Possible First Line for the Novel of My Life

I've been told that I communicate in questions. I ask. I interrogate. I request more information. I never simply declare.

Just so you know...

• My face is leaking.
  How can one person possibly produce this much snot?
  
  
• It's Friday.
  Merely 36 hours away from Saturday PM. The VIM returneth soon. Yay!
  
  
• My week of almost-daily posting of uninteresting tidbits is over.
  Back to quick sporadic posts of uninteresting tidbits.
  
  
• I estimate I've saved almost an hour of time by not having to shave my legs this week.
  
  

Eavesdropper

Overheard on my travels between my office and mailroom/coffeepot/restroom yesterday:

• "I swear he'd run six miles for a Snausage."
  
• "Smell my arm. No...not a great big whiff like that. Just a normal sniff."
  
• Over the throughout-the-building paging speaker: "Blahalrk ba*feedback*l qwha l*feedback* ll*echo echo echo*lllawehoiuaf weuvh weuljowei ahdof."
  
  Then, clear as a bell "What the HELL is wrong with this phone?"
  

Happy Autumn

 

I admire autumm. In all of her busy-ness - her rush toward wrapping everything up before the snow - she's beautiful. It's not the shy cuteness of spring, or the showy, in-your-face pageantry of summer, or the sharp elegance of winter. She's just who she is. She'll give you the bluest skies and the fluffiest clouds. She'll allow you air warm enough to go coatless, but often she'll blow a little cold breeze on your neck just to let you know that she's in charge. She's making the decisions. And she's decided that it's time to put away the swim suits and get in those last couple barbeques. You can bitch and moan like you did as a kid and your mom was calling you to come inside, but it won't make a difference. She won't punish you for whining, but she won't bend, either. She might give you 5 more minutes on the swingset, but you will be coming in soon and putting on your warm jammies and settling in for the night.

It's a Toss Up

I can't decide if I get more stressed out following the little old man going 15 miles below the speed limit on a 6 mile stretch of no-passing-zone roads or being in front of the asshat who's inches from my bumper in his jacked-up, Calvin-Peeing-on-whatever-he-hates-sticker-on-the-back-window, bad-mufflered pick up truck weaving right to left behind me (did I mention he's inches from my bumper???), flipping me the finger, because it's obviously my fault that the car in front of me is slow.

Miscellaneous Items of Questionable Interest

• 5K cancelled. I'm actually relieved. Ever since the dog incident a week ago I've really been hating everything about running. I especially hate pushing myself against a stopwatch. I understand it's necessary, but I still hate it. I'm not even going to wear a watch on the next couple runs. I want to get back to the "wow, I'm really glad I did this" feeling instead of the "I never want to fucking do this again" feeling.
  
  
• On Saturday morning after breakfast I hugged and kissed the VIM and told him goodbye for a week. Driving home from his house I told myself that his being out of town was a good thing. Think of all the stuff I'll get done. I'll do all the little things that I normally let slide in my daily mad rush between work, here, and there - bills paid and organized, extra attention paid to yard and porch, laundry hung on the line to dry, drawers and cabinets cleaned. I'll bake (bake!), I'll clean, I'll Keep Myself Busy.
  
  Ok, so all that stuff is done. I also snuck in a nap and a few pages of a book.
  Now what?
  
  
• I keep writing posts and then deleting them. I'll probably delete this one, too.
  
  
• Did I mentioned that I dried my sheets on the clothesline yesterday? The outside smell that wafted off of them even after I put them back on my bed kept me happy for hours.
  
  
• It was chilly enough for me to turn the furnace on this morning. That must mean it's also chilly enough for me to wear a big comfy sweater. I love this time of year!
  
  
  

Like many women (and maybe men), I have a pretty poor body image. I know that I've lost weight. I know that I'm smaller than I was. But there is some part in my brain that tells me it's not true.
"Those really aren't size 12 pants you're wearing. They're still 22. Someone just switched out the tags."
It's ridiculous, I know, but it's also scary. It's scary that my mind will hold on to the poor body image...will insist on clinging to that extra 60 pounds that's been gone for 4 years.

There is a woman at work who recently has lost about 30 pounds on the Atkin's diet. She went from being about my size down to maybe a size 8 or so (I'm better at judging clothing sizes than weight). Recently, she has started saying stuff to me like, "Oh, I keep forgetting to bring in some clothes for you. My mother-in-law keeps buying me clothes and I don't have the heart to tell her that they are HUGE on me. I figured you could probably fit into them."

I can't decide on whether she's being purposely nasty or not.

I can't decide on why it bothers me so much.

Last Blast

The VIM and I took in a ballgame for our last excursion of the summer. We drove to Pittsburgh, had lunch, took the little boat across the river to the field. It wasn't a sold out game, so we sat in our bleacher seats for a few innings, then moved up into a little secluded shady section of seats, then moved one more time, even higher up, just for the heck of it.

 

Just in case you get thirsty on the big 5 minute trip across the river, you can buy beer or soda pop in the back.

 

The little boat that was ferrying passengers to the game was tied to a big riverboat while passengers loaded. This picture is the reflection of the buildings across the river in the riverboat window.

 

Lessons Learned this Week

The VIM and I had to find a new place to run. Our beloved place - a winding path beside a river that had been created specifically for walkers/bikers/horseback riders - is temporarily under the river after heavy rains.

The VIM said he knew the perfect spot - a country road that was closed except to local traffic due to a bridge construction a few miles up the road. We drove and measured 1.6 miles and agreed on the turnaround point, then went back, parked, and warmed up. It was time to get 'er done.

The VIM and I don't run together. We walk to the starting point together, and he waits for me at the end, but in between I'm alone. So I was all alone when I learned the Very Important Rules for Running on Country Roads.

I dreaded the run. Even though it was a relatively flat road, there were hills. I don't do hills. My brain has told me over and over that hills are simply too hard for me. Can't be done. As I started out, though, I realized that my brain was maybe a little overdramatic. Hills may suck, but they're doable, and actually, the downhills (which I never considered before) are sort of fun. If nothing else, it breaks up the monotony. So Lesson #1 was learned on the very first little hill: I shouldn't always listen to my brain. My brain has a long memory and will sometimes still speak for the very scared overweight couch potato. It's a proven fact that the very scared overweight couch potato will use any means to remain a very scared overweight couch potato.

Lesson #2 was also learned early on, at the bottom of the first little dip in the road: In real life, roadkill is much MUCH bigger than it appears when you're driving by it in your car. This is where I also learned Lesson #2a: Try to avoid looking and (lesson #2b) breathing in the general vicinity of roadkill. Seriously - just close your eyes and go...even if you think you're looking away, chances are good that some of the roadkill will also be where ever you happen to look. It's that big.

I was past the turnaround point and just starting back when I learned the very important (perhaps the most important) Lesson #3: Even on a quiet country road there are bound to be houses. It's likely that some of those houses will have dogs. A few of those dogs may not be on chains or otherwise secured to the property. And if you're really REALLY unlucky, one of those unchained dogs might be a rotweiller.

I'm a dog person. I've never been afraid of dogs. I totally respect them, but I've never feared one, so my first thought when I saw this great big black dog running toward me on the road was a 4-year-old-like glee - "Lookie! A great big black dog!!!" As he closed the distance between us (at roughly the speed of light), the first thought turned into "Uh oh, his teeth are bared and his hair is standing up on his back and, Holy Mother of God, I didn't know a dog could run that fast and growl that loud at the same time!" We screeched to a halt (this all happened so fast that my legs hadn't gotten the message to "Stop Running for the Love of God!") about 25 feet from each other. Little woman, tired from the first 1.6 miles, sweat dripping, eyes huge, frantically gasping for air. Really big black dog, really big white teeth, snarling (snarling!), willing to do whatever it takes to protect the homeland. A standoff in the middle of the road.

I was paralyzed. Literally. My body stood absolutely still while my brain strained to switch gears into Panic Mode. Once fully charged with panic, I looked up to see a tiny VIM, far far in front of me, disappearing over the next hill. I screeched for him even though I knew he couldn't hear me. I only did it once though, because I didn't know how the dog would feel about me screaming in terror. Loud noises might make things worse, and quite frankly, at that moment in life, my entire existence centered on making that dog as happy as possible.

I wasn't doing a very good job.

The standoff in the middle of the road continued for quite some time. I honestly didn't know what to do...play dead?...turn back (which would be AWAY from the car)?...stand there and wait till the VIM realized I wasn't coming and drove back to resuce me? In the end, I simply stood there, trying to convince the dog that I was totally uninterested in this entire episode. "Look," I told him, "you're doing a great job here with the guarding thing, but I've gotta get back to the car, so let's say this is a draw and call it a day?" He wasn't having it. So I ended up standing there until he got bored and turned back toward his home. Relieved, I took a step foward. He stopped, turned around, snarled. Jesus. I waited till he got further away and took another step. He allowed me to proceed. At this point, my brain was a little overworked. The adrenaline was still pumping, and it was making my legs want to run. Some little shred of common sense held me back. Running closer to a dog that just made it absolutely clear that he could beat the shit out of me without a second thought was not an intelligent decision. So I walked slowly, quietly behind the dog on the road until he finally made a sharp left turn off the road and up a little winding lane back home. I still had to walk by the lane to make it to the car (still a fucking mile and a quarter away). "Don't look. Don't glance in the direction of the lane. Look straight ahead. Don't let on like you know that there is a great big black dog with great big white teeth sitting at the top of the lane." I sauntered on past, hopefully giving off the aura of someone who's on her way to a tea party. No fear here, nope, none at all. Just a happy sunny day out here in the godforsaken middle of fucking nowhere. Yesiree, it's a great day.

The dog allowed me to pass. I walked on a little further and decided to book it. That's when I discovered the wonderful world of Adrenaline Dumps and the Aftermath of Fight or Flight. In the aftermath, there is no fight or flight. Just a mile and a quarter feet-dragging, will-this-nightmare-ever-end slog back to the car.

As I got to the end, the VIM was there with his stopwatch.
"Wow, that's the slowest you've run in a long time. Maybe you need someone to run behind you and prod you on."

I was too tired to speak. I just snarled.

Spoooooky

The VIM and I have been spending a lot of time reading in bed. Nine times out of ten, though, I forget to take my book with me to his house and I end up picking through his pile of "to reads" to find something that suits my mood.

That's how I came to finish The Complete Idiot's Guide to Past Life Regression last night.

As I put the book back on the pile (right below a Jimi Hendrix bio and on top of the owner's manual for the new Pig Nose Amp), the VIM asked me what I thought of the book. Was I going to try the past life regression thing?

I was about half embarrassed to admit that yeah, I wanted to try it. Had tried it, as a matter of fact, the night before, but I didn't think it was successful.

"Why don't you think it worked?"

"Well, I was able to relax and sort of get into the zone. I imagined a library, then me picking a book off the shelf and opening it up...but then I think I just drifted off into one of those weird verge-of-sleep dreams."

"What did you dream?"

"I dreamed about a 1920s-era car. A man and a woman in this car, a-hellin' down a dirt path out of a wooded area into a meadow at about 25 miles per hour. The woman was laughing."

Silence.

I looked up to see if he had drifted off to sleep while I was talking, but he was awake. Just looking at me.

"You're shitting me, right?"

"Uh, no."

"Last week I was meditating and I drifted off into this dream about driving a 1920s car in the woods by a lake."

I've never had goosebumps like that before. I turned off the light and slid into bed. We scratched around until we found each other's hand. We haven't said a word about it since.

When one of our department managers left a few months ago, my boss restructured the department. What this meant for me and 2 other assistants was a tiny bump up the food chain - we weren't exempt yet, but we were on our way. We weren't totally responsible for our own budget yet, but we were on our way. We weren't getting a raise yet...well, we weren't getting a raise.

Anyhow, the idea of the restructuring was to bring our daily duties in line with our specialty. We hired a department assistant to handle the overload (read: all the shitty filing and data entry), and each of us "specialists" sat down with the boss and discussed our little niche in HR. Suddenly I became a Recruiting and Employee Relations Specialist. (My official title is actually Employment Specialist because it fits better on a business card). Apparently it doesn't matter that I have only been involved in recruiting for a year, and have never had to deal with a serious employee complaint investigation. I'm a Specialist, dammit, and don't forget it.

I went into this with big dreams. I had a ton of things I wanted to do. New recruiting ideas, employee surveys, updated manuals, the whole shebang. On top of that, my boss started throwing new projects my way. On top of that was still all the daily stuff that the new department assistant would eventually take over, but hadn't gotten to yet. Suddenly I had deadlines on everything, and Each and Every Deadline was The Most Important One.

I hung on for a few weeks like that...stressed to the max, unable to get caught up, doing just what I needed to do to get by.

Then last week during a normally scheduled meeting with the boss, he showed me a new job chart with one of my duties given to someone else. I balked. I could handle it. It made more sense for me to do it because it fell in under recruiting. Why would they have her do it? "Well, actually we're looking for more things for her to do." I convinced him that I should continue doing that task.

Yesterday I had a little tiny breakdown. I realized that out of the past 2 weeks, I've cried either in the shower, on the way to work, or coming home from work probably 4 or 5 times. I didn't want to go to work. I couldn't handle the stress anymore. I actually considered calling in and either a)quitting or b)lying and saying I was sick. The only thing that stopped me from saying I was sick was that I knew I would eventually have to go back to an even bigger pile of paper and queue of voice mails.

So I talked to my boss. I asked to have my load lightened. You'll never know the anguish of actually having to say "I can't do it." I am a Personal Perfectionist. I don't like to admit I can't do everything. I want to learn as much, do as much, take on as much as I possibly can. I'm not sure if it's a good lesson or a bad one that I actually found out the limits of what I possibly can do in a given work week.

Here, mere weeks after the pep talk of "this is your chance to move up...your chance to take on more responsibility and show what you can do...your chance to manage your job" I flaked out. I feel vaguely like a loser. But you know what? I'm a less stressed, happier loser.

It's time to get in the shower, and I don't feel that feeling of impending doom. No dark clouds hovering just out of my line of vision.

I can deal with that.