You know what I hate today? People who like their husbands.

I think that the major reason I feel this way is that everytime I hear that someone likes their spouse, it makes me feel as though my choice of a lifepartner proves just how inadequate I am at judging the character of others. I know, I know, marriage is hard...but that statement just doesn't do it for me. Hard is one thing. I could handle hard. I just can't handle impossible. I can't handle feeling taken advantage of. I can't handle a lack of common courtesy. I can't handle being the only responsible one. I can't handle always having to be the bigger person. And the funny thing is, if you can call it funny that is, is that before two years ago when I was walking the path of the seperated-almost-divorced single mother, I was completely resigned to the fact that I was going to spend the rest of my life in a miserable marriage. I was beaten. I was in such a hole of depression that I had forgotten that light even existed. And then, once the shock of seperation wore off and I started to find myself again, I realized how bad it really had been. Find myself. That sounds so cliche. I guess it wasn't so much finding myself as it was waking from a long bad dream. Anyway, during that period when I was finally waking up, I remembered what happy felt like. I remembered what loved felt like. I remembered what respected felt like. I remembered what wanted, and liked, and confident, and capeable felt like.

And I miss it terribly.

It's been so pathetically long since I last ranted and raved. Pathetic, I tell you. I'd like to have some great excuse, preferably having something to do with being in some exotic paradise with no internet access, but the truth is I've just been super crabby and feeling sorry for myself, with a little bit of lazy mixed in for good measure.

I've been so emotional lately--it's a bad bad thing. When I'm around others, I manage to channel all my emotions into an angry or impatient outburst---when alone, I'm usually crying, and talking irrationally to myself. I gained four pounds in the last 3 weeks. I'd lie and say that I don't know how that happened, because the majority of the time I'm eating ice and suffering from heartburn, but the truth is, when I'm not eating ice, I'm eating Reese sticks. And, by the way, what is up with the ice? I swear I can eat an entire bag of ice in a day and 1/2. And it's not because I'm hot, I'm actually usually cold, but still I chew my ice cubes and the heartburn continues. Not to mention the times that I somehow manage to forget that on the left side of my mouth I have an extremely sensitive tooth, and I chew an ice cube there anyway, and then spend 7 minutes with my eye in a spasm, clutching the side of my face and trying to keep upright.

I'm starting to get really antsy to start back on the workout/clean food wagon, which for me, is beyond strange. I even searched through the garage full of un-packed moving boxes that have been sitting there since we moved in November, I know, shut up, I'll get to it eventually, and found my Leanness Lifestyle book---now all I need is the free time to read it. I know in my heart that I'll most likely fall back to the BFL, but in my opinion, it doesn't hurt to be well read. You never know what tips you'll pick up from similar programs, right?

A guy here at work has decided that he wants to train for a marathon in September...

me: have you started training yet?

him: no.

me: when are you going to start?

him: I figure the first part of August

me: are you serious? you can't start training that late!

him: that gives me like 6 weeks...that should be enough

me: do you have any idea how long a marathon is?

him: yeah, I just figure I'll start with 5 miles, and then just add like 1/2 mile or a mile each day

me: uh huh. hmmm. interesting plan.

him: the real problem though, is I know this girl that does like 5 marathons a year, and her best time is 4 hours and 45 minutes, and I like totally can't get beat by a girl, so I have to run faster then that. I figure I'll aim for 15 minute miles, that way I can walk a little if I get to tired.

me: Ummmm...I'm pretty sure 15 minute miles won't have you finishing in 4:45...more like 7 hours

him: you don't know what you're talking about

me: yeah, you're probably right.

Okay...you know what I hate? I hate it when you tell someone that you'll be looking through all the applications later today and then begin making phone calls to schedule interviews, and that person calls you back THREE more times "just checking to see if you looked at my application yet!". Sure, I looked at your application, but I'm not hiring you because YOU ANNOY ME. If I'm looking for help, it probably means I'm pretty busy, and if I'm pretty busy, I am NOT GOING TO BE HAPPY if I have to stop what I'm doing once an hour to talk to you on the phone. Got it?

I also hate it when the boys here say to a woman that walked in off the street for an application "She's on her lunch break...sure she'll talk to you now". It's called a lunch break for a reason, people.

tired, tired, tired

I am so tired of being fat. Not just pregnant, but fat. I'm sick of getting out of the shower and catching a glimpse of the dimples on my ass and once trim thighs and thinking "this just can't be possible". I know, I know, pregnancy, growing baby, miracle of birth, blah, blah, blah, but what I wouldn't give to go for a run. Which, by the way, is even odder when you consider the fact that I hate to run. No wait, I'm not saying that anymore, because I have a tendency to believe the more I say something, the more my brain will believe it, and I would really really like to be good at running someday. So lets just say it's strange for me to say I want to go for a run, because, even when I'm thin and trim, and in good shape, I find running extremely difficult at best. There have been times that I've done it, but I would not say I've ever been "good" at it. Oh, but a girl can dream, can't she? And dream I do. I dream about someday being able to afford my very own leg press or hack squat machine. I dream about the day when I'll be able to do 10 pull-ups again. I dream of a day when I'll be able to tie my shoes without taking them off first. But mostly I dream of the day when I'll fit back into my short shorts, and I'll look in the mirror and think "yeah, baby....now THAT's what my legs are supposed to look like".

Yesterday was my mother's birthday. To celebrate, she spent the last weekend in vegas with her girlfriend. yes, you read that right, my mother is gay. She left my father after 25 years of marriage for a woman she knew back in highschool. Strange how these things happen. Anyway, it was her first trip to vegas, so last night when I made the compulsary phone call to wish her a happy birthday, I got to hear about how wonderful it was. I wasn't surprised by anything she said, as I've been there before, but I started thinking about how vegas is like being in an alternate reality...and frankly, that's probably exactly where my mother belongs. See, I've known for years that my mother is not right...she lives in this little bubble where she chooses her own reality...chooses what to believe and what not to. And for a person like her, vegas would be the perfect place to be. No where else in the world does the impossible happen so often as in vegas, and the same could be said for the space between my mother's ears. My mother has been known to, after the death of a close friend, say that she prefered to pretend that her friend was on an extended vacation. Denial anyone? My mother, even though she left my father for a woman, has been known to say "gee, I really don't know what went wrong in our marriage...I guess we just grew apart". My mother, after being basically dis-owned by my sister (long story, I'll save it for another post), and not having talked to her for 11 years, found out that my sister was in labor, called all the hospitals until she found her, and then showed up in her room, acting as though they had just been to lunch earlier that day. Do you know how weird it was for my sister to have this crazy woman drooling over her new baby and cooing "ohhh sweetie, grandma's here!", while having to introduce this wacko to her husband and her husband's family? My mother, who stood up in court and said to my father "you take him, I don't want the responsibility", refering to my brother (the only dependent child at the time of the divorce), only to say 5 years later "oh, I fought so hard to keep my baby, but that damn man just had a better lawyer". My mother, who after counseling a transvestite, told my father (they were still married) that she was considering living as a cross-dresser, so that she could better understand her clients. My mother who, after I yelled at her for smoking a cig in front of my son (no, I'm not a total prude, but he had a bronchial infection at the time and she promised me that she would smoke outside), looked me dead in the eye, with a smoke still in her hand, and said "I don't know what you're talking about...I haven't smoked all day". My mother, who once told me that she had an affair on my father when I was 8, and that he caught her in bed with her lover...fast forward to the year my husband has an affair and I ask my father "how did you ever get past the pain and the shame of it" and he has no idea what I'm talking about, because, in fact, my mother lied, and it never happend to him. I could go on and on and on, but frankly it makes me a little sick and a little sad, but suffice it to say, I think living in a world of complete imagination, where appearances, while deceiving, are everything, would suit her just fine. Move to Vegas, mom...I think you'll feel right at home.