Saturday, I was supposed to work 12 to 6. I got a call at 8 that morning asking if I could come in at 10 and work until 6:30 for a full eight-hour shift, so someone could go home early. I did.
Sunday, I was supposed to work 12 to 6. I got a call, as I was driving to work, asking if I could come in at 2 instead. "Two until when?" "Close." Someone had called out. I covered.
Monday was a normal eight-hour shift.
Tuesday, BJ, Sam and I left the house at 7 in the morning, picked up our friend Raequan at 7:30, grabbed some breakfast, and headed to Chicago.
Oh my goodness, Chicago.
We went to the Brookfield Zoo first, and were there for four or five hours. We saw almost everything, and I took a million pictures of almost everything. The three best things, that had HUGE impacts on me, were the three things we paid extra for: the dolphin show, petting (de-barbed) stingrays, and the butterfly house. I was exhausted and in pain by the time we left, but I was also excited the entire time, like little-kid excited, it was AWESOME. The dolphin show almost made me cry from pure kid joy, the stingrays were so adorable and wonderful and calming, the butterfly house was a photographic dream, MAN...it was fantastic.
Next was The Chicago Diner, a vegan/vegetarian restaurant recommended to Rae by a co-worker. I want to make this co-worker cookies for suggesting it, because OH. MY. GOD. Some of the best food I have ever had. The milkshake was to die for. The atmosphere was fun and cozy. The waitress was amazing--she helped explain the menu without being pretentious or condescending, answered our questions about the food and Chicago, and even drew us a map of cool places to go within walking distance. The whole experience was...awesome.
Next was Navy Pier, which was basically just shops and restaurants that we enjoyed toodling around in. After that was Mitsuwa Marketplace, a Japanese store BJ and Sam are fond of visiting, and Woodfield Mall.
We didn't get home until past one in the morning, although that was mostly the fault of the GPS on my phone, which is, in a word, moronic. Honestly, the best parts of the trip were outside the car, because being in the car meant following directions from a phone who didn't understand the real world we were currently driving in.
But yeah. That was Tuesday, in Chicago.
Wednesday was Aurelie's birthday. The original plan had been to go to Lake Michigan, chill for most of the day, then go back to Goshen for dinner and drinking. I met up with Aurelie and Allie at Quincy's, gave her her presents, had breakfast, hung out for a bit. She changed her mind about the lake--as was her birthday girl prerogative--and decided on a movie instead.
I was fading quickly at this point, having only gotten about five hours of sleep after 14 hours in Chicago after five hours of sleep, and realized that it was either go to the movies and hang out, or go to dinner and the bar later. I chose the latter, Aurelie said it was fine, and I went home and crashed for a few hours. Sadly, crashing didn't mean sleep so much as not-moving-or-thinking, so it was only half as restful as hoped, but still.
I picked Aurelie up and took her to Buffalo Wild Wings, where a bunch of people came out for her birthday dinner. After that was The Constant Spring, which was full of a different birthday party, all of which were drunk and doing karaoke. Beatles's karaoke. While drunk. I was displeased.
Still, it was good people, good time, Aurelie had a blast. Mission accomplished. :)
Still didn't get a whole lot of sleep that night, either.
Yesterday, Thursday, was an eight-hour pre-closing shift. I started out fairly upbeat and able, went downhill to exhausted and hungry, ate, and became just plain exhausted. I was basically pathetic and whiny from four o'clock on to the end of the night.
Today, I don't go in until 4:30, and I close. I got a text from the Morning Shift asking if I could come in at 2. I might fall have if I didn't have a To Do list that literally can't be done the rest of the weekend.
And then it's four more days of my six-day work week after that. Then three days off. Whee!
There, now we're all caught up. Now if I could just get a couple of hours of time where I'm awake and don't have shit to do so I can call all my parents and not be a terrible daughter...
Showing posts with label long. Show all posts
Showing posts with label long. Show all posts
Friday, September 2, 2011
Friday, August 26, 2011
This Got Very Long. Consider Yourself Warned.
This started out as a general What's Going On With Me post, but evolved fairly quickly into What's Going On With My Brain a.k.a. I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS.
One of the biggest things going on in our life right now is moving. This is fairly all-encompassing, because it's not just The Move I/we are thinking about, it's everything that we're doing once we get there.
Both Ryan and I are planning on visiting a GP when we get back, and possibly a nutritionist as well. It was originally Ryan's idea, for himself, to get in shape for the wedding and just generally become healthier. As he's talked about it, I've thought about my health more, and how much I need to change. Plus, I'm obviously going to support him in whatever way I can, both in diet and exercise. The details all depend on what the doctor's say, obviously, but we know we need to make a lot of changes. Big changes. Cutting things out of our diet, signing up for classes, getting on the Wii Fit changes. The more we talk about it, the more excited I get.
Something else I'm doing when we move is going back to therapy. I had decided this even before the awful summer I've had, as I still have very specific issues that I'm sick of living with. Then this summer happened, and it became a definite. Most of June and July disappeared into a black hole of depression--and I mean that pretty strongly, thinking back on those months doesn't bring up a lot of specific memories. It's a big, dark, awful blur. August brought a lot of normalcy back, but there have been nights where the emotions want to creep up again. Even when that doesn't happen, I've been thinking about it, and I think I've figured out exactly what's wrong.
...Even before Ryan and I decided to move to Indiana last year, we had talked about going somewhere, mostly because his choice of grad schools for the program he wanted was slim and scattered. I knew I wanted to get out of the area, at least temporarily. Not because I hate the place or the people, but because I felt...stifled. Which is a stupid word if you know my parents, but there it is.
It's hard to grow when you live in a place that has known you as one thing for your entire life.
Everyone, even people who loved and adored and supported me, even the people who were the best for me and helped me grow the little I did, still saw me as the same person I'd been as long as they'd known me. In a situation like that, there are expectations, and actions based on those expectations, both conscious and unconscious. Hell, I had expectations, I have no doubts that I've always been my own worst enemy, and have gotten in my own way more and better than anyone else. Ever.
POINT IS. I was stuck. Then we did the biggest, scariest, and best thing ever, and moved 800 miles to a strange place to live and work with strangers. We gambled everything--our money, our credit, our identities, our relationship, I suppose even our lives--and jumped. And we grew. We grew a lot.
Then, over the second weekend of June, we went back home to visit for four days. We had a great time, we came back, we started up our lives again, and then I fell into a hole and didn't crawl out for almost two months. And even though I'm out of it, I'm still struggling, and I finally know what's wrong.
I'm having an identity crisis.
When we moved out here, I withdrew from my classes at MCC and basically ignored my acceptance to ECSU. I had a lot of interests fighting in my head, to the point of just...seizing up with indecision. I decided that, when we got to Indiana, I would just work. I wouldn't pursue marketing or graphic design or art or editing or anything else, I would just work and see what I would do without any requirements, what would emerge naturally. And it did. And it still feels like I want, with my whole heart and soul, to do and be: mother, wife, artist, writer.
But I'm still struggling with other parts of myself. I'm struggling with parts I didn't know existed, struggling in ways I don't really comprehend. If I think about it too much, I get this disconnected feeling--literally disconnected, as if gravity has cut off and I'm about to float away. I feel like vomiting and screaming and attacking the furniture.
Even if I don't think about it too closely--and trust me, with that reaction, I avoid doing so--I find myself...grasping. I'll think about getting a spontaneous tattoo or piercing, going home and getting very drunk, or even trying a drag of my friend's cigarette--I KNOW. That last one, especially, made me realize that I'm grasping at straws, at others' identities.
One night, talking with Aurelie, I re-mentioned that I loved her new tattoo, and how much I really want to get one, especially before we move back. She said that she'd talked about tattoos with Allie, and they'd agreed that, to them, tattoos aren't about tattoos, they're about feeling so strongly about something that they want it permanently on their body for the rest of their lives. She advised that I should think of it that way, not the way of Tattoos Are Awesome I Want One.
And I started thinking about it, and the more I tried to narrow down that One Thing I felt That Strongly about, the dizzier I got and the more I felt like vomiting and screaming and punching furniture.
POINT IS (again) I have some issues going on, and I need to buckle down and deal with them. Thinking about therapy, I know that I'm going to go in there ready to buckle down, and I know that I'm going to spend a lot of time being asked really hard questions, feeling like I'm going to float away, wanting to scream and run away. It's going be really fucking hard, and it's going to hurt like a motherfucker.
But I have to do it. For my relationship, for my future, for my physical health, for my mental health, for my identity. For my life.
One of the biggest things going on in our life right now is moving. This is fairly all-encompassing, because it's not just The Move I/we are thinking about, it's everything that we're doing once we get there.
Both Ryan and I are planning on visiting a GP when we get back, and possibly a nutritionist as well. It was originally Ryan's idea, for himself, to get in shape for the wedding and just generally become healthier. As he's talked about it, I've thought about my health more, and how much I need to change. Plus, I'm obviously going to support him in whatever way I can, both in diet and exercise. The details all depend on what the doctor's say, obviously, but we know we need to make a lot of changes. Big changes. Cutting things out of our diet, signing up for classes, getting on the Wii Fit changes. The more we talk about it, the more excited I get.
Something else I'm doing when we move is going back to therapy. I had decided this even before the awful summer I've had, as I still have very specific issues that I'm sick of living with. Then this summer happened, and it became a definite. Most of June and July disappeared into a black hole of depression--and I mean that pretty strongly, thinking back on those months doesn't bring up a lot of specific memories. It's a big, dark, awful blur. August brought a lot of normalcy back, but there have been nights where the emotions want to creep up again. Even when that doesn't happen, I've been thinking about it, and I think I've figured out exactly what's wrong.
...Even before Ryan and I decided to move to Indiana last year, we had talked about going somewhere, mostly because his choice of grad schools for the program he wanted was slim and scattered. I knew I wanted to get out of the area, at least temporarily. Not because I hate the place or the people, but because I felt...stifled. Which is a stupid word if you know my parents, but there it is.
It's hard to grow when you live in a place that has known you as one thing for your entire life.
Everyone, even people who loved and adored and supported me, even the people who were the best for me and helped me grow the little I did, still saw me as the same person I'd been as long as they'd known me. In a situation like that, there are expectations, and actions based on those expectations, both conscious and unconscious. Hell, I had expectations, I have no doubts that I've always been my own worst enemy, and have gotten in my own way more and better than anyone else. Ever.
POINT IS. I was stuck. Then we did the biggest, scariest, and best thing ever, and moved 800 miles to a strange place to live and work with strangers. We gambled everything--our money, our credit, our identities, our relationship, I suppose even our lives--and jumped. And we grew. We grew a lot.
Then, over the second weekend of June, we went back home to visit for four days. We had a great time, we came back, we started up our lives again, and then I fell into a hole and didn't crawl out for almost two months. And even though I'm out of it, I'm still struggling, and I finally know what's wrong.
I'm having an identity crisis.
When we moved out here, I withdrew from my classes at MCC and basically ignored my acceptance to ECSU. I had a lot of interests fighting in my head, to the point of just...seizing up with indecision. I decided that, when we got to Indiana, I would just work. I wouldn't pursue marketing or graphic design or art or editing or anything else, I would just work and see what I would do without any requirements, what would emerge naturally. And it did. And it still feels like I want, with my whole heart and soul, to do and be: mother, wife, artist, writer.
But I'm still struggling with other parts of myself. I'm struggling with parts I didn't know existed, struggling in ways I don't really comprehend. If I think about it too much, I get this disconnected feeling--literally disconnected, as if gravity has cut off and I'm about to float away. I feel like vomiting and screaming and attacking the furniture.
Even if I don't think about it too closely--and trust me, with that reaction, I avoid doing so--I find myself...grasping. I'll think about getting a spontaneous tattoo or piercing, going home and getting very drunk, or even trying a drag of my friend's cigarette--I KNOW. That last one, especially, made me realize that I'm grasping at straws, at others' identities.
One night, talking with Aurelie, I re-mentioned that I loved her new tattoo, and how much I really want to get one, especially before we move back. She said that she'd talked about tattoos with Allie, and they'd agreed that, to them, tattoos aren't about tattoos, they're about feeling so strongly about something that they want it permanently on their body for the rest of their lives. She advised that I should think of it that way, not the way of Tattoos Are Awesome I Want One.
And I started thinking about it, and the more I tried to narrow down that One Thing I felt That Strongly about, the dizzier I got and the more I felt like vomiting and screaming and punching furniture.
POINT IS (again) I have some issues going on, and I need to buckle down and deal with them. Thinking about therapy, I know that I'm going to go in there ready to buckle down, and I know that I'm going to spend a lot of time being asked really hard questions, feeling like I'm going to float away, wanting to scream and run away. It's going be really fucking hard, and it's going to hurt like a motherfucker.
But I have to do it. For my relationship, for my future, for my physical health, for my mental health, for my identity. For my life.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Where I Am Right Now.
I was raised by, in a community of, hippies and feminists and liberals. From the moment I took breath, I was taught and told and shown that I could do and be anything. President? No problem. World traveler? Fantastic! Literary legend? Of course! Genius artiste? Duh!
The fact that I was a girl was never part of the lesson, except perhaps for the lesson of They Might Try To Say You Can't Because You're A Girl, But That Just Means They're Dumb. The words "housewife" and "secretary" weren't exactly dirty, but...
Gender, age, money, none of these things mattered, what mattered is that I put my mind and heart and soul into it and I can go anywhere, I can do and be anything.
...is it wrong, then, that I want to stay home? That I want to be a homemaker, to literally spend my time making a home for my family?
I spent my mini-vacation being domestic. I cleaned, I neatened, I laundered, I cooked, I washed, I rearranged, I organized, I grocery shopped, I planned, I outlined, I budgeted. I neatened my boyfriend's desk, cleaned up his dishes, refilled his drink, made him breakfast and dinner, helped him cook and get ready for work.
I loved every single second of it. Even the frustrating seconds, the seconds where I looked at our money situation and wanted to throw up my hands, the seconds where I got to the laundry room after hauling down an overflowing basket only to discover that I had forgotten the quarters, the seconds where the pancakes burned and the cupcake batter turned to cement and I got sauce on the bottom of my sock and Ryan spilled melted chocolate on the white shirt I just washed yesterday.
I loved taking care of my man. There it is. I gave him shit and sassed him while doing it, I never once did anything because I thought it was "my place" to do so, I helped him when he asked and got his help when I needed it. He never once just assumed I would do something because I'm a girl, he never waved off what I was doing as a given, and all references to my being domestic were either ironic or completely appreciative.
I didn't spend every moment focusing on the house, of course. I also worked on my photography, spending hours taking, editing and uploading pictures. I even hacked at my writing a bit, although that's been quite sticky. As much as I focused on making up our home, I also focused on my own personal and artistic endeavors.
Part of the plan in moving to Indiana was to figure ourselves out, to work and live and get by and think on what we missed from what we were doing in Connecticut. Specifically for me, I hoped to dabble in all my interests--photography, graphic design, marketing/advertising, writing, editing--and see which ones stuck, which ones I made time for because I wanted to, which ones I wanted to invest my time and money in, in terms of potential college degrees.
I have a full time job where I am on my feet all day, I spend a good deal of time taking care of the house, and I still make sure I find time to read, write, do art photography, and be with my friends and boyfriend. These are the things I find important: words, art, people.
I realized, months ago, that I don't want to back to school. In fact, the thought gives me the willies--spending thousands to sit in a room and learn crap I don't need so I can get a piece of paper? I'd rather spend a fraction of the money to get good lenses and materials, I'd rather spend the time concentrating on an outline or learning what exactly each button and dial on my camera does or having a movie & crafting night with my friends or cooking dinner with my love.
The things I care about, the things I want to do, the person I want to be...I don't need college for that. I just need to get the hell out of my own way.
Okay, so I don't just want to be a homemaker. I also want to be an artist and a writer. I know my hippie parents will be overjoyed that I'm finally realizing the last part. I guess I'm just worried about the first part. I was raised in the woods, in workshops, at period faires and drum circles and Pagan gatherings...and I want to be a housewife? A stereotype?
For me, the real stereotype is the woman who is only at home because she's been taught, from the moment she took breath, that it is her destiny, that her brain doesn't matter. The woman who has never had a choice. So no, I don't want to be a stereotype. I just want to be me.
And that happens to mean that I stay at home and take care of my children, my spouse, and our home. I'd even be happy staying a barista part-time to help with bills--not a shift supervisor, not a manager, but a barista, because I happen to love it.
I guess that's what it comes down to--I happen to love my life where I "just" serve people, "just" keep house, "just" write and take pictures.
I'm losing that frantic feeling that I NEED to Do Something, to Have A Career or at least a Real Job, because without one I'm wallowing in the rut that so many people fought for me to be able to leave. I'm losing the self-imposed of cloud of Should, of What Am I Going To Do With My Life, the guilt that's more from myself than anybody else. I'm gaining self-respect, fulfillment, peace and contentment with who I am and what I want to do.
And hell, I'm not even there yet! I'm still in the part where we have to work our asses off to get by, where I can only get myself to write once or twice a week, where I have a small window for photography each day that I miss as often as I hit, where most nights I'm so tired that even reading sounds too taxing. I'm still at the part where the house and the family and the life that I crave is far enough away to seem impossible.
But I know I'll get there, I know we'll get there. And I know now what I want it to look like.
I love that picture. I'm proud of that picture.
And that's all that matters.
The fact that I was a girl was never part of the lesson, except perhaps for the lesson of They Might Try To Say You Can't Because You're A Girl, But That Just Means They're Dumb. The words "housewife" and "secretary" weren't exactly dirty, but...
Gender, age, money, none of these things mattered, what mattered is that I put my mind and heart and soul into it and I can go anywhere, I can do and be anything.
...is it wrong, then, that I want to stay home? That I want to be a homemaker, to literally spend my time making a home for my family?
I spent my mini-vacation being domestic. I cleaned, I neatened, I laundered, I cooked, I washed, I rearranged, I organized, I grocery shopped, I planned, I outlined, I budgeted. I neatened my boyfriend's desk, cleaned up his dishes, refilled his drink, made him breakfast and dinner, helped him cook and get ready for work.
I loved every single second of it. Even the frustrating seconds, the seconds where I looked at our money situation and wanted to throw up my hands, the seconds where I got to the laundry room after hauling down an overflowing basket only to discover that I had forgotten the quarters, the seconds where the pancakes burned and the cupcake batter turned to cement and I got sauce on the bottom of my sock and Ryan spilled melted chocolate on the white shirt I just washed yesterday.
I loved taking care of my man. There it is. I gave him shit and sassed him while doing it, I never once did anything because I thought it was "my place" to do so, I helped him when he asked and got his help when I needed it. He never once just assumed I would do something because I'm a girl, he never waved off what I was doing as a given, and all references to my being domestic were either ironic or completely appreciative.
I didn't spend every moment focusing on the house, of course. I also worked on my photography, spending hours taking, editing and uploading pictures. I even hacked at my writing a bit, although that's been quite sticky. As much as I focused on making up our home, I also focused on my own personal and artistic endeavors.
Part of the plan in moving to Indiana was to figure ourselves out, to work and live and get by and think on what we missed from what we were doing in Connecticut. Specifically for me, I hoped to dabble in all my interests--photography, graphic design, marketing/advertising, writing, editing--and see which ones stuck, which ones I made time for because I wanted to, which ones I wanted to invest my time and money in, in terms of potential college degrees.
I have a full time job where I am on my feet all day, I spend a good deal of time taking care of the house, and I still make sure I find time to read, write, do art photography, and be with my friends and boyfriend. These are the things I find important: words, art, people.
I realized, months ago, that I don't want to back to school. In fact, the thought gives me the willies--spending thousands to sit in a room and learn crap I don't need so I can get a piece of paper? I'd rather spend a fraction of the money to get good lenses and materials, I'd rather spend the time concentrating on an outline or learning what exactly each button and dial on my camera does or having a movie & crafting night with my friends or cooking dinner with my love.
The things I care about, the things I want to do, the person I want to be...I don't need college for that. I just need to get the hell out of my own way.
Okay, so I don't just want to be a homemaker. I also want to be an artist and a writer. I know my hippie parents will be overjoyed that I'm finally realizing the last part. I guess I'm just worried about the first part. I was raised in the woods, in workshops, at period faires and drum circles and Pagan gatherings...and I want to be a housewife? A stereotype?
For me, the real stereotype is the woman who is only at home because she's been taught, from the moment she took breath, that it is her destiny, that her brain doesn't matter. The woman who has never had a choice. So no, I don't want to be a stereotype. I just want to be me.
And that happens to mean that I stay at home and take care of my children, my spouse, and our home. I'd even be happy staying a barista part-time to help with bills--not a shift supervisor, not a manager, but a barista, because I happen to love it.
I guess that's what it comes down to--I happen to love my life where I "just" serve people, "just" keep house, "just" write and take pictures.
I'm losing that frantic feeling that I NEED to Do Something, to Have A Career or at least a Real Job, because without one I'm wallowing in the rut that so many people fought for me to be able to leave. I'm losing the self-imposed of cloud of Should, of What Am I Going To Do With My Life, the guilt that's more from myself than anybody else. I'm gaining self-respect, fulfillment, peace and contentment with who I am and what I want to do.
And hell, I'm not even there yet! I'm still in the part where we have to work our asses off to get by, where I can only get myself to write once or twice a week, where I have a small window for photography each day that I miss as often as I hit, where most nights I'm so tired that even reading sounds too taxing. I'm still at the part where the house and the family and the life that I crave is far enough away to seem impossible.
But I know I'll get there, I know we'll get there. And I know now what I want it to look like.
I love that picture. I'm proud of that picture.
And that's all that matters.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Productivity, Interrupted.
Today was going to be my Work Day. I had a Diplomatic Solutions meeting in the evening, so it made sense to use the hours beforehand to trundle through the rest of my To Do list. I'd reach 8 o'clock armed with checked off boxes and ready information! And it wouldn't just be business thing I'd get done, no! Laundry! Grocery shopping! Etc!
This is how the day went:
[o] Wake up. Slowly. After a fairly restless night of sleep.
[o] Spend a bit of time lounging in bed, with iPad, checking all my sites and feeds.
[x] Edit one of the articles assigned to me using the iPad and the small notebook in my purse!
[x] Cook myself eggs for breakfast! True, I unwittingly used a burner too small for the pan, so the eggs cooked unevenly, and I had a devil of a time with them...but still! I cooked!
[x] Work out! Weigh in and haven't gained anything!
[x] Shower!
[x] Start two loads of laundry!
[o] Ryan wakes up and agreed to a small, quick grocery trip, as he needs more Tylenol and I'm out of cheese.
[x] Call back Mom, as requested. We discuss money and such and hang up with goals to help me get out of the debt incurred from moving!
[x] Move the two loads from washer to dryer, and start a third load of laundry!
[o] Sameh and BJ both arrive home from work. BJ needs to go back to his Bux to collect his tips, and they decid to come with us.
[o] We wait for the washer to finish so I can move it over before leaving. As I go to move it, I realize that I can't, because I'm taking up the only two dryers. For the next 40 minutes.
[o] We go to Starbucks. BJ chats with co-workers. I buy myself and Ryan a drink and a small snack each. We leave Starbucks.
[o] We arrive at Meijer. BJ realizes he never got his tips.
[o] We shop. We leave Meijer. We go back to Starbucks. We go get lunch at Waka Dog.
[x] I fetch the dry clothes and move the final load into a dryer! This is after the dryer clothes have been finished for two and a half hours, the washer load for three, and I had to scrounge quarters from my car because I hadn't realized we were out of rolls of quarters until after I was halfway to the laundry room with a roll of pennies. But still! LAUNDRY ALMOST DONE!
[o] The four of us chat, flip through channels, end up watching the last half hours of both 17 Again and Mrs. Doubtfire.
[o] I realize it's 10 to 8. I hustle my butt to the computer and ask Ryan to fetch the last, dry load.
[x] DS Meeting!
So...yeah. Almost every single thing I did accomplish today, got lengthened through unavoidable events. There is a huge pile of unfolded laundry on the bed behind me, and Ryan realized a small while ago that we forgot to buy any gorram Tylenol. I did not accomplish a large portion of the things I wanted/needed to get done for DS. Fortunately, it was just a catch-up meeting, so nothing was "due." Still. Oy.
TOMORROW!
[o] Going to the bank to deposit the large pile of rolled coins I forgot we had, and change some of them into quarters so we can continue doing laundry.
[o] Editing the other two articles.
[o] Buying some Tylenol and looking into switching my prescription to a CVS here in Indiana.
[o] Looking into the cost of shipping my iPod Touch to Chris (part of the iPad deal)
[o] Researching credit card transfers to see if any would help me out.
[o] Continuing the creation of a budget. I am thoroughly enjoying this because it involves SPREADSHEETS!
[o] Watching some Avater: The Last Airbender Book 2 with Ryan, as promised.
Overall, the two days off will end up being half work and half play. This is fine. Actually, it's better than fine; it was helpful.
As previously mentioned, I was on a "hiatus" of sorts from Diplomatic Solutions during May and June, while I moved and got settled. About as soon as I "returned," it was suggested that I hand off some of my responsibilities to a new collaborator. I'll admit, I was a little put off by this; I had just come back, and it was already being inferred that I couldn't handle everything I needed to do. Give me some time, guys! And some credit! I appreciate that it was meant to be supportive rather than insulting, but still. Sheesh!
I...was wrong. The days off since that first meeting, I have attempted to see as days when I work for Diplomatic Solutions instead of Starbucks. None of these days have worked out as I hoped, especially since my Starbucks hours have skewed toward the late afternoon and evening shifts. I don't have time for chores or errands before work, so those things get pushed to my days off, as do the chances to spend quality time with my friends or boyfriend.
The initial problem I had with getting help with my tasks was that it was worded in such a way that I'd be giving up the jobs I really enjoy. At tonight's meeting, I brought the idea of a Marketing co-worker back up, but asked if she would be willing to do the things I haven't been able to do, but she would most likely be better at, being that she's a marketer and fundraiser for a non-profit. While she didn't attend the meeting, someone who did said he would contact her about it. She'll hopefully be getting back to me early next week.
Long story short: Today was the final straw to realize that the offer of taking some of my duties off my shoulders was an opportunity, and one that I really couldn't pass up because of pride. If this works out as I hope, she and I will be collaborating and getting the Marketing "department" off the ground in no time.
Tomorrow is another day, and I will get things done. What number of things, and which things...that'll be a surprise, I guess. And hey, at least I can spend the whole day on my butt if I want to. That's a win in my book.
This is how the day went:
[o] Wake up. Slowly. After a fairly restless night of sleep.
[o] Spend a bit of time lounging in bed, with iPad, checking all my sites and feeds.
[x] Edit one of the articles assigned to me using the iPad and the small notebook in my purse!
[x] Cook myself eggs for breakfast! True, I unwittingly used a burner too small for the pan, so the eggs cooked unevenly, and I had a devil of a time with them...but still! I cooked!
[x] Work out! Weigh in and haven't gained anything!
[x] Shower!
[x] Start two loads of laundry!
[o] Ryan wakes up and agreed to a small, quick grocery trip, as he needs more Tylenol and I'm out of cheese.
[x] Call back Mom, as requested. We discuss money and such and hang up with goals to help me get out of the debt incurred from moving!
[x] Move the two loads from washer to dryer, and start a third load of laundry!
[o] Sameh and BJ both arrive home from work. BJ needs to go back to his Bux to collect his tips, and they decid to come with us.
[o] We wait for the washer to finish so I can move it over before leaving. As I go to move it, I realize that I can't, because I'm taking up the only two dryers. For the next 40 minutes.
[o] We go to Starbucks. BJ chats with co-workers. I buy myself and Ryan a drink and a small snack each. We leave Starbucks.
[o] We arrive at Meijer. BJ realizes he never got his tips.
[o] We shop. We leave Meijer. We go back to Starbucks. We go get lunch at Waka Dog.
[x] I fetch the dry clothes and move the final load into a dryer! This is after the dryer clothes have been finished for two and a half hours, the washer load for three, and I had to scrounge quarters from my car because I hadn't realized we were out of rolls of quarters until after I was halfway to the laundry room with a roll of pennies. But still! LAUNDRY ALMOST DONE!
[o] The four of us chat, flip through channels, end up watching the last half hours of both 17 Again and Mrs. Doubtfire.
[o] I realize it's 10 to 8. I hustle my butt to the computer and ask Ryan to fetch the last, dry load.
[x] DS Meeting!
So...yeah. Almost every single thing I did accomplish today, got lengthened through unavoidable events. There is a huge pile of unfolded laundry on the bed behind me, and Ryan realized a small while ago that we forgot to buy any gorram Tylenol. I did not accomplish a large portion of the things I wanted/needed to get done for DS. Fortunately, it was just a catch-up meeting, so nothing was "due." Still. Oy.
TOMORROW!
[o] Going to the bank to deposit the large pile of rolled coins I forgot we had, and change some of them into quarters so we can continue doing laundry.
[o] Editing the other two articles.
[o] Buying some Tylenol and looking into switching my prescription to a CVS here in Indiana.
[o] Looking into the cost of shipping my iPod Touch to Chris (part of the iPad deal)
[o] Researching credit card transfers to see if any would help me out.
[o] Continuing the creation of a budget. I am thoroughly enjoying this because it involves SPREADSHEETS!
[o] Watching some Avater: The Last Airbender Book 2 with Ryan, as promised.
Overall, the two days off will end up being half work and half play. This is fine. Actually, it's better than fine; it was helpful.
As previously mentioned, I was on a "hiatus" of sorts from Diplomatic Solutions during May and June, while I moved and got settled. About as soon as I "returned," it was suggested that I hand off some of my responsibilities to a new collaborator. I'll admit, I was a little put off by this; I had just come back, and it was already being inferred that I couldn't handle everything I needed to do. Give me some time, guys! And some credit! I appreciate that it was meant to be supportive rather than insulting, but still. Sheesh!
I...was wrong. The days off since that first meeting, I have attempted to see as days when I work for Diplomatic Solutions instead of Starbucks. None of these days have worked out as I hoped, especially since my Starbucks hours have skewed toward the late afternoon and evening shifts. I don't have time for chores or errands before work, so those things get pushed to my days off, as do the chances to spend quality time with my friends or boyfriend.
The initial problem I had with getting help with my tasks was that it was worded in such a way that I'd be giving up the jobs I really enjoy. At tonight's meeting, I brought the idea of a Marketing co-worker back up, but asked if she would be willing to do the things I haven't been able to do, but she would most likely be better at, being that she's a marketer and fundraiser for a non-profit. While she didn't attend the meeting, someone who did said he would contact her about it. She'll hopefully be getting back to me early next week.
Long story short: Today was the final straw to realize that the offer of taking some of my duties off my shoulders was an opportunity, and one that I really couldn't pass up because of pride. If this works out as I hope, she and I will be collaborating and getting the Marketing "department" off the ground in no time.
Tomorrow is another day, and I will get things done. What number of things, and which things...that'll be a surprise, I guess. And hey, at least I can spend the whole day on my butt if I want to. That's a win in my book.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
What's Goin' On, 2/23/10 Edition
I started writing this last month, before the current semester had even started. Opened it again today, and had to edit it a bit. At any rate, this is my life right now:
WORK
Work is…the same. I’m not working Monday nights anymore, my schedule is just Fridays from 11-12-1ish to closing (when I start depends on the day), and Saturday from open to close. I find that I actually really miss working on Monday nights. In theory, the same regulars that work out that night work out on Friday night, so it should be the same. Except for two things: first, I work a longer day on Friday, so by the time they come in I’m ready to go home; second, it’s the end of the week, and they’re feeling the same way. I’m seeing way less of my favorite regulars, and I’m just feeling…apathetic toward work in general.
Although: last week and this week, I’ve gotten some more hours, due to my boss having outside obligations. There’s a chance I may start working on a weekday again, at least for a few hours before class. I’m kinda hoping—both for money, and for Time Out Of The House That’s Not Class.
I’ve also been doing housecleaning for my mom, who has big back problems and can’t do as much as she used to. Of course, I say I’ve been doing it, but I’ve only done one day of it. Weather, school, and lack of energy have made it rather difficult to get over there with enough time to be actually useful. But I’m trying!
SCHOOL
The reason I’m no longer working Monday nights is because of my classes: only available times for the two classes I need* are at night, MW from 6 to 9, TR from 7 to 10. Shoot me now.
*I actually have three classes left in the program, but Graphic Design filled up insanely quickly (I blame the way the computer set up the registration, but that’s a rant I won’t start).
Which leads me to the next school sub-topic: The Next Step. This has been a bit of a saga the past month.
I was looking at the colleges in the area (namely UConn and ECSU), focusing on the availability of three areas: Marketing, Editing, and Graphic Design. UConn has an official Marketing degree, enough classes for me to throw together an Editing degree through an Individualized Major, and the same deal for Graphic Design (there is a “Communications Design” major, but (a) it’s less graphic and more all-around design, and (b) the admission requirements are out of my reach). ECSU has a Visual Design minor, and enough classes for me to make a Marketing Individualized Major, but that’s it. So UConn looked to be winning.
Then this semester started, with the Advanced Computer Graphics class. Very first class period, we watched a short movie on a digital artist named Bert Monroy. This short blew my mind, and had me scraping my jaw off the floor. The digital paintings this man does are ridiculous, in terms of beauty, detail, and staggering talent. That picture on the front page of the web site? That’s not a photograph, that’s a painting, made entirely in Illustrator and Photoshop. Ridiculous.
That short got my mind working, and I did another poke at UConn and ECSU for anything involving digital media. Somehow, on my first search, I had missed the Digital Art and Design concentration at ECSU; reading it over, I fell in love. With the classes, with the program as a whole, and, thanks to alumnus Ryan, with the college.
Just this morning, not half an hour ago, I pulled together enough energy to do the Online Application - Transfer on the ECSU Online Services page. Thought I’d fill out as much as I could, and find out what else would needed to be done to actually apply.
Next thing I know, it’s saying I’m all done and hit this button to send it off. So I did. Surprisingly fast and easy, and I’m actually feeling a little dizzy because of it. It appears that all I have left to do is fetch my high school and MCC transcripts and send them off, and I’m set.
I’ve applied to college. … Eek!
Funny side note: There was a College Transfer Fair at MCC two weeks ago, and I popped by it to grab some material off the ECSU table. One of these materials was a postcard to send in asking for more information on a given major. One of the blanks to fill in on the postcard, along with name and address and college and what-have-you, was credits earned thus far. I went to my online MCC transcript to find out.
I have 84 credits. After this semester, I will have 90. 90 mothereffing credits. Every one earned at Manchester Community College.
I NEED TO MOVE ON ALREADY.
This has gotten a bit long, so I shall save the rest of the post (What Else Is Goin’ On, 2/24/10 Edition) for tomorrow.
WORK
Work is…the same. I’m not working Monday nights anymore, my schedule is just Fridays from 11-12-1ish to closing (when I start depends on the day), and Saturday from open to close. I find that I actually really miss working on Monday nights. In theory, the same regulars that work out that night work out on Friday night, so it should be the same. Except for two things: first, I work a longer day on Friday, so by the time they come in I’m ready to go home; second, it’s the end of the week, and they’re feeling the same way. I’m seeing way less of my favorite regulars, and I’m just feeling…apathetic toward work in general.
Although: last week and this week, I’ve gotten some more hours, due to my boss having outside obligations. There’s a chance I may start working on a weekday again, at least for a few hours before class. I’m kinda hoping—both for money, and for Time Out Of The House That’s Not Class.
I’ve also been doing housecleaning for my mom, who has big back problems and can’t do as much as she used to. Of course, I say I’ve been doing it, but I’ve only done one day of it. Weather, school, and lack of energy have made it rather difficult to get over there with enough time to be actually useful. But I’m trying!
SCHOOL
The reason I’m no longer working Monday nights is because of my classes: only available times for the two classes I need* are at night, MW from 6 to 9, TR from 7 to 10. Shoot me now.
*I actually have three classes left in the program, but Graphic Design filled up insanely quickly (I blame the way the computer set up the registration, but that’s a rant I won’t start).
Which leads me to the next school sub-topic: The Next Step. This has been a bit of a saga the past month.
I was looking at the colleges in the area (namely UConn and ECSU), focusing on the availability of three areas: Marketing, Editing, and Graphic Design. UConn has an official Marketing degree, enough classes for me to throw together an Editing degree through an Individualized Major, and the same deal for Graphic Design (there is a “Communications Design” major, but (a) it’s less graphic and more all-around design, and (b) the admission requirements are out of my reach). ECSU has a Visual Design minor, and enough classes for me to make a Marketing Individualized Major, but that’s it. So UConn looked to be winning.
Then this semester started, with the Advanced Computer Graphics class. Very first class period, we watched a short movie on a digital artist named Bert Monroy. This short blew my mind, and had me scraping my jaw off the floor. The digital paintings this man does are ridiculous, in terms of beauty, detail, and staggering talent. That picture on the front page of the web site? That’s not a photograph, that’s a painting, made entirely in Illustrator and Photoshop. Ridiculous.
That short got my mind working, and I did another poke at UConn and ECSU for anything involving digital media. Somehow, on my first search, I had missed the Digital Art and Design concentration at ECSU; reading it over, I fell in love. With the classes, with the program as a whole, and, thanks to alumnus Ryan, with the college.
Just this morning, not half an hour ago, I pulled together enough energy to do the Online Application - Transfer on the ECSU Online Services page. Thought I’d fill out as much as I could, and find out what else would needed to be done to actually apply.
Next thing I know, it’s saying I’m all done and hit this button to send it off. So I did. Surprisingly fast and easy, and I’m actually feeling a little dizzy because of it. It appears that all I have left to do is fetch my high school and MCC transcripts and send them off, and I’m set.
I’ve applied to college. … Eek!
Funny side note: There was a College Transfer Fair at MCC two weeks ago, and I popped by it to grab some material off the ECSU table. One of these materials was a postcard to send in asking for more information on a given major. One of the blanks to fill in on the postcard, along with name and address and college and what-have-you, was credits earned thus far. I went to my online MCC transcript to find out.
I have 84 credits. After this semester, I will have 90. 90 mothereffing credits. Every one earned at Manchester Community College.
I NEED TO MOVE ON ALREADY.
This has gotten a bit long, so I shall save the rest of the post (What Else Is Goin’ On, 2/24/10 Edition) for tomorrow.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Great Calorie War of Aught-Nine.
At the beginning of this past year, I got two new things: an iPod Touch (thanks to Christmas money), and a free application called Lose It!. Lose It! is a tool for tracking what and how much you eat, how much you exercise, and what you weigh. I made a New Years resolution to lose weight and become healthier. The first time I entered my weight, it was 162 lbs. At 5’6”, that’s not obese—in fact, while at the high end of the “normal” BMI range, it’s technically not even overweight. It was still more than I wanted to weigh, however, especially since almost none of it was muscle.
For some reason, I decided that the best way to go about things was to eat less. Not eat better, or exercise more (or, for me, exercise at all), but just lower the amount of calories I was consuming. Despite logic, despite having a brain in my head, despite having a brand new program at work that taught us about metabolism and how cutting calories only works when you also work out to jump-start the burning of fat instead of muscle.
Obviously, this didn’t really work—especially since this was one of the worst winters I’ve ever gone through. I’m not good at winters as it is, and this one was long, it was cold, it was wet, and it included a death in the family. My great uncle Bill—my de facto grandfather, as all four of my biological grandparents had passed away before I was born—died in mid-February. It was the first time I had ever lost someone besides a cat. Needless to say, February did not go well in terms of…well, anything.
By May, I had gotten my act a little more together—I was doing better at cutting out calories, and best of all, I started exercising! After a year and a half of working at Curves, I finally got over my weird problem with working out at the same time as members, and started working out every night I worked. Funnily enough, the weight starting coming off a little quicker. Imagine!
Still, I was being dumb about food. I was still obsessing more over calorie count than anything else, such as, I don’t know, ingredients, protein, trans fat, sodium, etc. I had gotten it into my head that calories were evil, no matter what they were attached to, so less was always better than more. Period.
Ryan helped me get over that thinking in June. One day, while out shopping, we decided it was time to grab some dinner and head home. Ryan wanted to get Moe’s, which is like a combination of Subway and Taco Bell—you go down an assembly line and put together a taco, burrito, nachos, etc one step at a time. I consulted my little app, and said no, too many calories in a burrito, but how about McDonald’s?
The look he gave me was about the same as a smack upside the head. I was turning down a real wheat tortilla, real grilled chicken, real beans, real vegetables…for McDonald’s. WHAT THE FUCK.
That very night, after returning home and consuming my delicious, nutritious, not-McDonald’s dinner, I tinkered with my app. I changed it from “lose weight” to “maintain weight.” This was a trick to have a higher calorie “budget,” so there would be this big red bar if I went over a set number of calories. I had decided to start concentrating on quality over quantity.
Except I was still concerned with quantity. I started picking out healthier foods, but I was still concerned over not eating too much, no matter what it was. I opened up Excel (one of my favorite toys ever) and made myself a little chart for tracking daily calorie counts. One column would show the day’s number, and another column would show the difference from the previous day—had I gone up or down? By how much?
I saw this as a tool for keeping myself in check, making sure my counts didn’t start creeping up with the “freedom” I had given myself. Looking back, I just replaced one way of yelling at myself with another—there may not be a red bar anywhere on the screen, but there was still a number, and I was giving that number more power than I was giving myself.
Over the summer and into the fall, I’ve been making better food choices, and I’ve eased up on the tracking. The Excel chart ran out of space as of October 10, and I didn’t extend it. That was the last day I counted up my calorie count. October 26 was the last day I entered calorie information into the iPod app. At first I just forgot to, but it’s become intentional.
I realized that, if I kept up with the counting and monitoring and self-checking, I was going to end up with an eating disorder. Not because I hate my body, not because I need control over something, but because I can lose myself in obsession over keeping track of things perfectly, to the last detail. When I entered calorie information, I fretted over amounts, worrying that if I was off, I was doing something wrong. If I that red bar came up, if I was just a few calories up from one day to the next, I would guilt the hell out of myself. And that’s just bullshit.
I’m eating healthier now than I was six months ago, or even three months ago. Before I buy something at the grocery store, I check the label—not just for calories, but for protein, fiber, trans and saturated fat, sodium, vitamins and minerals. I check the ingredients for whole grains instead of “enriched flour”, sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup, real salt instead of MSG. I choose foods with real ingredients over foods with lower calorie counts, because I’m finally choosing quality over quantity.
Do I always eat perfectly? No. Do I sometimes eat fast food? Yes. But far, far less than I used to, and I choose different things off the menu. Do I still enjoy chocolate and alcohol and other treats? Yes, but only with or after a real dinner with real food, only as a treat, not an integral part of my day’s menu.
And you know what? I’ve been losing weight. I’ve been losing fat. I’m down to 153 lbs. My waist is making a comeback, and the Curves circuit doesn’t tire me out as much as it used to. And something interesting I discovered—I’m less hungry when I wake up in the morning after I eat real food instead of fake food. With the real freedom I’ve given myself, I feel happy when I eat instead of guilty, I feel really free and in control of what goes into my body for the first time in a long time.
I’m done worrying, I’m done guilting, I’m done obsessing. I’m done with putting the power of what I eat to a stupid little computer program. I’m done with not trusting myself.
I’m done counting.
BONUS SECTION!
In Case You're Curious/I Was Bored So Why Not:
The things I consume on a regular basis {plus flavors} (plus commentary) [plus nutrition]:
[o] V8 Fusion {Pomegranate Blueberry} [8 oz. has 100 calories, 100% daily value of vitamin C, no sugar added, and one full serving each of fruits and vegetables]
[o] Carnation Breakfast Essentials {Rich Milk Chocolate} [One bottle has 260 calories, 14 g of protein, 50% DV of vitamin C and Calcium, 45% DV of vitamin A, and 25% DV of vitamins B6, B12, D, E, K, and iron]
[o] Stonyfield Farm Yogurt Smoothies {Raspberry, Peach} [One 10 oz. bottle has 230 calories, 10 g of protein, 20% DV of vitamin B12, and is completely organic] (It also has a bit more sugar than I'd like (39 g), but it's the only smoothie I find delicious)
[o] Hood Milk (1%, sorry, just can't stand skim) [1 cup has 110 calories, 8 g of protein, 10% DV of vitamins A and C, 25% DV vitamin D, and 30% DV of calcium]
[o] Stouffer's Baked Chicken Breast (with mashed potatoes) [one dinner has 250 calories and 20 g of protein] with Green Giant Simply Steam No Sauce Baby Sweet Peas [2/3 cup package has 60 calories, 4 g of protein, and 15% DV of vitamin C]
[o] Woodchuck Draft Cider {Amber, Raspberry} (this is basically the only alcohol I consume, and it's, like, 3 a week. but DAMN is it refreshing) [one 12 oz. bottle has 200 calories)
[o] Guru Energy Drink {Superfruit} [one 12 oz. can has 180 calories, 1.5 g of protein, and just over 86 g of potassium. while it does include guarana, it’s pretty far down the ingredient list, which has is mostly comprised of water, juice concentrates (20% organic fruit juice!), and other natural substances such as echniacea, ginseng, and ginko biloba] (this is seriously good shit. tastes great (in my opinion), and it doesn’t jar you awake or give you the jitters)
[o] Nature Valley Granola Nut Clusters {Cashew, Honey Roasted Peanut} [cashew: 1 oz. has 150 calories, 1 g of fiber, and 4 g of protein; honey roasted peanut: 1 oz. has 140 calories, 1 g of fiber and, 5 g of protein]
[o] Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with any brand of creamy peanut butter, generic grape jelly, and whole wheat bread [one sandwich has 350 calories, over 3 g of fiber, and 10 g of protein]
[o] Cashews, usually generic [1 oz has 170 calories and 5 g of protein]
[o] Vlasic Kosher Dill Snack'mmms [1 oz is about 2 gherkin-sized pickles and has 5 calories]
[o] Apples [under 100 calories, over 4 g of fiber, vitamins A and C and calcium]
[o] Baby Carrots, [1 cup has just over 50 calories, almost 3 g of fiber, over a gram of protein, vitamin C, and tons of vitamin A
[o] Mini Babybel Bonbel Cheese [1 piece has 70 calories, 5 g of protein, 6% DV of vitamin A and 15% DV of calcium]
[o] Sushi (tuna roll, shrimp sushi) [one 6 piece tuna roll has 184 calories, 2 g of fat, 24 g of protein, 3.5 g of fiber; one ounce of shrimp sushi has 30 calories, no fat, 6 g of protein, and 151 mg of omega-3 fatty acids] (I eat sushi about once a week, and it’s something I always look forward to. my regular order is one tuna roll and two pieces of shrimp sushi, for a grand total of 244 calories, 2 g of fat, 36 g of protein, and a ton of omega-2 fatty acids)
As you can see, REALLY not bad stuff. The only thing with high fructose corn syrup is the grape jelly, which is something I missed until after I had opened the jar (once this jar is finished, I’ll be buying a different brand, but I just can’t bring myself to toss the current jar). The "worst" food, calorie-wise, is cashews, and I rarely have that, and rarely more than a handful at a time. I don’t drink any soda, and the Guru is the only energy drink I touch, and that’s only a couple of times a week when I need to wake up a little faster I would naturally. I’m working on putting more protein and fiber into my diet, in the form of more cheese, yogurt, and fruits and vegetables. I also have a nightly supplement regiment of one super-B complex, one cal-mag-zinc, and one fish oil tablet.
For some reason, I decided that the best way to go about things was to eat less. Not eat better, or exercise more (or, for me, exercise at all), but just lower the amount of calories I was consuming. Despite logic, despite having a brain in my head, despite having a brand new program at work that taught us about metabolism and how cutting calories only works when you also work out to jump-start the burning of fat instead of muscle.
Obviously, this didn’t really work—especially since this was one of the worst winters I’ve ever gone through. I’m not good at winters as it is, and this one was long, it was cold, it was wet, and it included a death in the family. My great uncle Bill—my de facto grandfather, as all four of my biological grandparents had passed away before I was born—died in mid-February. It was the first time I had ever lost someone besides a cat. Needless to say, February did not go well in terms of…well, anything.
By May, I had gotten my act a little more together—I was doing better at cutting out calories, and best of all, I started exercising! After a year and a half of working at Curves, I finally got over my weird problem with working out at the same time as members, and started working out every night I worked. Funnily enough, the weight starting coming off a little quicker. Imagine!
Still, I was being dumb about food. I was still obsessing more over calorie count than anything else, such as, I don’t know, ingredients, protein, trans fat, sodium, etc. I had gotten it into my head that calories were evil, no matter what they were attached to, so less was always better than more. Period.
Ryan helped me get over that thinking in June. One day, while out shopping, we decided it was time to grab some dinner and head home. Ryan wanted to get Moe’s, which is like a combination of Subway and Taco Bell—you go down an assembly line and put together a taco, burrito, nachos, etc one step at a time. I consulted my little app, and said no, too many calories in a burrito, but how about McDonald’s?
The look he gave me was about the same as a smack upside the head. I was turning down a real wheat tortilla, real grilled chicken, real beans, real vegetables…for McDonald’s. WHAT THE FUCK.
That very night, after returning home and consuming my delicious, nutritious, not-McDonald’s dinner, I tinkered with my app. I changed it from “lose weight” to “maintain weight.” This was a trick to have a higher calorie “budget,” so there would be this big red bar if I went over a set number of calories. I had decided to start concentrating on quality over quantity.
Except I was still concerned with quantity. I started picking out healthier foods, but I was still concerned over not eating too much, no matter what it was. I opened up Excel (one of my favorite toys ever) and made myself a little chart for tracking daily calorie counts. One column would show the day’s number, and another column would show the difference from the previous day—had I gone up or down? By how much?
I saw this as a tool for keeping myself in check, making sure my counts didn’t start creeping up with the “freedom” I had given myself. Looking back, I just replaced one way of yelling at myself with another—there may not be a red bar anywhere on the screen, but there was still a number, and I was giving that number more power than I was giving myself.
Over the summer and into the fall, I’ve been making better food choices, and I’ve eased up on the tracking. The Excel chart ran out of space as of October 10, and I didn’t extend it. That was the last day I counted up my calorie count. October 26 was the last day I entered calorie information into the iPod app. At first I just forgot to, but it’s become intentional.
I realized that, if I kept up with the counting and monitoring and self-checking, I was going to end up with an eating disorder. Not because I hate my body, not because I need control over something, but because I can lose myself in obsession over keeping track of things perfectly, to the last detail. When I entered calorie information, I fretted over amounts, worrying that if I was off, I was doing something wrong. If I that red bar came up, if I was just a few calories up from one day to the next, I would guilt the hell out of myself. And that’s just bullshit.
I’m eating healthier now than I was six months ago, or even three months ago. Before I buy something at the grocery store, I check the label—not just for calories, but for protein, fiber, trans and saturated fat, sodium, vitamins and minerals. I check the ingredients for whole grains instead of “enriched flour”, sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup, real salt instead of MSG. I choose foods with real ingredients over foods with lower calorie counts, because I’m finally choosing quality over quantity.
Do I always eat perfectly? No. Do I sometimes eat fast food? Yes. But far, far less than I used to, and I choose different things off the menu. Do I still enjoy chocolate and alcohol and other treats? Yes, but only with or after a real dinner with real food, only as a treat, not an integral part of my day’s menu.
And you know what? I’ve been losing weight. I’ve been losing fat. I’m down to 153 lbs. My waist is making a comeback, and the Curves circuit doesn’t tire me out as much as it used to. And something interesting I discovered—I’m less hungry when I wake up in the morning after I eat real food instead of fake food. With the real freedom I’ve given myself, I feel happy when I eat instead of guilty, I feel really free and in control of what goes into my body for the first time in a long time.
I’m done worrying, I’m done guilting, I’m done obsessing. I’m done with putting the power of what I eat to a stupid little computer program. I’m done with not trusting myself.
I’m done counting.
BONUS SECTION!
In Case You're Curious/I Was Bored So Why Not:
The things I consume on a regular basis {plus flavors} (plus commentary) [plus nutrition]:
[o] V8 Fusion {Pomegranate Blueberry} [8 oz. has 100 calories, 100% daily value of vitamin C, no sugar added, and one full serving each of fruits and vegetables]
[o] Carnation Breakfast Essentials {Rich Milk Chocolate} [One bottle has 260 calories, 14 g of protein, 50% DV of vitamin C and Calcium, 45% DV of vitamin A, and 25% DV of vitamins B6, B12, D, E, K, and iron]
[o] Stonyfield Farm Yogurt Smoothies {Raspberry, Peach} [One 10 oz. bottle has 230 calories, 10 g of protein, 20% DV of vitamin B12, and is completely organic] (It also has a bit more sugar than I'd like (39 g), but it's the only smoothie I find delicious)
[o] Hood Milk (1%, sorry, just can't stand skim) [1 cup has 110 calories, 8 g of protein, 10% DV of vitamins A and C, 25% DV vitamin D, and 30% DV of calcium]
[o] Stouffer's Baked Chicken Breast (with mashed potatoes) [one dinner has 250 calories and 20 g of protein] with Green Giant Simply Steam No Sauce Baby Sweet Peas [2/3 cup package has 60 calories, 4 g of protein, and 15% DV of vitamin C]
[o] Woodchuck Draft Cider {Amber, Raspberry} (this is basically the only alcohol I consume, and it's, like, 3 a week. but DAMN is it refreshing) [one 12 oz. bottle has 200 calories)
[o] Guru Energy Drink {Superfruit} [one 12 oz. can has 180 calories, 1.5 g of protein, and just over 86 g of potassium. while it does include guarana, it’s pretty far down the ingredient list, which has is mostly comprised of water, juice concentrates (20% organic fruit juice!), and other natural substances such as echniacea, ginseng, and ginko biloba] (this is seriously good shit. tastes great (in my opinion), and it doesn’t jar you awake or give you the jitters)
[o] Nature Valley Granola Nut Clusters {Cashew, Honey Roasted Peanut} [cashew: 1 oz. has 150 calories, 1 g of fiber, and 4 g of protein; honey roasted peanut: 1 oz. has 140 calories, 1 g of fiber and, 5 g of protein]
[o] Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with any brand of creamy peanut butter, generic grape jelly, and whole wheat bread [one sandwich has 350 calories, over 3 g of fiber, and 10 g of protein]
[o] Cashews, usually generic [1 oz has 170 calories and 5 g of protein]
[o] Vlasic Kosher Dill Snack'mmms [1 oz is about 2 gherkin-sized pickles and has 5 calories]
[o] Apples [under 100 calories, over 4 g of fiber, vitamins A and C and calcium]
[o] Baby Carrots, [1 cup has just over 50 calories, almost 3 g of fiber, over a gram of protein, vitamin C, and tons of vitamin A
[o] Mini Babybel Bonbel Cheese [1 piece has 70 calories, 5 g of protein, 6% DV of vitamin A and 15% DV of calcium]
[o] Sushi (tuna roll, shrimp sushi) [one 6 piece tuna roll has 184 calories, 2 g of fat, 24 g of protein, 3.5 g of fiber; one ounce of shrimp sushi has 30 calories, no fat, 6 g of protein, and 151 mg of omega-3 fatty acids] (I eat sushi about once a week, and it’s something I always look forward to. my regular order is one tuna roll and two pieces of shrimp sushi, for a grand total of 244 calories, 2 g of fat, 36 g of protein, and a ton of omega-2 fatty acids)
As you can see, REALLY not bad stuff. The only thing with high fructose corn syrup is the grape jelly, which is something I missed until after I had opened the jar (once this jar is finished, I’ll be buying a different brand, but I just can’t bring myself to toss the current jar). The "worst" food, calorie-wise, is cashews, and I rarely have that, and rarely more than a handful at a time. I don’t drink any soda, and the Guru is the only energy drink I touch, and that’s only a couple of times a week when I need to wake up a little faster I would naturally. I’m working on putting more protein and fiber into my diet, in the form of more cheese, yogurt, and fruits and vegetables. I also have a nightly supplement regiment of one super-B complex, one cal-mag-zinc, and one fish oil tablet.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Achtung!
Again with the freaky horoscope.
This is what Free Will Astrology gave to Geminis for this week:
During this phase of your cycle, you'll generate good fortune if you brainstorm and meditate about your relationship with work. I urge you to empty your mind of everything you think you know about the subject. Adopt a fresh and innocent perspective. Here are some questions to prime your investigations. 1. What's the quality of the experience you want to have as you earn a living? 2. What gifts do you want to give to life as you toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to you? 3. What capacities do you want to develop in yourself while doing your work? (P.S. For your Halloween costume, why not pretend you're doing your dream job?)
...BUH.
The biggest Identity Crisis I've been dealing with lately is figuring out What The Furk I Want To Do. Just today I was thinking about it. For a friend's Halloween party this past weekend, I was tempted to dress up as a Marketing Executive, so that last line is especially Buh-Worthy. I read that and pointed a finger at the screen, all "Oh, I see what you're doing there, and it is NOT COOL."
The thing is, I love Marketing. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was an Accounting major when I took a Principles of Marketing class, and just fell head over heels for it. True, I was already falling out of love with Accounting, and, yeah, maybe I was looking for a way out, keeping my eyes open, and yeah, maybe I could have been clearer about what I wanted out of the relationship from the beginning, but that's not what this is about, so let's not get into the past, okay?
The point is, from my first day of Marketing, I was hooked. The analysis, the creativity, the strategy, my GOD it was exhilarating. Principles of Management was also a favorite class, for basically the same reason: all the reasoning behind all the decisions. The psychology, the emotional intelligence, the behavior analysis, etc etc. Finally, Advertising, which was analyzing existing commercials and campaigns and making up our own. Those homework assignments were some of my favorites in my entire school career, from kindergarten till now, and I could that from now till I was 500 years old.
(Doesn't hurt that all three classes were taught by the same teacher, who could make Tax Accounting interesting, I'm quite sure.)
But all my other business classes made me twitch. The classes on economics, the legal sides of things (torts, libel, etc), business basics, etc. And Sales may have been the worst class experience of my life, if only because the idea of being a sales person makes me nauseous with terror.
I am not a salesperson. I am not a leader. I am not a manager. What I love about Marketing is not the sales, the manipulation, the idea of being better than the other team. I love the analysis, the strategy, the psychology behind it all--I love the creativity. If I could just analyze commercials or campaigns for the rest of my life and be paid for it, that would be hunky fucking dory. Seriously.
But being a team member in an agency where it's Pressure and Crunch Time and Stress and Throwing Together A Campaign Fix At The Eleventh Hour? Count me out. Please. I'll ruin your carpet.
So there's that.
As I had mentioned in another previous post, I'm a writer. Except I hate to say that. Because I don't write...not nearly as much as I want to, need to. When the feeling hits me, when I get in the groove, when the celestial beings get together in a conga line, I can write for hours, and well.
When the juice isn't flowing, when the celestial beings have had too much to drink and couldn't stand up let alone conga, nothing comes out. And then it's work. Hard, horrible, frustrating, debilitating work that I just can't force myself to do. I'll gaze at the page, I'll pull my hair, I'll stare into space, waiting for SOMETHING. ANYTHING. PLEASE.
I would love to be a writer, the way I see it in my mind. Working at home, tapping away for hours in an office. No, not the Perfect Life, a mansion earned with my best sellers, only working eight hours a week and doing cross-country book tours. Just a small room, messy but well-lit, with a computer, being able to sit or sprawl or whatever and work out the stories in my head. Maybe go down to the local coffee place for a change of scenery. Not rich from it, by any means, but Doing Well Enough, thank you very much.
Except I hit these blocks, and they stop my in my tracks, and it takes me months to recover. And I can't discipline myself to save my own life, can't say "Okay, x time on x day every week, I go to this spot, and I write, and I don't care what comes out, but by god, something will be written." I suck at it.
I don't have the flow, and I don't have the will power.
So there's that.
As I have mentioned in no previous posts, I love to edit. This stems from the same sapling as my love for writing, but was realized because of my boyfriend, Ryan. He finished up his Bachelors in Psychology in December 2008, and let me tell you, he's brilliant at Psychology. He is both articulate and passionate when it comes to this subject.
However, he's not the greatest when it comes to English. His grammar and spelling can leave something to be desired, and that's where I stepped in for the last year of his degree. After he slammed out another research paper--and, in case you didn't know, Psychology students write A LOT OF FUCKING RESEARCH PAPERS--I would lovingly attack it with a red pen, marking up the errors and inconsistencies. I ate it up, I would hand him back the first draft and eagerly await the second draft, or the next paper that was due.
That Halloween party I went to? I ended up going as a Grammar Nazi. Suit, red arm band with a "G" on it, ruler, red pens, copy of Strunk & White in my pocket. There you go.
This past spring, I got a little more serious about this fairly-newfound love for editing, and looked into what might happen so I could earn a living doing it. From what I found, it seemed there are two avenues for such a thing: find a job at a publishing house, or freelance. The second option brought to mind the same image as being a writer--namely, that of being able to work from home, doing what I loved from the place I love.
Except there's one thing freelancers lack: structure. There is no office, there is no time clock, there is no payroll department, there is no manager to give you work to do. There is just you, and your talent, and your willingness to promote yourself up the wazoo. If Real Estate is about location, location, location, then freelancing is about promotion, promotion, promotion.
Here's the part where you scroll back up and read about what I am not: a salesperson. I couldn't sell someone else's products, how am I supposed to sell my own? When it's not even tangible and all anyone has is my word that I don't suck?
So there's that.
Marketing. Writing. Editing. Three areas that make me happy, that I could do for days on end and be quite content. Three areas that have a list of cons just as long, if not longer, than the pros.
Reading that horoscope was like receiving a slap in the face. I know that all I've just written doesn't exactly address the horoscope. What all these many paragraphs are is background to what's going on in my head before I even start thinking about those three questions:
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
I'll get back to you.
This is what Free Will Astrology gave to Geminis for this week:
During this phase of your cycle, you'll generate good fortune if you brainstorm and meditate about your relationship with work. I urge you to empty your mind of everything you think you know about the subject. Adopt a fresh and innocent perspective. Here are some questions to prime your investigations. 1. What's the quality of the experience you want to have as you earn a living? 2. What gifts do you want to give to life as you toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to you? 3. What capacities do you want to develop in yourself while doing your work? (P.S. For your Halloween costume, why not pretend you're doing your dream job?)
...BUH.
The biggest Identity Crisis I've been dealing with lately is figuring out What The Furk I Want To Do. Just today I was thinking about it. For a friend's Halloween party this past weekend, I was tempted to dress up as a Marketing Executive, so that last line is especially Buh-Worthy. I read that and pointed a finger at the screen, all "Oh, I see what you're doing there, and it is NOT COOL."
The thing is, I love Marketing. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was an Accounting major when I took a Principles of Marketing class, and just fell head over heels for it. True, I was already falling out of love with Accounting, and, yeah, maybe I was looking for a way out, keeping my eyes open, and yeah, maybe I could have been clearer about what I wanted out of the relationship from the beginning, but that's not what this is about, so let's not get into the past, okay?
The point is, from my first day of Marketing, I was hooked. The analysis, the creativity, the strategy, my GOD it was exhilarating. Principles of Management was also a favorite class, for basically the same reason: all the reasoning behind all the decisions. The psychology, the emotional intelligence, the behavior analysis, etc etc. Finally, Advertising, which was analyzing existing commercials and campaigns and making up our own. Those homework assignments were some of my favorites in my entire school career, from kindergarten till now, and I could that from now till I was 500 years old.
(Doesn't hurt that all three classes were taught by the same teacher, who could make Tax Accounting interesting, I'm quite sure.)
But all my other business classes made me twitch. The classes on economics, the legal sides of things (torts, libel, etc), business basics, etc. And Sales may have been the worst class experience of my life, if only because the idea of being a sales person makes me nauseous with terror.
I am not a salesperson. I am not a leader. I am not a manager. What I love about Marketing is not the sales, the manipulation, the idea of being better than the other team. I love the analysis, the strategy, the psychology behind it all--I love the creativity. If I could just analyze commercials or campaigns for the rest of my life and be paid for it, that would be hunky fucking dory. Seriously.
But being a team member in an agency where it's Pressure and Crunch Time and Stress and Throwing Together A Campaign Fix At The Eleventh Hour? Count me out. Please. I'll ruin your carpet.
So there's that.
As I had mentioned in another previous post, I'm a writer. Except I hate to say that. Because I don't write...not nearly as much as I want to, need to. When the feeling hits me, when I get in the groove, when the celestial beings get together in a conga line, I can write for hours, and well.
When the juice isn't flowing, when the celestial beings have had too much to drink and couldn't stand up let alone conga, nothing comes out. And then it's work. Hard, horrible, frustrating, debilitating work that I just can't force myself to do. I'll gaze at the page, I'll pull my hair, I'll stare into space, waiting for SOMETHING. ANYTHING. PLEASE.
I would love to be a writer, the way I see it in my mind. Working at home, tapping away for hours in an office. No, not the Perfect Life, a mansion earned with my best sellers, only working eight hours a week and doing cross-country book tours. Just a small room, messy but well-lit, with a computer, being able to sit or sprawl or whatever and work out the stories in my head. Maybe go down to the local coffee place for a change of scenery. Not rich from it, by any means, but Doing Well Enough, thank you very much.
Except I hit these blocks, and they stop my in my tracks, and it takes me months to recover. And I can't discipline myself to save my own life, can't say "Okay, x time on x day every week, I go to this spot, and I write, and I don't care what comes out, but by god, something will be written." I suck at it.
I don't have the flow, and I don't have the will power.
So there's that.
As I have mentioned in no previous posts, I love to edit. This stems from the same sapling as my love for writing, but was realized because of my boyfriend, Ryan. He finished up his Bachelors in Psychology in December 2008, and let me tell you, he's brilliant at Psychology. He is both articulate and passionate when it comes to this subject.
However, he's not the greatest when it comes to English. His grammar and spelling can leave something to be desired, and that's where I stepped in for the last year of his degree. After he slammed out another research paper--and, in case you didn't know, Psychology students write A LOT OF FUCKING RESEARCH PAPERS--I would lovingly attack it with a red pen, marking up the errors and inconsistencies. I ate it up, I would hand him back the first draft and eagerly await the second draft, or the next paper that was due.
That Halloween party I went to? I ended up going as a Grammar Nazi. Suit, red arm band with a "G" on it, ruler, red pens, copy of Strunk & White in my pocket. There you go.
This past spring, I got a little more serious about this fairly-newfound love for editing, and looked into what might happen so I could earn a living doing it. From what I found, it seemed there are two avenues for such a thing: find a job at a publishing house, or freelance. The second option brought to mind the same image as being a writer--namely, that of being able to work from home, doing what I loved from the place I love.
Except there's one thing freelancers lack: structure. There is no office, there is no time clock, there is no payroll department, there is no manager to give you work to do. There is just you, and your talent, and your willingness to promote yourself up the wazoo. If Real Estate is about location, location, location, then freelancing is about promotion, promotion, promotion.
Here's the part where you scroll back up and read about what I am not: a salesperson. I couldn't sell someone else's products, how am I supposed to sell my own? When it's not even tangible and all anyone has is my word that I don't suck?
So there's that.
Marketing. Writing. Editing. Three areas that make me happy, that I could do for days on end and be quite content. Three areas that have a list of cons just as long, if not longer, than the pros.
Reading that horoscope was like receiving a slap in the face. I know that all I've just written doesn't exactly address the horoscope. What all these many paragraphs are is background to what's going on in my head before I even start thinking about those three questions:
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
I'll get back to you.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
My Random Opinion on Education That No One Asked For, Part One
Let me start by saying this: I am not a teacher. I could never be a teacher, for the simple fact that I can't teach for beans. I have never taken a single course in education.
Let me also get the obvious Three Things That Need To Change In America's Education System out of the way:
[1] BETTER FUNDING
[2] BETTER FUNDING
[3] BETTER FUNDING
It is nothing less than disgusting that we as a nation will go on and on about how Children Are Our Future, Children Are Our Nation's Resource, Teaching Is The Most Noble Profession, then pay our teachers, the ones in charge of building up this resource, jack diddly. We spend around $60 billion on Education, and over $500 billion on Defense--and that's BEFORE the befricked War On Terror (source)(yes, it's Wikipedia, but it's backed up here).
Can we all agree that this is outrageous? Disgusting? Stupid?
Okay then. Moving on.
My first issue with the education system is Time.
I'm about to piss off about half the teachers I know and talk to when I say this: Summer vacation can go away now.
*ducks*
Am I saying that all vacation needs to go away? No. I'm saying that we don't need so much of it in a row.
Summer vacation came about because the extra help was needed on farms during planting and harvesting seasons. Farming communities had breaks in the spring and fall, while urban schools were almost non-stop. This was averaged out in the 1840's, with the summer months being a natural compromise--students weren't crammed into buildings in the hottest months of the year, and they were able to help out back at home. Plus, no student got more or less education than any other student.
Today, there are more workers and better technology that lessen the needs of child labor on farms; there's central heating and air conditioning systems that keep schools comfortable; finally, there are about a zillion more activities vying for a kid's time, attention, and energy.
An average day for someone in middle or high school can mean getting up before sunrise, maybe practice for a sports team before school starts, classes from early morning to mid afternoon (possibly with some extracurricular activity taking up time at lunch), practice or rehearsal until dinner time (or later), then homework and studying for the next day. Squeeze in there spending time with friends and family, chores and errands, any extra projects or papers that require even more study time, maybe a part-time job to earn money for college or car expenses, maybe volunteering to pad the college application, and on and on. There are barely enough hours to get everything done, let alone to get the amount of sleep that the average adolescent needs--which anyone who has ever been, raised, or even known an adolescent knows is A DAMNED LOT.
I'll get back to sleep in just a second. I want to stick to my current point: time requirements.
The school year is 180 days, give or take. The school day is about seven hours. That's a grand total of 1,260 hours in the entire school year. 180 days also hold 4,320 hours, meaning school takes up "only" 3% of the time. Doesn't seem like a whole lot does it? Especially considering the amount of material teachers have to squeeze into every hour.
So, seven hours a day on school. If you're out of luck and don't have a car, you're on the bus up to two hours just to get to school; if you have a car, you might luck out with a half-hour commute. Add to that an hour to wake up and get ready in the morning.
Practice, rehearsal, or club meetings take anywhere from one hour to four, before or after school; let's average it to 2.5 hours. Getting home can take anywhere from half an hour to two hours (the morning reversed). Then another 2-3 hours for homework.
Prep/Commute: ~2 hours
School: 7 hours
Extracurriculars: 2.5 hours
Commute: ~1 hour
Homework: 2.5 hours
Total Active Time Per School Day: 18 hours
Over 180 Days: 3,240 hours--75% of the total hours
And again, I'm leaving out social time, extra study time, part-time jobs, volunteer hours, chores and errands, etc. Not to mention the point I will now return to: SLEEP
The average teenager needs around 10 hours of sleep, and their natural tendency is to sleep from early morning (1 or 2 a.m.) to late morning or early afternoon. Take one look at the average teenager's schedule, however, and you'll see that this just doesn't happen. It is impossible. After an 18+ hour day, you've only got six hours for sleeping. I had many classmates who bragged about their ability to "function" on less than four hours. This is not healthy, and it's not conducive to retaining information on anything more than a "regurgitation" basis (learn it long enough to spit it back out on a test).
Make the school year longer, you get more hours and more opportunity to learn what you need to learn. There's less stress to get through a unit by such and such a date so you can move on to the next unit, then the next, then the next. School days can be shorter, leaving more time for extracurricular activities, studying, and sleeping.
Everyone gets more of the time they desperately need, plus the added bonus of teachers getting more paid hours. It's a win-win situation.
The biggest problem: finding the times in the year for shorter vacations that work around major holidays. I'm working on this as a side project. Because I'm weird like that.
Let me also get the obvious Three Things That Need To Change In America's Education System out of the way:
[1] BETTER FUNDING
[2] BETTER FUNDING
[3] BETTER FUNDING
It is nothing less than disgusting that we as a nation will go on and on about how Children Are Our Future, Children Are Our Nation's Resource, Teaching Is The Most Noble Profession, then pay our teachers, the ones in charge of building up this resource, jack diddly. We spend around $60 billion on Education, and over $500 billion on Defense--and that's BEFORE the befricked War On Terror (source)(yes, it's Wikipedia, but it's backed up here).
Can we all agree that this is outrageous? Disgusting? Stupid?
Okay then. Moving on.
My first issue with the education system is Time.
I'm about to piss off about half the teachers I know and talk to when I say this: Summer vacation can go away now.
*ducks*
Am I saying that all vacation needs to go away? No. I'm saying that we don't need so much of it in a row.
Summer vacation came about because the extra help was needed on farms during planting and harvesting seasons. Farming communities had breaks in the spring and fall, while urban schools were almost non-stop. This was averaged out in the 1840's, with the summer months being a natural compromise--students weren't crammed into buildings in the hottest months of the year, and they were able to help out back at home. Plus, no student got more or less education than any other student.
Today, there are more workers and better technology that lessen the needs of child labor on farms; there's central heating and air conditioning systems that keep schools comfortable; finally, there are about a zillion more activities vying for a kid's time, attention, and energy.
An average day for someone in middle or high school can mean getting up before sunrise, maybe practice for a sports team before school starts, classes from early morning to mid afternoon (possibly with some extracurricular activity taking up time at lunch), practice or rehearsal until dinner time (or later), then homework and studying for the next day. Squeeze in there spending time with friends and family, chores and errands, any extra projects or papers that require even more study time, maybe a part-time job to earn money for college or car expenses, maybe volunteering to pad the college application, and on and on. There are barely enough hours to get everything done, let alone to get the amount of sleep that the average adolescent needs--which anyone who has ever been, raised, or even known an adolescent knows is A DAMNED LOT.
I'll get back to sleep in just a second. I want to stick to my current point: time requirements.
The school year is 180 days, give or take. The school day is about seven hours. That's a grand total of 1,260 hours in the entire school year. 180 days also hold 4,320 hours, meaning school takes up "only" 3% of the time. Doesn't seem like a whole lot does it? Especially considering the amount of material teachers have to squeeze into every hour.
So, seven hours a day on school. If you're out of luck and don't have a car, you're on the bus up to two hours just to get to school; if you have a car, you might luck out with a half-hour commute. Add to that an hour to wake up and get ready in the morning.
Practice, rehearsal, or club meetings take anywhere from one hour to four, before or after school; let's average it to 2.5 hours. Getting home can take anywhere from half an hour to two hours (the morning reversed). Then another 2-3 hours for homework.
Prep/Commute: ~2 hours
School: 7 hours
Extracurriculars: 2.5 hours
Commute: ~1 hour
Homework: 2.5 hours
Total Active Time Per School Day: 18 hours
Over 180 Days: 3,240 hours--75% of the total hours
And again, I'm leaving out social time, extra study time, part-time jobs, volunteer hours, chores and errands, etc. Not to mention the point I will now return to: SLEEP
The average teenager needs around 10 hours of sleep, and their natural tendency is to sleep from early morning (1 or 2 a.m.) to late morning or early afternoon. Take one look at the average teenager's schedule, however, and you'll see that this just doesn't happen. It is impossible. After an 18+ hour day, you've only got six hours for sleeping. I had many classmates who bragged about their ability to "function" on less than four hours. This is not healthy, and it's not conducive to retaining information on anything more than a "regurgitation" basis (learn it long enough to spit it back out on a test).
Make the school year longer, you get more hours and more opportunity to learn what you need to learn. There's less stress to get through a unit by such and such a date so you can move on to the next unit, then the next, then the next. School days can be shorter, leaving more time for extracurricular activities, studying, and sleeping.
Everyone gets more of the time they desperately need, plus the added bonus of teachers getting more paid hours. It's a win-win situation.
The biggest problem: finding the times in the year for shorter vacations that work around major holidays. I'm working on this as a side project. Because I'm weird like that.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Would you always? Maybe sometimes? Make it easy...
I found this video through Fazed, a collection of submitted online oddities. It's a fan video for a song called "Two Weeks" by the band Grizzly Bear. Let me emphasize something: this is a fan video. Not professional. Made in spare time by someone who loved the song just that much. Hot damn.
It was posted a couple of months ago, so it isn't exactly a new find. It's just that I wanted to use this blog to share things I love as well as rants and navel gazing, so why not start with a video that might just be one of my Favorite Things Ever?
Something else I've wanted to do with this blog is talk about something I think about more than I let on: lyrics.
While I'm not one for making music, I do love it. I almost always have a song in my head whether I like it or not, I can recite entire songs on command, and I blast music in my car whenever I go somewhere, singing along as loud as I possibly can--when I'm alone.
You can "blame" my father for this: he plays several different instruments with a degree of capability that range from well to wow, he has literally THOUSANDS of CDs (along with plenty of tapes and vinyl records), and he will spend hours upon hours playing with a single sound using his plethora of computer synthesizers that he can--and will--talk about for as long as anyone will listen. Despite all his best efforts, the best I can do when pointed at a musical instrument and told to have at is twitch in a controlled manner.
I recently realized that not everyone listens to music the same way. Shocking, right? I just never thought about it until I was talking with Ryan. Unable to remember the name of a song that I knew he knew, I tried to remind him by reciting some of the lyrics. He just gave me a blank stare. Upon further discussion, I discovered that Ryan listens to songs in layers--first, how each instrument sound individually, then how they all sound together.
The first and last thing I hear are lyrics. To me, music is about poetry set to music. And poetry is about the language. Which is why I'm not partial to most classical music--as beautiful as it is, it just doesn't stick to my brain as it does to Ryan's. This is also why I'm more partial to musicals--I'm a story addict, have a very hard time reading anything that doesn't have a plot, so stories? Set to music? GIMME!
I listen to lyrics, and, if it isn't already clear what the song is about, I do my best to figure it out, put a story behind it. For all I know, I'm completely off target, but I like to think that I'm at least a little close. Especially when the subject is something I'm intimate with, such as love or depression. When you're in something, it's easier to recognize language that relates to it, you know?
Now with that long and lengthy explanation, here is my view on this song: Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear.
First, the lyrics.
Save up all the days
A routine malaise
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Think of all the ways
Momentary phase
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Every time you try
Quarter half the mile
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Would you always...
Maybe sometimes...
Make it easy...
Take your time...
Always
Sometimes
Easy
Time
My first thought with this song was: a plea. The singer is pleading to the subject to be happy. This isn't just a case of reading the lyrics--you can hear it in the singer's voice. They love this person, and they just want them to be happy.
There's also the repetition of the line just like yesterday, along with phrases like the routine malaise and every time you try. This makes me think that the person in question is stuck in a cycle (the routine malaise) that is making them unhappy. Not only that, but the cycle isn't solely self-imposed: Every time you try/quarter half the mile hints at an outside force making things harder whenever an attempt is made to break out of it, shortening the distance they've already traveled.
Think of all the ways/Momentary phase makes me think that the subject has given up on the idea of breaking out. They'll think about another way of life, then pass it off as just a phase, a moment's weakness.
The singer understands that all they can do is urge the subject to break out of the cycle, and be there to support them (the repeated phrase I told you I would stay), even if they don't. They understand that it's not an overnight decision/process (take your time). There's no message of "you're a bad person to still be in this cycle" or "I'm leaving unless you do this."
I don't just love this song because of the tune, or the voice, or even because the beautiful fan video plays in my head every time I hear it. I love this song because of the emotion behind it. If I'm right, there is nothing selfish in this song. It's pure love, pure hope for the one they care about to do what's needed to just be happy.
Pure, patient, unselfish, unconditional love.
Does it get any better than that?
It was posted a couple of months ago, so it isn't exactly a new find. It's just that I wanted to use this blog to share things I love as well as rants and navel gazing, so why not start with a video that might just be one of my Favorite Things Ever?
Two Weeks - Grizzly Bear from Gabe Askew on Vimeo.
Something else I've wanted to do with this blog is talk about something I think about more than I let on: lyrics.
While I'm not one for making music, I do love it. I almost always have a song in my head whether I like it or not, I can recite entire songs on command, and I blast music in my car whenever I go somewhere, singing along as loud as I possibly can--when I'm alone.
You can "blame" my father for this: he plays several different instruments with a degree of capability that range from well to wow, he has literally THOUSANDS of CDs (along with plenty of tapes and vinyl records), and he will spend hours upon hours playing with a single sound using his plethora of computer synthesizers that he can--and will--talk about for as long as anyone will listen. Despite all his best efforts, the best I can do when pointed at a musical instrument and told to have at is twitch in a controlled manner.
I recently realized that not everyone listens to music the same way. Shocking, right? I just never thought about it until I was talking with Ryan. Unable to remember the name of a song that I knew he knew, I tried to remind him by reciting some of the lyrics. He just gave me a blank stare. Upon further discussion, I discovered that Ryan listens to songs in layers--first, how each instrument sound individually, then how they all sound together.
The first and last thing I hear are lyrics. To me, music is about poetry set to music. And poetry is about the language. Which is why I'm not partial to most classical music--as beautiful as it is, it just doesn't stick to my brain as it does to Ryan's. This is also why I'm more partial to musicals--I'm a story addict, have a very hard time reading anything that doesn't have a plot, so stories? Set to music? GIMME!
I listen to lyrics, and, if it isn't already clear what the song is about, I do my best to figure it out, put a story behind it. For all I know, I'm completely off target, but I like to think that I'm at least a little close. Especially when the subject is something I'm intimate with, such as love or depression. When you're in something, it's easier to recognize language that relates to it, you know?
Now with that long and lengthy explanation, here is my view on this song: Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear.
First, the lyrics.
Save up all the days
A routine malaise
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Think of all the ways
Momentary phase
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Every time you try
Quarter half the mile
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Would you always...
Maybe sometimes...
Make it easy...
Take your time...
Always
Sometimes
Easy
Time
My first thought with this song was: a plea. The singer is pleading to the subject to be happy. This isn't just a case of reading the lyrics--you can hear it in the singer's voice. They love this person, and they just want them to be happy.
There's also the repetition of the line just like yesterday, along with phrases like the routine malaise and every time you try. This makes me think that the person in question is stuck in a cycle (the routine malaise) that is making them unhappy. Not only that, but the cycle isn't solely self-imposed: Every time you try/quarter half the mile hints at an outside force making things harder whenever an attempt is made to break out of it, shortening the distance they've already traveled.
Think of all the ways/Momentary phase makes me think that the subject has given up on the idea of breaking out. They'll think about another way of life, then pass it off as just a phase, a moment's weakness.
The singer understands that all they can do is urge the subject to break out of the cycle, and be there to support them (the repeated phrase I told you I would stay), even if they don't. They understand that it's not an overnight decision/process (take your time). There's no message of "you're a bad person to still be in this cycle" or "I'm leaving unless you do this."
I don't just love this song because of the tune, or the voice, or even because the beautiful fan video plays in my head every time I hear it. I love this song because of the emotion behind it. If I'm right, there is nothing selfish in this song. It's pure love, pure hope for the one they care about to do what's needed to just be happy.
Pure, patient, unselfish, unconditional love.
Does it get any better than that?
Saturday, October 3, 2009
And Marie Claire can go fuck herself.
I informed Ryan this past week that if there is only one thing that will be outlawed in our house when we have kids, that one thing will be fashion magazines. Alcohol, cocaine, rat poison, AK-47, fine. Cosmo, HELL NO.
Any magazine that even subtly insinuates that you must have a certain weight, height, size, shape, hair color, eye color, skin color, sexual preference, diet, wardrobe, exercise routine, pet, car, job, personal life, etc or else suffer the social consequences of being Weird is just not allowed in a 1/2-mile radius of my impressionable child, especially if that child is a girl. I refuse to allow any literature that portrays "weird" as anything other than "not mainstream". Weird is not bad, it's just different, and different isn't bad either, dammit.
Watch almost any TV show or advertisement, any movie, open up almost any magazine, and you'll see Beautiful People doing Cool Things. I'm in my twenties, and I still want to be that Beautiful Person playing with that Cool Toy; young children have no chance. Everywhere you look, you're being shown that if you don't look like This, you're just plain Doing It Wrong.
Just yesterday, I saw a Benefiber commercial on TV featuring a Beautiful Person. She was tall, blonde, slender, with big boobs and a teeny waist, with perfect skin and teeth. She was dressed in a white outfit that only covered her breasts and legs, and that just barely. For a FIBER SUPPLEMENT. If you need sex to sell your fiber supplement, then YOU'RE just plain Doing It Wrong.
Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Elle, Seventeen, even "health/fitness" magazines like Shape are all about one thing: selling a product, which means selling an image, which means selling the idea that you're ugly and stupid unless you fit that image. If you go to Cosmo right now, one of the first things you'll see is a big box with "Want a Guy To Follow You Anywhere?", "Fierce Footwear", and "Why Stop at One Orgasm?", plus boxes with "Guess the Sex Position!" and "Sex Position of the Day!" and a man with his shirt off. Even with the aforementioned Shape, a relatively safe magazine focusing on fitness, health and exercise, the first thing you'll see is an advertisement for an appetite suppressant--because healthy women don't have appetites, right?
And every single magazine has tons of pictures of women--in the articles, in the ads, on the covers--that fit into the mold: big breasts, teeny waist, perfect skin and teeth, toned everything. Nowhere do you see a stretch mark, a pimple, a split end, a mis-matched pair of breasts, a gray hair (unless it's an ad marketed to the Mature demographic), a broken fingernail, or anyone above a size 6. And that's just unrealistic, dammit.
Real People have boobs ranging Honkin' to Non-Existent, and that's fine. Real People have skin that's smooth as satin or pocked with scars and blemishes, and that's fine. Real People have blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, red hair, silver hair, white hair, pink hair, blue hair, no hair, soft hair, kinky hair, hair with split ends, and that's fine. Real People are shaped like hourglasses, pears, upside-down pears, triangles, upside-down triangles, sticks, squares, and circles, and THAT'S fine.
You want to see a perfect body? A perfect person? Look in the mirror. You are who you are, you are WHAT you are. Some people just aren't born to have six-pack abs, or smooth hair, or porcelain skin, or an hourglass figure. And there is absofuckinglutely NOTHING wrong with that, there is nothing wrong with YOU if that's how you are. Walk down the street, and you won't see supermodels--you'll see real fucking people, with real fucking bodies.
These magazines insist that the only things that matter in life are (a) fashionable clothes, (b) hot guys, (c) sex, and (d) obtaining all of the above by looking "hot". I'm not apologizing for refusing to let that shit in the same house as impressionable children, and let's face it, we're impressionable children right up until we're 30. Then we become insecure adults, and that's a whole new set of problems.
If my daughter whines and complains and wants to read fashion magazines, fine. She can buy them herself when she's 18. The only way she's allowed to before then is if she shows that she knows herself well enough, and is confident enough, to not be influenced by them (plus saves up her allowance to pay for it herself). I want my child to figure herself out in her own time, through her own experiences, using her own powers of deduction and reasoning and no one else's, not even mine.
I know: I say that now, but just wait until the time comes and little Lucy is being SUCH a whiney little bitch about how all my friends get to read Cosmo, MOTHER, why can't I, you suck SO MUCH, I hate you FOREVER, and then we'll see how well I can stand my ground against the raw power of Teenage Girl Angst.
Bring it.
Any magazine that even subtly insinuates that you must have a certain weight, height, size, shape, hair color, eye color, skin color, sexual preference, diet, wardrobe, exercise routine, pet, car, job, personal life, etc or else suffer the social consequences of being Weird is just not allowed in a 1/2-mile radius of my impressionable child, especially if that child is a girl. I refuse to allow any literature that portrays "weird" as anything other than "not mainstream". Weird is not bad, it's just different, and different isn't bad either, dammit.
Watch almost any TV show or advertisement, any movie, open up almost any magazine, and you'll see Beautiful People doing Cool Things. I'm in my twenties, and I still want to be that Beautiful Person playing with that Cool Toy; young children have no chance. Everywhere you look, you're being shown that if you don't look like This, you're just plain Doing It Wrong.
Just yesterday, I saw a Benefiber commercial on TV featuring a Beautiful Person. She was tall, blonde, slender, with big boobs and a teeny waist, with perfect skin and teeth. She was dressed in a white outfit that only covered her breasts and legs, and that just barely. For a FIBER SUPPLEMENT. If you need sex to sell your fiber supplement, then YOU'RE just plain Doing It Wrong.
Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Elle, Seventeen, even "health/fitness" magazines like Shape are all about one thing: selling a product, which means selling an image, which means selling the idea that you're ugly and stupid unless you fit that image. If you go to Cosmo right now, one of the first things you'll see is a big box with "Want a Guy To Follow You Anywhere?", "Fierce Footwear", and "Why Stop at One Orgasm?", plus boxes with "Guess the Sex Position!" and "Sex Position of the Day!" and a man with his shirt off. Even with the aforementioned Shape, a relatively safe magazine focusing on fitness, health and exercise, the first thing you'll see is an advertisement for an appetite suppressant--because healthy women don't have appetites, right?
And every single magazine has tons of pictures of women--in the articles, in the ads, on the covers--that fit into the mold: big breasts, teeny waist, perfect skin and teeth, toned everything. Nowhere do you see a stretch mark, a pimple, a split end, a mis-matched pair of breasts, a gray hair (unless it's an ad marketed to the Mature demographic), a broken fingernail, or anyone above a size 6. And that's just unrealistic, dammit.
Real People have boobs ranging Honkin' to Non-Existent, and that's fine. Real People have skin that's smooth as satin or pocked with scars and blemishes, and that's fine. Real People have blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, red hair, silver hair, white hair, pink hair, blue hair, no hair, soft hair, kinky hair, hair with split ends, and that's fine. Real People are shaped like hourglasses, pears, upside-down pears, triangles, upside-down triangles, sticks, squares, and circles, and THAT'S fine.
You want to see a perfect body? A perfect person? Look in the mirror. You are who you are, you are WHAT you are. Some people just aren't born to have six-pack abs, or smooth hair, or porcelain skin, or an hourglass figure. And there is absofuckinglutely NOTHING wrong with that, there is nothing wrong with YOU if that's how you are. Walk down the street, and you won't see supermodels--you'll see real fucking people, with real fucking bodies.
These magazines insist that the only things that matter in life are (a) fashionable clothes, (b) hot guys, (c) sex, and (d) obtaining all of the above by looking "hot". I'm not apologizing for refusing to let that shit in the same house as impressionable children, and let's face it, we're impressionable children right up until we're 30. Then we become insecure adults, and that's a whole new set of problems.
If my daughter whines and complains and wants to read fashion magazines, fine. She can buy them herself when she's 18. The only way she's allowed to before then is if she shows that she knows herself well enough, and is confident enough, to not be influenced by them (plus saves up her allowance to pay for it herself). I want my child to figure herself out in her own time, through her own experiences, using her own powers of deduction and reasoning and no one else's, not even mine.
I know: I say that now, but just wait until the time comes and little Lucy is being SUCH a whiney little bitch about how all my friends get to read Cosmo, MOTHER, why can't I, you suck SO MUCH, I hate you FOREVER, and then we'll see how well I can stand my ground against the raw power of Teenage Girl Angst.
Bring it.
And I wonder why I'm always tired.
On Saturdays, I open up work at 7 AM. This means I have to get up at 6 AM. If I want a full 8 hours of sleep, I need to be slumbering by 10 PM Friday night.
This is how my Friday night usually goes:
9:30 PM
I should probably head to bed soon. I may not get a full 8 hours (and hell, would I know what to do with them?), but I should try to get as much as possible.
10 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:15 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:30 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
11 PM
Ryan: Dear, it's 11 PM.
Me: And?
Ryan: I just wanted to let you know. It's 11.
Me: Okay...
Ryan: In case you were unaware. It's 11. Pee-Emm.
Me: Ryan.
Ryan: Ruth.
Me: ...
Ryan: It's 11 PM.
11:10 PM
Ryan: It is now 10 after 11.
11:15 PM
Ryan: It is now quarter after 11.
11:20 PM
Ryan: It is now--
Me: OKAY! SHUT UP!
11:25 PM
Turn off computer, start bed prep: brushing teeth, taking pills, moving morning-prep things to living room so the chances to wake Ryan are minimized, putting bag together so I can leave on time, etc.
11:30 - 11:50 PM
Listen to Ryan talk about something WoW-related that he decided to mention as I was getting ready for bed. Listen with half my brain, remember the conversation at 11 with other half.
11:50 PM - 12:05 AM
Chase fly around room with awesome new fly swatter while cursing like a sailor.
12:05 AM - 12:25 AM
Climb into bed, I talk at Ryan, who is too nice to just leave the bedroom while I'm yakking at him even though I should be asleep.
12:30 AM
Ryan leaves the room. I read a magazine or book to try and quiet my mind for sleeping.
12:30 - 12:40 AM
Fly reappears on bedside lamp. Try to ignore it. Try to read. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it.
12:45 AM
Do you watch Family Guy? Have you ever seen one of the episodes where the giant chicken comes in and there's a drawn-out, over-the-top fight scene between him and Peter? Yeah that. But with replace Peter Griffin with me and the chicken with a fly.
1:00 AM
After one final swat, decide that the fly is dead even though I can't find the body. Turn off the light. Ryan asks if I want the door closed so the music won't keep me awake, I say no, I like it, it helps me fall asleep.
1:00 - 1:30 AM
Each song change wakes me up a little. Each squeak of the office chair wakes me up a little. Random words in the songs will wake me up a little. The cat moving around upstairs will wake me up a little. Every time I wake up, it feels like I've been asleep for 3 hours, when in reality it's been less than five minutes.
1:30 AM
Ryan finally comes to bed. I use his arm as a pillow and make a happy little "mmm" sound. When he tries to take his arm back, I inform him that "mmm" is part of the English dialect known as Girlese and translates into "Your arm is mine now, ha ha."
1:45 AM
Finally fall asleep.
All I can say is: thank God for energy drinks.
This is how my Friday night usually goes:
9:30 PM
I should probably head to bed soon. I may not get a full 8 hours (and hell, would I know what to do with them?), but I should try to get as much as possible.
10 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:15 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:30 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
11 PM
Ryan: Dear, it's 11 PM.
Me: And?
Ryan: I just wanted to let you know. It's 11.
Me: Okay...
Ryan: In case you were unaware. It's 11. Pee-Emm.
Me: Ryan.
Ryan: Ruth.
Me: ...
Ryan: It's 11 PM.
11:10 PM
Ryan: It is now 10 after 11.
11:15 PM
Ryan: It is now quarter after 11.
11:20 PM
Ryan: It is now--
Me: OKAY! SHUT UP!
11:25 PM
Turn off computer, start bed prep: brushing teeth, taking pills, moving morning-prep things to living room so the chances to wake Ryan are minimized, putting bag together so I can leave on time, etc.
11:30 - 11:50 PM
Listen to Ryan talk about something WoW-related that he decided to mention as I was getting ready for bed. Listen with half my brain, remember the conversation at 11 with other half.
11:50 PM - 12:05 AM
Chase fly around room with awesome new fly swatter while cursing like a sailor.
12:05 AM - 12:25 AM
Climb into bed, I talk at Ryan, who is too nice to just leave the bedroom while I'm yakking at him even though I should be asleep.
12:30 AM
Ryan leaves the room. I read a magazine or book to try and quiet my mind for sleeping.
12:30 - 12:40 AM
Fly reappears on bedside lamp. Try to ignore it. Try to read. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it.
12:45 AM
Do you watch Family Guy? Have you ever seen one of the episodes where the giant chicken comes in and there's a drawn-out, over-the-top fight scene between him and Peter? Yeah that. But with replace Peter Griffin with me and the chicken with a fly.
1:00 AM
After one final swat, decide that the fly is dead even though I can't find the body. Turn off the light. Ryan asks if I want the door closed so the music won't keep me awake, I say no, I like it, it helps me fall asleep.
1:00 - 1:30 AM
Each song change wakes me up a little. Each squeak of the office chair wakes me up a little. Random words in the songs will wake me up a little. The cat moving around upstairs will wake me up a little. Every time I wake up, it feels like I've been asleep for 3 hours, when in reality it's been less than five minutes.
1:30 AM
Ryan finally comes to bed. I use his arm as a pillow and make a happy little "mmm" sound. When he tries to take his arm back, I inform him that "mmm" is part of the English dialect known as Girlese and translates into "Your arm is mine now, ha ha."
1:45 AM
Finally fall asleep.
All I can say is: thank God for energy drinks.
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