I know. It's just that these last few months have been a huge mess of waiting for responses. It's been first interviews, excitement about second interviews, then the most ridiculously long waiting game that quite literally gives me chest pains at work. It's other interviews in front of panels, explaining why I want to teach high school. It's imagining myself moving in June and suddenly being a full time student in Southern Minnesota again, or finally settling in the twin cities and making my life appear my permanent.
And I've just been informed today that the wait is going to be even longer. I can't deal with it. I binge eat and get sick. And, um, gosh. I'm feeling ill. I don't think I'm gonna make it in to work tomorrow. I just feel so sick.
I promise I will update you when I am updated. I'll be happy somehow, either way, whether I have a fulltime job or have taken out more loans.
In the meantime, what the FUCK IS THIS. But how appropriate that this exists. Jeano pants? And did you see the description? And that one of the colors is "gun metal"? That's totally me:
[Jeano has] universal utility and a traditional look that's at home almost anywhere. [Jeano is] Tough, [full of] precision, [she] holds up to stress, and [her exterior is like] durable fabric [that] lasts through extensive washing and wear. [She has] simple design [and a wonderful] profile [and is] timeless and always in style. Imported.
That's right. I'm imported.
Same shit, different outfit.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
For the rest of my life, I want a new puppy to wake me up every day.
That way, I have something to look forward to. Which puppy will it be today? At what time will I smell the puppy-puppy breath?
Liz and Christina often talk about starting a puppy farm. Unfortunately, it turns out puppy farms are bad things. No! It means that puppies are used and mistreated for a profit! No worries, though. They just have to come up with a different name for their giant farm, wherein puppies run around being cute. The farm is next to the fountain of youth, so the puppies stay puppies forever.
I spent this weekend at home-home. Liz is in Michigan, and I wanted to hang out with my brother's dog, whom I've taken to calling "Princess Bourbon, the prettiest Belle at the ball!" Craig hates this, so I say it as much as possible.
Her Majesty:
Even though Bourbon is a naughty, naughty doggy, it was still nice to cuddle up with him for a couple of nights and rub his soft ears between my fingers. He burrows under the blankets. He makes nests out of blankets with his paws and sits in the middle of them like a mother bird. Even when he woke me up at 4, pretending he had to go to the bathroom but really just wanting to run all over the house like an asshole, I still liked him.
I can't wait to get a dog. I will do nothing else except for play with the dog.
Here are some puppies for the puppy farm (that's not called a puppy farm--what shall it be called instead?)--
For Liz:
Did I really just write a blog and post pictures of puppies? With little content? Am I an 11 year old girl, or a 54 year old spinster? You decide friends, you decide.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Finally! One for us crazies! OR Two articles that explain how I'm doing today.
Taken from today's New York Times:
WASHINGTON-- After more than a decade of struggle, the House on Wednesday passed a bill requiring most group health plans to provide more generous coverage for treatment of mental illnesses, comparable to what they provide for physical illnesses.
The vote was 268 to 148, with 47 Republicans joining 221 Democrats in support of the measure.
The Senate has passed a similar bill requiring equivalence, or parity, in coverage of mental and physical ailments. Federal law now allows insurers to discriminate, and most do so, by setting higher co-payments or stricter limits on mental health benefits.
“Illness of the brain must be treated just like illness anywhere else in the body,” said Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Democrat of California. Supporters of the House bill, including consumer groups and the American Psychiatric Association, said it would be a boon to many of the 35 million Americans who experience disabling symptoms of mental disorders each year.
Insurers and employers supported the Senate bill. Many opposed the House version, saying it would drive up costs.
President Bush endorsed the principle of mental health parity in 2002. But on Wednesday, the White House opposed the House bill, saying it “would effectively mandate coverage of a broad range of diseases.”
Both bills would outlaw health insurance practices that set lower limits on treatment or higher co-payments for mental health services than for other medical care.
Typical annual limits include 30 visits to a doctor or 30 days of hospital care for treatment of a mental disorder. Such limits would no longer be allowed if the insurer had no limits on treatment of conditions like cancer, heart disease and diabetes.
The Congressional Budget Office estimated that an earlier version of the House bill would increase premiums for group health insurance by an average of four-tenths of 1 percent. Some of the cost could be passed on to workers.
The House bill does not apply to health plans sponsored by an employer with 50 or fewer employees. Nor does it apply to coverage in the individual insurance market.
Three factors contributed to support for the legislation. First, researchers have found biological causes and effective treatments for numerous mental illnesses. Second, a number of companies now specialize in managing mental health benefits, making the costs to insurers and employers more affordable.
Finally, some doctors say that the stigma of mental illness has faded as people see members of the armed forces returning from Iraq and Afghanistan with mental disorders.
Supporters of mental health parity see it as a civil rights issue, and the debate Wednesday was filled with poignant moments.
“I have a mental illness, and I am fortunately getting the best care this country has to offer because I am a member of Congress,” said Representative Patrick J. Kennedy, Democrat of Rhode Island and chief sponsor of the House bill. Mr. Kennedy has been treated for depression and drug dependence.
The main Republican sponsor, Representative Jim Ramstad of Minnesota, a recovering alcoholic, said, “I am living proof that treatment works and recovery is real.”
The House bill is named for Senator Paul Wellstone the Minnesota Democrat killed in a plane crash in 2002. He had a brother with severe mental illness. The main sponsor of the Senate bill, PeteV. Dominici Republican of New Mexico, has a daughter with schizophrenia.
Under a 1996 law, health plans are forbidden to set annual or lifetime dollar limits on mental health care that are lower than the limits for other services. But insurers have gotten around the law by setting different limits on the number of outpatient visits or hospital days, and by charging different co-payments.
The protections of the House bill apply to people who need treatment for alcohol and drug abuse, as well as mental illness.
Under the bill, if an insurer chooses to provide mental health coverage, it must “include benefits” for any mental health condition listed in the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, published by the American Psychiatric Association.
E. Neil Trautwein, a vice president of the National Retail Federation, a trade group, said: “Businesses will be faced with the choice of covering every single mental or substance abuse disorder listed in the diagnostic manual, or nothing at all. Neither choice is appealing.”
Among the conditions listed in the manual, critics noted, are caffeine intoxication and sleep disorders resulting from jet lag.
Nicholas M. Meyers, director of government relations at the American Psychiatric Association, said: “This is nonsense. Simply because a diagnosis is made does not obligate insurers to pay for treatment.”
Insurers could still deny coverage if they found that a service was not medically necessary.
*
Also: this.
WASHINGTON-- After more than a decade of struggle, the House on Wednesday passed a bill requiring most group health plans to provide more generous coverage for treatment of mental illnesses, comparable to what they provide for physical illnesses.
The vote was 268 to 148, with 47 Republicans joining 221 Democrats in support of the measure.
The Senate has passed a similar bill requiring equivalence, or parity, in coverage of mental and physical ailments. Federal law now allows insurers to discriminate, and most do so, by setting higher co-payments or stricter limits on mental health benefits.
“Illness of the brain must be treated just like illness anywhere else in the body,” said Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Democrat of California. Supporters of the House bill, including consumer groups and the American Psychiatric Association, said it would be a boon to many of the 35 million Americans who experience disabling symptoms of mental disorders each year.
Insurers and employers supported the Senate bill. Many opposed the House version, saying it would drive up costs.
President Bush endorsed the principle of mental health parity in 2002. But on Wednesday, the White House opposed the House bill, saying it “would effectively mandate coverage of a broad range of diseases.”
Both bills would outlaw health insurance practices that set lower limits on treatment or higher co-payments for mental health services than for other medical care.
Typical annual limits include 30 visits to a doctor or 30 days of hospital care for treatment of a mental disorder. Such limits would no longer be allowed if the insurer had no limits on treatment of conditions like cancer, heart disease and diabetes.
The Congressional Budget Office estimated that an earlier version of the House bill would increase premiums for group health insurance by an average of four-tenths of 1 percent. Some of the cost could be passed on to workers.
The House bill does not apply to health plans sponsored by an employer with 50 or fewer employees. Nor does it apply to coverage in the individual insurance market.
Three factors contributed to support for the legislation. First, researchers have found biological causes and effective treatments for numerous mental illnesses. Second, a number of companies now specialize in managing mental health benefits, making the costs to insurers and employers more affordable.
Finally, some doctors say that the stigma of mental illness has faded as people see members of the armed forces returning from Iraq and Afghanistan with mental disorders.
Supporters of mental health parity see it as a civil rights issue, and the debate Wednesday was filled with poignant moments.
“I have a mental illness, and I am fortunately getting the best care this country has to offer because I am a member of Congress,” said Representative Patrick J. Kennedy, Democrat of Rhode Island and chief sponsor of the House bill. Mr. Kennedy has been treated for depression and drug dependence.
The main Republican sponsor, Representative Jim Ramstad of Minnesota, a recovering alcoholic, said, “I am living proof that treatment works and recovery is real.”
The House bill is named for Senator Paul Wellstone the Minnesota Democrat killed in a plane crash in 2002. He had a brother with severe mental illness. The main sponsor of the Senate bill, PeteV. Dominici Republican of New Mexico, has a daughter with schizophrenia.
Under a 1996 law, health plans are forbidden to set annual or lifetime dollar limits on mental health care that are lower than the limits for other services. But insurers have gotten around the law by setting different limits on the number of outpatient visits or hospital days, and by charging different co-payments.
The protections of the House bill apply to people who need treatment for alcohol and drug abuse, as well as mental illness.
Under the bill, if an insurer chooses to provide mental health coverage, it must “include benefits” for any mental health condition listed in the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, published by the American Psychiatric Association.
E. Neil Trautwein, a vice president of the National Retail Federation, a trade group, said: “Businesses will be faced with the choice of covering every single mental or substance abuse disorder listed in the diagnostic manual, or nothing at all. Neither choice is appealing.”
Among the conditions listed in the manual, critics noted, are caffeine intoxication and sleep disorders resulting from jet lag.
Nicholas M. Meyers, director of government relations at the American Psychiatric Association, said: “This is nonsense. Simply because a diagnosis is made does not obligate insurers to pay for treatment.”
Insurers could still deny coverage if they found that a service was not medically necessary.
*
Also: this.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Jeano, asshole.
Today I listened to Ben Stein on MPR, a recording from a speech he gave at Commonwealth in California. In the speech, he quoted Dr. Martin Luther King, referencing America, obviously from the 60s, but relevant today. I don't remember the quotation exactly, but it's something like our problem is that we're a neighborhood, but we're not a brotherhood.
I agree with this. I agree with this for a number of reasons. And the way Ben Stein talked about Dr. King--well, all of this made sense to me. Today was one of those days where I sat at my desk only to second guess myself, my motivations. My contributions to people being shit to each other instead of getting along. And the fact of the matter is--I like to think I'm a humanitarian, but am I, really? I like to think I put other people first, that I can understand life or ideas from their point of view and that this is always on my mind. But is it, really?
I mean, I say thank you to the bus driver everyday. Even when she drives really annoying and jerks the beast of a bus for seemingly no reason and I get really annoyed and I tell myself in my head that I won't thank her or wish her a good evening, I do. I feel rude if I don't. And rudeness is a pet peeve of mine. The biggest, I think. But am I rude? Am I mean? Am I crossing that line of when it's okay to put yourself first and be a little self-aware and just being a selfish asshole?
I say thank you to the bus driver, but I never slide over to the window seat when I'm on the bus because I don't want someone to sit next to me. I don't give homeless people money. I guess I'd say that I'd make sacrifices to help my fellow man and woman, but I don't know how big those sacrifices would be. I want awesome health care, but I get pretty annoyed when $200 comes out of my check for taxes. I mean, I deal with it. But I still want my money. And if I had my money, would I give it to people who deserve it or need it? Naw. I'd probably buy shoes. It's hard to be this honest with myself, but yeah. Pretty sure I'd buy clothes, or save for a new car, or go out to eat 4 times a week.
And this came up because of work. Because I was just thinking of how annoyed and angry and impatient I get at that desk all day, while everyone calls me to ask me questions about this data and can I check on this and do I know how to do this and this and why isn't this working. I don't know the answers to these questions. I try not to sigh or roll my eyes when the phone rings. But I do. And sometimes I make up nicknames for people or "think" things behind their backs. Sometimes the short fat woman walks by and I think there goes big fat Kelly even though I don't want to think that and it's mean. And all I do is eat at my desk all day anyway. Big Fat Jeano.
And then when the guy standing at the vending machine makes some stupid comment about a sign that's been there for 3 months as though it's the first time he's seen it, I laugh gently. Is this the right thing to do? Is it just dishonest, since in my head I'm thinking: what a douche? What if you can't stop yourself from being negative when you don't even want to be? What if you just think: that person has a really ugly face and you don't want to be the kind of person who thinks another person is ugly? How do you force yourself to be kind? What's wrong with me that I think like this, and is this why bad things happen to me sometimes? I'm not the good person I think I am? I just come home and watch TV and write rambling blogs instead of, say, volunteering my free time at a children's museum or working harder at my job? Why don't I put in nine hours a day or work through lunch to help people out? Why am I so selfish that I leave after exactly 8 hours of work and no later? (In fact, maybe earlier?)
Anyway. This is more crazy than I've led on. Because today after all of those phone calls and hating my job and being overall ungrateful for everything, I decided that I just wanted, most of all, to be left alone. I was too exhausted to be nice. I was too exhausted to be tolerant. I decided that wouldn't it be great if I could have a machine that kept people away from me? It could have all of these knives on it, and they could rotate, and then when people wanted to ask me questions, they'd just have to back off and leave me to do my own thing for awhile:
So whenever I was having one of these days, I'd just buckle the belt of the knife rotater. And instead of feeling guilty for hurting anyone on one of these stabby days, they could only blame themselves for walking into it.
Sometimes I hate when I can't turn my brain off.
...
Just heard this, which seems relevant: Lightbulb goes out, someone says: I'll get someone to fix it. Lightbulb goes out for the Catholic, she stands in the dark. Says: What did I do wrong?
I agree with this. I agree with this for a number of reasons. And the way Ben Stein talked about Dr. King--well, all of this made sense to me. Today was one of those days where I sat at my desk only to second guess myself, my motivations. My contributions to people being shit to each other instead of getting along. And the fact of the matter is--I like to think I'm a humanitarian, but am I, really? I like to think I put other people first, that I can understand life or ideas from their point of view and that this is always on my mind. But is it, really?
I mean, I say thank you to the bus driver everyday. Even when she drives really annoying and jerks the beast of a bus for seemingly no reason and I get really annoyed and I tell myself in my head that I won't thank her or wish her a good evening, I do. I feel rude if I don't. And rudeness is a pet peeve of mine. The biggest, I think. But am I rude? Am I mean? Am I crossing that line of when it's okay to put yourself first and be a little self-aware and just being a selfish asshole?
I say thank you to the bus driver, but I never slide over to the window seat when I'm on the bus because I don't want someone to sit next to me. I don't give homeless people money. I guess I'd say that I'd make sacrifices to help my fellow man and woman, but I don't know how big those sacrifices would be. I want awesome health care, but I get pretty annoyed when $200 comes out of my check for taxes. I mean, I deal with it. But I still want my money. And if I had my money, would I give it to people who deserve it or need it? Naw. I'd probably buy shoes. It's hard to be this honest with myself, but yeah. Pretty sure I'd buy clothes, or save for a new car, or go out to eat 4 times a week.
And this came up because of work. Because I was just thinking of how annoyed and angry and impatient I get at that desk all day, while everyone calls me to ask me questions about this data and can I check on this and do I know how to do this and this and why isn't this working. I don't know the answers to these questions. I try not to sigh or roll my eyes when the phone rings. But I do. And sometimes I make up nicknames for people or "think" things behind their backs. Sometimes the short fat woman walks by and I think there goes big fat Kelly even though I don't want to think that and it's mean. And all I do is eat at my desk all day anyway. Big Fat Jeano.
And then when the guy standing at the vending machine makes some stupid comment about a sign that's been there for 3 months as though it's the first time he's seen it, I laugh gently. Is this the right thing to do? Is it just dishonest, since in my head I'm thinking: what a douche? What if you can't stop yourself from being negative when you don't even want to be? What if you just think: that person has a really ugly face and you don't want to be the kind of person who thinks another person is ugly? How do you force yourself to be kind? What's wrong with me that I think like this, and is this why bad things happen to me sometimes? I'm not the good person I think I am? I just come home and watch TV and write rambling blogs instead of, say, volunteering my free time at a children's museum or working harder at my job? Why don't I put in nine hours a day or work through lunch to help people out? Why am I so selfish that I leave after exactly 8 hours of work and no later? (In fact, maybe earlier?)
Anyway. This is more crazy than I've led on. Because today after all of those phone calls and hating my job and being overall ungrateful for everything, I decided that I just wanted, most of all, to be left alone. I was too exhausted to be nice. I was too exhausted to be tolerant. I decided that wouldn't it be great if I could have a machine that kept people away from me? It could have all of these knives on it, and they could rotate, and then when people wanted to ask me questions, they'd just have to back off and leave me to do my own thing for awhile:
So whenever I was having one of these days, I'd just buckle the belt of the knife rotater. And instead of feeling guilty for hurting anyone on one of these stabby days, they could only blame themselves for walking into it.Sometimes I hate when I can't turn my brain off.
...
Just heard this, which seems relevant: Lightbulb goes out, someone says: I'll get someone to fix it. Lightbulb goes out for the Catholic, she stands in the dark. Says: What did I do wrong?
Monday, February 18, 2008
I HATE THIS HOUSE & I HATE MY LIFE
Drip, drip, drip.
I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. I'm sleeping on the couch, because the kitchen sink is clogged. What, that doesn't make sense? Well, here on Chicago Avenue, nothing makes sense. Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.
The sink is clogged, the dishwasher flooded. I tried to clean, as mentioned in the pre-second-flood post tonight; I put the soap in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then, like the responsible adult I am, I paid my bills, talked to the Good Doctor, and called it a night. But when I went into the kitchen, there were soap bubbles all over the floor--smelly soap bubbles, so I threw some towels down and figured I'd deal tomorrow.
Went to bedroom. Noticed a tiny wet spot on the white rug outside bedroom, the rug that is there now because it got destroyed in the flood of November 2007. Wrote it off. It's late and time for bed.
Laid in bed, all cuddled up with Musicophilia.
Drip. Drip-drip. Drip.
There is water dripping on the pile of books, next to my bed. Also, the Fender is there, and it's wet. Again. The Fender seems to always be the first victim. I soak up the water--it's just a tiny bit. I go out to the laundry room.
Below where the dishwasher is upstairs: drip-drip-drip-drip-dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip!!!!!! Drip-drip-drip-you-suck-Jean-ha-ha-ha! This is what you get for cheating during Lent! You cheated! You were really hungry today and all you had was that candy from V day and you ate it! Sinner.
All of the water is falling behind the water heater. I can't get to it. This is the evil spot of the house, the black hole of this hell hole. This is where the water puddles, behind this water heater, and nobody can wipe it up, and because nobody can wipe it up, it seeps through the wall and into my room. This is what happened when the water heater broke. This is what appears to be happening now.
It sounds like it's raining in the house. It's not that much water, but the dripping. It's spring here. It's spring, and the creek is babbling and it's babbling in my fucking basement. And the icicles are melting and they're dripping and the water smells, like it always does. All old smelling.
I'm grateful that the water didn't drip onto my bed. I'm grateful that there isn't dirty dishwater plopping onto my mattress and onto my expensive, new, chocolate brown sheets. I'm grateful for that.
BUT I STILL DON'T THINK I CAN FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS I HATE MONDAYS AND OH MY GOSH ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME THAT THIS HAPPENED.
I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. I'm sleeping on the couch, because the kitchen sink is clogged. What, that doesn't make sense? Well, here on Chicago Avenue, nothing makes sense. Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.
The sink is clogged, the dishwasher flooded. I tried to clean, as mentioned in the pre-second-flood post tonight; I put the soap in the dishwasher and turned it on. Then, like the responsible adult I am, I paid my bills, talked to the Good Doctor, and called it a night. But when I went into the kitchen, there were soap bubbles all over the floor--smelly soap bubbles, so I threw some towels down and figured I'd deal tomorrow.
Went to bedroom. Noticed a tiny wet spot on the white rug outside bedroom, the rug that is there now because it got destroyed in the flood of November 2007. Wrote it off. It's late and time for bed.
Laid in bed, all cuddled up with Musicophilia.
Drip. Drip-drip. Drip.
There is water dripping on the pile of books, next to my bed. Also, the Fender is there, and it's wet. Again. The Fender seems to always be the first victim. I soak up the water--it's just a tiny bit. I go out to the laundry room.
Below where the dishwasher is upstairs: drip-drip-drip-drip-dripdripdripdripdripdripdripdripdrip!!!!!! Drip-drip-drip-you-suck-Jean-ha-ha-ha! This is what you get for cheating during Lent! You cheated! You were really hungry today and all you had was that candy from V day and you ate it! Sinner.
All of the water is falling behind the water heater. I can't get to it. This is the evil spot of the house, the black hole of this hell hole. This is where the water puddles, behind this water heater, and nobody can wipe it up, and because nobody can wipe it up, it seeps through the wall and into my room. This is what happened when the water heater broke. This is what appears to be happening now.
It sounds like it's raining in the house. It's not that much water, but the dripping. It's spring here. It's spring, and the creek is babbling and it's babbling in my fucking basement. And the icicles are melting and they're dripping and the water smells, like it always does. All old smelling.
I'm grateful that the water didn't drip onto my bed. I'm grateful that there isn't dirty dishwater plopping onto my mattress and onto my expensive, new, chocolate brown sheets. I'm grateful for that.
BUT I STILL DON'T THINK I CAN FUCKING DEAL WITH THIS I HATE MONDAYS AND OH MY GOSH ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME THAT THIS HAPPENED.
Damn, why don't you blog more.
It's time to blog. It's not going to be a great blog, but there's going to be a lot of heart in it. Really.
So where have I been the last couple of weeks? Hibernating, of course. My new philosophy on life is never apologize for a good nap. So I'm not apologizing.
Weekends. I know I've mentioned this before, but this "adult-life" thing I'm trying on really makes the weekends this little gems of bliss. Oh, weekends. Friday nights, I love you. Saturday afternoons? Yes, please. I want to throw a bunch of Saturday afternoons on my bed and roll around on top of them. I want to sniff the carbonated bubbles of Sunday mornings and feel them pop in my face.
I had a good weekend.
I didn't do much--just neglected cleaning the house like I said I would, like I'm doing right now. Instead maybe I'll experiment with how long I can live in my own filth until I develop hepatitis. Instead, I'll continue to ignore that huge student loan check that I thought I'd deferred. I was with Shannon, Lance, and his girl on Friday, Eating good pasta, playing Cranium. (Advice: don't put the clay in the microwave to see if it will de-crystalize. It smells like old people and piss when warm; no longer like lemonade powder.)
I spent the rest of the weekend with the good doctor. Sometimes on the weekends, I like to park myself in his mansion. We saw a movie and made dinner on Saturday night. My souffle wouldn't form peaks, but it still tasted amazing. I sliced my thumb open and the good doctor took his time to patch me up. Sunday was for sleeping in, toast and coffee, outside winter jogs on dirt paths. Imagine how happy we'd all be if all days were for sleeping in and paced jobs on dirt paths. Imagine.
Everyday I watch CSI and wait for winter to be over. Some days this week aren't going to be above ten degrees, but this weekend will warm. But next weekend is for doing the things I've been avoiding. I haven't allowed myself to get into the big job searches. I haven't applied to all of those adjunct positions. It is just now that I realize I should be doing these things; that I need to stop taking these breaks. I realize that there is not any reason that my job should be draining me, as it is not a draining job. Not in that sense that one would want a job to drain them, anyway. In the sense that it sucks life out of my head and leaves a vegetable sitting in my cube. A dry, nasty carrot that has lost all color and flavor.
Coming home and doing nothing doesn't help this. At least I've been doing a lot of reading. I'm even getting to the point where I don't loathe the bus as much as I used to. I read, relax, let myself be driven places.
So where have I been the last couple of weeks? Hibernating, of course. My new philosophy on life is never apologize for a good nap. So I'm not apologizing.
Weekends. I know I've mentioned this before, but this "adult-life" thing I'm trying on really makes the weekends this little gems of bliss. Oh, weekends. Friday nights, I love you. Saturday afternoons? Yes, please. I want to throw a bunch of Saturday afternoons on my bed and roll around on top of them. I want to sniff the carbonated bubbles of Sunday mornings and feel them pop in my face.
I had a good weekend.
I didn't do much--just neglected cleaning the house like I said I would, like I'm doing right now. Instead maybe I'll experiment with how long I can live in my own filth until I develop hepatitis. Instead, I'll continue to ignore that huge student loan check that I thought I'd deferred. I was with Shannon, Lance, and his girl on Friday, Eating good pasta, playing Cranium. (Advice: don't put the clay in the microwave to see if it will de-crystalize. It smells like old people and piss when warm; no longer like lemonade powder.)
I spent the rest of the weekend with the good doctor. Sometimes on the weekends, I like to park myself in his mansion. We saw a movie and made dinner on Saturday night. My souffle wouldn't form peaks, but it still tasted amazing. I sliced my thumb open and the good doctor took his time to patch me up. Sunday was for sleeping in, toast and coffee, outside winter jogs on dirt paths. Imagine how happy we'd all be if all days were for sleeping in and paced jobs on dirt paths. Imagine.
Everyday I watch CSI and wait for winter to be over. Some days this week aren't going to be above ten degrees, but this weekend will warm. But next weekend is for doing the things I've been avoiding. I haven't allowed myself to get into the big job searches. I haven't applied to all of those adjunct positions. It is just now that I realize I should be doing these things; that I need to stop taking these breaks. I realize that there is not any reason that my job should be draining me, as it is not a draining job. Not in that sense that one would want a job to drain them, anyway. In the sense that it sucks life out of my head and leaves a vegetable sitting in my cube. A dry, nasty carrot that has lost all color and flavor.
Coming home and doing nothing doesn't help this. At least I've been doing a lot of reading. I'm even getting to the point where I don't loathe the bus as much as I used to. I read, relax, let myself be driven places.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Jeano, the hypocrite, on Ash Wednesday.
Well, I know that three blog posts ago I went on a rant about people who lost weight and gained it back; how it's annoying and stupid when they talk about it. But then this morning, as I was doing a helfty song and dance to force my gladiator thighs into my favorite pants, I've come to the realization that--I've gained a couple of pounds.
Shit. Who knows how many pounds, really. I just know they're in the middle, and I think in the thighs. And talking about it, and putting it out here in blog-world that I've pudged up just a bit, makes me motivated to get back to where I was. And then some. So, I went running yesterday, and I went running today, and it felt good. Maybe, I'll even go running tomorrow. And maybe, maybe, I'll stop eating like a fucking moron. It's just been winter, and generally hard, you know? You know.
Anyway, I'm giving up candy for Lent. For the above mentioned reasons, and just so I can do it, and just so I can have control over something in my life right now when there are so many things I fear I have no control over. That's 40 days, starting today, without candy. No chocolate, no fruity, sugary treats. Not even cheating on Sundays, which Ryan once convinced me we were allowed to do.
So if any of you assholes think it might be funny to send me candy in the mail, or to buy me treats and wave them in front of my face--I may eventually forgive you. But I don't think God will.
Shit. Who knows how many pounds, really. I just know they're in the middle, and I think in the thighs. And talking about it, and putting it out here in blog-world that I've pudged up just a bit, makes me motivated to get back to where I was. And then some. So, I went running yesterday, and I went running today, and it felt good. Maybe, I'll even go running tomorrow. And maybe, maybe, I'll stop eating like a fucking moron. It's just been winter, and generally hard, you know? You know.
Anyway, I'm giving up candy for Lent. For the above mentioned reasons, and just so I can do it, and just so I can have control over something in my life right now when there are so many things I fear I have no control over. That's 40 days, starting today, without candy. No chocolate, no fruity, sugary treats. Not even cheating on Sundays, which Ryan once convinced me we were allowed to do.
So if any of you assholes think it might be funny to send me candy in the mail, or to buy me treats and wave them in front of my face--I may eventually forgive you. But I don't think God will.
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