The Things I Do a.k.a. "Why I Won't Get a Full Time Job"

I have a relatively short list of things I do every day no matter what day of the week it is--no matter what my plans for the day are.

This comes to my mind because we went away for part of the day yesterday.  We left around 9:30 and go home about 6:00 so it wasn't a huge day away, but it was enough to interrupt the usual flow of things around here.

When I wake up I immediately do a handful of things that aren't necessarily all in the same order, but I do eventually get around to all these things by around 10:30:

scoop litter
feed/water outside cats
water plants
clean up kitchen/dining room area
think about lunch/dinner
ride my bike or walk on treadmill
general pick up of clutter
wash/dry/fold a load of clothes if necessary
load/run/unload dishwasher
Floors vacuum/"mop" -- I use quotes because I use a Hoover FloorMate

This does not include the things I do, weekly, monthly and so on.  There are many things I do regularly that take up other portions of my day, but that's not what this is about.

Instead I got up yesterday and did none of those things.  I toddled off with my husband for a day of whimsy.  When I got home, it was all waiting for me.  Dishes, clutter, cat poo, no exercise.  My husband on the other hand had nothing on his plate for the evening.  I told him to study his Sunday School lesson until he felt comfortable.  I had some things I could do and then we could run over to Wal-Mart to pick up some things I'd been putting off for quite some time.

Warning:  Approaching Side Note!

I desperately need something to catch the sand by the back door.  My family all but refuses to remove their shoes when they come inside.  When I say something about it, there is much eye rolling and an effort is made under my watchful eye, but soon there are mountains of sand piled up around the back door.

The other day, I actually saw my husband walk over to our beautiful and irreplaceable tropical print area rug and WIPE HIS BARE FEET on it!

I calmly asked him what he was doing.

"I felt something on my foot." He said.

"Did it feel anything like sand from outside and litter from the leak in the garbage bag you carried through here this morning?"  I said.

"I wasn't wiping my feet."  He said.

"That's funny.  Because this--"  I made the motion of wiping my feet on the same spot of carpet he'd just wiped his feet on.  "--looks like wiping ones feet on a carpet."

He didn't seem to care or be bothered by me pointing it out to him.  Where did this man grow up?  A grass hut?

So I made much about getting out the Floormate and doing the kitchen floor.  It was 10:30 at night.

So I am going to buy some indoor/outdoor carpet squares to try to remedy this 10 year old problem once and for all.  One for outside and one for inside.

He studied his Sunday School lesson for about an hour.   I walked on my treadmill, poured myself a glass of wine and sat down in front of the TV.  It was after 8:00 and I'd already had two glasses of wine and was eyeing a Red Velvet cake on the counter when he finally asked me if I wanted to go to Wal-Mart.

I said no.  One more night on a 10 year old problem wouldn't hurt anything.  That's how we roll.

So he eventually moved to the bed with my laptop to look at coins and I watched another hour of TV until I was in such a stupor from Red Velvet cake and Black Swan Reisling I went to bed.  He turned off the light and continued looking at coins well into the night.

Everything I didn't do yesterday was waiting for me today including a new day's worth of everything on that list.  I was up around 5:30 unable to sleep so hit the computer and looked at urban legends for several hours.  He came out around 8:30, ready to go to Sunday School.  He read through his lesson--again--and dressed for church.

He wants to go to a gun show with our son.  My son is very much into guns and I looked at it as an opportunity for them to spend some time together.  Off they went.  Three days had now gone by and he had not done a single thing to pick up behind himself or to maintain our home.  This is how he is.  If he has absolutely nothing else to do, he will pick from a myriad of possibilities and that will be his contribution for sometimes as much as a week or more.  Sometimes his "help" is nothing more than a hindrance because he leaves a wake of mess behind himself.

I'm still waiting for him to clean his mess from fixing the hot water heater over a week ago.  Hot water heater had been leaking slowly for a very long time.  A bucket--full of dryer lint--placed under it finally filled.  He just went outside and poured the water in the grass.  Plastic bag and all right there by the side door.  Where did this man grow up?

So, you still may ask, what does this have to do with me getting a full time job?  Because in my 25 years of marriage I've had a few full time jobs and I've had numerous part-time jobs.  The last full time job I had was a perfect opportunity.  I sat my husband and my then high school aged son down and told them about it.  I told them I would need help.  I wasn't going to do everything and life would cease to exist the way it had.  We'd have quite a bit of extra money, but all those things come with trade-offs.  Both of them agreed to help with keeping the house clean and pitching in with other things like meals and maintenance.  I was not going to work a full-time job and come home to everything I did around the house.

They agreed.

As you might have guessed, it didn't last.  Within a few weeks--not even months--their worlds were back to the way they always were.  I was working a 50 hour week, still teaching privately and managing to do all those things around the house.  I was worn out and burned out.  My dream of getting the same respect for a long day at work was shot down.  I just didn't understand why I didn't get the same respect when my work day ended--er, seldom ended.

I have made three attempts to work at a full time or part time job and have never got the respect a man receives from a day of work.  No matter what it was I have done, it was never as valuable as what my husband did.  There was one brief period of time that between the full time job I was working and teaching at home, I made more money than my husband.  I remember his attitude changing.  There was no way I was making more money than him.  I showed him the figures. 

He had to believe.

I had to quit. 

I couldn't keep up the pace.

I probably haven't done a very good job of explaining myself here, but I believe that's not the point here.  The point is figuring out what my next step is to be.  Where I am to go next and what I am to do next.

For now, the day I get a full time job is the day I leave my husband for good and never look back for an instance.

Well, the house is empty for a few hours and I've got to get to the things I do on the "first" of each month, but that's another list another way that I contribute around here that goes, for the most part, unnoticed until a day like yesterday.

Never On Sunday: The Church Newsletter and Blended Services

The church newsletter arrived this week.  I scanned through it.  Seems egos are still headlining.  I remember when I was working for the church, I wrote lots and lots of articles.  Long ones, shorts ones.  I wanted the church to know about the things that were going on.  I don't know if it just came naturally, or if that's the kind of person I am, but I seldom mentioned myself and my efforts in the articles.  However, it was still a potpourri of what I wanted the congregation to know.  What I wanted them to know.

I would say a strong majority of the articles this month were me, me, me, look at me.  I'm doing this, I did that.  We did this, we did that.  Amazingly enough, the pastor's little third of a page article was pretty much devoid of the me statements.  There was congratulations for a great Vacation Bible School, a mention of summer ending soon and the changes to be made to the "11:00 service"--oh wait.  There it is.  Subtle as it may be.  There's the me in this.  He's wanted a contemporary service from day one, only this is about a "blended" service.  Perhaps a compromise?  It's hard to find decent musicians that will commit to every Sunday for free, isn't it?  At any rate, sounds like he's finally gotten his way.  What has it taken?  Seven years?  Now that's a patient man.

Blended service.  What a recipe for disaster.  Talk about riding the fence.  Blended service is just a way to get that contemporary feel without having to pay a band.  Don't even get me started on "praise" bands.  Uggh.  I hate blended services.  No wait, I hate "praise" bands even more.  These bands are usually full of soloists and prima donnas that never really quite made it any where but church.  I'm smiling here because my name could easily be on that list, but I don't play in church for free and I don't have an enormous personal agenda.

These blended services always end up coming off like amateur hour.  I can guarantee it will come off like a high school talent show except there won't be any high schoolers because our church doesn't support it's tiny little youth program.  It will be a disaster.  When a church tries to follow the world instead of the other way around, it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

So my thought here that the newsletter was predominantly about egos holds truer than I had planned.  I'd actually planned on pointing out that the pastor had actually managed to not talk about himself.  But, in a convolluted way, he still did.

Take a look at your newsletter.  See how much of it is actually news and how much of it is egos spouting off all the wonderful things "I" and "we" did and are going to do.  Look at how relevent it is.  I dispassionately read mine this week and for the first time realized that it has got to be one of the biggest wastes of time and money the church has.  You guys want to save some money?  Cut the budget?  Cut out the newsletter.  I guarantee you that anyone that actually reads it already knows the information because the only people that read it are the ones that submitted the articles.

Woman On Top

I posted this article a few days ago, thought better of it, pulled it, and now, well, I think I'm going to post it anyway.  I've got no one I can talk to.  I've got to begin to heal myself, so it means assuming a little anonymity here and stepping out on faith that someone will read, take the time to get to know me and help me.

So I'll open with a huge WARNING:

This blog talks about old married sex.  Not glamorous, not cosmopolitan, not even imaginative sex.  Old . . . married . . . sex.  So if you don't want to read about my struggles to understand my husband and myself, you definitely shouldn't read any further.  If you're the slightest bit curious about someone else's sex life besides your own, this may be the spot for you.

I've known for a little while that my husband needs a mom--a mother.  Someone to think he's wonderful no matter what he does.  Farts and all.  Someone that pretty much lets him do whatever he wants when he wants as long as he doesn't get in the way.  Someone he can wear down until he has everything just the way he wants it.

Hmmm.

Pretty much what he had from his own mother. 

She thinks he's wonderful.

I know better.

So a week ago in my ongoing effort to be more sexually overt I suggested we have sex.  I suggested it the same way last Friday.  In plenty of time to get showers and smell good for each other.  (I told you this was old married sex)  Last Friday my suggestion was greeted with a disgruntled sigh and the suggestion we make it quick because he has to get up early in the morning.  So this Friday, knowing he didn't have to get up as early, I suggested sex again.  He seemed all too quick to point out that oh yes, indeed, he did have to get up in the morning and if that's what I wanted to do, we should probably get started.

It just didn't set well with me.  What is going on here?  That is two Fridays in a row he's seemed disinterested in sex.  What man turns down sex?

So Sunday, I did some things I know he likes and we did eventually end up having sex.  I was the definitely the aggressor and the instigator.  I think it was more because there was nothing else to do.  If any sport had been on, I would have been out of luck.

What you have to realize is we went 18 months without having sex.  That's a year and a half.  When I mentioned how long it had been, he denied it.  When I pointed out the truth, he still didn't seem to want to believe it.  There have been many times when we've gone three, four and five months without sex and I was sure it was my fault--now I'm not so sure.  Certainly other couples were having sex more often than once or twice a year?

I think he wants it when he wants it.  On his timing and the position he wants.  I don't get  a say.  I don't think he likes it when I take the lead or suggest it.  I think he wants me to be a tramp in bed, writhing and moaning and getting so much pleasure from his two or three things he does (every time)--but only when he wants.  On his terms.  I think I've been a fool thinking that we'd have sex more if I suggested sex more.  He doesn't want it if I instigate it.  He doesn't want it if I'm the initiator.  Oh, wait, I can be the initiator if he wants me to be the initiator.  What a mess.  I'm only supposed to like and want it when he wants me to like it and want it.  Last but not least.  I'm not supposed to reject his advances.  If he gets the slightest idea that I might say no--which I never do--he won't suggest any sex.  He shuts down.

So my prologue to this is that I offered him the "other" on Wednesday night.  I'm embarrassed to type it, so I will call it the "other".  I offered that two nights ago.  He hopped into bed.  The "other" is usually pretty quick because--well--I know what to do.  I asked him if he was clean.  He says he thought I was kidding.  I said I wasn't.  I half expected him to jump out of bed and get a quick shower to freshen up.  Instead he says he's not clean, he'll definitely take a shower later in the evening so he'll be clean.  He promised to think about it all day Thursday and would be ready on Thursday night.

Hmmm.  Again, what is going on here?

As you can tell my looking at the timeline here, It's Friday--again.  I did not offer the "other".  Instead, he stayed up until 10:45 on the computer.  I'll admit there were some other things going on in the house at that time, but there have been quite a few nights in the last three weeks he as stayed up until 11:00 reading or on the computer, but he tells me we better make it quick because he has to get up in the morning.  He gets up the same time every morning.

For him, there is only on and off.  He won't do anything sexual unless he can be absolutely sure beyond a shadow of a doubt we are going to have sex.  He's told me so.  No making out, no fooling around, period.  What the heck is that?

I'm not going to go the rest of my life having sex on his schedule--on his terms.  That's a crock.

I do want to add here for those that may be thinking it's because I've let myself go, or I've gotten fat or whatever junk you might fill your own mind with.  I've been a size 16/18 for years and years.  Before that I was a size 13/14 for the early part of our relationship.  I was a size 10 when we got married.

I was 20.

I've always been a big girl by society's standards.  He knew that.  I think I carry it well and with confidence.  If he had a problem with my weight, he probably wouldn't have been attracted to me to begin with--24 years ago.

I can't spend anymore time on this topic.  I'm frustrated.  Not because of what I've written here, but because it symbolizes everything our lives have been.

Why Didn't I Feel Anything?

A sibling was in a car accident last night.  I read it on facebook.  Why didn't I feel anything?  Why wasn't I concerned?  Could it be as simple as the fact that she must be OK or she wouldn't be posting stuff on facebook?  I don't know.  It bothers me that I don't care the way other people seem to.  Her friends were more interested in her post than I was.  Her friends were more interested in her tragedy than I was.  Should I want to be there for her?  Shouldn't I want  to call her and see if she's well--if I can do anything?  Instead I just logged out and didn't give it a second thought until I decided to do a little blogging.  What happened between us?

I remember taking a bat to her in late elementary school.  I gave her a bloody nose.  She laid down on the floor in the bathroom.  My mother didn't do anything.  I didn't get punished.  I don't remember even being afraid of being punished.  I remember my mother saying she had it coming.  What had she been doing to me?

The was another time I had the same sister by the hair when I came home to find her wearing something of mine without asking.  I was sitting on her and according to my mother I was banging her head on the floor.  Again, I don't remember getting punished and I don't remember a big deal over the whole thing.  I remember my mother saying she knew this day would come.

I had no memory of it, but one time, this same sister apologized to me for something I couldn't remember.  Apparently, my mother had baked and iced a cake and she had been told to keep her fingers out of it.  Well, like all small children, that's just an invitation.  She swiped the side of the cake and ate the icing.  When my mother found the trangression, my sister lied and told her that I had done it.  I got the spanking.  In my house spankings were not tools for discipline.  It was always crazy when it was time to spank us.  There was a lot of crying and begging and more crying.  To this day, I wonder what the neighbors thought.

Fitness: Two Hills and My Sit Bones

I decided to mix up my ride a little and take the two small hills down a long straight road near my house.  I don't care too much for the road because it's a little more busy than the others and means cars going around me or approaching me on blind hills.  However, it just felt like something I wanted to do.  There are two more small hills I can practice riding before I go to North Carolina--again.

A lot of my strength and stamina began returning toward the end of the week.  I made it to the end of the street I was riding on, so that was a total of 22 minutes of constant peddling at a pretty stiff pace.

I bought a Terry bike saddle probably about a year ago.  It seemed like the thing to do.  My saddle was making my "lady bits" go numb and my butt hurt like you can't believe--for days.  I decided on the Terry saddle because it got pretty rave reviews.  I do have to admit it is comfortable, but I've been forever toughening my sit bones.  This saddle is one of those little seats--it doesn't look exactly like this one--but it is the flx version.  I think mine has been discontinued since then.  I really like it.  Of course my rear hangs over, but I'd have to be a stick figure for that not to happen.  Some women don't like the hang over, so they pick bigger saddles.  They are doing themselves an injustice.

This is not the exact seat.  I got this picture from
the website.  It has taken some getting used to,
but I can feel my sit bones getting tougher.

I did a lot of reading and looking around.  People really do seem to like these the Terry brand.  I like the idea that the saddle doesn't conform.  My other one that came with the bike mashed with riding and became uncomfortable.  Thus, the numb "lady bits".  I think the pressure points were too narrow--like for a man?

This Terry lands just right.  I have one spot on my anatomy that still gets to tingling after about 20 minutes of riding, but a quick adjustment to sit back a little bit and everything seems to get right.

I'd like to work up to taking both the hills twice with a long straight away in between before I go back up to North Carolina.  Let's see where I am in another week or two.

Books and Movies: Ugly Chicks Don't Sell Tickets

I love movies.  I really love movies.  Now don't get me wrong there are a few movies that come and go and I'm not really interested in them like the movies that seem to hatch a string of movies just like the parent movie.  Eh, not so much.  I'm also growing weary of the "lovable loser/reluctant hero".

About "lovable losers".  For Hollywood, in most cases this guy would never get within two states of his costar.  He's scruffy, accident prone, goofy, too skinny, a font of not so funny quips and she's just plain drop dead, coma-inducing hot.  At the very least, they kiss by the end of the movie.  For him, at the greatest, it's a romp in the hay.  This would never happen.  That's why they keep doing this.  Girls think it's romantic and guys, well, they dig the idea that the goofy one--he one just like them--gets the fantasy girl.

Why does the quirky girl star get a guy just as much a loser as she is?  This really ticks me off.  Think about it.

So there are a few TV shows coming out that have quirky loser girls, but their hot.  They just have a few social inadequacies that the next guy that comes into their life will surely cure.  Then thanks to their room mate or next boyfriend, they'll be all fixed up.

Whatever.

What about the girl who is a lovable loser and couldn't get within two states of her hot, sexy, male, costar?  When does that happen?  I don't think it will.  Ugly chicks don't sell movie seats.

Winter of Our Discontent: Has It Been a Year Already?

On the way home from a trip to JoAnn Fabrics, my husband mentioned that it had been a year since we'd been up to see my parent's for fourth of July.  For me, it is a much more monumental year.  It has almost been a year since I decided to end the "affair".  How do I feel?  Strange.  I feel strange.  I look at the calendar and know that a year ago I was ready to do something so wrong with someone so wrong.  I've changed this year.

While we were on the way home we decided to visit a little wing place.  It had been years since we'd been in.  I was feeling carefree until I saw the car.  A car I knew to be his.  To seal the deal it even had a sticker on it from the university he went to.  I had an easy time believing that he was in there and tried to swallow the irony that we would be discussing the year past and I would have the unfortunate task of enjoying my meal with the man I chose and the man I rejected in the same restaurant.

It would be the first time I'd see him in over a year.  What would I do?  Would I acknowledge him?  Ignore him?

It was surprisingly empty when we walked in.  I was able to scan the guests and tables quickly.  I didn't see him, but that didn't mean he wasn't in a booth I couldn't see from my vantage point.  I felt ugly and fat.  There was a time there I'd felt confident that if I was to see him he'd "see what he lost" by being a jerk.  He'd said I was fat.  He'd said that it didn't matter--that it was the "whole package".  I wondered what package he was referring to.  I am five years older than him and fat.  I think it was the "easy target" package.

We took the second booth we walked by and I continued to scan the restaurant as subtly as I could.  I checked the bar area, the big tables the small booths.  He was not in this restaurant.  We ordered and I waited for him to come out of the restroom or from a corner I couldn't see.

Finally, I saw a young family leave the restaurant and approach the little SUV with the college sticker in the window.  She had a tiny one holding her hand and the the man was definitely not him.  Definitely.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

Even though I know I went my whole life here without meeting him, I know that someday I am going to see him again and someday all those things I said and did are going to flood back.  The only thing I can hope for is that when that day comes I will be ready and feel confident in my decision.

Mental Messages: Picture From the Past

A picture a sibling posted on facebook has me thinking--a lot.  I'm about 3 or 4 years old, it is Christmas and I am disappointed.  Plainly and clearly disappointed.  Meanwhile another sibling--not the one that posted the photo.  Is in the bottom corner of the photo looking happy and satisfied.  I am disappointed.

I also notice that I am undeniably chunky.  A round face, round belly and chubby hands.  I've seen pictures of myself as a little girl many times and noticed that my early childhood years were chubby years.  I slimmed down by the time I was in late elementary school, but not enough to open the doors to opportunity.

I remember now the lisp I had as late as 3rd or 4th grade.  I remember the teacher pointing it out to my mother and my mother being surprised to hear I had a lisp.  I clearly had a lisp.  I also remember the day it was discovered I would wear glasses for the rest of my life.  My mother and I were riding around looking for an address.  She asked me to tell her the name of a street and I couldn't see it.

I put all these things together and I think.  I think about how I must have been to my fellow classmates.  Small but just a little chubby.  Glasses.  Unruly blonde hair.  How these things add up, I don't know, but it's a possible portal into why I am the way I am.

I guess seeing that disappointment on my face at such a tiny little girl made me realize that I have a lifetime of unmet expectations.  That little moment in time says so much to me about what I need to do to change what time I do have left on this earth.

Let's Get Organized: Not #3 A Surprising Outcome

Two nights ago I got the urge to clean my kitchen cabinets.  I couldn't sleep.  I cleaned.  I only wish I'd taken some pictures for you.  The whole thing started when my coffee maker made a mess all over my counter.  It ran under the spice rack and the George Foreman Grill and the Olive decanter and the vitamins.  What a mess!  As I was moving this stuff to clean under it I realized it had been too long since I'd wiped any of it off.  Everyting had hair, cobwebs and just plain ol' dust in a healthy--or unhealthy--layer all over.

Let me say I use Windex for everything.  EVERYTHING.  Windex works on grease buildup like nothing else.  So I started spraying everything and wiping it down and that brings me back to the whole reason I decided to do the kitchen.

The thing about this time around is I'm going to be taking my time and really considering my needs for the future.  I'm going be done with school in a few years and those years will be going by quickly.  Do I want to be fooling with all this crap when I'm ready to start my new life?  No.  So to me it doesn't matter how organized it is, if I don't need it, it's that much less I have to worry about organizing--or keeping organized.



This is my "ingredients" cabinet now.  It's next  to the stove
 where I can reach it and even though you can't see here,  I
moved the sweet stuff for baking to the left and the spices for
 cooking to the right.



This cabinet was so full I could see anything.
Now it hold only breakfast, pastas and sauces,
and legumes.



This cabinet has all the "ready to eat" foods in it.
I have a blind spot on the far left.  I put the over-
abundance of plastic silverware there with a big
red arrow to remind me it's there.




This is the last cabinet in the kitchen.  It seemed like a great
place to store medicines.  (I went through a Metamucil phase)
My best wine glasses and rarely used tea cups are on the top
shelf.  I need to drink more tea when I have company.




This is the to the right of the "ready to eat"
cabinet.  It's drinks and snacks.

 This may not look like it's organized like a professional might come in and do, but what I see here is about half what was here and I can see it all to find it and use it.  We were wasting way too much food and space.  I still have the other half of the kitchen to go.  That's the pots and pans and under the sink.  I already took a great deal of the contents of these cabinets to charity last year, so this will just be a matter of going back through it and straightening it up.

Fitness: 20 poles

I've been back riding my bike for about two weeks.  I ride 20 telephone poles past the point I got to on the very first day.  I have felt a little sluggish these two days after feeling pretty good the end of last week and into the weekend.  I took my bike on one of my husband's presure washing jobs so I could ride the neighborhood.

There's a nice road that leads out to the highway.  I rode the highway for a few minutes then headed back.  That ride was about 25 minutes.  I wanted to make it worth my while.

My weight has been as low as 204 and as high as 208 this week.  The trend on the graph for the last 21 days shows an increase in my overal weight.  That's a little more disappointing that I care to dwell on.

I am still drinking my 128 ounces of water each day and an occasional unsweet tea.  However, this weekend was a fail.  I drank a diet soda, tea with sugar in it and dessert.  Maybe that's why I weighted 208 on Sunday?  I'm shrugging here because I don't know.

I got back on my weight lifting regime yesterday for a Monday, Wednesday, Friday plan.  It's amazing how quickly it's lost.  Supposedly though, once it's been there it only takes 50 percent as much effort to get it back.  Does that mean that the second time around it's really only 25 percent as much effort as the original time or does that just count against the last time?  Ah well, at any rate, it appears I'm back to exercising and it feels good.

Fitness Tuesday: I Know It's Not Tuesday, but . . .

Two things are happening.  I've gotten my bike ride back up to about 15 minutes of pretty vigorous peddling.  I feel a tightening in my core!  I really do.  I'm not doing anything else but riding my bike right now, so that has to be it.  The balance required to ride must be doing something for my core.  I'm excited about this discovery.

Second, I discovered by my treadmill is not broken.  The problem is, it's not designed for running.  The fact that it can go  6 mph does not mean it can do a sustained 6 mph.  The little motor is only intended for walking and light running.  So I thought, hey, I wonder if I was to just plug it in, if it would work?  So I did.  I plugged it in and it worked.  I have not gotten on it to see if it will run with me on it, but whatever was wrong with it when it stopped cold has fixed itself.  My husband says it may have some kind of inner breaker to protect the motor.  I'm going to get on it this evening.

Let's Get Organized: Not! #2

I decided to post a bunch of picures of my messy messy house and what I'm up against as I begin to go room by room and get rid of stuff I don't need.  There won't be a great deal of words here just pictures.  I will probably repost most of them as I work my way through the house, but here they are:

The garage:

My bedroom:

The bathroom:

Fitness Tuesday: Riding My Bike

Well, I'm back riding my bike.  I started slow--like starting over--and it sucks to think I was riding 10 miles three times a week and jogging between.  I just don't know how I let myself get so messed up--so fat and gooey.

Next month, it will be a year I've been trying anything and everything to increase my cardio.  Little goals, big goals, no goals.  Programs, ideas, rewards.  I just don't get it.  I am the exact same weight within a few pounds that I was when I started.  I still can't wear my wedding ring.  My face is still chubby.  Meanwhile, women around me are losing weight in their 40s and looking sexy.  I am just pudgy me.  I want to give up and accept it, but I know that giving up will make whateve I do have turn to goo.  I know it will happen because as soon as I stopped runnining and riding, my gut returned and my waist began to pudge.

I guess this is just not a good day for a blog entry.

At any rate, I weighted 204.4 this morning and rode my bike for 20 minutes.  I snacked on some old Easter candy which I am going to throw out today.  I am having company on Friday and would really like to have a piece of chocolate trifle more than I want that Easter candy.

Let's Get Organized: Not! #1

Today, I am introducing a new addition to my family of labels:

"Let's Get Organized:  Not!" 

I've decided I don't want to get organized.  I think getting "organized" in most cases--not all-- is a huge waste of time.  What needs to happen is folks need to realize that there is a lot of stuff they are doing because their parents did, or because they think they have to, or any number off reasons.  What if we had so little stuff that we didn't need to get organized? 

What if it was enough just to put it away?

For example, I stopped organizing my personal files.  To put it simple, I have a basket on the counter next to the phone.  Everything I might possibly think is something, goes in that basket.  In July and January I go through the papers.  If they are still important to me, I put them all in an accordian file.  I don't read each piece of paper.  I don't mark them "received".  I don't do any of that.  I just put them in a file and put them away.  Right now, "away" is in a box on the floor in the TV room, but I plan to change that in the next month and a half.  I think you get the picture.

I used to put everything in a file cabinet with marked tabs for all the members of the family, all the things we own like cars and boats.  Each year I purged them and moved them to a well marked accordian file for that "just in case" moment that hasn't come.  I just don't see the point in that anymore.  It has been six years since I stopped obsessing about personal files and I have yet to return to any of those accordian files on the floor in the TV room.  When I get there, I am going to be moving them to a less obvious place.

A few things I have been putting off, and really need to do are getting ClosetMaids for the rest of the closets.  Years ago, we did the closet in our room.  There was no kit for my size closet the way I wanted it, so I bought one as close to the dimensions as I could and my darling husband fixed it to fit.  He didn't like me very much at the time, but when it was done, we both agreed it was worth the trouble.

I hope that in the future weeks, I can talk about different places in my house that I have "organized" and that I plan on "organizing".  I'm going to include some before/after shots as well, so this should be a pretty exciting series.  I have a four bedroom, two bath house with a two car garage and all the crap that goes with living somewhere for over ten years.  I'll document the progress here as much as I can.

Back To School: A- in Basic Applied Calculus

I checked my grade last night and got an A-.  It was a tough class.  I had to hire a tutor.  He was a smart kid just finishing his first year at college as an engineering major.  He will go on to be a very wealthy man, I'm sure.  Meanwhile, I plug away at my classes.  I have 60 credits left.  That's 20 courses and about 5 more years of this.  I will be 50 years old when I get done.  That doesn't sound good.