Saturday, August 31, 2013

Revamping the Baggage

I pulled out the second and third pairs of pants that split in the inner thighs today.  Lol. Yes, I'm amused by that, because I used to wear pants out in the seat or the knees when I was a kid, and now the inner thigh wears threadbare and rips open instead.  

What? People act like someone is wrong with keeping my legs together.  It's a modesty thing. I can't be the ONLY one, surely.    I'm sure I could save my pants by walking with my thighs spread apart like a hoochie, but that's not who I am.  So my thighs rub.  Big deal.  My pants were faded anyway.  ;)

Still, I hate the idea of just throwing them in the trash and wasting that fabric.  A shorts conversion is out of the question, because the tear is far too high and I've never thought that wearing shorts a la Daisy Duke was attractive on any female, even a cute thin one.  

I look on the Internet for ideas and I see a lot of suggestions to make purses or bags out of them.  Bo-ring.  And I have too many bags as it is, much classier looking than anything I could sew from my old faded pants.  Thirty-one... Pretty bags already finished.

Can't use a second dog bed, don't need a wall organizer, and I don't need a black braided rug.  Oh, did I mention all my pants are black?  It simplifies dressing for work.  Sometimes I get really tired of putting together outfits because I have more important things on my mind than clothes.  

I thought maybe an old-fashioned crazy quilt with bright embroidery at the seams.  Maybe a picnic blanket for my car (though I haven't been on a picnic in a decade, even though I enjoy them.)  A vest or waistcoat crazy-pieced and brightly embroidered would be cool, but I don't want to do any real sewing at the moment.  

Speaking of bags, I have a Retro Metro Weekender bag that I have decided will make a lovely "personal item" bag the next time I fly.  Or even just as a weekend bag, which it has already sufficed for.  It has a few small pockets and one zip pocket inside, but I'm itching to modify the inside.  Try as I might, I haven't found any information on the Internet on simple ways to do this, so I'm striking out on my own here.

It's a huge bag inside, and I tend to carry a lot of things which tangle horribly when allowed to tumble loosely.  I like compartments to keep certain things out of the way.  I'm going to add some lightweight mesh pockets of varying sizes so that I can stay better organized without adding additional weight and bulk in the form of separate zipper pouches.

I think that a mesh laundry bag could be cut up for pockets and keep the additions feather-light and fairly inconspicuous. Hidden?  No, of course not.  But definitely unobtrusive.  These will be utility additions, not secret hiding places. If the local Wal-Mart still sold lace fabric, then I could make it look snazzy, but they don't, so I can't.  I could crochet some mesh bags to sew in, but they expand so gorgeously into large round bottomed grocery sacks, and I would like some flat pockets that will make the contents hug the sides of the bag.  

I've already found secret hiding places in my roller suitcases anyway. Unzip the lining to the ugly inner structure of the case, and I have a great place to stash things that I will only need rarely, like a sewing kit, emergency tampons, photocopies of your passport, and flat packs of duct tape.  Snacks that need to be out of sight and out of mind until my return trip.  Flat souvenirs that would otherwise get tangled up with my clothing, which I just want to stay organized, for Pete's sake. I figure that I can stash a list in a front pocket if I need a reminder of what's in there.  

Did I mention that I get aggravated when my luggage is disorganized?  I hate it when i cant find what I've  packed.  My own fault, and I could have avoided tossing the contents to find something stupid, like a charging cord.  I like my luggage organized just so.  I was one of those kids who used to repeatedly rearrange her little cardboard school box the night before the first day of school.  Maybe I'm a little OCD... If everything matches and is perfectly organized, things will go perfectly and keep me a happy little camper... Right?  :). Uh, huh, yeah, sure.  Lol

My suitcases have pull-out handles, and zippers to hide the handles when you don't need them.  Did you know that there's some storage space in there when the handle is out away?  I hid 16 iPods (belonging to the school, during a school trip, because I didn't trust random strangers who might access the room while I was out of it) in that space, with plenty of room for more stuff.  It wouldn't be great if I had to keep extending and stashing the handle, but in a pinch, it was a very useful and non-obvious extra pocket / crawl space.

One of the best things I've discovered about my weekender bag -- it has shoulder-sized handles and metal D rings where a long shoulder strap can be added, or the sides of the bag can be drawn in with the existing hardware., to make it ft under an airplane seat.  And best of all, those shoulder straps enable the bearer to wear the bag, one handle over each shoulder, as a backpack on the spur of the moment.  I don't believe that's advertised as a feature, but when I'm tired and carrying luggage, I don't care if it looks slightly goofy. And I can still argue that it is my purse, even though I don't normally carry a large purse.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

So Much for Plans

I had just subscribed to Clean Eating Magazine, and I was halfway through my subscription to Oxygen.  August has come and nearly gone without the new issues of either.  A little bit of investigating on Facebook, of all places, told me that the publisher has declared bankruptcy and I might just be out my fifty bucks.  

So I've contacted Zinio, since I had non-print subscriptions, and I've told them I want a refund for my remaining unfulfilled issues.  They probably won't give it, and I'll have to cry to my credit card company.  So be it.  I used my MasterCard, so they'll lose their bragging rights if they don't do the right thing.  

I really wanted those magazines though.  I haven't found any others that fit the particular bill that they do.  

Really, I'm beginning to see that I might be the kiss of death.  If I like a TV show or a magazine, it goes bye bye!  I hope I haven't killed Hannibal with my enjoyment of the show.  

Now there is also Clark Datchler of Johnny Hates Jazz, my favorite singer, dealing with internal bleeding from a stomach tumor, just after the release of their first album in twenty-something years!  I worry about him.  I'm not claiming that we are pals or anything, but I've exchanged pleasantries with him over Twitter on a couple of occasions, and he's a really kind and polite fellow. I hope he's healing well.  It would be absolutely horrible for such a beautifully put together album such as Magnetized to be a swan song.  

What do you mean, you haven't heard it yet??  Go check it out! It's an awesome album!  I'm sure that Lighthouse is the song he was telling me about a couple of years ago when I was completely anti-love song.  I love it.  

I'm still anti-love song.  Been hurt too badly, too many times, to the result of pretty much not believing that love is for real.  I wouldn't mind being proved wrong, but after this many years, and this many "friends" treating me like a doormat, it might take a miracle to make me a believer.

After all. I have no personal proof. 

So my plans for fitness and healthy eating will have to rely on two issues of Clean Eating, the issues of Oxygen that I did manage to collect, and more juicing.  I relied on manufactured smoothies for the last week, and I feel absolutely exhausted without my homemade juices now.  I don't think the smoothies have the nutrition packed into them that one of my mean greens does.  I've been craving my homemade juices for the las couple of days, and those smoothes jus don't quite satisfy.  

How is my hip healing now with the second cortisone shot?  It hurts worse today than before the shot, and I'm limping again, so maybe the second shot wasn't where I needed it.  It was an experiment after all, and more fodder for discussion for my next visit with my orthopedic surgeon.  

I would like for it to become cool fall weather NOW, so that i can run without an asthma or anxiety attack, and I'd love to have a safe and pretty place to run in the evenings.  Running in the dark is what I'd feel comfortable with, yet I wouldn't feel at all safe.  If wishes were fishes, I'd open a seafood restaurant and not have the constant worry of whether this old maid will be able to take care of herself financially when she retires.  

Maybe I should try running on the cross country trail again.  Nowadays it is a low-mown strip through our school grounds, so maybe it wouldn't trip me... I do have the tendency to drag my feet.  I suppose if I fall onto the grass, it will injure me less with abrasions than a full out face plant on the sidewalk.

Sometimes I feel like my hometown has gotten too small for me.  I know there's a bigger and better world out there, though I've not yet been allowed to dip my toes into it.  I just don't have the guts to go it alone in a new place.  Again.  

Before you even think that, I have moved away more than once, and I came back for a good job in my own school system, that is currently chomping at the top spots in academic achievement, in competition with large urban districts across the state, that have much more comfortable socioeconomic status than most of our local families.  

We have risen to the top in many categories despite the lack of wealth, and I'm still ever-fearful that I will lose my job because of some idiot state bureaucrat with his hand perpetually in the till.  Personally, after working this hard in my life and giving up so much, I don't want to have to sweat over whether or not I'll be able to afford dog food for my meals in my dotage.  So much for working hard and planning, eh?

So I'm following James Dean's credo to enjoy my life as much as I can now because worrying about the future and sound planning don't count for anything.  It wouldn't be so bad if I had a husband on even financial footing with me -- we wouldn't live high on the proverbial hog but we would make it okay.  

At least this old maid doesn't have to worry about saving for college for my children.  However, I might need to spend all of my savings on a second career degree after I retire from teaching, so that the second half of my life isn't spent broke.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Benched Again

I'm sitting on the couch. I'd planned to run 3 miles sometime today or tonight, but my hip is so sore it's telling me no, just sit there and wait for the steroids to soak into the nerve.

I'm not complaining.  I had another cortisone shot in it on Thursday, so of course, it's sore as a result.  No surprise there.  This time the shot wasn't into the bursa (and that hurt like CRAZY!) but into and around my femoral nerve. 

The doctor thinks that as it comes across my hipbone, my femoral nerve is being compressed, which could cause numbness, burning sensation, and knifelike pains down my thigh.  And he ran his hand down my thigh to demonstrate.... in exactly the place where I already have all of those problems.  Aha! Finally I'm being listened to instead of being patted on the hand and being told nothing is wrong but I can get some weight-gain causing pain pills. 

And so.... The cortisone shots.  He did say that if I was feeling a reduction in pain, the shots are doing some good, but if they didn't help enough, he could send me to someone who would sclerose (kill) the nerve, which would leave my leg permanently numb but no longer feeling like it was filled with electrical fire.  

But he understands it might not be a result I'd be willing to have, so I have to weigh the pain vs. numbness issue.  

I need to ask him if fat loss from my hips would help with the compression.  I'm working on losing weight, but I was still very aware of my pudgy hips and belly being exposed for the shots he gave me. (Sorry, I'm just not to the "fitness model bounce a quarter off rock hard flat six pack abs" just yet.  It's going to take me a while longer.  Three years of work haven't been enough for this insulin resistant gal.) 

At least this time his description of the shots feeling like a bee sting was accurate.   Yeah, I was thinking, sure, that's what all doctors and nurses said to me when I was a little girl getting a shot.  "Bee sting" usually meant the worst pain of my little life.  This shot just stung a little bit each time he stuck the needle in.  Nothing like the tear-inducing shot deep down into the bursa last time.  

Maybe my fat bellly wouldn't bother me if he wasn't relatively young (just five years older than me), attractive, and not wearing a wedding band.  But there it is.  My doctor's a cutie.  Lol. And he winked at me several times and teased me. It's probably how he deals with all his patients, so I should stop thinking it means anything and just be glad he's not some crusty old know-it-all with a God complex.  I'm sure the teenage boys with broken arms and legs don't notice the things I did.  

Still, he's cute. Okay, okay, I'm way out of line even thinking along those lines, so I'll quit.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Wrapped Around Your Finger

(Not just the name of one of my favorite Police songs.)

I watched Anna and the King again tonight, once again regretting that I did when the execution scene occurred.  Horrible and gut-wrenching every time.   

I hate tragic endings, no matter how beautifully they are staged for celluloid or history books. Perhaps it is because I suspect I'm destined for one myself.  I suppose I do believe in destiny after all, and it isn't of the happily glittery and bespangled Hollywood variety.  

In short, reality sucks and I'm wearing my beloved purple now.  

The older I get, the harder it is for me to squelch the hideous faces I make as I try not to cry.  The tears will come, so it's probably best that I just let 'em go and dismiss those who laugh at me for crying.  I'm human after all.

As a distraction, I reread a favorite fan fiction short story called "Wrapped Around Your Finger".  It's very well written, and it erases an unhappy fictional destiny that bothers me still.  Being a Harry Potter fan, I read the last book of the series in the first 24 hours that it had been for sale, without stopping to sleep, and when I finished reading, cried until I was literally sick over Severus Snape's death. 

Yep, I vomited.  He never had a chance to have any kind of a happy life, and darn it, I knew all along that he was never the bad guy! I identified with that.  And he was my favorite character.  I just knew there was an awfully sad reason for that snarky persona. 

It just delineates my fear that, because life is inherently unfair (as we all know), even the most noble and self-sacrificing will watch the undeserving live lives filled with happiness while they get beaten down. 

So I'm rather attached to this story in which Snape lives and has some semblance of a positive ending.  It's rather dark, being an adult story, but there is an element of romance swirling through the darkness, though a tiny bit twisted.  

I promise, there are no vampires, though my own dark side enjoys tales about them as well.

In the story, Severus muses on the significance of a name.  I've always heard that it is very bad luck for a woman to marry a man with the same last initial as her maiden name.  I still catch myself murmuring the alphabet as I twist the stem of an apple.  Wishful thinking, I suppose.  It generally pops out on the same letter, which makes me smile because it's his last name initial, and I don't seem to exist for him anymore. It humors the abandoned, love struck little girl inside of me for a brief moment, and then I chastise myself for being so silly.

I still want Snape to have a happy ending.  And me too.  Darn it.  

Maybe I inadvertently cursed myself along those lines for loving someone with first and middle names already so significant in my life. My two brothers shared those names, though only one lived. A stepbrother shared the name of my deceased brother, though I never met him.  He died in a car accident before I met him.  It was also the name of my first crush, which ended, of course, with me being crushed. (Don't get me wrong, he didn't do that TO me, it was just a natural consequence of me not being the object of his desire.  He's still a very nice guy.)  My first real boyfriend shared the name with my living brother and my nephew.  Yeah, he dumped me too, but that was in 6th grade, and I'm so over it. *sniffle* 

Just kidding.  About the sniffling, I mean. I am over that.  Other bad endings (I *guess* he ended it? But how can I be sure other than the rather obvious sign of abandoning me.... again?) .... Not so much over them.

Maybe I was double dipping into the name repository of the universe and I should avoid romantic interest in men with either of those names.  

Actually, it would be easier on my spirit to give up on the romantic mumbo-jumbo entirely.  I'm not any good at it.  At least, I'm not any good at meekly accepting that I'm just here to be used and abused.  Tired of that. Some women have a never-ending stream of suitors flocking to them.  And some of us never do.

At least someone gets their happy ending tonight.  My dog is begging to go for a walk, so I'll end his night on a gleeful note by obliging him.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Is THAT How It's Supposed To Feel?

I ran this afternoon, and it was my longest distance yet, though I was really cautious about how hard I pushed myself.  3.6 miles, and I'm in the throes of an early season allergy attack.  Aleve D helps in the daytime hours, but Benadryl doesn't, unfortunately.  Maybe I need a double dose? I'll have to try that over the weekend. I'm not willing to risk being unable to wake on a work day. 

Last night the Benadryl was so ineffective that I dreamed my nose was horribly clogged up. And that I was teaching swimming classes in my classroom.  It was vivid, I'll say that much.

I've been coughing, so I didn't want to push myself into a coughing fit or into a wheezy asthma attack. I actually made decent time, under the circumstances.

When I got back to my car at the end of my distance, the nerves on my head got a cool chill that spread down through my shoulders and into my legs and feet.  I went a little lightheaded and unfamiliarly "good" feeling.  Kind of an ooh-whats-that?  I remember the sensation from middle school runs around the football field when I lost all feeling below my waist, but this worried me.

I looked up what an endorphin rush feels like.  Experts say it's the same thing as an orgasm, without the involvement of anything sexual.  So THAT'S why I didn't recognize it!  

*snicker*  ba-dum-bump. Hey, that's not my fault.  I'm just the victim of a relentless tease.  Everybody knows you can't put a normal plant in a dark closet and then expect it to blossom.  It needs love, attention, and a little exposure to light.  I'm not a Christmas cactus that you put in a dark lonely place for six weeks and then out pops a happy mass of blooms.

The dumb thing is that it snuck up on me as I was finishing and then stopped because I did.  So, does this mean that I'll get the runner's high after THAT distance?  Now I understand why a friend of mine told me it suddenly becomes easier for him to run after three miles than before.  

Well, I'll be darned.  Maybe the next time I feel the tingles starting I'll just keep running and see what happens.  I was increasing my mileage anyway.  

Running isn't easy or a lot of fun yet.  I'm hoping that when I'm smaller, I'll enjoy it more.  Right now I have to cling to every tiny good thing anyone says about the improvements they see in my body.  

Today, my sister said she can see my abs developing. There's a line down the middle and the sides are becoming defined.  Still, it's going to take a long time to get rid of my belly.  It makes me wish that I could jus go have liposuction to start seeing obvious results.  

See,  I told you I've got abs.   They're just a bit hidden. :)

Dangerous Interactions

Yesterday I discovered that when three first days happen together, it's a recipe for likely disaster.  First day of a new class at school, first day of allergy attack, and first day of... Well, it involved Midol.  It's just wrong to have all three first days slam me at once!

The class went fine, but after taking allergy meds AND Midol, my blood sugar started yo-yoing.... badly.  I had my juice, then it (blood sugar) dropped and I started stuttering, shaking, and the jitters generally set in while I gulped some more juice. Hot, sweating anxiety set in.   After about an hour, I felt normal again for a good fifteen minutes before my blood sugar plummeted again, so I had some almonds.  

Normal for 15, then a drop that lasted over an hour.  This happened over and over, all day long.  Juice, almonds, brief normal feeling, then drop.  The world took on a decidedly surreal tinge after the second dip.  I did some pre-emptive explaining to my classes about why I might seem to be acting weird and having a hard time finishing a sentence without stuttering.  I was embarrassed.  Actually, I'm still embarrassed. 

By 5 pm, I decided I was going to have to eat solid food to get things normalized.  So I met my sister at Cracker Barrel, where I ate and bought myself a blouse.  Turns out that I could have bought a smaller size, easily.  I'm still losing... Pounds, inches, I don't really know.  I haven't been keeping track; I've just kept juicing and eating occasionally.  

I can tell you that the undies which I'd outgrown have been pulled back to the front of the drawer to be worn once again.  And those formerly-too-small panties were sagging with intact elastic, down into my pants today, too big for me.  I only share this because it was weird to feel them creeping down on me.  

Furthermore,  I'm wearing pants two sizes smaller, and if I didn't mind form-fitting clothes, I'm probably down three or four pants sizes total.  So, I'm happy about that, of course.  I just get claustrophobic in tight clothes.  (Turtlenecks made me panic as a child, when I couldn't get them off my head.  Okay, I'm still freaked out by the specter of being strangled by a tight neckline.). Down a shirt size as well.  Maybe even my bra size.  I'm thrilled about that.  I've already moved down a size in my running bra.

Tonight I visited my sister and her son came in with fireball whisky and black spiced rum, and asked us to try some.  It wasn't bad, though I've realized that I don't really enjoy spiced rum, or spiced rum and Coke.  

Now I've taken some Benadryl, and it's doing nothing for my stuffy allergic sinuses and nose.  :( Maybe it will at least let me sleep.  Well anyway, if I don't wake up tomorrow and someone finds me dead in my bed, you'll know that it was the three shots plus Benadryl that killed me.  Unfortunately, the pseudo ephedrine in Aleve D Cold & Sinus that clears me up in the daytime also turns me into an insomniac, so I avoid taking it at night.  Besides, it's becoming rather difficulty to buy without being interrogated like a criminal at the pharmacy counter.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

In Defense of the "Bad Hostess"

I was called a bad hostess.  Well, I didn't mean to be.

You see, there wasn't enough time and there were some major problems.  Problems that had me on edge, exhausted, and my stomach in knots for literally weeks beforehand. How's that for a date you've been hoping for, for years??

I know my anxiety showed in my face, because he mentioned it.  I'm sure it was evident in other ways.

First was the less than elegant location.  Walls that needed painting, furniture that was so wrecked it was replaced a few weeks later when the order finally arrived, and carpets so horribly stained that three days' consecutive scrubbings-on-knees and steam cleanings didn't improve much.  I didn't get finished putting things in order because I had nowhere to put anything.

Throw in my anxiety over seeing someone for the first time in five years, then being dressed down for not providing enough room in my driveway when I couldn't pull into the carport, wearing heels and a dress with a noticeable limp in my stride, and I was nervous enough about being judged on appearances.  Since he never said I looked nice, I must not have looked good enough.

I did a lot of things wrong that day, and I believe I was viewed as nothing more than the sum of my flaws.  Add his criticisms to the harsh voice I already hear in my head, and it's no wonder I didn't disappoint him even more than I did.  Last time he was here, he had been critical because I had something stored in a cardboard box.  A freaking cardboard box.   Did I criticize anything when I was at his house? No. I could have, but a good *guest* politely ignores the shortcomings of someone else's  home and housekeeping.  Who couldn't do several things better, after all? 

It's obvious I'll never be able to do anything right.  I just didn't realize that it makes me contempt-worthy. Still, I'm a better person that those who hold contempt from afar, who judge others based on the lies they were fed.

You know, I didn't have anyone who taught me anything about etiquette.  What little I know, I learned from books and magazine articles.  I'm sure my self-education was a bit sketchy in some areas.  But I do clean up well, even if nobody notices the effort that went into it.

Well, I apologize for not having any sodas in the house.  If they are there, I will drink them.  Pepsi is my favorite, and I absolutely crave it if it's in the fridge.  I had been on a pure veggie & fruit juice diet for ten days by then, and had finally lost my obsessive cravings for both Pepsi and solid food.  I'd had a migraine for the first six days, which I had spent exhaustively deep cleaning my house despite the pain. I couldn't handle the temptation of Pepsi when I had just kicked my caffeine addiction, painfully.  

I had made iced tea for my company.  Well, sort of.  That was the day I discovered my ice maker had stopped working.  So the tea was chilling in the refrigerator, and I hoped he wouldn't mind that there was no ice.  I hoped the tea would be cold by the time he arrived, which was 4:00.

Okay, it was supposed to be 4:00.  He texted me a little after 4 to say he was running late, and just leaving his house. Not a problem, except that he lives two HOURS away.  I was beginning to have a flashback to eleven years before when we had three dates, and he cancelled every one the day of.  One time he cancelled as I thought he was driving here.  One was a seemingly good reason. Maybe it really did happen.  The other two were not good reasons.  They made it obvious he just didn't want to see me. I knew there was no point in fighting the situation.

So, you know what I was thinking.... He's going to blow me off again. My anxiety doubled.  It felt exactly the same as it did then.  I went to my bedroom to lie down and watch tv, and try not to cry, because the thought in my mind was that it would be easy just to take some sleeping pills, erase the day, and start over the following day with lower expectations of the world.

Well, he did show up two hours late after all, without explaining why he was late.  All I can figure is that he was just reluctant to see me and put it off as long as he could, then gave himself an easy out so that he could leave early afterward.  

I've had a really hard time convincing myself that any of this was intended to spare my feelings.  It's like a parent beating his child saying, "This is for your own good."  No it isn't.  It's an excuse for deliberately hurting someone smaller and weaker, just to purge his own anger because the child made a mistake. (And the classic response to the crying, hurt child : "Stop that crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" Yeah, that works.  Terrify the child that it can get far worse and they will magically thank you for beating them. Actually, I think it makes them realize that the next step is a violent death, because they... weren't... perfect.) 

 I tried so hard to be perfect.  I wanted to be the one kid in the family who never broke their glasses, who always made good grades, who never got parents called to the principal's office, who never asked for expensive clothes, who never called to go home even when I was dreadfully sick. (6 year record on that last one.) Yeah, none of those things count for anything. I'd have better off if I'd been the most high-maintenance hell raiser they'd ever seen, instead of being as meek and undemanding as I could figure out how to be.  I was afraid to ask for attention, because I feared being told no when I really needed help.

Back to the topic at hand.  Let me just say this - I don't really understand what's going on in this whole situation, though I have suspicions.

None of this did me any good as far as remembering to offer him a glass of tea went.  He didn't ask for anything to drink either.  I'm still worrying over whether that was the straw that broke the camel's back and made him decide on how to treat me after that.  Maybe that's what made him hate me and then dismiss me completely. Others see a sweet, romantic side of him; I guess I've seen the dark side.  It's the only side of him I've ever seen, and I forgave him for hurting me. Repeatedly. What a stupid little black sheep I am.  

I'd give credit for the photo, but all I know is that looks like it came off some men's underwear. My apologies to the person I stole it from on Facebook.  Please don't hate me too, because I used your graphic.  

And you know what? He's damn lucky I didn't give him a glass of tea! It was the WORST tea I've EVER made! Almost the worst tea I've ever tasted as well.  I ended up throwing out every tea bag and buying a completely different brand after that fiasco.  I poured all of that tea but the bit I swallowed down the drain.  

So I'm a bad hostess, and that apparently renders me unworthy of consideration and kind treatment.  At least I didn't feed him something nasty and expect him to compliment me over it. I apologize for my glaring imperfections. They're what make me. 

To err is human; to forgive, divine.
                        ~ Alexander Pope

I've asked forgiveness too many times from the people who were truly at fault.  I've been punished for the sins of others in someone else's past.  It would be a relief to no longer be the constant target of misplaced revenge.  And to turn off love when it only hurts.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Ugly Sloth

Ugly running sloth, to be precise.

I was just reading a Facebook post where some skinny chick was bragging about her run today and how she just knowwwws that her 10 minute mile is so slooow but she's proud of herself for finishing. Another person commented a little bit later that she is thinking of abandoning the group because of posts like that which make her feel bad for her 11 minute miles.

WHAT?  I run a consistent 14 minute mile.  :)  Are you freaking kidding me?? I would love to run an 11 minute mile or even a 10 minute mile, but it's not happening yet. 

I think this is directly related to not having been able to run since I was in my early 20s, because of the running bra issue.  Their relative nonexistence remained, until recent years when I was too big for the normal range of bra sizes and had to have a reduction just so that I could breathe without serious effort.  Talk about a weight being lifted!

Oh my goodness... I ordered a Moving Comfort Fiona running bra and got it last night... (Smaller than my usual size) and that thing holds down all of the bouncing (nothing can stop all of the jiggling). I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself.  

And the best thing?  IT'S PURPLE!  I could wear it without a shirt, even.... But I'm not there yet.  (YOU'RE WELCOME!). Lol.  I love the fact that it has Velcro straps which adjust in the front.  I can tighten that sucker up and really strap em down!  Bondage braaaaaa.... Lol. Seriously... It's cute, it works, and it was $20 cheaper than all of the Underarmour bras. I wish that even a semi-local store sold these, because I'd like to try one in my "real" size just to make sure I'm into a smaller bra now.  

I suppose this gives me motivation to ensure I have the size right. (IE - run more, shrink in size)  One thing is for sure - I will buy more now that I see this one will work.  Maybe I'll be able to run faster with it.  :D

I think that I've been training with the wrong goal.  I keep going out and trying to run 5k every time, because that's my usual race distance and I want to be able to run the whole distance.  I can run a mile without a walk break, so I'm thinking that maybe I should concentrate on moderately extending my nonstop running distance a bit every week, until I've been able to run the entire 3 miles. 

I'm not strong enough yet to run three miles every day, but I might be able to run a mile every day and lengthen it.  Even when I was a girl who was a fast runner --let's face it -- my speed was in sprinting, not endurance running.  This is the first time in my life I've put myself through this sort of thing.  I don't think there's much need anymore for me to sprint, so why do I beat myself up over it?  

Maybe it's because my own free will is literally the only thing I can control to the point of perfection, and I get upset when I can't be perfect at something.  It's not that I believe I can be perfect anyway, but it's the flaws that I tend to see in myself and in my work, and they outshine the beauty of any accomplishment.  

Perhaps I hear the harsh voice of my worst critic perpetually.

Happily singing a song I loved, I'd be told to shut up my caterwauling.  I didn't ever want to sing in front of another person after that.

Satisfied with how my lean legs looked in shorts, I was told I have knobby knock knees and should always wear pants.  My knees look just fine, actually.  

Having long hair always made me feel pretty, so that same someone told me long hair makes me look horse-faced and once cut all my hair off (badly) shorter than a boy's.  And then scornfully called me by a boy's name for years afterward.  While everyone around me laughed at the great joke, it really altered my self-perception to the point I still believe I'm as ugly as she said I was.  Of course, all the neighborhood boys chimed in with calling me ugly, too.  And it stuck. 

And there you have it. 

I wanted to be on the track team in high school, but that same critic told me I wasn't allowed to because they didn't want to pick me up from track practices or meets.  It was far too much trouble, and so was finding a bra for me to run in.  By the way, we lived less than a mile from my high school.  What a hardship it would have been to drive a mile to pick me up.  I could have just walked home, but I wasn't allowed to do that either. I was too afraid to rebel and join in any school activities.  Maybe it's why I'm scared to just barge into social activities now.  

Oh well.  

The Nike+ app is frustrating me.  I wanted to set myself a challenge to run 30 miles in 30 days, but I have to be joined in the challenge by a Nike+ friend.  One of my supervisors traded friend requests so that we could do challenges, and after the hours it took for him to show up on my friends list, it still didn't work.  ARGH.

Anyway, I think I will go for one of my patented slow runs.  Know why? 

I may be slow, but I CAN run, and even though I would dearly love to have some company when I run, I can do this by myself.  Let the zombies eat your slow non-running ass, because that's when I'll show you that I can still sprint.  Lol

Thursday, August 1, 2013

Dressing it Up

I went shopping after work today and actually found several clothing items that I liked.  That's a hard thing to do, because not many different styles appeal to me.  Typically, shopping is a hated experience for me.  I'm nervous shopping alone, but recently I did that as well, though I didn't shop for clothes that time.  Well, I'm getting better about it.  Maybe I'm softening up a little after hitting age 40, though I'm still fairly uptight and need to learn to relax.  My first day with students didn't cause me any anxiety or stomachache, after all, and that's something I've suffered from at the beginning of school since I was five years old.  

It went from anxiety & stomachaches every morning I was a student, to not-quite-everyday when I was a college student, to beginnings of school years, evaluation times, and random stressful days as a teacher.  Fear and paranoia.  It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you though.  I was bullied at school and at home.  Even as a teacher, some colleagues thought it would be entertaining to harass me online too.  Why don't I date much?  Well, that's the root of it.  Being a teacher is a lousy way to meet decent single men, too.

Hopefully, I can maintain the anti-anxiety status from here on out. :). If I'm never invited to do any fun things, at least I can have a calm life, right?

I only bought three things shopping, and unfortunately, not a single thing was on sale.  (That total was an owwie!  LOL But I believe the clothes were priced fairly.) However, it looks like they only keep 1 of each size in stock anyway, so it might have been a she-who-hesitates is lost situation.

I'm going back for the purple outfit in a couple of days, so don't you DARE go near it.  :). Purple is my absolute favorite color.  I passionately crave it.  I'd love to have a lavender men's Oxford shirt to wear, but I've got no clue what size I'd wear and I'm not sure I'd be allowed to unwrap the paper around the shirts in the stores that sell them?  I'm scared to try.  :)

Not being a very fashionable person, I'm not exactly a clothes horse, but I do know what I like. Wearing pretty clothes I like just makes me feel happy and confident.

Case in point: I wore an outfit today that I wore on my last date and one of the administrators (female) remarked on my weight loss and how nice I looked in my sexy dress.

Uh oh, red flag.  If she thought the dress was sexy, I might be told I can't wear it to work.  I don't usually wear skirts, so that got me noticed.  It has a v-neck which is fairly prominent, though not exactly low. However, I do have incredible cleavage, and short of wearing a turtleneck or a top buttoned to the neck, it is usually visible.  

I swear, I wasn't trying to look sexy (this time... Maybe I was on my date, but I was wearing heels that night too).  Just professional.  I had sleeves and everything, and my skirt was appropriate length.  I received a lot of compliments on my attire today. Yay! :). One can only hope they were sincere.

Who knows... The neckline may have appeared to be lower because I've lost weight, which probably includes my top half.  That's perfectly fine by me -- the call it "top heavy" for a reason.  Them boobies is HEAVY!

*cough* well, it's true.

I was so tired when I came home that I passed out on the couch. Two hour nap, and what did I see in my dreams?  A gigantic dragon floating overhead that stayed still (looking like it was using the Predator cloaking costume) until I started telling people to look up because .... There's a dragon up there! Ahhhhh!  Lol Then it decided to start breathing fire and kill everybody.  What can I say?  I told them to run or they were going to be roasted by that huge dragon flying overhead, scraping its claws together and making sparks.  What, listen to me? Of course not.  Results -- multi-human flambĂ©!

Fortunately, I was the last person the critter had left to kill.... and.... well.... it didn't kill me.  I outsmarted it and ran in the building. :D. I know I could have done that sooner if I hadn't wasted my time warning the idiots outside with me, but whatever.  I was being all selfless an' stuff.

Say what you will about me sharing my dreams when you say you don't remember your own dreams.  For the most part, mine entertain me immensely while they're in progress and when I wake up and remember them, they're often hilarious in the details, especially when I understand what made me dream a certain thing.  :). Mental movies.

I do wish I could just dream myself into Xanth or Phaze / Proton.  Maybe someday someone will realize what a gold mine of movie ideas Piers Anthony has created and make them into great original movies. Originality in entertainment is sorely lacking these days.