It's been a long time since I met someone new in a social setting. In entertainment, I meet people I don't know all the time. It's not the same thing. This woman--let's call her Lily--was all those girly things I'm not. She had cute little shoes, cute little jeans, a cute little sweater, a cute little haircut and without a stitch of make up, she was cute. She was a little bossy and a bit of a know it all, but best I could tell she wasn't saying anything that wasn't true.
Lily seemed to know. She was a fount of knowledge. Whatever the discussion, she had an anecdote or personal experience. I wasn't sure I didn't like her or I didn't like her talking for an hour straight. She seemed to be an authority on everything. When she left, she said that she was pleased to get to know me, that she could see we had a lot in common.
In common? I didn't see it. I mean, I don't kow. Not wanting to give her the impression we were the best of buddies from this day forward, I told her it was nice to meet her. I'm sure I would see her around. Lily was one of those ladies that was like other ladies. She preferred the company of other chatty women talking about women things like little girls, purses and crafts. If I'm not in entertainer mode, I'm awkward, shy, almost stutter and never know how much to say so I probably don't say enough.
I've had a facebook account for over a year now. I have 16 friends. Total. 16. Yep. I had a few invitations when I first created my account from people I couldn't remember or people I wished I couldn't remember. I just didn't connect with them. I have not sent one friends request. I figure if people want to know me or remember me, I'm right there, so as somewhat of a social experiment, I have purposefully chosen not to instigate friendship.
Meeting Lily was interesting in that it has been a very long time since I met someone I might actually see again after today. I was nervous. I wanted to take it slow, but she jumped in and endlessly chatted. I mostly listened.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Winter of Our Discontent, part 3: You Can't Handle the Truth
This is part three of a Friday series. Although this particular post could stand alone, you may understand the "he" I refer to better if you skim through parts 1 and 2. Use the label: "The Winter of Our Discontent, or find parts 1 and 2 in the sidebar.
I can't handle the truth. I've been working on the installment for this Friday. I've rewritten it four times. One of those times were complete. Two were titles and a few sentences and one was just me saying I couldn't do it this week. I didn't realize I was still so close up on it.
Facing the truth is a difficult place to be. Staring at ourselves and realizing what we thought we were over isn't quite over. I made a choice--the right choice--but that doesn't mean I get to snap my fingers and have those feelings go away. In those first days and weeks after the decision I wanted to die. Not in that way people say, "I could just die". In that way your feel it in your soul, like it's been ripped out and rearranged right before your eyes. All I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't want to hear about other people's problems. Mine were so huge at the moment, I couldn't even think of having compassion for another human being. Things became disproportionate, as though walking through a circus fun house. My head screamed and I couldn't think. I was scared everyone could tell how I was feeling and at the same time, I was hurt that no one knew how I felt.
Don't get me wrong, I'm getting better. There's a lot of obsessive things I was doing at the beginning like parking in strategic spaces and timing my entrances and arrivals in hopes of having a candid moment with him. I lingered after social occasions to try to cross paths with him. I wanted him to pull me aside and ask me what happened. I was going to tell him, "I already had plenty of people in my life willing to screw me and act like I didn't exist, I didn't need another." He would be visibly hurt that I felt that was what he was offering and we would make up. He'd tell me he wanted to work it out. He'd tell me he was sorry if he came off like an ass. He still really cared for me, he missed me and wanted to be with me. The reality was he seemed to drop off the face of the earth. It was as if he'd ceased to exist.
I went through a few months when I was pretty angry he didn't show up at any of my performances. I thought he should be watching the papers for where I would be playing next. I wanted to think he was in the audience when I didn't know it. Secretly giving his approval for that night's show. He'd approach me in the shadowy parking lot backstage and, well, my mind kind of takes it from there.
I thought most of that nonsense was behind me until I decided to try to write about it as a final chapter in the healing process. I realize I'm not healed and I don't like it. I hate it. I realize that if he was to call or text message me tonight, I'd be there. Wherever he wanted. I'm ashamed. My mind has returned to so many of the intimate talks we've had and the funny moments we shared.
I wanted to share the experience. Certainly there is another woman out there that's been where I am that might benefit from knowing she is not alone. That it hurts like hell, but with time it hurts less and less and you think about him less and less. The truth is, it still hurts like hell and it's been about seven months since our last phone conversation. I haven't seen him in nine months. I still think about him everyday and hope the phone will ring and I will hear his voice. I hate what happened. I hate how I feel and how I acted. I'm embarrassed and ashamed.
That is my truth and I'm not handling it very well. I am no where near the winter of my discontent. It's in full bloom.
I can't handle the truth. I've been working on the installment for this Friday. I've rewritten it four times. One of those times were complete. Two were titles and a few sentences and one was just me saying I couldn't do it this week. I didn't realize I was still so close up on it.
Facing the truth is a difficult place to be. Staring at ourselves and realizing what we thought we were over isn't quite over. I made a choice--the right choice--but that doesn't mean I get to snap my fingers and have those feelings go away. In those first days and weeks after the decision I wanted to die. Not in that way people say, "I could just die". In that way your feel it in your soul, like it's been ripped out and rearranged right before your eyes. All I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't want to hear about other people's problems. Mine were so huge at the moment, I couldn't even think of having compassion for another human being. Things became disproportionate, as though walking through a circus fun house. My head screamed and I couldn't think. I was scared everyone could tell how I was feeling and at the same time, I was hurt that no one knew how I felt.
Don't get me wrong, I'm getting better. There's a lot of obsessive things I was doing at the beginning like parking in strategic spaces and timing my entrances and arrivals in hopes of having a candid moment with him. I lingered after social occasions to try to cross paths with him. I wanted him to pull me aside and ask me what happened. I was going to tell him, "I already had plenty of people in my life willing to screw me and act like I didn't exist, I didn't need another." He would be visibly hurt that I felt that was what he was offering and we would make up. He'd tell me he wanted to work it out. He'd tell me he was sorry if he came off like an ass. He still really cared for me, he missed me and wanted to be with me. The reality was he seemed to drop off the face of the earth. It was as if he'd ceased to exist.
I went through a few months when I was pretty angry he didn't show up at any of my performances. I thought he should be watching the papers for where I would be playing next. I wanted to think he was in the audience when I didn't know it. Secretly giving his approval for that night's show. He'd approach me in the shadowy parking lot backstage and, well, my mind kind of takes it from there.
I thought most of that nonsense was behind me until I decided to try to write about it as a final chapter in the healing process. I realize I'm not healed and I don't like it. I hate it. I realize that if he was to call or text message me tonight, I'd be there. Wherever he wanted. I'm ashamed. My mind has returned to so many of the intimate talks we've had and the funny moments we shared.
I wanted to share the experience. Certainly there is another woman out there that's been where I am that might benefit from knowing she is not alone. That it hurts like hell, but with time it hurts less and less and you think about him less and less. The truth is, it still hurts like hell and it's been about seven months since our last phone conversation. I haven't seen him in nine months. I still think about him everyday and hope the phone will ring and I will hear his voice. I hate what happened. I hate how I feel and how I acted. I'm embarrassed and ashamed.
That is my truth and I'm not handling it very well. I am no where near the winter of my discontent. It's in full bloom.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Young Heros and Preying Construction Equipment
Sometimes a dream is so real, so vivid. . .
Yesterday morning I woke up a little agitated from an especially stressful dream. The dream itself was interesting enough. I was being pursued by a backhoe. There was a hero. A young boy. I was young as well and he was younger yet, but not by much. I was fit and beautiful with long flowing blonde hair that was never brushed. He was tall, thin, always had on a white t-shirt and jeans. Blonde hair, just a little too long like that end of summer hair boys down here get. Leaping around on piles of junk in old barns and outbuildings as we traversed our way across the country. There was more a sense of comaraderie between me and the boy than a sexual attraction. I had to remain hidden and quiet through most of the dream. I was the one the backhoe wanted. *chuckle*
We found several unworthy hiding places that the backhoe destroyed accordingly as my hero and I managed to escape at the last minute. Most of the places I hid in were dilapidated or full of piles and mounds of spider web filled junk. I did a lot of peering through slats. My young hero did a great deal of showing up at the crucial moment and literally saving my you-know-what by grabbing my hand and pulling me to safety as the structure fell to a suffocating end.
My young hero and I eventually found our way to a church that was in the middle of nowhere and hid below the balcony. I remember getting there and having a sense of finality. My destination. I could breath a little. I would not have to run anymore. Hiding there, I had a sense of security. The boy had to leave me, so he told me I would be safe if I stayed there and stayed quiet. Meanwhile, people came and went from the church and never noticed me. I slowly experimented my way up from what I will call the "catacombs" of the church. Catacombs is not the right word because this was a new church and new churches don't have catacombs. However, this church seemed to have a lot of passageways and levels below the main level. I finally found myself at ground level in a closet I could look outside and see through a window. I remember the sensation that the church wasn't finished yet. There was a great deal of unfinished dry wall, the windows were dusty white from plaster. Everything had that powdery, hard to breath, unfinished look and there was a feeling of newness in every room.
Still I hid. Somehow the backhoe met its demise. I can't remember exactly the order of events because it made it to the church. I could see it through the window from the closet I was hiding in. A man got out of it and walked toward the church. He was wearing clothes one might think a construction worker would wear. It was a man, but not a big man. He wore jeans, a chambray type shirt,hard hat, leather gloves and sunglasses. He was dirty with a different kind of dirt than was in the church. The dirt on him was brown like road dirt. Not black like soil. The backhoe sat lifeless in a pile of weeds after the man left it. The man seemed to melt into the church.
Then my young hero returned and told me I'd been "detected" and "We had to go". He grabbed my hand again and we were running through thick underbrush and a very bright sun. It hurt my eyes to look up, so I ran holding his hand and watching his back. Leaping and crawling, crouching and diving. He always stayed just ahead enough of me to lead the way, and at the same time he could just reach out and grab me if I struggled. I knew I needed him and I wanted him there. I haven't wanted a man in a very long time.
We entered a cool, shadowy wooded area and a barn appeared before us. It was covered in vines and leaves but was very secure. It was surrounded by very thick woods. We had to climb a tree and drop through a high trap door (only after he destroyed the lock) onto an upper level then eventually make our way to the ground. This barn was full of antique furniture but still contained the same amount of dust and cobwebs as the previous hiding places. A relaxed feeling fell over the dream. The only place I didn't go was a cleared out area in the middle of the barn. He told me there was a magnetized area there that if I passed over it I would be "detected". I listened and stayed away from the area. I remember feeling extremely ill if I got too close. I would get dizzy and almost black out. Again, he'd reach out and prevent me from falling into the area or was always watching in case I "forgot" and walked too near. My relationship with the boy changed and things got physical. Nothing too serious, just lots of childish making out and groping. He held my hand now not to save me, but to be near me. It seemed like days passed. We even ventured out into the vines on the outside of the barn.
Then a woman came to the barn. We hid in the piles. She was dressed like the man that had exited the back hoe at the church. She walked straight for the "magnetized area" and crawled around on the furniture near there. She had a clip board and a hair cut like a man. She seemed to be able to sense me breathing. I would hold my breath as long as I could when I let it out as quietly as I could, she would look in our direction. He would hold me closer and we would try to shrink more into the shadows.
She climbed around a little more, pulling at some of the stuff piled around and then she left down the path she came. It seemed like what was the next day a very large construction site truck appeared without warning in front of the barn. It would have been physically impossible for the truck to arrive there due to the thickness of the trees and underbrush. It was empty, so we knew a driver had to be around somewhere. When the truck started up on its own, we knew the rules had changed. Terrified, I woke up. I'd been sweating. The hair around my neck was damp.
I tried to get right back to sleep. I wanted to be with the boy. I wanted to feel his sinewy protecting arms around me and his desperate lips pressed to mine. I wanted to sit on the ground in that barn with his legs enfolding me in a protective stance against the advancing outside world. Holy crap, I wanted to go back there even if my life was in danger. I wanted to be with him like nothing else on this planet.
I never made it back, so I woke up grumpy. I suppose in the recesses of my mind he's waiting there for me. Perhaps I will find him tonight.
Yesterday morning I woke up a little agitated from an especially stressful dream. The dream itself was interesting enough. I was being pursued by a backhoe. There was a hero. A young boy. I was young as well and he was younger yet, but not by much. I was fit and beautiful with long flowing blonde hair that was never brushed. He was tall, thin, always had on a white t-shirt and jeans. Blonde hair, just a little too long like that end of summer hair boys down here get. Leaping around on piles of junk in old barns and outbuildings as we traversed our way across the country. There was more a sense of comaraderie between me and the boy than a sexual attraction. I had to remain hidden and quiet through most of the dream. I was the one the backhoe wanted. *chuckle*
We found several unworthy hiding places that the backhoe destroyed accordingly as my hero and I managed to escape at the last minute. Most of the places I hid in were dilapidated or full of piles and mounds of spider web filled junk. I did a lot of peering through slats. My young hero did a great deal of showing up at the crucial moment and literally saving my you-know-what by grabbing my hand and pulling me to safety as the structure fell to a suffocating end.
My young hero and I eventually found our way to a church that was in the middle of nowhere and hid below the balcony. I remember getting there and having a sense of finality. My destination. I could breath a little. I would not have to run anymore. Hiding there, I had a sense of security. The boy had to leave me, so he told me I would be safe if I stayed there and stayed quiet. Meanwhile, people came and went from the church and never noticed me. I slowly experimented my way up from what I will call the "catacombs" of the church. Catacombs is not the right word because this was a new church and new churches don't have catacombs. However, this church seemed to have a lot of passageways and levels below the main level. I finally found myself at ground level in a closet I could look outside and see through a window. I remember the sensation that the church wasn't finished yet. There was a great deal of unfinished dry wall, the windows were dusty white from plaster. Everything had that powdery, hard to breath, unfinished look and there was a feeling of newness in every room.
Still I hid. Somehow the backhoe met its demise. I can't remember exactly the order of events because it made it to the church. I could see it through the window from the closet I was hiding in. A man got out of it and walked toward the church. He was wearing clothes one might think a construction worker would wear. It was a man, but not a big man. He wore jeans, a chambray type shirt,hard hat, leather gloves and sunglasses. He was dirty with a different kind of dirt than was in the church. The dirt on him was brown like road dirt. Not black like soil. The backhoe sat lifeless in a pile of weeds after the man left it. The man seemed to melt into the church.
Then my young hero returned and told me I'd been "detected" and "We had to go". He grabbed my hand again and we were running through thick underbrush and a very bright sun. It hurt my eyes to look up, so I ran holding his hand and watching his back. Leaping and crawling, crouching and diving. He always stayed just ahead enough of me to lead the way, and at the same time he could just reach out and grab me if I struggled. I knew I needed him and I wanted him there. I haven't wanted a man in a very long time.
We entered a cool, shadowy wooded area and a barn appeared before us. It was covered in vines and leaves but was very secure. It was surrounded by very thick woods. We had to climb a tree and drop through a high trap door (only after he destroyed the lock) onto an upper level then eventually make our way to the ground. This barn was full of antique furniture but still contained the same amount of dust and cobwebs as the previous hiding places. A relaxed feeling fell over the dream. The only place I didn't go was a cleared out area in the middle of the barn. He told me there was a magnetized area there that if I passed over it I would be "detected". I listened and stayed away from the area. I remember feeling extremely ill if I got too close. I would get dizzy and almost black out. Again, he'd reach out and prevent me from falling into the area or was always watching in case I "forgot" and walked too near. My relationship with the boy changed and things got physical. Nothing too serious, just lots of childish making out and groping. He held my hand now not to save me, but to be near me. It seemed like days passed. We even ventured out into the vines on the outside of the barn.
Then a woman came to the barn. We hid in the piles. She was dressed like the man that had exited the back hoe at the church. She walked straight for the "magnetized area" and crawled around on the furniture near there. She had a clip board and a hair cut like a man. She seemed to be able to sense me breathing. I would hold my breath as long as I could when I let it out as quietly as I could, she would look in our direction. He would hold me closer and we would try to shrink more into the shadows.
She climbed around a little more, pulling at some of the stuff piled around and then she left down the path she came. It seemed like what was the next day a very large construction site truck appeared without warning in front of the barn. It would have been physically impossible for the truck to arrive there due to the thickness of the trees and underbrush. It was empty, so we knew a driver had to be around somewhere. When the truck started up on its own, we knew the rules had changed. Terrified, I woke up. I'd been sweating. The hair around my neck was damp.
I tried to get right back to sleep. I wanted to be with the boy. I wanted to feel his sinewy protecting arms around me and his desperate lips pressed to mine. I wanted to sit on the ground in that barn with his legs enfolding me in a protective stance against the advancing outside world. Holy crap, I wanted to go back there even if my life was in danger. I wanted to be with him like nothing else on this planet.
I never made it back, so I woke up grumpy. I suppose in the recesses of my mind he's waiting there for me. Perhaps I will find him tonight.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
I Am Number Four -- Full Time Action
This movie is a great date movie for the young and the young at heart. It has a little bit of everything except gratuitous sex scenes. The language is pretty clean, too. We went to see it at the Lakeshore Cinema 6, one of the few theatres left around that has a matinee. We decided to combine the 1:00 showing with lunch, so ate at the restaurant inside the theatre while we watched the movie. We didn't order anything astounding. The burgers were as great as could be expected.
For me, growing up in Florida, living my life on the water and most of it on the Keys, most of the opening scenes were drenched in nostalgia. However, once the main characters fled their bungalow in paradise, I was all in. There were a few aspects of the plot I didn't see coming, but other than that, it was a pleasantly predictable apocalyptic-type showdown between the forces of good and evil movie. As appears to be the case more often than not these days, I think they left a little room for a few sequels. I'm just returning to movie going in theatres, so I supposed I may still be under the spell of digital audio and video. It was just me and my husband in our pod, so we give it an easy four thumbs up.
For me, growing up in Florida, living my life on the water and most of it on the Keys, most of the opening scenes were drenched in nostalgia. However, once the main characters fled their bungalow in paradise, I was all in. There were a few aspects of the plot I didn't see coming, but other than that, it was a pleasantly predictable apocalyptic-type showdown between the forces of good and evil movie. As appears to be the case more often than not these days, I think they left a little room for a few sequels. I'm just returning to movie going in theatres, so I supposed I may still be under the spell of digital audio and video. It was just me and my husband in our pod, so we give it an easy four thumbs up.
Moral Dilemma Day #2: Do You Peek?
I'll come clean here. I'm picky about my food. I will eat just about anything, but given the choice, I'd rather cook it myself. I'd rather plate it and serve it the way I want it. So here's the dilemma:
You're at a special person's home. It's a casual day together. He/she excitedly offers lunch and disappears to the kitchen to "whip up something great". When he/she returns, the "something great" is of the sandwich persusasion, so the contents is well-hidden between the bread. You know your friend doesn't like the same things you do. What do you do?
That's all you get, so have a good time and feel free to post your comments.
You're at a special person's home. It's a casual day together. He/she excitedly offers lunch and disappears to the kitchen to "whip up something great". When he/she returns, the "something great" is of the sandwich persusasion, so the contents is well-hidden between the bread. You know your friend doesn't like the same things you do. What do you do?
That's all you get, so have a good time and feel free to post your comments.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
A Sense of Accomplishment
Moments ago, I put the lid on the project I was working on for the high school. 32 identical hoodies. I was up to my eyeballs in Spandex, Panne and zippers for a few weeks. The kids used the unfinished product for two competitions. (Pinned Sleeves) It was awesome to see the jackets in the videos and how great the students looked. I took them back after the second performance and have been working on hemming the sleeves for a few days. Now this was an adventure I should have logged here. From finding a pattern to hemming the sleeves, it was an outrageous trip. I hope to make about $1,000 on the job, so any tears I shed in the wee hours of the morning will feel worth it when I get that check.
I've decided to use it to get one of those carport type fixtures for our boats. My husband has a 19 foot fishing boat and I have the catamaran I mentioned in an earlier post. We looked at some a long time ago that had small workshops attached to them. I think it would be great to move all of his woodworking stuff our there. Of course we'd have to electricity out to it, but that would be small peanuts if it mean I might be able to reclaim 3/4 of the garage for use as an actual garage.
That means the pattern I bought for the retro dress is next in the queue and that makes me excited because I wanted to wear it in June for my niece's graduation. So as soon as this class I'm taking is over, I will probably start posting more in my "Sewing Retro" topic. I will also begin posting some photos of the dress from start to finish. Awesome.
I've decided to use it to get one of those carport type fixtures for our boats. My husband has a 19 foot fishing boat and I have the catamaran I mentioned in an earlier post. We looked at some a long time ago that had small workshops attached to them. I think it would be great to move all of his woodworking stuff our there. Of course we'd have to electricity out to it, but that would be small peanuts if it mean I might be able to reclaim 3/4 of the garage for use as an actual garage.
That means the pattern I bought for the retro dress is next in the queue and that makes me excited because I wanted to wear it in June for my niece's graduation. So as soon as this class I'm taking is over, I will probably start posting more in my "Sewing Retro" topic. I will also begin posting some photos of the dress from start to finish. Awesome.
One One Hundredth at a Time
Well, I did decide to rethink my goals for running the race in August. I have decided to try for one one hundredth of a mile more every other day for the month of March. That is not enough to be running the distance I need to be running, but it is a start and it feels doable. I'm hoping as I get rolling again, my body will accept the cardio challenge and maybe in April I can add two one hundredths at a time.
Right now it takes me longer to get dressed to use the treadmill than I am actually on it. That adds a little to the frustration.
I'll report that I started at a maximum of .09 distance at 4.5 mph on the 2nd. I am now at .15 at 4.5 mph as of this morning. Even though this pace won't get me to the three miles, this is encouraging. My goal is one quarter mile (.25), uphill at no slower than 4.5 mph by the end of March. We'll see if it comes to fruition. Oh yeah, as a warm up, I am walking an easy pace of about 1.5 for about three minutes before I start the run portion. I tried to just jump on the treadmill. I found my legs cramped more when I was done running than with the three minute walk.
I think the book of Proverbs in the Bible says something like the reward is not in starting, it is in finishing.
Right now it takes me longer to get dressed to use the treadmill than I am actually on it. That adds a little to the frustration.
I'll report that I started at a maximum of .09 distance at 4.5 mph on the 2nd. I am now at .15 at 4.5 mph as of this morning. Even though this pace won't get me to the three miles, this is encouraging. My goal is one quarter mile (.25), uphill at no slower than 4.5 mph by the end of March. We'll see if it comes to fruition. Oh yeah, as a warm up, I am walking an easy pace of about 1.5 for about three minutes before I start the run portion. I tried to just jump on the treadmill. I found my legs cramped more when I was done running than with the three minute walk.
I think the book of Proverbs in the Bible says something like the reward is not in starting, it is in finishing.
Monday, March 7, 2011
It's 12:22 AM, Do You Know Where Your Resolve Is?
One of the hardest things for me and going back to school has been keeping in touch with my resolve to complete something I started over 20 years ago. Tonight I want to quit again the same way I do every other night. I feel overwhelmed and anxious. The strange thing is, it's not that I don't understand what I'm supposed to be doing. I get it. It's just so difficult to keep everything in my head organized while it's waiting in line to be used.
I've tried all kinds of tricks like reading and sleeping on it. I've tried a good night's sleep, no sleep, nutrition, hydration. Fats, proteins, sunshine, exercise. Music and silence. It's like flashes of exactly what I have to do are there, scrambling to be noticed. As soon as I recognize I know what to do, they are gone. I stare at the computer as if I've never seen the screen I've been working on for two days. I have to relearn the same things over and over again. Frankly, I'm scared. I'm scared I can't retain it. Scared I've wasted the $5,000 I've spent on tuition. Scared I will quit and at the same time, I'm scared I won't know when to quit.
I'm now more than a week behind, but that's much worse than it looks. These semesters are only six weeks long, so it is more like three weeks. Every day for a week I have said to myself, "OK, today's the day, you sit at the computer until you're making progress." The progress doesn't come. Instead, I play hide and seek with my lucidity, fight back tears and shake my fist at God for whatever His role is in this. I'm angry at my parents for not encouraging me when I was young, I'm angry at my husband for his stinky attitude. I'm resentful of everyone that had a normal secondary education experience. I'm angry that I'm old. I'm pretty much mad at the world over this and that makes it feel all wrong. Nothing like the adventure I had hoped to begin and someday write about in order to help others with their resolve to go back to school.
I've tried all kinds of tricks like reading and sleeping on it. I've tried a good night's sleep, no sleep, nutrition, hydration. Fats, proteins, sunshine, exercise. Music and silence. It's like flashes of exactly what I have to do are there, scrambling to be noticed. As soon as I recognize I know what to do, they are gone. I stare at the computer as if I've never seen the screen I've been working on for two days. I have to relearn the same things over and over again. Frankly, I'm scared. I'm scared I can't retain it. Scared I've wasted the $5,000 I've spent on tuition. Scared I will quit and at the same time, I'm scared I won't know when to quit.
I'm now more than a week behind, but that's much worse than it looks. These semesters are only six weeks long, so it is more like three weeks. Every day for a week I have said to myself, "OK, today's the day, you sit at the computer until you're making progress." The progress doesn't come. Instead, I play hide and seek with my lucidity, fight back tears and shake my fist at God for whatever His role is in this. I'm angry at my parents for not encouraging me when I was young, I'm angry at my husband for his stinky attitude. I'm resentful of everyone that had a normal secondary education experience. I'm angry that I'm old. I'm pretty much mad at the world over this and that makes it feel all wrong. Nothing like the adventure I had hoped to begin and someday write about in order to help others with their resolve to go back to school.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Get A Job
I was asked a little while ago when the last time was I had a "real" job. I assumed by real, he meant the regular nine to fiver with the hateful boss and slacker secretaries. I had to think about it. I'm a musician. Only a handful of people in my life recognize that as what I do, but yes, I'm a musician. I've performed professionally since I was in high school. I sang for money at my first wedding when I was a sophomore. I sang that Eddie Rabbit/Crystal Gayle song, "Just You and I" (which is a little humorous because it's a duet and it was just me with a Lowrey Organ--could it be anymore cheesy?) I also sang the Lord's Prayer. I was too young to understand the significance of this song. Both songs were pretty bad in retrospect, but I'd had a taste of "singing for my supper". To this day, I don't remember how much the bride paid me. It probably didn't even cover my gas. But I do remember thinking to myself: "I can get paid to do this?"
Back in those days, fame seemed more attainable. Like I could actually sing my way--in weddings--to stardom. Chuckle. However, as the years rolled by and I messed up my life even more, music went farther away than the back burner. I still sang and played, but making sense of the what was happening to me became more important. I never did lose that strange desire to entertain people. I've come back to it in the last 20 years. Don't make the star cash I'd hoped for when I was 16, but it's fun and people like to hear me play and sing. Ah well. Maybe one day I'll get a job.
Back in those days, fame seemed more attainable. Like I could actually sing my way--in weddings--to stardom. Chuckle. However, as the years rolled by and I messed up my life even more, music went farther away than the back burner. I still sang and played, but making sense of the what was happening to me became more important. I never did lose that strange desire to entertain people. I've come back to it in the last 20 years. Don't make the star cash I'd hoped for when I was 16, but it's fun and people like to hear me play and sing. Ah well. Maybe one day I'll get a job.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
I Am the Other Woman
I struggled with posting this. I wasn't sure it would be received well. As I've stated before, my husband and I have been married for a relatively long time. 24 years this past month. It's tough. It's always tough. Being married, staying married has been the hardest thing I've ever done. My eyes have been opened to so many things that were never what I thought they were. Some days it just feels like there is too much wrong, that we've gone too far. I don't know where to begin and more sadly, how to end. So forgive me if over time I digress to the recesses of my mind and express some strange stuff. Here it is:
I Am the Other Woman
I have ceased to be. No, really. That's a little dramatic, but it pretty much catches the essence of the moment. I realized while driving this morning--the time when I can think a little--I am the "other woman". I haven't been able to put my finger on the way I have felt this year. This may not be the absolute answer to the question, but I realize today that I haven't been number one in anyone's life. That's not necessarily a new thing or a bad thing. It's something. I've been trying to consciously make sense of my life for going on two years now and a piece to the puzzle fell in to place just this morning.
For the past 23 years I've had two people in my life. No one else was allowed and there were many that I know with a wink or a nod would have desired that position. My number ones are my husband and my son. They came first without question and regret. I gave up the last, did without, cancelled, planned, skipped, skimped, skrimped and lived for those two. Their joys, sorrows and dreams were mine. It was the noblest of professions. I knew someday I would be blessed ten-fold. My life would have glorious meaning. That still remains to be seen.
Then I woke up--I changed. A chain of events described in my Friday series "Winter of Our Discontent", opened me up, left me aware, scared, raw, vulnerable and insecure. At the same time, my senses were alive and so was I. For the first time in a very long time I had opinions. Strong ones. I had feelings like anger and disappointment. I had dreams. I had a voice and I knew the truth.
I was not their number one. I could say it. They hadn't changed. I had. I could see it.
I won't spoil the plot of "Winter of Our Discontent" here. I will tell you I thought an opportunity had presented itself to be someone's first. To not be the "other woman" for the first time in many many years. It was the sweetest drug and I almost bought in except it was fragile and dangerous.
At the moment of truth the cards were on the table, it was my turn. Would it be yes or no? Whatever my motivation, I chose to be the other woman in their lives over being the woman in someone else's life. I haven't decided if I did the right thing for me, but it was the right thing for them. Regardless of what I receive in return, they are my number ones and will be forever.
I don't think they realize what a blessing they experienced on that day, but I do. I walked back in to their lives before I ever walked out. Have I looked back? Have I thought about it? Every day. At first it was with every breath, my heart ached at the thought of what I'd left. What I'd had a glimpse of. It has been seven months since I made my choice. I look back less and less and forward more and more.
I Am the Other Woman
I have ceased to be. No, really. That's a little dramatic, but it pretty much catches the essence of the moment. I realized while driving this morning--the time when I can think a little--I am the "other woman". I haven't been able to put my finger on the way I have felt this year. This may not be the absolute answer to the question, but I realize today that I haven't been number one in anyone's life. That's not necessarily a new thing or a bad thing. It's something. I've been trying to consciously make sense of my life for going on two years now and a piece to the puzzle fell in to place just this morning.
For the past 23 years I've had two people in my life. No one else was allowed and there were many that I know with a wink or a nod would have desired that position. My number ones are my husband and my son. They came first without question and regret. I gave up the last, did without, cancelled, planned, skipped, skimped, skrimped and lived for those two. Their joys, sorrows and dreams were mine. It was the noblest of professions. I knew someday I would be blessed ten-fold. My life would have glorious meaning. That still remains to be seen.
Then I woke up--I changed. A chain of events described in my Friday series "Winter of Our Discontent", opened me up, left me aware, scared, raw, vulnerable and insecure. At the same time, my senses were alive and so was I. For the first time in a very long time I had opinions. Strong ones. I had feelings like anger and disappointment. I had dreams. I had a voice and I knew the truth.
I was not their number one. I could say it. They hadn't changed. I had. I could see it.
I won't spoil the plot of "Winter of Our Discontent" here. I will tell you I thought an opportunity had presented itself to be someone's first. To not be the "other woman" for the first time in many many years. It was the sweetest drug and I almost bought in except it was fragile and dangerous.
At the moment of truth the cards were on the table, it was my turn. Would it be yes or no? Whatever my motivation, I chose to be the other woman in their lives over being the woman in someone else's life. I haven't decided if I did the right thing for me, but it was the right thing for them. Regardless of what I receive in return, they are my number ones and will be forever.
I don't think they realize what a blessing they experienced on that day, but I do. I walked back in to their lives before I ever walked out. Have I looked back? Have I thought about it? Every day. At first it was with every breath, my heart ached at the thought of what I'd left. What I'd had a glimpse of. It has been seven months since I made my choice. I look back less and less and forward more and more.
Petty World: The Side Door
I have this place I go when something really small on the outside is a super big deal on the inside. If you deny that you go to Petty World every now and then, you're a liar 'cause we all do it. I just got back from Petty World, and boy am I angry. This time I went there via the side door that gets sucked open on extremely windy days. On the inside of the door is our garage. On the other side of that door is a brand new $6,000.00 American Standard air conditioner and the clothes line.
When we got the air conditioner back the end of December 2010. (I told you it was new) I made a huge deal about watching the side door did not get blown open in the wind and bang up against the new air conditioner. I told my husband and my son that I knew where the door handle would hit and I would be keeping an eye on it and the first person to let the door go was in huge amounts of trouble. I suggested a stopper anchored in the concrete or at least a buffer for it. Because, and here it is:
"I Never Get Anything New or Nice and I'd Like It To Stay That Way for at Least a Little While."
Well, not much more than two months later, we've been having weeks of terrible wind. Wind that would make even the Wizard proud. I opened the door to the garage from the house and noticed sunlight cascading into an otherwise shadowing garage. The side door was open. I marched out and examined the side of the air conditioner. Sure enough. There it was. Right where the handle of the door meets the air conditioner. A meaty scratch and a dent. No, they are not huge. The point is, I know they are there and it wasn't me that put them there.
Now I sit in my computer chair up to my laptop seething because I know who it was that let the door go. It was my husband. He's been in and out all day washing clothes. (Don't even try to add here, "At least he was washing clothes.") I solidly announced that the wind had sucked the side door open. I didn't scream, didn't whine, didn't slam any doors. Just plain and simple.
"The wind sucked the side door open."
I let the words drift down the hall to where he was watching the sport of the day on TV. Nothing. No comment from the TV room and I know he heard me because I've had a conversation with him using my inside voice from exactly where I stood. A vision of me taking a bat to the air conditioner flashed in my mind that surprised me. In my mind I totally destroyed it to a heap of unrecognizable metal. It felt good to be the one to destroy something new, something nice, something I'd waited over five years for. It felt good to be the doer and not the discoverer. Yes, I am the one that took a bat to our brand new air conditioner and I like it.
Petty World is like that.
When we got the air conditioner back the end of December 2010. (I told you it was new) I made a huge deal about watching the side door did not get blown open in the wind and bang up against the new air conditioner. I told my husband and my son that I knew where the door handle would hit and I would be keeping an eye on it and the first person to let the door go was in huge amounts of trouble. I suggested a stopper anchored in the concrete or at least a buffer for it. Because, and here it is:
"I Never Get Anything New or Nice and I'd Like It To Stay That Way for at Least a Little While."
Well, not much more than two months later, we've been having weeks of terrible wind. Wind that would make even the Wizard proud. I opened the door to the garage from the house and noticed sunlight cascading into an otherwise shadowing garage. The side door was open. I marched out and examined the side of the air conditioner. Sure enough. There it was. Right where the handle of the door meets the air conditioner. A meaty scratch and a dent. No, they are not huge. The point is, I know they are there and it wasn't me that put them there.
Now I sit in my computer chair up to my laptop seething because I know who it was that let the door go. It was my husband. He's been in and out all day washing clothes. (Don't even try to add here, "At least he was washing clothes.") I solidly announced that the wind had sucked the side door open. I didn't scream, didn't whine, didn't slam any doors. Just plain and simple.
"The wind sucked the side door open."
I let the words drift down the hall to where he was watching the sport of the day on TV. Nothing. No comment from the TV room and I know he heard me because I've had a conversation with him using my inside voice from exactly where I stood. A vision of me taking a bat to the air conditioner flashed in my mind that surprised me. In my mind I totally destroyed it to a heap of unrecognizable metal. It felt good to be the one to destroy something new, something nice, something I'd waited over five years for. It felt good to be the doer and not the discoverer. Yes, I am the one that took a bat to our brand new air conditioner and I like it.
Petty World is like that.
Friday, March 4, 2011
The Winter of Our Discontent, Part 2: The Wooing
This is part two of a series. You can find part one by clicking on the labels or clicking on it in the archives.
In later days when we were in the same room together again, I noticed how skillfully he moved through the crowd--what he said and who he said it to. He was working these people. He flirted with the women and impress the men. I would not be "worked". I avoided his presence and his gaze. We weren't required to speak to one another and I was thankful. He did his part and I did mine. Still I watched and listened.
He was free with stories about himself. Adventure and fortune seemed to follow him. Friends and fame were a byproduct. He had led a glamorous life, there was no denying that. He'd found fortune and profit. He spoke of it as if it were a natural occurence. I changed my socks, I made money, I changed my pants, I made more money. The cards had been dealt in his favor.
On one particular occasion, I hung back from the departing crowd as I always did. He addressed me in his easy going manner. I made a harsh remark concerning his adventures. I could tell he was not impressed, but at the same time, he was unaffected. He said nothing when I know that he could have vicerated me with his quick wit and sharp tongue. He was the much more worthy opponent. I backed down and walked away from him, but I'd seen it flash across his eyes. He was attracted to me. I knew it and a single, tiny, deep seated vein in my body liked it--a lot. The game was afoot.
In later days when we were in the same room together again, I noticed how skillfully he moved through the crowd--what he said and who he said it to. He was working these people. He flirted with the women and impress the men. I would not be "worked". I avoided his presence and his gaze. We weren't required to speak to one another and I was thankful. He did his part and I did mine. Still I watched and listened.
He was free with stories about himself. Adventure and fortune seemed to follow him. Friends and fame were a byproduct. He had led a glamorous life, there was no denying that. He'd found fortune and profit. He spoke of it as if it were a natural occurence. I changed my socks, I made money, I changed my pants, I made more money. The cards had been dealt in his favor.
On one particular occasion, I hung back from the departing crowd as I always did. He addressed me in his easy going manner. I made a harsh remark concerning his adventures. I could tell he was not impressed, but at the same time, he was unaffected. He said nothing when I know that he could have vicerated me with his quick wit and sharp tongue. He was the much more worthy opponent. I backed down and walked away from him, but I'd seen it flash across his eyes. He was attracted to me. I knew it and a single, tiny, deep seated vein in my body liked it--a lot. The game was afoot.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
They Need To Be Committed
I don't give 100 percent all the time. I have my moments when I just don't care. Maybe more than I care to admit. But I try real hard not to let people down and I don't break promises even if I have to show up on my deathbed. I don't lie and I don't manipulate. First plans are what I stick with. I don't break plans to make new plans. However, I know someone who does and when it happens (it happens often enough) it's such a disappointment. I'll spare some of the details. To help you visualize, it involved that "something better" that comes along after we've made a commitment. Doesn't it stink when that happens?
So, when the cancellation was official, I prickled. No, I didn't prickle, I was downright put off. When I heard those words, "I did the best I could." And--wait for it--the trademark shrug and frown that somehow seemed to relinquish the individual from any prior responsibility. To me it didn't because I knew the truth.
The fateful words came out of my mouth. "Oh, did you now?" The minute it came out I felt triumphant. For her, the "something better" meant a change in the original plans. Someone else would need to step in. By now, her mind was made up. However, one of the interesting ironies in all this is the someone else she'd hoped to dump the weekend on also had a "something better". A reason to dump it on her lap. In this interesting unfolding of events, two grown adults were going to try to dish a commitment on each other. For about two weeks, it was like a badly written After School Special watching the two of them jockey for position of who's "conflict" was most important and who would back down first. When neither party would budge, the event had to be cancelled altogether and that brings you up to speed. That's the part that got under my skin. This little show of maturity affected a lot of people.
I sort of apologized to her later. I told her I was sorry, that if she'd really done all she could do to remedy the cancelling of the event, then there really was nothing she could do. So that's not a real apology. However, it was wrong and it was none of my business, but I meant it.
I know the reasons behind the charade and the situations could have been remedied had both parties just said. "I'm sorry have plans that weekend. Could we do it another time?" Instead, I'm disappointed in two grown-ups acting like spoilt children. They both made a commitment.
So, when the cancellation was official, I prickled. No, I didn't prickle, I was downright put off. When I heard those words, "I did the best I could." And--wait for it--the trademark shrug and frown that somehow seemed to relinquish the individual from any prior responsibility. To me it didn't because I knew the truth.
The fateful words came out of my mouth. "Oh, did you now?" The minute it came out I felt triumphant. For her, the "something better" meant a change in the original plans. Someone else would need to step in. By now, her mind was made up. However, one of the interesting ironies in all this is the someone else she'd hoped to dump the weekend on also had a "something better". A reason to dump it on her lap. In this interesting unfolding of events, two grown adults were going to try to dish a commitment on each other. For about two weeks, it was like a badly written After School Special watching the two of them jockey for position of who's "conflict" was most important and who would back down first. When neither party would budge, the event had to be cancelled altogether and that brings you up to speed. That's the part that got under my skin. This little show of maturity affected a lot of people.
I sort of apologized to her later. I told her I was sorry, that if she'd really done all she could do to remedy the cancelling of the event, then there really was nothing she could do. So that's not a real apology. However, it was wrong and it was none of my business, but I meant it.
I know the reasons behind the charade and the situations could have been remedied had both parties just said. "I'm sorry have plans that weekend. Could we do it another time?" Instead, I'm disappointed in two grown-ups acting like spoilt children. They both made a commitment.
When Was the Last Time You Felt Love?
I've been praying for a long time to be in love--to feel love. The whole package, head over heels, spine tingling, toe curling, can't get enough of his smell on the pillow, wearin' his shirts on Saturday morning--in love.
When I first thought about praying to be in love, it seemed like a pretty silly idea. What did I need to pray a prayer like that for? I was married. Should be over the giddy kid's stuff. That kind of feeling was for prom nights and homecoming dances. For picnics and movie theatres. Beaches, porch swings and tailgates. Starlight and moonbeams. Still I wanted to be in love or better stated here, to feel love like an incurable illness.
Over the months my prayer has evolved a little. I pray to love, but I also pray to be loved. Not only to be loved, but to be loved the way I need to be loved. (I haven't the foggiest what that is) I know feelings fade and life takes over. However, I would give just about anything to feel love and be loved. It's silly, but it's what I'm thinking about.
When I first thought about praying to be in love, it seemed like a pretty silly idea. What did I need to pray a prayer like that for? I was married. Should be over the giddy kid's stuff. That kind of feeling was for prom nights and homecoming dances. For picnics and movie theatres. Beaches, porch swings and tailgates. Starlight and moonbeams. Still I wanted to be in love or better stated here, to feel love like an incurable illness.
Over the months my prayer has evolved a little. I pray to love, but I also pray to be loved. Not only to be loved, but to be loved the way I need to be loved. (I haven't the foggiest what that is) I know feelings fade and life takes over. However, I would give just about anything to feel love and be loved. It's silly, but it's what I'm thinking about.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Robin Hood -- The One With Russell Crowe
Saw the latest Robin Hood on DVD -- from Netflix -- last night. GREAT movie. The most believable of the two or three that are out there. Because it's a legendary tale, the movie makers could get away with the usual plot manipulation and stretching of the truth, but this was a great movie. It's long. However, I never noticed the time going by. The soundtrack was beautiful and other than some of the fully orchestrated pieces, most of the songs were written for the period they were representing. That gets a special note from me. Other than a few familiar faces, the actors are obscure enough that you don't spend the whole movie trying to remember what other film they were in. Over all? Two humans and three cats stuck it out to the end, so that's four thumbs and--er, well--six paws up.
Moral Dilemma Day #1: When You Lose Confidence in a Confidant
What would you do?
You're pretty sure the long-term friend you've been confiding in concerning a broken and ending relationship is talking to the other member of the relationship and telling him/her everything you've said. Consequently, a reconciliation you aren't sure you wanted is on the wind.
This is all you get, so have fun and feel free to post comments.
You're pretty sure the long-term friend you've been confiding in concerning a broken and ending relationship is talking to the other member of the relationship and telling him/her everything you've said. Consequently, a reconciliation you aren't sure you wanted is on the wind.
This is all you get, so have fun and feel free to post comments.
Re-programming Myself: What Feels Like a Priority Isn't Always a Priority
Holy Moly, I just finished half an assignment that was due Sunday at midnight. I'm so discouraged and would rather quit this class and switch to Business Administration, but I can't, I've already failed it one time, so even if I do end up switching, I have to get the F off my transcript. I'm not interested in letting this school take my money again without giving me a credit.
This has been a tough stretch. I'm going to bed feeling anxious and stressed. I don't know how some of these people do it with full-time jobs, young children and homes to maintain. I'm literally doing little else but my small addition to the finances, minimal housework and home work. I can't keep up.
I have a short list of chores I do each morning, no matter what. Unloading/loading the dishwasher. Feeding/watering cats. Scooping litter. Feeding/Watering wild birds. Pick up/straighten up everything that got left out the night before and freshen the front bathroom. (I have students five days a week, so it's easier to inspect the bathroom each day) The kitchen has to be spotless before I feel free. I make a decision about what meat to defrost for dinner. After that, I can prioritize my day, but I'm not doing a very good job lately. I'm checking facebook, this blog, my personal e-mail, my school message board and some other inconsequental sites, way too much.
It's time for a little re-programming. I've been thinking about a dedicated list of 10 things I will do each day without fail--a.k.a. "the chores"--and then rather than using my emotions to feel my way through the day, doing things based on what I want to do next, I need to actually write down what I want to accomplish and make a conscious intellectual decision on what it is best to do next. I think that will solve a lot of my static time. I'll check in later in the week and let you know how the idea is working for me.
This has been a tough stretch. I'm going to bed feeling anxious and stressed. I don't know how some of these people do it with full-time jobs, young children and homes to maintain. I'm literally doing little else but my small addition to the finances, minimal housework and home work. I can't keep up.
I have a short list of chores I do each morning, no matter what. Unloading/loading the dishwasher. Feeding/watering cats. Scooping litter. Feeding/Watering wild birds. Pick up/straighten up everything that got left out the night before and freshen the front bathroom. (I have students five days a week, so it's easier to inspect the bathroom each day) The kitchen has to be spotless before I feel free. I make a decision about what meat to defrost for dinner. After that, I can prioritize my day, but I'm not doing a very good job lately. I'm checking facebook, this blog, my personal e-mail, my school message board and some other inconsequental sites, way too much.
It's time for a little re-programming. I've been thinking about a dedicated list of 10 things I will do each day without fail--a.k.a. "the chores"--and then rather than using my emotions to feel my way through the day, doing things based on what I want to do next, I need to actually write down what I want to accomplish and make a conscious intellectual decision on what it is best to do next. I think that will solve a lot of my static time. I'll check in later in the week and let you know how the idea is working for me.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
2,000 Views
I am so surpised at getting a super charge out of watching the "views" portion of my blog increase. So far, 10:00 and 22:00 my time, seem to be quite the bewitching hour. I've decided I want to celebrate for myself in a big way when I reach 2,000 views. If the 2,000 occurs before February 21, 2012, I'll celebrate even bigger. I've gotten 20 in the first six days, so we'll call it a week. That means I will need to almost double my views per week over the next year. Let's see how it goes.
Refresh Myself, Refresh My Goals
It's a new month. It's time to look back at the last one and plan for the next one.
I've seen the biggest improvement in my weight training. I have chosen a combined approach of light weights with high repetitions and heavy weights with slower and fewer repetitions. It seems to be working for me. I'm seeing a difference. I have what used to be called a circuit trainer. I don't know if they still call it that, but it has three stations that I can perform several exercises at. At this time, I'm only working out my upper body. But strength has never been my weakness. Cardio workout are my challenge.
I set some pretty lofty goals for myself due to the fact that I want to run another race in August. This one will be in North Carolina. I am not accustomed to the hills. Believe it or not, there is a knack to running on inclines both up hill and down. I found some great tutoring on YouTube. So I set my sights on the treadmill at 4.2 mph at the steepest incline. I started with a meager 30 seconds and hoped to add 30 seconds every other day.
I made great progress until the one minute 30 second mark. I had to hold on, so I did and I continued while holding on to the rails. I was devastated. Two days later, I got back on the treadmill started the time and met the same spot of one minute and 30 seconds. It was horrible. I wanted to grab those rails so bad at one minute 45 seconds, I regretfully did. and completed the remaining time holding on to the rails. I made five minutes and one quarter mile "uphill" this month. Only one minute 46 seconds of it was without holding on.
I have a decision to make. I don't want to hold on and I want to be running at 4.5 mph. It would appear I need to take smaller bites, but that would definitely mean that mathematically, I will not be ready for the race in August. So this afternoon, I guess I will re-evaluate some of my goals and forecast some new results. As I've been typing this, I've decided that out there on the course there won't be any rails to grab on to when I get tired. I have to be able to do this standing up. Back to the drawing board. I am going to take even smaller bites. Go back to the magical moment at one minute 46 seconds and try to go from there.
So for the month of February I am logging in a loss of three pounds, 1:46 "uphill" and positive results on the circuit trainer. I guess we'll see what comes at the end of March. I'll check back next Fitness Tuesday with some of the results of recalibrating my goals.
I've seen the biggest improvement in my weight training. I have chosen a combined approach of light weights with high repetitions and heavy weights with slower and fewer repetitions. It seems to be working for me. I'm seeing a difference. I have what used to be called a circuit trainer. I don't know if they still call it that, but it has three stations that I can perform several exercises at. At this time, I'm only working out my upper body. But strength has never been my weakness. Cardio workout are my challenge.
I set some pretty lofty goals for myself due to the fact that I want to run another race in August. This one will be in North Carolina. I am not accustomed to the hills. Believe it or not, there is a knack to running on inclines both up hill and down. I found some great tutoring on YouTube. So I set my sights on the treadmill at 4.2 mph at the steepest incline. I started with a meager 30 seconds and hoped to add 30 seconds every other day.
I made great progress until the one minute 30 second mark. I had to hold on, so I did and I continued while holding on to the rails. I was devastated. Two days later, I got back on the treadmill started the time and met the same spot of one minute and 30 seconds. It was horrible. I wanted to grab those rails so bad at one minute 45 seconds, I regretfully did. and completed the remaining time holding on to the rails. I made five minutes and one quarter mile "uphill" this month. Only one minute 46 seconds of it was without holding on.
I have a decision to make. I don't want to hold on and I want to be running at 4.5 mph. It would appear I need to take smaller bites, but that would definitely mean that mathematically, I will not be ready for the race in August. So this afternoon, I guess I will re-evaluate some of my goals and forecast some new results. As I've been typing this, I've decided that out there on the course there won't be any rails to grab on to when I get tired. I have to be able to do this standing up. Back to the drawing board. I am going to take even smaller bites. Go back to the magical moment at one minute 46 seconds and try to go from there.
So for the month of February I am logging in a loss of three pounds, 1:46 "uphill" and positive results on the circuit trainer. I guess we'll see what comes at the end of March. I'll check back next Fitness Tuesday with some of the results of recalibrating my goals.
Twilight -- I'll admit it
I'll admit it. I watched Twilight today. The first one. I kind of liked it. The tormented youths with all their angst and drama. It was perfect. The vampire angle was tedious but a bit of a turn on at the same time. However, as a 17 year old, which, I don't think he really was. He was something like 100 years old, right? Anyway, with 100 years of high school under his belt he certainly knew all the right things to say to Bella and every other teen age girl on the planet. I know some grown women that swoon over Edward Cullen and the guy that played him. Who was that? Oh yeah, Robert Pattinson. What a cutie. He's my son's age. Now I wish I'd read the book. If I do, I know I will have Rober Pattinson's head on Edward Cullen's body the whole time I'm reading it. I guess that's not such a bad thing.
Watching a movie like this makes me realize there's still a pretty good sized part of me that would really, really like to be swept in to a world of dark mystery by someone who would press his handsome face to mine and desperately whisper promises he could actually keep. For me, that's the sexy in this movie. Edward could back it up. There is nothing sexier than a man that can back it up.
Watching a movie like this makes me realize there's still a pretty good sized part of me that would really, really like to be swept in to a world of dark mystery by someone who would press his handsome face to mine and desperately whisper promises he could actually keep. For me, that's the sexy in this movie. Edward could back it up. There is nothing sexier than a man that can back it up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)