide and the asbestos from the semis. The back way took the same amount of time, and the cow shit had its own stink, but at least it was an honest organic stink, and once I was past the dairy farms, I didn't have to keep inhaling it. The view was more pleasing as well--to quote Anne Shirley, there was more "scope for imagination."
Something about that truck piqued my fancy. I wondered what the man was like who just got out of that truck one day. He just stopped that thing, kicked it in the door, left a big dent, and said, "Damn you to hell anyway, you son of a bitch," and walked off and left it there. Although that act told me that he was a stubborn man, a man who could be pushed just so far before he would dig in his heels and go no further.
The fields on the other side of that barbed wire fence were lush and fruitful. The barns were neatly painted, and the sweet cream butter that I bought from the smiling woman at the house was delicious. Every time I bought a pound of butter, I wondered if she was his daughter, or his granddaughter. I wanted to ask, but decided against it. I liked the man I had created in my fancy, and didn't want to find the real man, no matter what he was like. In my imagination, I knew him well already. He was a hard man, but a good man, a poet in his own way.
And then one cold wintery day the truck was gone. The weeds were gone, even the sapling had been uprooted. The side of the road had been neatly mowed, and no trace of my muleheaded man had been left. I slammed on my brakes, leaving a patch of black down the center of the road. I stared for a few minutes, not quite believing the sight.
Then, for auld lang syne, I got out of my little red Toyota. I went over to where the rusty old pickup had once rested. I kicked the fenceposts next to the truck's old graveyard, and damned them to hell. I cursed up a blue streak that would have made my sailor-daddy proud (or ashamed, depending).
Then I got back into the car and drove away. Never went back, either. Didn't seem quite right, somehow.
No, I've only auditioned for one play before, and that was at the University of Texas at Arlington. I was hoping to be cast as Mrs. Webb in "Our Town," although honestly I'd have been happy to be playing Dead Woman #4. In the audition my vocal cords got some kind of glop on them, and I could hardly talk. It was hardly an auspicious audition, and needless to say, I did not get the opportunity to even play Dead Woman #4.
I have taken one acting class, and another class called "Fundamentals of Voice and Movement," both at UTA. They were FUN. I learned a lot and had a great time. I had actually planned to minor in theatre until the a$$hole dean at the college where I worked decreed that since some secretaries were unable to flex their time, none of us could. Most of the English courses I needed for my major were only offered in the evenings. Theatre classes, for obvious reasons, are not offered during the evenings. I had to give up my dreams of minoring in theatre, and went for a more prosaic, but still enjoyable, history minor.
Yet here I am, at the ripe age of--oh, yeah, I'm 19, aren't I?--going out to audition tonight. It's a small theatre company, doing very avant-garde type plays. All their proceeds go to different charitable organizations. I like that. Izzybella is one of the founding members of the company. I like that. I know two of the other founding members, and like them very much. They're really cool people. And I'm learning how to be fearless.
See, I've wasted so much of my life worrying about what people might be thinking that I didn't do so many things I wanted to do. And I missed out on so much. So regardless of whether I get cast in this play, I'm excited about taking the time to audition. I know that M. and V. won't laugh at me. They like me. They respect me, and they'll respect my efforts, even if what I bring to the mix isn't what they want. And that's cool
So look out, everybody, I'm about to take a leap of Faith!
Friday, January 12, 2007
Home: Very dang busy. Izzybella doesn't have time to come over tomorrow, which is totally cool, because hey, she's doing me huge favors. But when I said that's cool, she insisted I bring her some laundry that she can do for me. Oh, please, twist my arm. Like I'm going to turn down someone who wants to wash, dry, and fold my dirty clothes?
Fun: Tonight Izzybella is taking me to Jason's Deli for dinner (spinach-veggie wrap, hold the pico, sub fat-free swiss for the asiago [not that I don't love asiago], with steamed veggies) and then to see a hilarious play with her comps at Theatre Arlington. I'll report back about the play tomorrow.
Other stuff: I look damn good today. I'm wearing a black form-fitting sweater with a cowl neck and a wide patent leopard-print belt, with Eddie Bauer denim capris and black pointy-toed low-heeled pumps with a kitten heel.
Other other stuff: The Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex is included in the winter storm watch. It's definitely getting cold tonight, and we may possibly see some freezing rain. And it's supposed to be cold for a whole week. Wow! (You can't see me, but I just did the eye roll to express extreme sarcasm.)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
- Find the nearest book.
- Name the author & title.
- Turn to page 123.
- Post sentences 6-8.
- Tag three more people.
Since my computer is in my Egyptian room, the nearest book is Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, translated by Raymond O. Faulkner.
Sentence 6 is the last sentence of the spell For Knowing the Souls of the Easterners and sentences 7 and 8 are the first sentences of the spells The Field of Offerings.
I know the Souls of the Easterners; they are Horkhty, the sun-calf, and the Morning Star.
N worships the Ennead which is in the Field of Offerings, and he says: Hail to you, you owners of kas! I have come in peace to your fields in order to receive the provisions which you give; I have come to the Great God in order that I may receive the provisions which his goodwill grants of bread and beer, oxen and fowl.
And tagging three people is a little more difficult, since few people read my blog. I'll go for Izzybella, Sam, and Clover. Any takers?
Don't take that as a complaint. Because, hello--good-bye to Direct Merchant's Bank, good-bye to Capitol One, good-bye to high interest rates, good-bye to interest that keeps accruing 24/7/365! And once those cards are gone, hello to the good life! :)
Okay, I also got to tighten the belt literally as well. This morning I tried on a pair of pants that I bought in late November and they were too small. And they fit. I did the Snoopy dance before I took them off because even though they fit, they only fit when I was standing up. When I sat down, too much tummy smooshed out over the top and looked really ugly. But the free 8-week pass to Bally's starts on Saturday, and I will be going every day except Sunday to exercise, so I'm feeling confident of getting rid of some of that tummy (and butt and thighs and arms).
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The dental assistant put the numbing gel on my gums. All too soon (I really think it may have been a bit too soon), the dentist came in with his needle and started with the injections. "This may pinch," he said. Ha! I laugh in the face of pinches! But it didn't pinch. It hurt like hell. And he did it again, and again, and again, and again. I think there were five. Or six. I lost count, because I was kind of grunting or groaning or something, because it hurt so damn bad, and then he asked me to try not to make any noise, which is when I barely managed to hang on to the about-to-burst-forth-in-full-panic-attack-mode panick attack until he was finished. When he did finally finish with the bloody shots and left me for a few minutes so the numbing process could complete, I was shaking and crying--it was horrible. NOT what brave and bold women do in the dentist's office. Fortunately the crying was silent, not loud gasping sobbing, and I managed to get control of myself relatively quickly. But I've never experienced something like that before, and it completely freaked me out.
So he did the prep work for the first crown. Unpleasant, but not bad. Then he started drilling for the filling. Um, I don't think I'm supposed to be feeling any actual pain here. I politely raised a finger, and he immediately stopped. "Are you feeling this?" he asked, and I nodded. So of course I got four or five more shots. Damnit! And once again he promised pinches--which I laugh in the face of--and delivered pain. But I didn't have a panic attack that time, and I didn't grunt or groan. No, I bore it stoically, only weeping on the inside. And I didn't complain vocally when he kept telling me to open my mouth wider, even though I tell you all that I have a small mouth, and it can only open so wide, and I didn't whine when they were all finished with me and I discovered a crusty chapped painful spot on the right corner of my lips where the latex and everything irritated my skin.
But I've been whiningly complaining today because my damn mouth still hurts. A lot. Yes, I've taken Advil, and yes, I know I'm being a baby. I'm still on soft foods, because it's still so tender on this side. I didn't get to have the yummy roast last night that Joe so thoughtfully cooked in the Crock Pot. I had sugar-free Jell-O and part of an Odwalla smoothie for dinner.
Anyway, it's all a process. I'm glad to be getting my teeth fixed, even if I am horribly embarrassed about yesterday's panic attack and even if the teeth on the right side of my mouth do hurt today. I'm getting the shakes just thinking about my February 12th appointment, so I'm not really sure how to handle it. On the 12th I get my permanent crowns, and have to get another filling and another temporary crown. Oh joy! More shots! More needles. More drilling. If I'm shaking just thinking about going, what's going to happen when he gets that needle in my mouth? Am I going to fall apart completely?
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
I was sitting here, mindlessly doing my work, and she whispered the BEST idea for a book into my ear. I froze, feeling my mind race with possibilities. I swore, because I'm really busy today and will have no time whatsoever to do any writing. And then I have a dentist appointment where I will get two temporary crowns. I'm not sure if I'll feel like doing any writing this evening or not. Depends a lot on how sore my jaw is. So I very carefully wrote three words on my calendar, hoping it will be enough to keep the idea fresh in my mind, and kept pulling credit bureau reports.
She laughed wickedly.
I typed into the computer. A few details came to mind. I can't lose them. I scribbled seven more words onto my calendar.
I pulled a few more credit bureau reports, while my muse rubbed her hands together with glee. More ideas came. I scribbled 16 more words onto my calendar, and told my muse to shut the fuck up. I've got a lot of work to do today, and while I'm incredibly grateful for her gifts, her timing sucks to hell and back.
Okay, so the fall is a really busy time for my business, and we had major queue changes this month. But things should start slowing down for me at work, and I should really start having time to write. So I'm going to start writing on this at home, and hope like mad that I get time to start writing at work again. Because, really, that's the only reason I took this job.
Oh, and I'm not going to talk much about my new idea, other than to tell you that it's brilliant. Because the more I talk about the ideas, the less I write them. I will tell you only that it relates to my passion, my obsession. Chaucer. And it's brilliant, and it will become a best-seller, and I will make lots of nice, wonderful money, and I won't have to slave as a poor administrative assistant.
Hey! Stop sniggering! I can dream if I want to!
Monday, January 08, 2007
What else--I'm down another 2.4 pounds as of Saturday's weigh-in. That takes me to 38.2 pounds total, I think. You can see it in my face; I now have cheekbones. I like my cheekbones. And I was a little startled to realize, when I went to buy some nylons on Saturday night, that I had no idea what size nylons I wear. (For the record, I've gone from 3X nylons down to 1X.) I feel great, and have a lot more self-confidence. I got a new Newport News catalog today, and I'm going to really enjoy going through it tonight, because I'm a lot closer to fitting into these awesome clothes than I have been. I'm also a lot more confident that I'm going to achieve my goal. I plugged in all my weigh-in data into a spreadsheet, and it's currently projecting my reaching my goal of 150 pounds in October. That seems a little freaky to me. Just getting below 200 pounds will be a huge, huge milestone.
I went to church yesterday, for the first time in almost a year. It was very difficult getting myself out the door of my house and into the door at church. However, once there it was really nice. The people that I was most reluctant about the potential of seeing weren't there. What was even nicer was that I learned today that they've moved out of our ward. Lest that sound really bitchy and unkind of me, I should say that there are some really unusual and uncomfortable circumstances around the whole situation with them. I've blogged about it in the past, and don't feel like going into it again. I wish them well, but I'm really glad I don't have to worry about seeing them every Sunday. However, I'm also really glad that I decided to start going back to church before I knew they had moved.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
If you're so minded, please visit Clover and leave her some good will. Thanks.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
I have a headache, and it's lunchtime, so I'm going to go to hither, thither and yon to do this, that, and t'other. But I don't have kids, so I can't force them to sit in the car while I do it.
You know, being a grownup isn't nearly as fun as my childhood self thought it would be. Well, sometimes it is, but not often. At least when I was a kid and my parents took us through the drive-through at the bank, the tellers sent candy back for us. Now the teller tells me that she appreciates my business and wishes me a pleasant day, but she doesn't send me candy.