See? I didn't do it. That blogging every day thing. I mean, seriously. Every. Day. Does it count that I THINK about blogging every day? I do, I swear! There is at least one moment every day when I think to myself, "Oh, right. Blog that." And then I actually write a few lines in my head. Because I'm just that much of a nerd. The problem comes in where I try to get that stuff from my head to my fingers at such a time and place when I a) have a computer in front of me with time to type and b) remember what was so great that I wanted to tell the Internet about it. Let me tell you, a and b? They don't cross paths too often.
But I did have a little flash of insight recently that I thought I'd share. Because I clearly have not yet publicly flogged myself and my neuroses enough...
Recently, I went out to eat with several of my co-workers when the conversation turned to discussion about a particular person, who I did not know. There was some venting going on. And then someone made a comment about this person taking Prozac. And there were some comments like, "That explains things." or "Well, I guess I'd better be nicer to her so she doesn't lose it on me." And I said nothing. I don't know this person. I have no idea how annoying she might be to deal with. And I obviously know nothing about her health issues. However, it finally occurred to me (in a big light bulb DUH moment) that the reason I was not and am still not entirely comfortable with my current prescription is that I make judgements about people who need to take medicine for depression. And clearly I'm not alone. I would feel pretty terrible if some of the people I work with thought about me the things they think about this other person, simply because they were to find out that I take Zoloft. A better version of myself would have said something to them. I would have defended this unknown person, at least from the perspective of her mental health, and explained that it is not her fault. It's a chemical issue. It is medically necessary and does not mean she is weak. But I didn't.
Because I don't believe that, either. I need to get off of this drug or come out of the depression closet and start getting over the stigma I've attached to myself. And I need to quit being a hypocritical jerk, even if I'm only doing that in my head.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
And pay and pay...and pay
Well, if I needed some clear indication that life as a consultant who travels most of the time is not for me, I've got it now. I have been in Chicago for the last couple of days at a conference. The conference was great. Hotel room awesome (Seriously - a television built into the mirror in the bathroom. My amazement at that made me feel like a total hick.), comfy bed, wonderful pillows...and today I came home.
Let's think back to when I went to San Diego back in April...remember? Yep, they all got sick and I had the guilt and then I had to take care of them and baby them and not complain about it because I had been enjoying myself in sunny Cali-forn-i-a while they were feverish and achy and sweating and feeling crappy - and Steve also had to take care of the sickly kids. So guess what happened while I was in Chicago...
Yup. Again.
Apparently, this time the guilt and the nursemaiding is going to be payment for the cool iPod and $600 gift certificate I won at the conference. I suppose that's fair. If Abby has to have tonsillitis (according to WebMD.com) in order for me to have have an iPod, I guess that's a sacrifice I'll just have to make.
Let's think back to when I went to San Diego back in April...remember? Yep, they all got sick and I had the guilt and then I had to take care of them and baby them and not complain about it because I had been enjoying myself in sunny Cali-forn-i-a while they were feverish and achy and sweating and feeling crappy - and Steve also had to take care of the sickly kids. So guess what happened while I was in Chicago...
Yup. Again.
Apparently, this time the guilt and the nursemaiding is going to be payment for the cool iPod and $600 gift certificate I won at the conference. I suppose that's fair. If Abby has to have tonsillitis (according to WebMD.com) in order for me to have have an iPod, I guess that's a sacrifice I'll just have to make.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Seriously, is it really so wrong?
They say that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. And I would. Really. But I don't have one.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with this picture.
Yes, they are Post-It Notes. Sorted. Lined up in tidy little columns. And yes, those are more Post-Its, color-coordinated, at the top of each column to label the Post-It columns. What? This isn't how everyone does it?
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Busted, literally - signs from God
I'm back. I know I haven't been around much. We have been soooo busy, it's unreal. It seems to me that we tried to squeeze an entire summer's worth of activity into the last five weeks, starting with the last week of June and ending today. Wow, I'm exhausted. Since I've been away for a while, I hope you're settled in for a long post...
First, a quick recap. When last I left you, I had managed to make it through vacation bible school week relatively unscathed. In fact, it was one of the best years of VBS that I can remember. And I think the kids had fun, too. There were horses and pig kissing and WAY cool decorations. And yes, I am already annoying people by starting to talk about next year. Anyone who complains is going to go on God's shit list for sure, so watch it! The month of July has been filled with, among other miscellaneous things, the carnival in town, trips to Kokomo Beach (not a real beach, but an awesome - small, un-crowded, clean, cheap - water park, Steve's week off, a Police concert (more on that tomorrow), Camp Anderson, the new Harry Potter book, the county fair, Abby's last dance class until September (I am proud to report that we were on time!), an Indianapolis Indians game with people from church (which I coordinated, thank you very much), the Brickyard (for Steve and Andrew) and Abby's first trip to Club Libby Lu for a Libby Du both on this past Sunday (I don't want to hear any comments about makeup on my three-year-old - it was a special Girls' Day Out), and finally, today, Andrew's first day back to school. This is honestly the first year I can say that I feel relief at having that boy go back to school. Probably because this is the first summer where I have consciously worked to make Andrew feel like there is a difference between the school year and his summer vacation. I have been late to work (9 or 9:30 am late) almost every day the month of July so that he and Abby could sleep in a little more (okay, and so I could sleep in a little, too!); we've let them stay up late (hah, as if implying we actually have any kind of control when it comes to bedtime); we have not turned down any opportunity for parties or swimming or trips to the park or anything else. Like I said, I'm exhausted.
With everything else going on, I've slipped off of my diet plan over the last couple of weeks. I was holding on pretty well for a while, but then...well, let me say that I've learned some things about myself: 1. I am most certainly a stress-eater. I always thought this about myself, but getting myself to a pretty good place with food choices and then having stress rear its ugly head has cemented it. Work has picked up a LOT this month. Some of the stress that I eliminated when I left the Evil Empire and that I didn't have here in Eden while working in Finance has returned now that I am back in HRIS and working with Payroll again. And when I start to feel anxious and stressed, the first thing I want to do is grab a snack. You know, like when Payroll sends me tax balance reconciliation files Thursday afternoon and then follows up with a near-belligerent e-mail on Friday afternoon telling me that anything less than a perfect file by noon on Monday is completely unacceptable because they have to file by Tuesday and they have other things to do to the reports and never mind that they waited until THREE business days before that to look at the balances on a system they JUST WENT LIVE ON. Ahem. Let's move on, before I feel the need to look for some cookies. 2. I also learned concretely that when things with work and family get hectic and something has to give, what gives is me. I'm not saying that because I'm some kind of martyr or want sympathy points (though I wouldn't turn down a medal, you know, if you've got one you've been wanting to give me). It's just the truth. My stuff (tracking my food, exercising, sleeping, etc.) is the easiest to modify, reduce, or give up altogether. For the last few weeks, that's what has happened. And I have missed the little all-about-me life I had started to build: my blogging here and on the kids' site; tracking and (only slightly anally) monitoring my food, exercise, and weight on SparkPeople; walking alone or with Leslie, for no one but me. Sadly, though I didn't know it at the time, the day that marked the beginning of my tumble from the healthy lifestyle wagon was the day that I went for my best walk ever. We visited friends who live in the Illinois countryside, in what we now fondly refer to as Camp Anderson, and I walked about 2 3/4 mile in the middle of nowhere with just me and my thoughts. It was awesome. I did not want to come home. They have peaceful surroundings, five acres of land that is theirs, an inground -heated- pool, and three big dogs, one of which is a yellow lab who wanted to come home with me.
That was a week and a half ago. I had been faltering a bit before that, but since we got back, I'm not sure I've logged anything at all, and I'm pretty sure I haven't done any purposeful walking. I say purposeful because you know there has been plenty of walking, but no Walking, where I strap on my shoes and walk with the intent of walking a certain distance in a certain time frame at a certain speed. In other words, my walking has been running around after my kids, stepping over clutter and laundry and toys and crap in my house, or walking through the Wal-Mart or the grocery trying to remember exactly what it was I was supposed to be buying. The normal stuff.
But then, God looked down upon me and must have thought I needed some help pretty badly - and that I am pretty dense (He's smart like that) - because He started sending me some very clear signs pointing me in big flashing neon to get myself back to where I was before July happened. First, on Sunday, I tried to talk my daughter out of going to church. Yes, it's true. I know! God is going to be doing some serious smiting on my ass. Well, all that time my daughter spends in daycare - away from my horrible heathen influence - must be doing some kind of good because she wouldn't let me out of it. Steve and Andrew had already left for the race and we were running about 15 minutes late and I tried to say we just couldn't go and be that late because the service had already started and she cried. Tears. Because she wanted to go to church. Or maybe because she was sad because she had just realized that her Mommy is going to go to Hell, I'm not sure. So I took the oh-so-subtle hint from the Big Man that I should be getting myself some salvation and we went. And we stayed in the nursery the entire service, except for Children's Sermon and Communion, because she wouldn't sit in the pew and wouldn't let me leave her side. At least I got communion, so my soul should be safe for most of the week...
Then, Steve started running again. He's decided that he needs to lose 15 pounds between now and the Tuesday after Labor Day. That's 15 pounds in 35 days. So he hopped on the treadmill yesterday and again this morning. And he's now decided that the food he's been pushing on me for the last two or three months while I steadfastly (most of the time) resisted is now - now that I've given in to the chocolate chip ice cream calling my name from the freezer - evil. He reads labels. He reviews calorie and fat content. Not that he really needs to. He's a man, after all. He thinks about losing weight, and Poof!, it's gone. I asked if he'd think about me losing some weight, too, so we'll see if that works.
Finally, today, the light went on in my head. I wore my favorite blue pants to work. They've been snug for quite some time, and frankly, snug is being kind. It hurts to button them. But, I haven't worn them for a while, and I have lost some weight. Not much, true, but even over these last few weeks when I haven't been walking and haven't been logging, I haven't gone completely over the deep end. I haven't made especially terrific food choices, but I've still been having a SlimFast shake for breakfast (I actually like them), been behaving relatively well when it comes to portion sizes, and have still managed to lose about 1/2 pound each week. Not great, but at least the number is still going in the right direction. I didn't get my work laundry washed this weekend, so my selection was limited and I thought I could get away with wearing the blue pants. The pants were still rather tight in the waistband (they fit everywhere else, I swear!), but I managed. I brought my lunch today - being goodish with homemade lasagna and cottage cheese with pineapple - but it was our technical consultant's last day, so some of the guys here were taking him out and invited me. Now, I don't get many chances to hang with "the boys" here at work, so I accepted. We went to Bellacino's where I gave in to my longing for their baked ziti. Oh, it is quite delicious. And I forgot to ask them to bring one dry breadstick instead of the two pieces of delicious garlic bread, so I just went ahead and ate them anyway. But their portion of ziti isn't enormous - at least not by my standards - and I thought I would be fine. When we got back, I headed to the restroom (two Diet Cokes with lunch) and that's when it happened. My third - and trust me on this, FINAL - sign from God pointing me back to my path. My zipper busted. Broke. Unzippable. And I was headed back in to training class. Lovely. So I managed to find two safety pins and a rubber band and I put my pants back together so I could make it through the day. Luckily, I wore a relatively long shirt today, so no one noticed. Or at least, no one pointed and laughed when I walked by. Well, okay, maybe they did point and laugh, but that's kind of a normal occurrence when I walk by anyway. Point is, I get it. I'm there. I understand. I do not need to be hit on the head. Or popped in the eye with a(nother) flying zipper to get the hint. Tonight, I'm going home to a salad and a walk around the neighborhood.
Oh, and I know this was all God's doing. Because if it had just been life screwing with me, the zipper would have broken at lunch. In front of all the boys. God is holding off on that level of smiting until I do something really terrible, like have sex in the living room.
First, a quick recap. When last I left you, I had managed to make it through vacation bible school week relatively unscathed. In fact, it was one of the best years of VBS that I can remember. And I think the kids had fun, too. There were horses and pig kissing and WAY cool decorations. And yes, I am already annoying people by starting to talk about next year. Anyone who complains is going to go on God's shit list for sure, so watch it! The month of July has been filled with, among other miscellaneous things, the carnival in town, trips to Kokomo Beach (not a real beach, but an awesome - small, un-crowded, clean, cheap - water park, Steve's week off, a Police concert (more on that tomorrow), Camp Anderson, the new Harry Potter book, the county fair, Abby's last dance class until September (I am proud to report that we were on time!), an Indianapolis Indians game with people from church (which I coordinated, thank you very much), the Brickyard (for Steve and Andrew) and Abby's first trip to Club Libby Lu for a Libby Du both on this past Sunday (I don't want to hear any comments about makeup on my three-year-old - it was a special Girls' Day Out), and finally, today, Andrew's first day back to school. This is honestly the first year I can say that I feel relief at having that boy go back to school. Probably because this is the first summer where I have consciously worked to make Andrew feel like there is a difference between the school year and his summer vacation. I have been late to work (9 or 9:30 am late) almost every day the month of July so that he and Abby could sleep in a little more (okay, and so I could sleep in a little, too!); we've let them stay up late (hah, as if implying we actually have any kind of control when it comes to bedtime); we have not turned down any opportunity for parties or swimming or trips to the park or anything else. Like I said, I'm exhausted.
With everything else going on, I've slipped off of my diet plan over the last couple of weeks. I was holding on pretty well for a while, but then...well, let me say that I've learned some things about myself: 1. I am most certainly a stress-eater. I always thought this about myself, but getting myself to a pretty good place with food choices and then having stress rear its ugly head has cemented it. Work has picked up a LOT this month. Some of the stress that I eliminated when I left the Evil Empire and that I didn't have here in Eden while working in Finance has returned now that I am back in HRIS and working with Payroll again. And when I start to feel anxious and stressed, the first thing I want to do is grab a snack. You know, like when Payroll sends me tax balance reconciliation files Thursday afternoon and then follows up with a near-belligerent e-mail on Friday afternoon telling me that anything less than a perfect file by noon on Monday is completely unacceptable because they have to file by Tuesday and they have other things to do to the reports and never mind that they waited until THREE business days before that to look at the balances on a system they JUST WENT LIVE ON. Ahem. Let's move on, before I feel the need to look for some cookies. 2. I also learned concretely that when things with work and family get hectic and something has to give, what gives is me. I'm not saying that because I'm some kind of martyr or want sympathy points (though I wouldn't turn down a medal, you know, if you've got one you've been wanting to give me). It's just the truth. My stuff (tracking my food, exercising, sleeping, etc.) is the easiest to modify, reduce, or give up altogether. For the last few weeks, that's what has happened. And I have missed the little all-about-me life I had started to build: my blogging here and on the kids' site; tracking and (only slightly anally) monitoring my food, exercise, and weight on SparkPeople; walking alone or with Leslie, for no one but me. Sadly, though I didn't know it at the time, the day that marked the beginning of my tumble from the healthy lifestyle wagon was the day that I went for my best walk ever. We visited friends who live in the Illinois countryside, in what we now fondly refer to as Camp Anderson, and I walked about 2 3/4 mile in the middle of nowhere with just me and my thoughts. It was awesome. I did not want to come home. They have peaceful surroundings, five acres of land that is theirs, an inground -heated- pool, and three big dogs, one of which is a yellow lab who wanted to come home with me.
That was a week and a half ago. I had been faltering a bit before that, but since we got back, I'm not sure I've logged anything at all, and I'm pretty sure I haven't done any purposeful walking. I say purposeful because you know there has been plenty of walking, but no Walking, where I strap on my shoes and walk with the intent of walking a certain distance in a certain time frame at a certain speed. In other words, my walking has been running around after my kids, stepping over clutter and laundry and toys and crap in my house, or walking through the Wal-Mart or the grocery trying to remember exactly what it was I was supposed to be buying. The normal stuff.
But then, God looked down upon me and must have thought I needed some help pretty badly - and that I am pretty dense (He's smart like that) - because He started sending me some very clear signs pointing me in big flashing neon to get myself back to where I was before July happened. First, on Sunday, I tried to talk my daughter out of going to church. Yes, it's true. I know! God is going to be doing some serious smiting on my ass. Well, all that time my daughter spends in daycare - away from my horrible heathen influence - must be doing some kind of good because she wouldn't let me out of it. Steve and Andrew had already left for the race and we were running about 15 minutes late and I tried to say we just couldn't go and be that late because the service had already started and she cried. Tears. Because she wanted to go to church. Or maybe because she was sad because she had just realized that her Mommy is going to go to Hell, I'm not sure. So I took the oh-so-subtle hint from the Big Man that I should be getting myself some salvation and we went. And we stayed in the nursery the entire service, except for Children's Sermon and Communion, because she wouldn't sit in the pew and wouldn't let me leave her side. At least I got communion, so my soul should be safe for most of the week...
Then, Steve started running again. He's decided that he needs to lose 15 pounds between now and the Tuesday after Labor Day. That's 15 pounds in 35 days. So he hopped on the treadmill yesterday and again this morning. And he's now decided that the food he's been pushing on me for the last two or three months while I steadfastly (most of the time) resisted is now - now that I've given in to the chocolate chip ice cream calling my name from the freezer - evil. He reads labels. He reviews calorie and fat content. Not that he really needs to. He's a man, after all. He thinks about losing weight, and Poof!, it's gone. I asked if he'd think about me losing some weight, too, so we'll see if that works.
Finally, today, the light went on in my head. I wore my favorite blue pants to work. They've been snug for quite some time, and frankly, snug is being kind. It hurts to button them. But, I haven't worn them for a while, and I have lost some weight. Not much, true, but even over these last few weeks when I haven't been walking and haven't been logging, I haven't gone completely over the deep end. I haven't made especially terrific food choices, but I've still been having a SlimFast shake for breakfast (I actually like them), been behaving relatively well when it comes to portion sizes, and have still managed to lose about 1/2 pound each week. Not great, but at least the number is still going in the right direction. I didn't get my work laundry washed this weekend, so my selection was limited and I thought I could get away with wearing the blue pants. The pants were still rather tight in the waistband (they fit everywhere else, I swear!), but I managed. I brought my lunch today - being goodish with homemade lasagna and cottage cheese with pineapple - but it was our technical consultant's last day, so some of the guys here were taking him out and invited me. Now, I don't get many chances to hang with "the boys" here at work, so I accepted. We went to Bellacino's where I gave in to my longing for their baked ziti. Oh, it is quite delicious. And I forgot to ask them to bring one dry breadstick instead of the two pieces of delicious garlic bread, so I just went ahead and ate them anyway. But their portion of ziti isn't enormous - at least not by my standards - and I thought I would be fine. When we got back, I headed to the restroom (two Diet Cokes with lunch) and that's when it happened. My third - and trust me on this, FINAL - sign from God pointing me back to my path. My zipper busted. Broke. Unzippable. And I was headed back in to training class. Lovely. So I managed to find two safety pins and a rubber band and I put my pants back together so I could make it through the day. Luckily, I wore a relatively long shirt today, so no one noticed. Or at least, no one pointed and laughed when I walked by. Well, okay, maybe they did point and laugh, but that's kind of a normal occurrence when I walk by anyway. Point is, I get it. I'm there. I understand. I do not need to be hit on the head. Or popped in the eye with a(nother) flying zipper to get the hint. Tonight, I'm going home to a salad and a walk around the neighborhood.
Oh, and I know this was all God's doing. Because if it had just been life screwing with me, the zipper would have broken at lunch. In front of all the boys. God is holding off on that level of smiting until I do something really terrible, like have sex in the living room.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Don't mess with Texas - they will put you on a bus to nowhere
Howdy y'all! Guess where I am!! By the way, that's Hi! in Texan.
I've been in Waco, Texas, for a few days and it has been pretty great. I have missed Texas. I used to live here, you know. My family lived in Austin from the summer before my freshman year of high school until November of my junior year of high school. I won't go into all the gory details here about how that all came to be. Let's just say that trouble can follow a marriage, even if the marriage relocates. More on that another day.
But Texas - oh, it's so beautiful. And the people are friendly. No, I am not being sarcastic! And I LOVE to listen to southerners talk. In fact, in just my few days here, I've already picked up a slight twang to my voice. I'll be back next week for five whole days - I can't wait to see how southern I'll go then!
But I do have one small complaint about Dallas. Specifically, about the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. I realize that Texas does not do small. Ever. But seriously. Can we talk for a minute about the size of this airport? It goes on and on. And on. And then around a bend and on some more. And then? Try to rent a car. I dare you. No, TEXAS dares you. DFW double dog dares you. First, find your way to the little sign that says Rental Cars This Way (not really, there's an arrow). Does the arrow direct you to the rental car office? Don't be ridiculous. There's this bus stop. It's not exactly clear when you're standing there what you're really waiting for, but eventually a big bus pulls up and you and the rest of your herd will stumble on with your baggage. Then you ride. Get comfortable, you'll be there a while. A really long while. The trip out to the rental car building will take you down an access road (some of you may call these frontage roads - that is WRONG in Texas), past rolling fields of green, onto a highway, more fields, and then back off. When you reach the point where you wonder to yourself or someone sitting next to you whether the bus driver might actually be a car-jacker of some kind who is kidnapping everyone on the bus and their luggage in the hopes that someone is carrying some seriously cool contraband, well that's the point when you have about five more minutes until you reach your destination.
When you're there, make sure you ask for directions on how to get back to civilization. Seriously. Even if you are of the male persuasion. Please, for the love of all that is good, trust me on this. If you are not from Texas, I will give you a couple of pieces of advice that my traveling buddy and I learned the hard way:
1) Just because a particular road is named X where you are right now does not mean that it will continue to be named X for any further distance. In fact, it may be named both X and Y right where you are. Any map you view or person you ask will likely use both X and Y interchangeably. It's a test. That's how they know y'all ain't from 'round here.
2) Everyone - except for the rental car agents, and even that's not guaranteed - who you might ask for directions will be lovely and kind and know exactly how to get to where you want to go. They just won't be able to tell you. They will want to. And they will try their best - women will try to give you landmarks to go by. Unfortunately, telling you to turn at the Whataburger is about the same as trying to identify your blind date by looking for the one with the cell phone. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that no one could decide on one name for a road, I don't know. If you are lucky, like we were, you might find someone who is actually on their way toward your destination and they will let you follow them there. Yes, that is exactly what we did. Thanks, Ellie!
But all in all, I have really loved my few days here and I can't wait to come back next week. I haven't had my Whataburger yet, after all. But next time, I'm flying straight to Waco and skipping the DFW rental "oasis." Take that, bus-jacking luggage thieves!
I've been in Waco, Texas, for a few days and it has been pretty great. I have missed Texas. I used to live here, you know. My family lived in Austin from the summer before my freshman year of high school until November of my junior year of high school. I won't go into all the gory details here about how that all came to be. Let's just say that trouble can follow a marriage, even if the marriage relocates. More on that another day.
But Texas - oh, it's so beautiful. And the people are friendly. No, I am not being sarcastic! And I LOVE to listen to southerners talk. In fact, in just my few days here, I've already picked up a slight twang to my voice. I'll be back next week for five whole days - I can't wait to see how southern I'll go then!
But I do have one small complaint about Dallas. Specifically, about the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. I realize that Texas does not do small. Ever. But seriously. Can we talk for a minute about the size of this airport? It goes on and on. And on. And then around a bend and on some more. And then? Try to rent a car. I dare you. No, TEXAS dares you. DFW double dog dares you. First, find your way to the little sign that says Rental Cars This Way (not really, there's an arrow). Does the arrow direct you to the rental car office? Don't be ridiculous. There's this bus stop. It's not exactly clear when you're standing there what you're really waiting for, but eventually a big bus pulls up and you and the rest of your herd will stumble on with your baggage. Then you ride. Get comfortable, you'll be there a while. A really long while. The trip out to the rental car building will take you down an access road (some of you may call these frontage roads - that is WRONG in Texas), past rolling fields of green, onto a highway, more fields, and then back off. When you reach the point where you wonder to yourself or someone sitting next to you whether the bus driver might actually be a car-jacker of some kind who is kidnapping everyone on the bus and their luggage in the hopes that someone is carrying some seriously cool contraband, well that's the point when you have about five more minutes until you reach your destination.
When you're there, make sure you ask for directions on how to get back to civilization. Seriously. Even if you are of the male persuasion. Please, for the love of all that is good, trust me on this. If you are not from Texas, I will give you a couple of pieces of advice that my traveling buddy and I learned the hard way:
1) Just because a particular road is named X where you are right now does not mean that it will continue to be named X for any further distance. In fact, it may be named both X and Y right where you are. Any map you view or person you ask will likely use both X and Y interchangeably. It's a test. That's how they know y'all ain't from 'round here.
2) Everyone - except for the rental car agents, and even that's not guaranteed - who you might ask for directions will be lovely and kind and know exactly how to get to where you want to go. They just won't be able to tell you. They will want to. And they will try their best - women will try to give you landmarks to go by. Unfortunately, telling you to turn at the Whataburger is about the same as trying to identify your blind date by looking for the one with the cell phone. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that no one could decide on one name for a road, I don't know. If you are lucky, like we were, you might find someone who is actually on their way toward your destination and they will let you follow them there. Yes, that is exactly what we did. Thanks, Ellie!
But all in all, I have really loved my few days here and I can't wait to come back next week. I haven't had my Whataburger yet, after all. But next time, I'm flying straight to Waco and skipping the DFW rental "oasis." Take that, bus-jacking luggage thieves!
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Overheard in the cube farm
"Oh, my God, I was in the gas station last night and Wilt Chamberlain was in there! He was signing autographs and stuff for all these people. I called all my friends last night to tell them and then I called Millie and she did a Google and Wilt Chamberlain DIED in 1999! All these people were getting autographs from this man and I called all my friends to tell them that I held the door for someone famous and he's dead!"
"Hey, Shauna, Elvis is dead, too."
"Hey, Shauna, Elvis is dead, too."
Monday, May 7, 2007
Finally, things are right with the world
Look:
They fixed it! I still have not idea what its purpose is or who might have thought that hideous thing adds any aesthetic value, but whatever. This new tidy design is good for me and my ~issues~ and also for the other drivers on the road. I don't think they were too happy with my efforts to avoid looking at the monstrosity on my daily commute. It's hard to stay in your lane when your eyes are closed. Who knew?
In other aligning-my-world news, I am finally where I belong and where I know that I know stuff. Yes, the local Dairy Queen has opened for the season, but that's not what I was talking about! I started in my new job today. HRIS instead of Finance. It is so nice to be in a work environment where I actually understand the words being used in meetings. AND! Not only do I understand them, I HAVE SOMETHING TO CONTRIBUTE!!! Can you hear those angels singing, or is that just in my head? I'm sure the euphoria will wear off soon - unless I keep taking the drugs - but for now, I'm going to bask in my little honeymoon period. Soon enough I will face the reality that I have taken on a job where my boss already has given me a list of her top five projects for me to work on (FIVE. PROJECTS - not tasks or assignments - PROJECTS), none of which I know how to do yet, I also still have a project and training commitment to my former department and boss, oh, and I'm in charge of my church's Vacation Bible School again this year and Andrew is playing baseball and Abby starts dance class next month...hmm...perhaps this will the summer of my meltdown. Yay! I am giddy with anticipation!!
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Seriously, I don't even need the little gold statue
I'm in training this week, and feeling a little in the shadow again. I have been living in someone's shadow for many years now. The creator of the shadow changes, but my place within it does not.
Most of the time I'm mostly okay with it. But sometimes I have to fight the feelings harder. When I'm feeling unliked, especially in comparison to another, it gets harder. Okay so maybe Steve is not wrong when he calls me competitive. Anyway, this is one of those times. Training. Stacy is just so good. And it's not that I think I'm not good. Okay, sometimes I do think that. But I try not to. But there is someone here who I think does think I'm not good. Especially in comparison to Stacy. Well, maybe that's natural. But it has become a situation in which I am nervous around this person, and worried I will say or do something to further confirm her beliefs about my abilities. LACK of abilities. And of course, being nervous and on edge and uncomfortable about saying or doing something stupid in front of someone is a sure-fire way to guarantee that I'll do exactly that. I have a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease when it comes to this person. I tend to have this disease quite often, actually. It is just much, MUCH, more severe around certain people.
I do not like that she does not like me. Maybe it's not even that she doesn't like me, but I think I annoy her. And I have come a long, long way in my paranoia about wanting people to like me. But mostly, my recovery works best with people who I don't like back. And I like Carol - oh, I mean, "this person."
I just want her to like me back and to think I'm smart, like Stacy. She doesn't have to think I'm AS smart as Stacy, just kind of smart. About anything. Or at least not as dumb and annoying as I think she thinks I am.
In truth, part of what causes my nervousness around her is that she reminds me of my mother-in-law. I'm not going to get in to details about my relationship with Dot here. She and I have come a long way. I enjoy spending time with her and I think she tolerates me most of the time. But I am often still worried that I am going to say or do something that will draw comment on my stupidity.
You know, truthfully, I think I do stupid stuff around most people. I do and say a lot of dumb things (so maybe I AM as dumb and annoying as Carol makes me think she thinks I am!!). The difference is that most people are kind enough or self-conscious enough themselves or maybe just too oblivious to comment on my stupidity. But some people - such as this person in training with me this week and my mother-in-law - have a way of always pointing out and commenting on the things I have just said and/or done that I know are stupid, but it's too late, they're already done. By commenting, I just feel more dumb than I already did, and am suddenly embarrassed and more likely to continue the stupidity by trying to talk myself out of the stupidity. Boy, is THAT a dumb idea!
I just want to feel like Sally Field when she won her Oscar - affirmed that everyone in the entire world loves her and thinks she is brilliant. Every. One. Is that really so much to ask?
Most of the time I'm mostly okay with it. But sometimes I have to fight the feelings harder. When I'm feeling unliked, especially in comparison to another, it gets harder. Okay so maybe Steve is not wrong when he calls me competitive. Anyway, this is one of those times. Training. Stacy is just so good. And it's not that I think I'm not good. Okay, sometimes I do think that. But I try not to. But there is someone here who I think does think I'm not good. Especially in comparison to Stacy. Well, maybe that's natural. But it has become a situation in which I am nervous around this person, and worried I will say or do something to further confirm her beliefs about my abilities. LACK of abilities. And of course, being nervous and on edge and uncomfortable about saying or doing something stupid in front of someone is a sure-fire way to guarantee that I'll do exactly that. I have a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease when it comes to this person. I tend to have this disease quite often, actually. It is just much, MUCH, more severe around certain people.
I do not like that she does not like me. Maybe it's not even that she doesn't like me, but I think I annoy her. And I have come a long, long way in my paranoia about wanting people to like me. But mostly, my recovery works best with people who I don't like back. And I like Carol - oh, I mean, "this person."
I just want her to like me back and to think I'm smart, like Stacy. She doesn't have to think I'm AS smart as Stacy, just kind of smart. About anything. Or at least not as dumb and annoying as I think she thinks I am.
In truth, part of what causes my nervousness around her is that she reminds me of my mother-in-law. I'm not going to get in to details about my relationship with Dot here. She and I have come a long way. I enjoy spending time with her and I think she tolerates me most of the time. But I am often still worried that I am going to say or do something that will draw comment on my stupidity.
You know, truthfully, I think I do stupid stuff around most people. I do and say a lot of dumb things (so maybe I AM as dumb and annoying as Carol makes me think she thinks I am!!). The difference is that most people are kind enough or self-conscious enough themselves or maybe just too oblivious to comment on my stupidity. But some people - such as this person in training with me this week and my mother-in-law - have a way of always pointing out and commenting on the things I have just said and/or done that I know are stupid, but it's too late, they're already done. By commenting, I just feel more dumb than I already did, and am suddenly embarrassed and more likely to continue the stupidity by trying to talk myself out of the stupidity. Boy, is THAT a dumb idea!
I just want to feel like Sally Field when she won her Oscar - affirmed that everyone in the entire world loves her and thinks she is brilliant. Every. One. Is that really so much to ask?
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Don't mess with me and my karma
So what happened in San Diego, you ask? I've been back for a week and haven't posted any summary of the vast amounts of knowledge I gained from my conference, you say? Well, I've been a little distracted. There's been some jet lag to deal with and then there's been the family lag - one being where your body is trying to catch up with the difference on the clock, and the other being where your family tries to make you pay (and pay and pay) for abandoning them, even if only temporarily.
But there are a few things I remember from my moments in the sun.
Okay, first, you should know that karma is real. And I had to pay for enjoying myself in sunny San Diego with some impish karma happenings. Yes, I enjoyed a conference in which I was able to professionally refresh myself, get re-energized about our upcoming projects, learn a few new things, and do a bit of networking. And true, I had a beautiful hotel room with: a giant King-size bed, upon which I slept cross-wise - just because I could; a balcony upon which I could sit in absolute silence and enjoy completing an entire thought without being interrupted by "Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom!"; a spectacular view of the Coronado bay, bridge, and island, where I witnessed a couple of breath-taking sunsets; a bathroom I did not have to share and where - similar to the balcony - I could complete my thoughts without interruption or audience; and, a television that wasn't tuned to ESPN even ONCE. I also had fabulous food, which was either provided by the conference or for which my company will be kind enough to reimburse me, and though I had my share of adult beverages, I didn't pay for any of them with my own money. And unlike my college days, I didn't owe any other kind of non-monetary payment for said beverages at the end of the evening. Although I think the consultants who bought most of those drinks probably would like a little something from me, I'm pretty sure it involves contracts and advice, not dark dorm rooms and next morning walks of shame. Of course, with some of these consultants, you really can't be too sure. Oh! And I got to hear another very energetic and motivational speech from Dean Hager, of whom I admit I am a bit of a Lawson groupie.
And for these wonderful benefits, what did I have to endure? Well, there was the attack of the killer sodas. Every - and I am NOT exaggerating - can or bottle of carbonated soda I opened immediately fizzed over making a mess on me, my clothes, and the floor. The worst attack came when I tried to save a can of Diet Coke for later. I had it in my conference complimentary messenger bag to take back to my hotel room so I could have it the next morning (for some reason, conferences have not caught on to the fact that there is a segment of the population who get their morning caffeine in a colder and more carbonated form than the gallons of coffee they provide for everyone else). I stopped to use the restroom, hanging my bag on the cute little hook. You know, I didn't want to set my bag on the floor and risk becoming infected with e.coli. Unfortunately, right after I sat down, the bag fell. And then I heard an odd noise. Had a snake, now angered by its jolt, somehow snuck into my bag? Oh, no. I frantically grabbed for the bag, throwing things out of the way of the exploding can. I grabbed the can and put it in the nearest receptacle I could reach from my sitting position - and no, I couldn't get up, yet - which was the handy container for feminine product disposal. I pulled my notebook, papers, electronic essentials, and vendor giveaway trinkets (aka souveniers for the kids) from the bag and laid them on the floor (I'm still waiting for the e.coli to set in) until I could safely get up. Then I took the bag to the sink to dump its cola contents. The good news is that I now know that if I ever need to use that bag as a portable cooler, it is certainly water-tight. When I went back to the stall, I noticed that the can had continued to exude its contents, which were now dripping from the stall receptacle. I don't know about you, but I never want to see something dripping from there when I enter a stall, so I removed the can and put it in the larger trash can by the door. As I was going back to finish wiping up the mess on the floor, another woman came in. I'm not sure what she thought I had done in there that I needed to be wiping things up off the floor, but luckily, I didn't see her again for the rest of the conference. Needless to say, I was caffeine-less the next morning.
I also had a karma clash with my camera, though on this one, I think the good karma won out over the bad. I have only had a digital camera since early December and I have loved every minute of being in the digital world. I took the camera with me and I took a LOT of pictures. I was also so excited to run into two women I worked with in my early Lawson days. We all worked together when I was new to the team and very pregnant, Sara was a consultant, and Hannah was our Lawson expert. I haven't seen either of them in several years, and we hadn't all been together in about seven or eight years. Wednesday morning, the last day of the conference, we were all in the breakfast area so I wanted a picture. My excitement got the better of me, and as I pulled out the camera - the camera I had worked so hard to protect during the conference for fear of something happening to damage it, my current favorite material possession - I dropped it. On the concrete floor. It didn't look too bad, but part of the battery cover was broken off and the casing had popped apart on one corner. I snapped it back together and turned it on. I could still see the pictures that I had already taken, but the display screen was black when I switched it to camera mode. I told my friend that she would have to look through the viewfinder because something was wrong with the display. They were all very concerned for how I would handle the disaster. Inside I was a screaming, crying, hysterical mess. Outside, I tried very hard to keep it together and not feel like I had just dropped my newborn on the floor instead of a camera. I found clenching my fists and clasping my hands helped. As I examined the camera later - after Sara and Hannah had both left to catch planes - I realized that it was not the display that was broken (duh - I could see the pictures from the night before!), it was the lens. The picture of the three of us - it's a black square. So sad. Later, we were in the exhibition hall and the sales guy from our favorite consultant company called Stacy and I over. I was still in a bit of a shell-shocked state, trying not to think about my lovely, broken camera. Tom had gifts for Stacy and I. For Stacy, he handed her an oversized version of their 2007 mascot, Jett - a black panther - he is way cute. He handed me a box. With a camera in it. The camera I broke is a Canon PowerShot A540. He gave me a Canon PowerShot A530. Stacy had to explain to him why I was so overcome with emotion I couldn't speak - he thought I was unhappy with my gift. If that's not the triumph of karma, I don't know what is. And it also proves that someone somewhere really WANTS me to take pictures of the CIBER consultants drinking and partying it up. And maybe, just maybe, I honor the good karma mojo and not use those pictures as future blackmail. But I may still post the videos to YouTube.
But there are a few things I remember from my moments in the sun.
Okay, first, you should know that karma is real. And I had to pay for enjoying myself in sunny San Diego with some impish karma happenings. Yes, I enjoyed a conference in which I was able to professionally refresh myself, get re-energized about our upcoming projects, learn a few new things, and do a bit of networking. And true, I had a beautiful hotel room with: a giant King-size bed, upon which I slept cross-wise - just because I could; a balcony upon which I could sit in absolute silence and enjoy completing an entire thought without being interrupted by "Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom!"; a spectacular view of the Coronado bay, bridge, and island, where I witnessed a couple of breath-taking sunsets; a bathroom I did not have to share and where - similar to the balcony - I could complete my thoughts without interruption or audience; and, a television that wasn't tuned to ESPN even ONCE. I also had fabulous food, which was either provided by the conference or for which my company will be kind enough to reimburse me, and though I had my share of adult beverages, I didn't pay for any of them with my own money. And unlike my college days, I didn't owe any other kind of non-monetary payment for said beverages at the end of the evening. Although I think the consultants who bought most of those drinks probably would like a little something from me, I'm pretty sure it involves contracts and advice, not dark dorm rooms and next morning walks of shame. Of course, with some of these consultants, you really can't be too sure. Oh! And I got to hear another very energetic and motivational speech from Dean Hager, of whom I admit I am a bit of a Lawson groupie.
And for these wonderful benefits, what did I have to endure? Well, there was the attack of the killer sodas. Every - and I am NOT exaggerating - can or bottle of carbonated soda I opened immediately fizzed over making a mess on me, my clothes, and the floor. The worst attack came when I tried to save a can of Diet Coke for later. I had it in my conference complimentary messenger bag to take back to my hotel room so I could have it the next morning (for some reason, conferences have not caught on to the fact that there is a segment of the population who get their morning caffeine in a colder and more carbonated form than the gallons of coffee they provide for everyone else). I stopped to use the restroom, hanging my bag on the cute little hook. You know, I didn't want to set my bag on the floor and risk becoming infected with e.coli. Unfortunately, right after I sat down, the bag fell. And then I heard an odd noise. Had a snake, now angered by its jolt, somehow snuck into my bag? Oh, no. I frantically grabbed for the bag, throwing things out of the way of the exploding can. I grabbed the can and put it in the nearest receptacle I could reach from my sitting position - and no, I couldn't get up, yet - which was the handy container for feminine product disposal. I pulled my notebook, papers, electronic essentials, and vendor giveaway trinkets (aka souveniers for the kids) from the bag and laid them on the floor (I'm still waiting for the e.coli to set in) until I could safely get up. Then I took the bag to the sink to dump its cola contents. The good news is that I now know that if I ever need to use that bag as a portable cooler, it is certainly water-tight. When I went back to the stall, I noticed that the can had continued to exude its contents, which were now dripping from the stall receptacle. I don't know about you, but I never want to see something dripping from there when I enter a stall, so I removed the can and put it in the larger trash can by the door. As I was going back to finish wiping up the mess on the floor, another woman came in. I'm not sure what she thought I had done in there that I needed to be wiping things up off the floor, but luckily, I didn't see her again for the rest of the conference. Needless to say, I was caffeine-less the next morning.
I also had a karma clash with my camera, though on this one, I think the good karma won out over the bad. I have only had a digital camera since early December and I have loved every minute of being in the digital world. I took the camera with me and I took a LOT of pictures. I was also so excited to run into two women I worked with in my early Lawson days. We all worked together when I was new to the team and very pregnant, Sara was a consultant, and Hannah was our Lawson expert. I haven't seen either of them in several years, and we hadn't all been together in about seven or eight years. Wednesday morning, the last day of the conference, we were all in the breakfast area so I wanted a picture. My excitement got the better of me, and as I pulled out the camera - the camera I had worked so hard to protect during the conference for fear of something happening to damage it, my current favorite material possession - I dropped it. On the concrete floor. It didn't look too bad, but part of the battery cover was broken off and the casing had popped apart on one corner. I snapped it back together and turned it on. I could still see the pictures that I had already taken, but the display screen was black when I switched it to camera mode. I told my friend that she would have to look through the viewfinder because something was wrong with the display. They were all very concerned for how I would handle the disaster. Inside I was a screaming, crying, hysterical mess. Outside, I tried very hard to keep it together and not feel like I had just dropped my newborn on the floor instead of a camera. I found clenching my fists and clasping my hands helped. As I examined the camera later - after Sara and Hannah had both left to catch planes - I realized that it was not the display that was broken (duh - I could see the pictures from the night before!), it was the lens. The picture of the three of us - it's a black square. So sad. Later, we were in the exhibition hall and the sales guy from our favorite consultant company called Stacy and I over. I was still in a bit of a shell-shocked state, trying not to think about my lovely, broken camera. Tom had gifts for Stacy and I. For Stacy, he handed her an oversized version of their 2007 mascot, Jett - a black panther - he is way cute. He handed me a box. With a camera in it. The camera I broke is a Canon PowerShot A540. He gave me a Canon PowerShot A530. Stacy had to explain to him why I was so overcome with emotion I couldn't speak - he thought I was unhappy with my gift. If that's not the triumph of karma, I don't know what is. And it also proves that someone somewhere really WANTS me to take pictures of the CIBER consultants drinking and partying it up. And maybe, just maybe, I honor the good karma mojo and not use those pictures as future blackmail. But I may still post the videos to YouTube.
Monday, March 12, 2007
When my love for food meets my love for clothes that fit
Dear cookie-leaver (may I assume cookie-baker, as well?),
I hate you (I love you. Marry me?). You left evil (yummy) cookies on the Food Table, which is right next to my cubicle. Those (delicate, pretty) pink cookies called my name until I could no longer resist. I ate one and it was (wonderful, perfect, strawberry/cherry-flavored heaven) terrible! And still the plate of cookies remained, calling to me as I walked past to and from my cube; drifting into the corner of my vision even as I looked away. And so I ate them. Most of them. I would have taken a picture of one - because, yes, I bring my camera to work - had I not devoured it before I thought to do so.
Please (don't) stop bringing cookies to work! It is not in keeping with our corporate values of respect to all people - you clearly do not respect my lack of will power and my efforts to maintain a more healthy eating lifestyle. It's almost as if you knew that I have consumed four boxes of Girl Scout cookies in the last five days and are attacking (consoling) me while I am at my weakest. What have I done to deserve this treatment (I'll do it again!)?
Yes, I was in California enjoying warm weather and sunshine for five days, but I worked, I swear! It was work! Hard, hard work! I drove the golf cart, for crying out loud - is that not effort enough? I had to drink free beer. With consultants - the horror! And all the sunshine - it hurt my eyes! And watching Dean Hager - these are the lengths I go to in order to bring back new Lawson knowledge for you. And still you torment me...Please, no (yes, yes!) more cookies. Maybe some carrot sticks (better yet, potato sticks) or a nice (chocolate-covered) fruit plate.
Begging for (more treats, like a lap dog) your understanding,
Me
I hate you (I love you. Marry me?). You left evil (yummy) cookies on the Food Table, which is right next to my cubicle. Those (delicate, pretty) pink cookies called my name until I could no longer resist. I ate one and it was (wonderful, perfect, strawberry/cherry-flavored heaven) terrible! And still the plate of cookies remained, calling to me as I walked past to and from my cube; drifting into the corner of my vision even as I looked away. And so I ate them. Most of them. I would have taken a picture of one - because, yes, I bring my camera to work - had I not devoured it before I thought to do so.
Please (don't) stop bringing cookies to work! It is not in keeping with our corporate values of respect to all people - you clearly do not respect my lack of will power and my efforts to maintain a more healthy eating lifestyle. It's almost as if you knew that I have consumed four boxes of Girl Scout cookies in the last five days and are attacking (consoling) me while I am at my weakest. What have I done to deserve this treatment (I'll do it again!)?
Yes, I was in California enjoying warm weather and sunshine for five days, but I worked, I swear! It was work! Hard, hard work! I drove the golf cart, for crying out loud - is that not effort enough? I had to drink free beer. With consultants - the horror! And all the sunshine - it hurt my eyes! And watching Dean Hager - these are the lengths I go to in order to bring back new Lawson knowledge for you. And still you torment me...Please, no (yes, yes!) more cookies. Maybe some carrot sticks (better yet, potato sticks) or a nice (chocolate-covered) fruit plate.
Begging for (more treats, like a lap dog) your understanding,
Me
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Dude, it's totally way sweet. Seriously.
Stuff:
Pens that are missing the caps should not be allowed. I was in a meeting this afternoon at the hotel and they had pens and paper at every seat. The pens were the kind with the removeable cap, except the caps were missing. Maybe the hotel staff thought we would all revert back to junior high and start throwing them at each other? They should have taken the pen tubes and just left us the ink stick because we had one HELL of a spit ball fight.
***
We have all moved to the valley and have selected our approved lingo. I have a pet word that some people know about. Two, really. But it's only one that I've apparently taught my daughter to use. My word made it in, and so did a couple of other people's. The official words of CUE are: Dude, sweet, totally, way, and seriously. Dude, I totally love San Diego, seriously. Way.
***
Did you know California has an official dog? Must be. Within the first two hours I was here, I saw four people with the same kind of dog. Small, white, fluffy - Bichon Frise-ish. Cute, don't get me wrong, but Dude, seriously? One dog was being walked like a normal dog. One dog was riding in a car. One dog was riding in a bicycle basket (I would have totally taken a picture if I wouldn't have gotten busted - it was too cute), and the last one was being carried while its owner (I assume, but maybe they were just friends) walked. So, I guess she was taking her dog for a carry instead of a walk...Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. Or Indiana either.
***
Have I mentioned that I LOVE palm trees? I would marry them if they would relocate so I could be closer to my family. And if they promised to do all the laundry and most of the dishes. I went on a round of golf with Stacy and Tom and Tom's BFF, Kelly, yesterday. I shot 64. Pictures. You didn't really think I GOLFED, did you? Dude, I drove the cart! I loaded the pics to Flickr - check them out! I have movies, too...I may have to set up YouTube...but I might accept bribes of Cool Kid Beer...
Pens that are missing the caps should not be allowed. I was in a meeting this afternoon at the hotel and they had pens and paper at every seat. The pens were the kind with the removeable cap, except the caps were missing. Maybe the hotel staff thought we would all revert back to junior high and start throwing them at each other? They should have taken the pen tubes and just left us the ink stick because we had one HELL of a spit ball fight.
***
We have all moved to the valley and have selected our approved lingo. I have a pet word that some people know about. Two, really. But it's only one that I've apparently taught my daughter to use. My word made it in, and so did a couple of other people's. The official words of CUE are: Dude, sweet, totally, way, and seriously. Dude, I totally love San Diego, seriously. Way.
***
Did you know California has an official dog? Must be. Within the first two hours I was here, I saw four people with the same kind of dog. Small, white, fluffy - Bichon Frise-ish. Cute, don't get me wrong, but Dude, seriously? One dog was being walked like a normal dog. One dog was riding in a car. One dog was riding in a bicycle basket (I would have totally taken a picture if I wouldn't have gotten busted - it was too cute), and the last one was being carried while its owner (I assume, but maybe they were just friends) walked. So, I guess she was taking her dog for a carry instead of a walk...Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. Or Indiana either.
***
Have I mentioned that I LOVE palm trees? I would marry them if they would relocate so I could be closer to my family. And if they promised to do all the laundry and most of the dishes. I went on a round of golf with Stacy and Tom and Tom's BFF, Kelly, yesterday. I shot 64. Pictures. You didn't really think I GOLFED, did you? Dude, I drove the cart! I loaded the pics to Flickr - check them out! I have movies, too...I may have to set up YouTube...but I might accept bribes of Cool Kid Beer...
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Graduating, even though I missed Prom
So I have this cube neighbor...let's call him Gilbert. I have posted once here about Gilbert, though I hesitated even to post that. I have had many, MANY, other things I considered posting here about Gilbert. But I resisted. Though I don't think my little blog is very heavily trafficked, and those who are reading - as far as I know - are my friends, who all know about Gilbert anyway, it didn't seem right to post somewhat unkind (but FUNNY, oh, I'm telling you, that Gilbert is prime material, my friends!) stories about him. The first blog I ever started reading was Dooce. Heather Armstrong is a wonderful writer. And when she first started writing her blog, she worked as a web designer and she posted things about the people she worked with and for. Eventually, they found it, and she was fired for it. I tucked that away as Lesson #1 in Blog-Writing - don't blog about work! So I don't blog too much about work, and I don't blog anything about work that I would be overly embarrassed for my boss and/or co-workers to read. Except for that entry about Gilbert. I'm not entirely sure how he would feel if he read that entry and recognized himself, or what I would say if he confronted me about it.
Over the last week or so, there have been a couple of very entertaining (to me and my friends) stories about Gilbert, and I have sent them via e-mail to a group of people with whom I normally share these kinds of things. Some of them are co-workers of both mine and Gilbert's. Others are outside of our company. I sent one earlier this week, as a matter of fact, and as I was typing and sending it, there was something troubling me, though I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. I almost didn't send it. But it was really funny, dammit! And I am nothing if not a laugh-whore, so I did send it. I love to be able to tell a story - SELL a story - to someone and get them to laugh. And they did. But then one of my co-workers and friends pulled me aside to very delicately tell me that maybe I really shouldn't be sending that kind of stuff in e-mail. It isn't in accordance with our corporate value of respecting all people. And she is right. That's what was bothering me. I knew it was wrong. Yes, it's funny, because he's different and he farts (OUT LOUD) at his desk and he talks about the books being cooked every day and he obsessively watches the happenings of his stock market portfolio. But here's the trouble: we're laughing at someone else. We - and in particular me - are being catty high school girls who are laughing at the kid who's not part of our cool club, who dresses a little differently and looks and acts a little odd. Ouch. When did I turn into THAT?
I wasn't that girl when I was in middle school or high school. If anything, at times, I was the object of those discussions. So what happened to me?!? I turned into a laugh-whore, that's what happened. If they're laughing WITH me, they aren't laughing AT me...wow, I guess some of those high school insecurities have lingered, haven't they? And knowing that I have these lingering insecurities, I have to stop myself and put myself -back- in Gilbert's shoes. It doesn't feel good to be excluded. To be laughed at. Especially in a place you can not avoid, like work or school. It makes a sometimes unpleasant experience all that much worse. And one of the the traits I want most in the world for my children to posses is politeness. Kindness. I really do believe that many problems of the world could be avoided or corrected if people were just a little more polite. So what am I doing?!? This isn't the person I want to be and it certainly isn't the person I want my kids to be. This is the laugh-whore, begging for people to like her.
So, though I'm a little late in getting started, and I feel a little sheepish about making my Lenten sacrifice be something I should already be doing/not doing, I've decided to use the season of Lent to try to put myself back on the right path. Sometimes, everyone needs to vent, and there are always people who we won't get along with. So I'm not going to say that I'm never going to say anything negative about another person. I'm human, c'mon. But I'm going back to the wisdom that if you can't say it TO someone, you shouldn't say (or write) it ABOUT someone. Simple. Obvious. But apparently, my brain is trying to re-write junior high and I've forgotten. So now I'll just have to go back to laughing at my own stupidity. And believe me, there is plenty of material to work with there. We could start with all the ways in which I have successfully embarrassed myself...oh, those are good times...and then of course there are my expert parenting skills. If only the SuperNanny knew about me, she could fill a whole season!
And before I forget, thank you, my friend, for saying the words that I didn't know were in my head and pulling me back out of junior high. Apparently, the bad hair styles and questionable clothing choices just weren't enough to keep me away.
Over the last week or so, there have been a couple of very entertaining (to me and my friends) stories about Gilbert, and I have sent them via e-mail to a group of people with whom I normally share these kinds of things. Some of them are co-workers of both mine and Gilbert's. Others are outside of our company. I sent one earlier this week, as a matter of fact, and as I was typing and sending it, there was something troubling me, though I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. I almost didn't send it. But it was really funny, dammit! And I am nothing if not a laugh-whore, so I did send it. I love to be able to tell a story - SELL a story - to someone and get them to laugh. And they did. But then one of my co-workers and friends pulled me aside to very delicately tell me that maybe I really shouldn't be sending that kind of stuff in e-mail. It isn't in accordance with our corporate value of respecting all people. And she is right. That's what was bothering me. I knew it was wrong. Yes, it's funny, because he's different and he farts (OUT LOUD) at his desk and he talks about the books being cooked every day and he obsessively watches the happenings of his stock market portfolio. But here's the trouble: we're laughing at someone else. We - and in particular me - are being catty high school girls who are laughing at the kid who's not part of our cool club, who dresses a little differently and looks and acts a little odd. Ouch. When did I turn into THAT?
I wasn't that girl when I was in middle school or high school. If anything, at times, I was the object of those discussions. So what happened to me?!? I turned into a laugh-whore, that's what happened. If they're laughing WITH me, they aren't laughing AT me...wow, I guess some of those high school insecurities have lingered, haven't they? And knowing that I have these lingering insecurities, I have to stop myself and put myself -back- in Gilbert's shoes. It doesn't feel good to be excluded. To be laughed at. Especially in a place you can not avoid, like work or school. It makes a sometimes unpleasant experience all that much worse. And one of the the traits I want most in the world for my children to posses is politeness. Kindness. I really do believe that many problems of the world could be avoided or corrected if people were just a little more polite. So what am I doing?!? This isn't the person I want to be and it certainly isn't the person I want my kids to be. This is the laugh-whore, begging for people to like her.
So, though I'm a little late in getting started, and I feel a little sheepish about making my Lenten sacrifice be something I should already be doing/not doing, I've decided to use the season of Lent to try to put myself back on the right path. Sometimes, everyone needs to vent, and there are always people who we won't get along with. So I'm not going to say that I'm never going to say anything negative about another person. I'm human, c'mon. But I'm going back to the wisdom that if you can't say it TO someone, you shouldn't say (or write) it ABOUT someone. Simple. Obvious. But apparently, my brain is trying to re-write junior high and I've forgotten. So now I'll just have to go back to laughing at my own stupidity. And believe me, there is plenty of material to work with there. We could start with all the ways in which I have successfully embarrassed myself...oh, those are good times...and then of course there are my expert parenting skills. If only the SuperNanny knew about me, she could fill a whole season!
And before I forget, thank you, my friend, for saying the words that I didn't know were in my head and pulling me back out of junior high. Apparently, the bad hair styles and questionable clothing choices just weren't enough to keep me away.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
I'm going to call it froz
Today started like many other days - with me in a fog. The difference today was that the fog was outside instead of just in my head. It was one of the foggiest days I can remember. The radio called it freezing fog, which sounded stupid to me, until I drove through it and watched my windows ice up. As I drove down the interstate on my way to work, trying to pay attention to the cars I could barely see, I got distracted by glimpses through the fog of how beautiful the frozen grass and bushes were on the side of the road. All I could think about was how much I wanted to take a picture...or two...or twenty. Every minute or so, I would think, "Ooo. THAT would be a great picture! Oh! Or THAT! Oh, look how pretty THAT is!" Unfortunately, you can't exactly take pictures while you're driving down the interstate trying to avoid cars in near zero visibility driving conditions. And pulling over to the side of the road in order to get out of the car and take some pictures isn't really a good idea, either. You know, there are stupid people on the interstate in the fog.
So I did the only smart thing I could do. I got off the interstate and drove on the even foggier side road so that I could drive twenty mph and stop if I wanted to. And I did stop and take a few pictures, but then the fog got so bad that I really couldn't see enough to even do that. So I got the idea to take a small diversion on my way to work and drive a few hundred yards into the state park where I KNEW I could get some cool pics. And boy, did I. I pulled just inside the front gate and took several pictures. Then I drove a little further in just to see what was there and to turn around. I saw a small road that led to the Nature Center and thought that would be a good place to turn around. This may sound a little cheesy, but I really think it was some kind of Divine intervention - it IS Ash Wednesday, after all. As I turned onto the road, a deer walked across in front of me. I watched where the deer walked to and saw another one, then two, and then I realized there were FIVE deer in all. Wow! It was truly amazing.
So I was of course late to work. Again. I got there at 9am, for the third day in a row. Thank God my boss is also my friend, and that she understands - and is okay for now with the fact - that I barely have enough work to fill my days. So being a little late isn't a huge issue right now. And I did show her my amazing deer pictures. As I told another friend today - as my friend, she was totally cool with my side trip. But as my boss, at some point she's going to have to start frowning upon this kind of behavior from me.
So it was really a great way to start my morning. And it made me think, yet again, how much I wish I could just take pictures for a living. And write blogs. If I could find someone to pay me what I make now to do that...well, that might just be heaven.
Sigh.
Okay, back to the real world. But in the mean time, take a look at my frozzy pictures!
Thursday, February 8, 2007
All I need is a glue gun and an umbrella
A new CubeLand exclusive feature!
So apparently, my cube neighbor has overheard enough of the conversations from my side of the cube wall to determine that I am worthless when it comes to work-related subjects. I am, however, at least in his mind, some kind of domestic goddess when it comes to random life skill trivia. A few weeks ago, he came over to ask me what it means on sweaters when it says "Lay flat to dry." Do they mean that literally? Uh, yes.
Today, he came a-knocking to ask about the refrigerator life-span of cilantro so he can plan when to make his Bean Dip Surprise. How long will it last if I buy it today? He seemed assured once I told him that the parsley in my refrigerator has lasted a week or two at this point and his cilantro should enjoy a similar lengthy life in the coolness of his crisper drawer.
I'll be submitting my name change application shortly. You can start referring to me as Martha Poppins...
So apparently, my cube neighbor has overheard enough of the conversations from my side of the cube wall to determine that I am worthless when it comes to work-related subjects. I am, however, at least in his mind, some kind of domestic goddess when it comes to random life skill trivia. A few weeks ago, he came over to ask me what it means on sweaters when it says "Lay flat to dry." Do they mean that literally? Uh, yes.
Today, he came a-knocking to ask about the refrigerator life-span of cilantro so he can plan when to make his Bean Dip Surprise. How long will it last if I buy it today? He seemed assured once I told him that the parsley in my refrigerator has lasted a week or two at this point and his cilantro should enjoy a similar lengthy life in the coolness of his crisper drawer.
I'll be submitting my name change application shortly. You can start referring to me as Martha Poppins...
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
The stars sure are bright out here in space
I'm a worrier. I get an idea and I put it in my head and let it gnaw away at my thoughts. I worry about other people's thoughts and feelings. It sounds nice in theory, to be concerned for others, but I do it too much. I do it to the point of my own self-centered paralysis. What will they think (of me), what will they say (about me), what will they do (to me), will they like me...
Coupled with the worry is apparently a profound lack of physical ability to handle stress. For years now, stress has manifested itself physically in different ways. Sometimes it's headaches, other times it's been vertigo, nausea, a lingering cough. Most recently, my internalized stress triggered (not caused - my doctor was very firm that there isn't necessarily a causal relationship; this is a chemical problem that elevated stress levels may have aggravated but that was already lurking in my brain. Because that was supposed to make me feel better?) depression that I dealt with for almost nine months before finding the right professional help. It wasn't debilitating depression, but it had gotten bad enough that I was crying more days than I wasn't, I snapped at my husband and my kids ALL the time, and I was just never happy. I felt like there was a huge weight on my chest and I constantly let out deep, heavy sighs to try and relieve the pressure. When the symptoms finally became too obvious to ignore, I attributed them to really bad PMS and talked to my OBGYN about birth control pills to regulate my hormones. After three more months, it was obvious that wasn't the problem. She asked if I could be depressed. I shrugged. Well, after leaving a horrible job in April and just finishing (finally!) my bachelor's degree in December, what would I be depressed about in January - and what would I have been depressed about since oh, I dunno, May? She suggested we try Zoloft, so I agreed because I was ready to stop feeling the way I felt.
I have been taking Zoloft now for just over two weeks. I've been hesitant to tell many people about what's going on with me for a couple of reasons. First, I am not sure even now that I completely know how I feel about this situation. I'm not ready for too many other opinions on the matter until I have my own opinion, and that alone tells me this is serious. Second, any opinions I get now need to be able to be objective, and as I've found, there aren't many objective opinions in the depression and drugs discussion. Most people I know have a pretty strong opinion, based on the fact that they work in healthcare, are currently taking depression medication, know someone who has taken depression medication, or their beliefs about the true cause and nature of depression. None of these opinions help me, because I already know those sides of the story.
I know that drugs have helped and continue to help a lot of people. I know that depression can be a horrible chronic curse that ruins families and lives. I also know that sometimes when people say they are "depressed," they are just sad, down, stressed, or unhappy about a particular event or circumstance. To me, that is not the same as the person who is depressed in a way that prevents them from seeing color in their lives or enjoying a single moment of any day or even functioning. My struggle is that I fall into neither of those groups. My bad days were bad, but I still got up, showered, cared for my children (sort of and with lots of yelling), went to work, prepared dinner, helped with homework, did my own homework, etc...Until the end, I was even still having sex with my husband, though of course, not as much as he would have liked. But that's a whole different topic. The problem was that even while I was doing those things, I was miserable and sad and felt dead inside for no apparent reason. Things that should have been completely benign set me off into uncontrolled tears. A couple of times I sobbed in the bathroom, unable to stop, worried that my husband or children would hear and would ask for an explanation I did not have. I have struggled with and reached a point of acceptance with the fact that, while my depression is mild and liveable, and even unnoticeable to most people I know, it is true depression and I need help to treat it.
A few days ago, I think I reached a turning point where the medication started to have some effect and the difference in the days since that point and those before has helped me to finally accept what is happening to me and the fact that it is not something I can either control or fix on my own. I do not want to be dependent upon a drug to live my life, though I don't have any practical reasons why. I never thought I looked poorly upon people who take drugs to function, but maybe I secretly did. I don't think so, but why else would it be okay for them and not for me. I think it all comes back to control, and for me, depending upon the drug is losing control. In all truthfulness, I am pissed off that I can't get better on my own - just suck it up and be happy. And so I struggle to be okay with taking the drug, even while I continue to take the drug, and believe the drug is helping me.
So, all of that to say all of this...
Now, I'm worried. What triggered this disease for me was a job change. I don't like that, but I believe it. I am not sorry I left my old job. I am not sorry I took this new job. While the new job is still, ten months later, not yet challenging me in the ways I had hoped or providing the opportunities I thought it would, I am learning new things. I feel appreciated and, most of the time, that I am able (or will be able) to contribute something of value to the department and the company. One of my dear friends is my boss, and she is terrific. The corporate culture here is everything I could hope for. I can't explain enough how happy I am to work for this company, and how thrilled I am to no longer be an employee of the other. However, I worked for that company for nine years. It was my first 'real' career job. The decision to leave was agonizing, even through the misery. I was sick to my stomach for a week. I didn't sleep. I couldn't concentrate. The first month I was at the new job was much of the same. Looking back now, I see that is when I first started showing signs of the depression that was growing.
Now, things are better. The stress of school is gone (though finishing school was another big change that rocked my system), the "new job" feel has settled. I have work to fill my day, but am not so busy that I don't have time to breathe. When I leave work in the evening, I truly leave work. I am able to enjoy being at home with my family.
But there's a problem: I am in Finance. I don't like finance and I am not now, nor will I ever be, an accountant. My husband is an accountant, and that is as close as I need to get. I work with the system that runs our financials. I have worked on this system for over seven years (first at the old company and now at the new), but until I took this job, my main focus was first HR and after that, Payroll. I miss HR and even (God help me) Payroll. It is my comfort zone and - to me - so much more interesting than debits and credits. Recently, I referred a former co-worker for an open position in the HRIS group. It was my perfect dream job, and I helped him get it instead. Why? Well, Silly, because I felt guilty. And I worried.
What would my friend/boss think if I jumped ship so soon after she rescued me from the other sinking ship? I felt, and still feel, that I owe her at least a year of my time. So finally, we're to the current problem. The year will be up at the beginning of April. The HRIS department is discussing the probability that they will need another position similar to the one my friend took. You know, my dream job. And they are throwing my name around as a likely candidate for the opening. So what's the problem, you ask? Silly, haven't you been paying attention? Guilt. Worry. Stress. Depression.
First, have I really repaid my friend enough for hiring me? The projects she hired me to work on were delayed or cancelled. The big projects coming now are due to start this spring - right when I would be leaving. The guilt. What will she think? Will she be upset or angry with me for leaving Finance to go back to HR? Will I be taking the easy way out instead of sticking it out here and learning the Finance game? The worry. If I were to take the job and switch, will the stress of this job change do to me what the last job change did? Will it cause the depression that I am just beginning to grapple with to worsen? I feel like I am crawling up out of a dark hole and the thought of going back down there to the dark is terrifying.
I am trying to remind myself that I can't even see this bridge yet, let alone do I have to decide whether or not to cross it. But that's where the worrier in me comes in. The thought is in my head, festering, digging tunnels in my brain. It sits on my shoulder and whispers things in my ear. Unintelligible, worrysome things, full of dread and dark, caused by something I want desperately.
And there's the sigh. It's here this afternoon. The pressure is back on my chest, though it's not as heavy as it might have been a week ago. I worry that the very worry I am worrying will become a self-fulfilling prophecy, causing me to slip back into the dark. Again, I am self-absorbed with the internal workings of my brain and body. It's hard to concentrate on a job or contribute to a family with the constant checking of my sanity.
I spoke briefly with a friend this afternoon and explained the situation, though I didn't go into elaborate details about all the angst and she doesn't know about the depression. She told me not to be an astronaut floating in space with just the cord to keep me attached to the ship. I should pull myself back in and wait until the asteroid hits before I start to panic. I love her analogies. One day, I'll record them in a book and make millions. Until then, I'm checking my oxygen tank and trying to head back to the ship and not think about the asteroid that may or may not be headed my way.
Coupled with the worry is apparently a profound lack of physical ability to handle stress. For years now, stress has manifested itself physically in different ways. Sometimes it's headaches, other times it's been vertigo, nausea, a lingering cough. Most recently, my internalized stress triggered (not caused - my doctor was very firm that there isn't necessarily a causal relationship; this is a chemical problem that elevated stress levels may have aggravated but that was already lurking in my brain. Because that was supposed to make me feel better?) depression that I dealt with for almost nine months before finding the right professional help. It wasn't debilitating depression, but it had gotten bad enough that I was crying more days than I wasn't, I snapped at my husband and my kids ALL the time, and I was just never happy. I felt like there was a huge weight on my chest and I constantly let out deep, heavy sighs to try and relieve the pressure. When the symptoms finally became too obvious to ignore, I attributed them to really bad PMS and talked to my OBGYN about birth control pills to regulate my hormones. After three more months, it was obvious that wasn't the problem. She asked if I could be depressed. I shrugged. Well, after leaving a horrible job in April and just finishing (finally!) my bachelor's degree in December, what would I be depressed about in January - and what would I have been depressed about since oh, I dunno, May? She suggested we try Zoloft, so I agreed because I was ready to stop feeling the way I felt.
I have been taking Zoloft now for just over two weeks. I've been hesitant to tell many people about what's going on with me for a couple of reasons. First, I am not sure even now that I completely know how I feel about this situation. I'm not ready for too many other opinions on the matter until I have my own opinion, and that alone tells me this is serious. Second, any opinions I get now need to be able to be objective, and as I've found, there aren't many objective opinions in the depression and drugs discussion. Most people I know have a pretty strong opinion, based on the fact that they work in healthcare, are currently taking depression medication, know someone who has taken depression medication, or their beliefs about the true cause and nature of depression. None of these opinions help me, because I already know those sides of the story.
I know that drugs have helped and continue to help a lot of people. I know that depression can be a horrible chronic curse that ruins families and lives. I also know that sometimes when people say they are "depressed," they are just sad, down, stressed, or unhappy about a particular event or circumstance. To me, that is not the same as the person who is depressed in a way that prevents them from seeing color in their lives or enjoying a single moment of any day or even functioning. My struggle is that I fall into neither of those groups. My bad days were bad, but I still got up, showered, cared for my children (sort of and with lots of yelling), went to work, prepared dinner, helped with homework, did my own homework, etc...Until the end, I was even still having sex with my husband, though of course, not as much as he would have liked. But that's a whole different topic. The problem was that even while I was doing those things, I was miserable and sad and felt dead inside for no apparent reason. Things that should have been completely benign set me off into uncontrolled tears. A couple of times I sobbed in the bathroom, unable to stop, worried that my husband or children would hear and would ask for an explanation I did not have. I have struggled with and reached a point of acceptance with the fact that, while my depression is mild and liveable, and even unnoticeable to most people I know, it is true depression and I need help to treat it.
A few days ago, I think I reached a turning point where the medication started to have some effect and the difference in the days since that point and those before has helped me to finally accept what is happening to me and the fact that it is not something I can either control or fix on my own. I do not want to be dependent upon a drug to live my life, though I don't have any practical reasons why. I never thought I looked poorly upon people who take drugs to function, but maybe I secretly did. I don't think so, but why else would it be okay for them and not for me. I think it all comes back to control, and for me, depending upon the drug is losing control. In all truthfulness, I am pissed off that I can't get better on my own - just suck it up and be happy. And so I struggle to be okay with taking the drug, even while I continue to take the drug, and believe the drug is helping me.
So, all of that to say all of this...
Now, I'm worried. What triggered this disease for me was a job change. I don't like that, but I believe it. I am not sorry I left my old job. I am not sorry I took this new job. While the new job is still, ten months later, not yet challenging me in the ways I had hoped or providing the opportunities I thought it would, I am learning new things. I feel appreciated and, most of the time, that I am able (or will be able) to contribute something of value to the department and the company. One of my dear friends is my boss, and she is terrific. The corporate culture here is everything I could hope for. I can't explain enough how happy I am to work for this company, and how thrilled I am to no longer be an employee of the other. However, I worked for that company for nine years. It was my first 'real' career job. The decision to leave was agonizing, even through the misery. I was sick to my stomach for a week. I didn't sleep. I couldn't concentrate. The first month I was at the new job was much of the same. Looking back now, I see that is when I first started showing signs of the depression that was growing.
Now, things are better. The stress of school is gone (though finishing school was another big change that rocked my system), the "new job" feel has settled. I have work to fill my day, but am not so busy that I don't have time to breathe. When I leave work in the evening, I truly leave work. I am able to enjoy being at home with my family.
But there's a problem: I am in Finance. I don't like finance and I am not now, nor will I ever be, an accountant. My husband is an accountant, and that is as close as I need to get. I work with the system that runs our financials. I have worked on this system for over seven years (first at the old company and now at the new), but until I took this job, my main focus was first HR and after that, Payroll. I miss HR and even (God help me) Payroll. It is my comfort zone and - to me - so much more interesting than debits and credits. Recently, I referred a former co-worker for an open position in the HRIS group. It was my perfect dream job, and I helped him get it instead. Why? Well, Silly, because I felt guilty. And I worried.
What would my friend/boss think if I jumped ship so soon after she rescued me from the other sinking ship? I felt, and still feel, that I owe her at least a year of my time. So finally, we're to the current problem. The year will be up at the beginning of April. The HRIS department is discussing the probability that they will need another position similar to the one my friend took. You know, my dream job. And they are throwing my name around as a likely candidate for the opening. So what's the problem, you ask? Silly, haven't you been paying attention? Guilt. Worry. Stress. Depression.
First, have I really repaid my friend enough for hiring me? The projects she hired me to work on were delayed or cancelled. The big projects coming now are due to start this spring - right when I would be leaving. The guilt. What will she think? Will she be upset or angry with me for leaving Finance to go back to HR? Will I be taking the easy way out instead of sticking it out here and learning the Finance game? The worry. If I were to take the job and switch, will the stress of this job change do to me what the last job change did? Will it cause the depression that I am just beginning to grapple with to worsen? I feel like I am crawling up out of a dark hole and the thought of going back down there to the dark is terrifying.
I am trying to remind myself that I can't even see this bridge yet, let alone do I have to decide whether or not to cross it. But that's where the worrier in me comes in. The thought is in my head, festering, digging tunnels in my brain. It sits on my shoulder and whispers things in my ear. Unintelligible, worrysome things, full of dread and dark, caused by something I want desperately.
And there's the sigh. It's here this afternoon. The pressure is back on my chest, though it's not as heavy as it might have been a week ago. I worry that the very worry I am worrying will become a self-fulfilling prophecy, causing me to slip back into the dark. Again, I am self-absorbed with the internal workings of my brain and body. It's hard to concentrate on a job or contribute to a family with the constant checking of my sanity.
I spoke briefly with a friend this afternoon and explained the situation, though I didn't go into elaborate details about all the angst and she doesn't know about the depression. She told me not to be an astronaut floating in space with just the cord to keep me attached to the ship. I should pull myself back in and wait until the asteroid hits before I start to panic. I love her analogies. One day, I'll record them in a book and make millions. Until then, I'm checking my oxygen tank and trying to head back to the ship and not think about the asteroid that may or may not be headed my way.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Channeling my inner Stuart Smalley
Note: reposted from November 17, 2006
I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And gosh darn it - I wrote a cool .bat file today!
I'm not a programmer and I don't even consider myself all that techie/geeky. But I do aspire to geekness, and sometimes I manage a geek moment here and there. Today was totally one of those moments. Now, if there are any real geeks reading this - of course that assumes ANYONE is reading this - don't go bursting my bubble and tell me how simple it is to write a batch file. Nobody else I work with can do it, and that's good enough for me. After being at a new company since last April in a department where I know next to nothing, I finally felt smart about something!
OH...and I think I have finally found the one thing in this world that I do better than my husband and it's ballroom dancing. He has actually agreed to take ballroom dancing lessons with me, six altogether. Tonight was our second class. He is just so cute when he scrunches his face to concentrate on the steps. He's brilliant, but he is an awful dancer! Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow...
Ahh, affirmation! I'm not the dumbest person on the planet. And sadly, there are days when I have to wonder...of course, I could probably cure those feelings pretty quickly if I'd just watch a little more Jerry Spinger or Judge Judy.
I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And gosh darn it - I wrote a cool .bat file today!
I'm not a programmer and I don't even consider myself all that techie/geeky. But I do aspire to geekness, and sometimes I manage a geek moment here and there. Today was totally one of those moments. Now, if there are any real geeks reading this - of course that assumes ANYONE is reading this - don't go bursting my bubble and tell me how simple it is to write a batch file. Nobody else I work with can do it, and that's good enough for me. After being at a new company since last April in a department where I know next to nothing, I finally felt smart about something!
OH...and I think I have finally found the one thing in this world that I do better than my husband and it's ballroom dancing. He has actually agreed to take ballroom dancing lessons with me, six altogether. Tonight was our second class. He is just so cute when he scrunches his face to concentrate on the steps. He's brilliant, but he is an awful dancer! Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow...
Ahh, affirmation! I'm not the dumbest person on the planet. And sadly, there are days when I have to wonder...of course, I could probably cure those feelings pretty quickly if I'd just watch a little more Jerry Spinger or Judge Judy.
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