2013

I am really not very good at this.

It seems like a few short weeks ago that I boldly proclaimed that I would post regularly. Obviously, I'm full of shit.

Somewhere on my desk I kept a list of all the things I wanted to mention; my "new" experiences from the last 75% of 2012...if I ever find it, I'll do just that. Don't hold your breath.

So, as with most of the things in my life, this year I'll try AGAIN to do just a little bit better than last year. No bold statements, no deadlines, no earth-shattering declarations...my hope for 2013 is that it is a little bit better. That I'm a little bit better.

The first week of the year was a great big "Fuck You" with a pretty little bow attached, so there is plenty of room for improvement. Onward and Upward.

Borrowed from "Jack Sh*t"

I'm not sure why I find this so funny. But, in my opinion: Hilarious.

On why my husband should not touch my car...

Ok. First, can we agree on the fact that if the cap on your tire valve stem says N2, than there is NITROGEN, not air, in the tires? That said, if you try to remove said cap, and it doesn’t want to budge, can we agree that getting a wrench and FORCING it off is probably not the best idea? And, that if you do force one off, and it cracks, you should NOT just throw it in the grass because it’s, in your opinion, now deemed “useless”? And, certainly, if we do go that far, we obviously shouldn’t do the EXACT SAME THING to the other three tires, blaming their hesitancy to removal on “corrosion”, and throwing the now broken caps into the grass as well?  And it goes without saying that, should we get this far, we should probably not try and “figure out why it’s corroded” by pulling and twisting on one of the stems, which will, undoubtedly, result in the stem pulling loose from the tire. I don’t know if you know this or not, but that stem? It fills an actual hole in your tire. When you remove said stem? The tire does not remain inflated for very long. Fun Fact.

Onward...

Typing slowly today as my “good” arm is currently pulsating and twitching under the control of my very handy TENS unit originally intended and used for pre-surgery attempts to fix and post-surgery attempts to quicken recovery of my “bad” arm, which is, technically, now my good arm, I suppose.

Regardless.

Continuing on my theme of the year; still crossfitting, which I’m pretty sure is not an actual word and shouldn’t be used as a verb, but I’m using it anyway. In my first month I only lost 0.8 lbs. Yes. You read that right. ZERO point eight. I wanted to throw up, which, likely would have made it a nice even pound of lost weight, but I refrained, and instead allowed them to do measurements and body fat…drum roll…eff that damn scale, I lost 2% body fat! I can totally live with that. Add to that, I actually LIKE the other people in the “dawn patrol” and, after a brief period (sometimes not so brief) of convincing myself to get out of bed at dark o’clock in the morning, look forward to the workout.

This is not to say that I don’t finish almost every single workout by lying on the floor, dripping with sweat, calculating the odds that I am actually dying and wondering how I will muster the strength to wobble to the shower, because that’s pretty much par for the course.

I’ve been invited to join their training team and take part in the crossfit open; five boxes in five weekends…I’m considering…intimidated as hell, but considering nonetheless. I know what you’re thinking! It’s the year of f**k it, why not! I should already be signed up! So what is holding me back? I’ve been asking myself the same thing, and the only thing I’ve come up with so far is that I don’t want to embarrass myself. I know in my heart I haven’t committed 100% to the program (*ahem* mostly in the “clean diet” department) and I know that this means I will not perform as well as I THINK I should perform which will then fill me with a sense of guilt and dread. That sentence right there makes me a little sick…one day I will learn to live by the mantra that I pretend I live by…progress, not perfection.  That sentence also makes me realize that now I pretty much HAVE to sign up because I cannot let my own insecurity and the fear of not being good enough hold me back from anything. Should have learned that by now, but since I obviously haven’t, I think it’s high time I start to figure it out, no?

In other news:

Attended a running seminar regarding injury prevention and proper mechanics: very interesting and completely to blame for giving me an excuse to purchase a new pair of minimalist running shoes. A valentine’s day present from myself, if you will. I refrained from wearing them until it was actually valentine’s day, and though I haven’t run in them yet, I did wear them to CF and they are very comfortable!  Happy with the purchase. Though I suspect it will take quite a bit of effort to revamp my “running” (read: old man shuffle) technique as a heel strike landing would be disastrous! And painful! Hoping that the gym will put on a POSE technique seminar…that would be super!

Public Health clinical = working in the ghetto of the ghetto. Whew. Sad & a little scary sometimes. Mostly sad though.

MedSurg 2 clinical = ICU…love it so far, but it’s only just begun so time will tell…

Most exciting: Took a “conceal and carry” class and am now certified to carry a concealed weapon in 39 states! Badass!  Interesting side note: I am hella good with a .22…just sayin’

Thus far, February’s been sort of slow in the “new experiences” department…Took 75% of my kids to watch part of the Crossfit Challenge, 6^th annual battle for the cup…kids loved it, competitors were amazing…very motivating! And next week I’m going to Jeff City with a couple of the nursing girls to sit in on some ANA meeting of some sort…field trip!  Other than that, mostly work and school nonsense. 

Oh, and I asked my husband to move out. But that’s another subject entirely. Short story: he does not agree; discussion is anything but smooth.

2012--or the year of "f**k it...why not?"

In one succinct sentence, my entire resolution for this year is the title of this post

"f**k it...why not?"

This is my year of trying new things, doing those things I've said I've always wanted to do but was too scared/broke/lazy/preoccupied, or, more likely, that I was too busy putting everyone else's wants and needs before my own.

Priorities, people.  I'm making myself one.

So far: Rock climbing (indoors) with the boys on auto-belay, followed a week later with the Rock 101 class which taught me to belay as well as all the knots I need to tie in.  *Note to self: find a friend that wants to make this a somewhat regular thing...the one I took the class with, while I love her to her toes, I think will be hard to get to commit to repeat visits*

Also: Crossfit. 3 x week, starting my 4th week today...kicks my ass, but so far I've been really proud of myself; except for one day in which I, yes, had to give up. Sprints. Normally something I'd, on paper, look forward to, but I just didn't have any gas left in the tank. Went out too fast on the first two and had nothing left to give. In an unusual development, I developed great guilt over not finishing this workout and instead of drowning my sorrows with a "feel bad for myself" food binge, two days later I went to the track, warmed up with 1/4 mile jog, finished my other 5 sprints & cooled down with another 1/4 mile.  Was it the same as finishing at CF? No. Did I get as much out of it as I would have if I could have pushed through the pain and the I think I'm going to puke factor? Doubtful. Did I feel better about myself? Absolutely. I think that's good enough for now, and next time I'm confident that the memory of the feeling of guilt & disappointment will push me to go a little harder, a little faster, a little longer. Go Me.

In unrelated news, shoulder feels GREAT in all caps.  Actually, my "good" shoulder has been quietly complaining (*additional note to self: look up old rehab exercises and strengthen good shoulder*) but the repaired one is happy as a lark. That Dr. R. kicked serious ass on that surgery, and though the recovery was long & unhappy, the results are freaking awesome.

Also, on the mental side of things, I've always called myself an "emotional eater" because it seemed like an easy way to explain why I was heavier than I wanted to be, but I'm not sure I ever really bought into it...in my heart I think I always thought I was a lazy eater; grab what's in sight, preferably chocolate and peanut butter & eat till stuffed. I never really related it to my frame of mind, but I'm gaining some new insight on that whole concept...For a long time now I've just been moving forward, status quo, thinking good enough was good enough, but in a breaking development, I've found out that I haven't really been actually happy in a long time. Mostly a life of "eh" punctuated by moments of happiness...that is changing; new people, new situations, new outlooks...and, crazy thing, my intake of crap food has remarkably diminished, which I could probably, if I wanted to, write off as a phase, but now when the unhappy hits it's a huge difference from the happy and I'm feeling it much more clearly than before. As it turns out, when that unhappy hits, it's all I can do to keep from driving to the store for a PB Twix or something equally as delish and unhealthy. Turns out I am an emotional eater after all. Who knew.

I bet you didn't recognize me

It's the hair.  16" off, and blonde...I know, it's been throwing everyone off. 

Look at us...three years later, and it's just like old times!  Those are the best kinds of friends, don't you think?

Three years. Actually, three years, plus a few months. Whoa. That's pretty sad. Although, in my defense, there have been more than several times that I INTENDED to get back over here and write something witty and sassy, yet intelligent and enlightening; it just didn't happen.  Also in my defense, I don't really write witty, sassy, intelligent, and enlightening things. So, there's that too.

Sadly, I've spent the last hour or so, looking through some of my older posts and it appears that all those lovely projects I was working so hard to accomplish three years ago, have, since then, come completely undone at the seams. The perils of 4 kids and 2 dogs and not enough hours in the day. Plus lazy to the third power, times the square root of being miserable at your job, divided by living with a teenager, times nursing school, full-time, at night. Squared.

So, yeah, I'm looking at what I actually accomplished back then and comparing it to the mad state of chaos my house is now entrenched in, and it's actually sort of depressing. So thanks for bringing that up.

Also, the shoulder pain I complained about off and on...more serious than I guess I assumed...had surgery in December to repair all sorts of ugly things. Meaning, I haven't worked out since November, so all those lovely workout progress notes, fitness goals, etc, have, like the projects and neatly painted rooms, flown right out the window. 

Into a dark, sad abyss.

So here I am, hopefully back, (since I do miss the catharsis this medium provides) a couple sizes bigger, busier than hell, behind on all my deadlines, with a messy house in disrepair, overgrown gardens, an 8 hour clinical to prepare for, a case study  to complete, and a test to study for, and a teenager to pick up from military summer school on Friday.  Oh, and my work homework. Don't even get me started on that.

But, the point, and I do have one, is that I have goals! and plans! and ideas! And maybe, just maybe, this writing things down so I can't deny they exist thing will help put me on the right track...not that I've been on a wrong track, but it's more that I feel like I've lost the track completely and I've sort of aimlessly been wandering around in a nut-sedge infested field looking for the keys to the car I parked somewhere on the track, long, long ago.  So, I've decided, to just say "fuck the keys"...let's hotwire this bitch and get the hell in gear.

3 months later and the accidental hole I put in the ceiling with my foot is still not entirely fixed. Meaning it's patched, but still doesn't look right, and I'm beginning to fear it never will. I've taped and compounded and sanded and re-compounded and re-sanded and sanded and sanded. I've tried that ceiling texture in a can which is remarkably and simultaneously frightening and really super fun to use. but it doesn't match up all that well. Plus then there was a visable border where the plastic was push-pinned to the ceiling. Now, I've used a wire brush to blur the border, but the texture is still not right. plus, I just noticed, there's one spot where the tape seems to be bubbling. awesome. mostly though, I've been just ignoring it. I completely over-hauled my master bathroom instead, done in taupe and terra cotta and accented with BRIGHT lime green. Love it. Though the previous owners of the house painted over wallpaper that they hung without priming the drywall...that my friend, was a really really shitty thing to do to a girl like me, and it took weeks to tear down the paper, at which time big hunks of the drywall would randomly peel off, needing to then be patched and then more sanding and more mess, and I finally decided that it would never be actually smooth, so instead of working on it for another year I decided to put up suede paint to hide the "imperfections" of the walls...now I'm desperately seeking paint colors for the living room/hallway. And feeling guilty that I haven't finished the ceiling.

In other news...I hate my doctor. I've had a whole slew of medical issues crop up in the last year...his response? Here, take some lexapro and you'll probably feel better. Don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that I lean a little toward crazy, but I've been like that for all of my life, so I'm pretty sure that your little happy pill is not going to suddenly solve all my trouble. More likely I just won't care anymore, which, hey, I'm totally fine with denial on a regular basis, but not at the expense of finding the actual cause of the symptoms, and, potentially, a cure. I hate him. The only thing missing from his pathetic patronizing, was a pat on my wee little head.

Also, drywall repair on a ceiling conveniently positioned over the top four steps of a stairway? Sucks ass. Not even finished yet and still sucking major ass.

Somebody please tell me there's some major life lesson I'm learning here, aside from the obvious "don't fall through the drywall when walking in the attic".

I have somewhere between 17 and eleventy-thousand small metal splinters in my hand. Thanks, in part, to my incredible prowess with a screw gun and my equally admirable lack of patience and concentration. Most of the annoyingly painful little buggers are wedged firmly and deeply into my left thumb. Leading me to the following epiphany...I use my left thumb a hella lot. All those poor opposeable thumb-less creatures just don't know what they're missing.

If I were a bettin' man, I'd put 10 million dollars down on me, at some point today, becoming so totally obsessed with these little shards of torture that I end up with some dirty box knife and a pair of dull point tweezers in a vain attempt to extract the damn things while still leaving most of the skin and nerves intact. And also, if I had 10 million dollars.

But I don't, so most likely, I'll end up doing it for free. There will be blood. Let's not fool ourselves.