So Deep

I'm in a deep hole as far as my life goes.  The last two months have smacked me around and twisted me in so many different directions that I'm queasy and dizzy.  I thought I was behind 17 days ago and since then, my things to do have lapped me about 5 times.

I know what I have to do.  But I really don't want to do it.  Instead of trying to catch up, I'd really like to just cut my losses and start everything all over again.  Yes.  I'd like to.  What I'm going to do, though, is suck it up and put my head down for the last lap.  I was always good at the last lap.

It's going to be a long lap, though.  By the time I hit the wall at the end, I'll be spent and crabby.  For a while I'll wonder if it was worth it.  But it'll be done.  More than anything I just want to be caught up.

I have about 4 weeks to make up my homework and then the next wave of stuff will come along and thrash me until I hit the sand and find my way up again.  I'm a bit weary of the cycle, though.  I'd like to come out of the next go-round on dry land where at least I can keep my bearings.



The last few weeks have been harried.  I feel like every time I turn around, some other little thing has thrown in with the rest of the heap to try and push me over the edge.

Taken each by itself, the things that are pushing down and causing knots in my neck and shoulders aren't that big a deal.  It's the cumulative effect that's weighing on me.

I'm not going to bore you with the minutiae that is snowballing into a rather stressful situation, other than to say this:  I lost a tooth.

This is actually kind of funny.  See, as I think I've shared before my bottom front teeth are baby teeth (well, now just tooth).  They have been known to bleed spontaneously and have been bothering me in a serious way for the last year.

I've been putting off the inevitable trip to the dentist because, well, I hate the dentist.  The last time I went was so long ago, I can't remember when it was.  And the time before that was to have my wisdom teeth out.

So I've known that I need to go.  Yesterday, while flossing, the inescapable happened.  My left front tooth.  The sound was horrible.  So horrible, in fact, that I barfed.  Thank god I was already standing over the sink.

So I'm short a tooth.  I was supposed to go to the dentist today, but my dentist was called to an emergency and so I've been pushed to Tuesday.  In the mean time, my remaining tooth is driving me crazy, the tissue in the gaping hole is tender and bruised, and I feel less than attractive.  The biggest problem, though, is that the more I think about what will have to happen to remedy this situation (extraction of the remaining tooth, bone drilling, etc.), the more anxious I become.  This was not what I needed to have happen at this exact moment.

But then, when it rains...  Oh well.  Just call me Snaggletooth.



Okay...  I have another Facebook complaint.  It's Farmville.  What the hell, people?  Don't you have enough to do?  In the last few days the number of 'farmers' in my circle of friends has gone crazy.  I had to hide Farmville from my newsfeed because I kept getting updates about how Sherry found a pony or an egg or some fucking thing, or how Marty was building a barn or a stable and needed wood.  And then the requests started coming in.  Will you send Marcia a brick?  NO!  I'm not Farmvilling!

I mean, I get (got) these updates all the livelong day from people at work and then all night from people at home.  Seriously, people, don't Farmville at work.  Especially because I'm pretty sure at least some of you are Facebook friends with your boss.  And while you may say, "Yeah, but my boss is Farmvilling, too."  I say, "Is that something you want to know?"  If you and your boss both have enough time to spend this much time on Facebook, it's time to downsize.  And if you're spending hours at home Farmvilling, make some friends outside of cyberland.

I know games are fun, but seriously folks, it's a VIRTUAL world.  There's a real one right outside your door.  Go live in it.



I haven't been able to keep up with my life for the last few weeks.  Somehow days come to a close and I haven't gotten done all that I'd wanted to.  I am behind in:
-Returning calls
-Returning emails
-Grocery shopping
-The refrigerator (it needs cleaning out - a lot.  The other day, I found a container of cream cheese that was dated FEBRUARY)

I know I'll catch up, but the prospect of starting is daunting.  I need to get the oars in the oatmeal and just start to row.  Sometimes, though, I wish I had a magic wand.


The Other Half

I love my husband unwaveringly. I have loved him for many years - most of them spent apart.  As much as I love him, though, I have loved others.

In those years that Matt and I had lost each other, I loved someone else.  A man who matched a different half of me at another time.  We were, at times, so perfectly complementary that it seemed like that fit was the only thing.  When we parted company - because of a mutual agreement not to change our plans for each other - there were tears.  There was heartache.  And I missed him for a long time.

The other night, Wilbur asked me if I still loved that other man - even just a little.  I knew what Wilbur meant.  I said no and meant it, but then when I thought about it again, I had to say that yes, I do still love him just a little.  But it's not love in the present tense, really.  I say 'still', but I think that instead of loving him, it's more that I still remember how it felt to love him.  I remember why he was so important to me.  I know it was right - for then.

I don't miss him anymore.  I don't love him anymore.  But I kind of I miss the other half of me that loved him then.  I wonder what would have happened had that been the half of me that had become the prominent half.

I was a pure idealist.  I had the absolute courage of my convictions.  I hadn't yet had my hopes dashed cruelly over and over again.  I had faith that people are inherently good - given the opportunity (actually, that's still true).  I had endless energy and no need for sleep.  I could write grant proposals for non-profits, campaign for reproductive rights, host phone banks for independent candidates who shared my ideals, write my research papers, and still have the vigor to meet my friends for drinks and sneak into the botanical gardens to have midnight picnics.

The half of me that has taken over is more subdued, jaded, and much less inclined to speak in absolutes.  It's the more experienced half.  It's also the half that has found peace, yoga, and contentment.  I still have my convictions, though I don't feel the need to shout them from the rooftops anymore.  And I still do what I can for the causes I believe in with the time I have - although, admittedly, not always as much as I should do.  I don't have the boundless energy anymore, though.  And sometimes I am more complacent than I ever imagined I'd be.  I know when to stop screaming myself hoarse because it won't change anything.  I know that sometimes you actually do have to work from within the system.  I also know that, as much as I love grassroots activism, there is a lot of internal conflict that often renders the organization in question useless.  My idealism has given way to realism.  I often think in terms of what I can accomplish vs. what I want to accomplish.  Sometimes I let myself down.

All in all, though, I love my life.  I'm glad that the idealist is in the background at this time in my life.  I can always dust that off and let it out if I need it...But I can't help but wonder - just a little bit - where the other half would have led me...

And then when I think about it more, I realize that it still led me here.  All roads lead home if you have the time to walk for a while.


Neverending Battle

I'm fairly sure I've said it before, but I'll say it again:  I FUCKING LOVE FOOD.  Now, to be clear, I don't love food from all sources (Cheesecake Factory, PF Chang's, TGI Friday's, etc.), but I love food.  I'm always willing to give any food at least one fighting chance to win my heart.

Some of the foods I love:  lard-ridden tamales, burgers, ribs, foie gras, reduction sauces, anything Benedict, good pizza, Saigon curry, nut butters, Belgian fries, lamb chops, potato chips, Dungeness crab, oysters, clams, sausages of all varietes, schnitzel, buffalo tenderloin, rosemary pork loin, gnocchi with gorgonzola cream sauce, abalone, almost any non-processed cheese... You get the idea.

I can't possibly give up any of these foods forever.  And since there are so many of them, I am, at any given time, craving at least one of these things.  It's easy to lose the calorie war.

In order to even things out, I do a lot of yoga.  A lot of yoga.  And now that I'm 35, I find that the food gains ground more easily than it used to.  Which means that I have to moderate the intake more than I'd like or else I'll end up doing nothing between meals but yoga.  Now, I love yoga for a lot of reasons, but one of the biggest reasons is that it allows me to eat almost anything I want.

Matt insists that if I cross-trained I would stay ahead in the race.  I don't doubt this is true.  The problem is:  I hate exercise.  Running is boring, gyms are gross, spin is tedious and hard on the lady-parts...  I don't mind swimming, but trying to swim laps in a gym pool is ridiculous because there's always at least one 200 year-old gender-neutral person a few strokes from drowning in the dead center of the lap lane with the old-age-induced sense of entitlement to prevent everyone else from accomplishing anything.

Outdoor activities in Las Vegas are somewhat constrained by the weather, but I'll also have a hike or a walk when the weather (which is, admittedly, perfect right now) permits.  Overall, though, the only thing I like to do and therefore do with consistency is yoga.

I find it monumentally unfair that my body is designed to hold on to fat.  I find it unfair that food makes me fat.  I find it unfair that Matt can eat and drink almost anything and never gain a fucking pound.   I hate that I know what good food is and want to eat it all the time.  I hate that I know what good wine is and I want to drink it all the time. 

For the last couple of weeks my yoga schedule has been 'off'.  Between house-hunting and this stupid cold, I'm behind.  This coming week will be equally hard on my ability to reign victorious over the blasted calories.  I have to make a little deal with myself.  It's stupid, but it's what I have to do.

Since I know I won't be able to make it to yoga as often as I like or need to, I have to give myself a boring menu in between the times that we'll be going out with my beloved in-laws.  This boring menu consists of one egg, one chicken breast, one salad with one tablespoon of vinaigrette, and 28 sesame sticks.

Typically, I like to keep my net calories at 850.  So yes, I obsessively track what I put in my mouth, but it works.  So for the next week, I'm just working on holding my ground as best I can.  I know I'm being pushed slowly backwards and I'm okay with that as long as I can push back at the beginning of next week and kick (my own increasingly fat) ass.

It would be fine if food wasn't so delicious.  Alas, it is.  And I know it.  Therefore, I must make an effort not to be a whale.  It's a neverending battle, but one I will continue to fight because I can, and if I can, I must.