I have spent a lot of time today and yesterday eating chocolate. While hungrily shopping for lunch at Giant Eagle yesterday, I found dark chocolate Chex Party mix, which I voraciously grazed upon yesterday and today. I bought white chocolate Hershey's kisses yesterday. I bought bittersweet chocolate to make chocolate cookies today. My friend gave me maple sugar candy for my birthday. I am officially a sugar fiend. I am not hungry for dinner. My mind is becoming unhinged over sugar.
I can't make dinner. I can't finish sentences. I ... must ... have ... more ... maple sugar.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Oh, well
How cold was it today? You know. It was probably about 35 degrees. I tried for company at lunch, but both people I asked to go out to get something brought their lunches. I gave myself the choice between a convenient and quick $8 lunch at a convenience store or a $4 lunch at Subway, with a brisk walk in the cold. I feel defeated when I reluctantly make myself walk across the street from the office and get lunch at a conveniently located store. They do have some freshly made items like tuna salad sandwiches, strombolis, chef salads, and red velvet cake, though. The last time I opted for the salad, the iceburg lettuce was brown and I ate a bad tomato. It looked alright but it didn't taste all right. So instead of being defeated by the lure of the convenience of the convenience store, I braved the icy cold wind and snow and walked for awhile to get to my destination of Subway. I passed two lone walkers on the trail that leads there. I felt prepared and wise with my hat and gloves, but I didn't have the shoes for it. I made sure to look up at the sky and down at the river to appreciate the elements -- more than just a little bit of blue sky and clouds, and the brown, rippling water of the river, higher than its usual level, and the fresh air, although tinged with exhaust from the vehicles on the construction site I passed. The cheerfulness and the camaraderie of the people who work at that particular Subway make me feel happy every time I go there. I dropped an olive in my sleeve and it surprised me later when I felt something mysteriously wet and cold in the middle of my sleeve. The Subway guy thought it was funny.
On my way home from work, I was stuck in traffic. It was completely stopped on my regular path to pick up my child. It's a seven-minute drive to get to where I need to pick her up. After five minutes of sitting in the car at a complete stop, about seven minutes til the absolute last time to pick her up, I called to say I was stuck in a standstill in traffic and would be late, even though I had left the office with plenty of time to pick her up, with time to spare. I was told, "We're going to start enforcing our late policy, and you're going to have to pay the late fee." This was the first time this year I'd been late. Out of the seven years of taking my children to this place, this was only about the second time I had been late. I guess I was the example. I guess it doesn't matter that you're stuck in your car with no escape around completely stopped traffic. I tried to go around it by taking a side street, only to end up in the middle of what seemed to be the problem. A gigantic truck, the kind that usually has a truck with it, displaying a sign warning of a "wide load" on the highway, was stuck in the road and couldn't get up the hill. I decided to go the long way around, via interstate, and, of course, was late and had to pay the late fee. Not really a big deal, but if it happens two more times then she will be removed from the program altogether. Then I am thinking, "I don't know what I will do." Sometimes life makes you feel like you're just hanging by a thread. I only have between 5:30 p.m. and 6 p.m. to pick her up, because they only want you to pick up your children at certain times because of some grant policy to guarantee that they will be using the rest of the afternoon for "instructional time." And with the unpredictable traffic in this town, and very few alternative routes for when certain roads are blocked, it is inevitable that you cannot always arrive at your destination on time or precisely when you aim to be somewhere. Am I always just supposed to plan for a possible accident and leave three times as early as I need to? Impossible. I feel as if I failed somehow today to not account for a possible road block.
On my way home from work, I was stuck in traffic. It was completely stopped on my regular path to pick up my child. It's a seven-minute drive to get to where I need to pick her up. After five minutes of sitting in the car at a complete stop, about seven minutes til the absolute last time to pick her up, I called to say I was stuck in a standstill in traffic and would be late, even though I had left the office with plenty of time to pick her up, with time to spare. I was told, "We're going to start enforcing our late policy, and you're going to have to pay the late fee." This was the first time this year I'd been late. Out of the seven years of taking my children to this place, this was only about the second time I had been late. I guess I was the example. I guess it doesn't matter that you're stuck in your car with no escape around completely stopped traffic. I tried to go around it by taking a side street, only to end up in the middle of what seemed to be the problem. A gigantic truck, the kind that usually has a truck with it, displaying a sign warning of a "wide load" on the highway, was stuck in the road and couldn't get up the hill. I decided to go the long way around, via interstate, and, of course, was late and had to pay the late fee. Not really a big deal, but if it happens two more times then she will be removed from the program altogether. Then I am thinking, "I don't know what I will do." Sometimes life makes you feel like you're just hanging by a thread. I only have between 5:30 p.m. and 6 p.m. to pick her up, because they only want you to pick up your children at certain times because of some grant policy to guarantee that they will be using the rest of the afternoon for "instructional time." And with the unpredictable traffic in this town, and very few alternative routes for when certain roads are blocked, it is inevitable that you cannot always arrive at your destination on time or precisely when you aim to be somewhere. Am I always just supposed to plan for a possible accident and leave three times as early as I need to? Impossible. I feel as if I failed somehow today to not account for a possible road block.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Inner Monologue About Long-Lost Friend
During the weekend after Christmas, I thought I might get a call from my long-lost best friend from high school. Her sister lives here in town, and I ran into her while shopping a few days before Christmas. My long-lost friend lives about 10 hours from here, and she was going to be driving in to stay the entire weekend, which is much longer than she usually stays, Long-Lost's sister told me that day. I gave her my phone number, even though she may have already had it, and she put it into her cell phone.
I said to tell Long-Lost that she could call if she wanted to, but I know that it will be busy there, as her parents would be there as well, and there will probably be a house full of children. I said something to reassure her that I would not feel bad if she didn't call, as in "I won't get my hopes up," which I meant to do for myself. Well, I was by myself all day Saturday, washing piles of much-neglected laundry. I kept walking past my cell phone while I was putting away the clothes, telling myself not to look if she had called, not to wonder if I had missed her call, not to imagine where we would go if we were going to meet. I hadn't seen her in 11 years. In 1997, I met her for a few hours when I went to the beach in South Carolina, where she lived at the time. In 2001 or 2002 I had talked to her on the phone a few times. In 2002, 2003, and 2005, I think, she wrote to me a few times by e-mail, but all the e-mail addresses she used to write to me no longer work. She lives a long, long way away, but I think that we were close enough that she would want to see me after all this time. We spent all three years of high school, virtually inseparable, a zillion inside jokes, a lot of fun, and a few fights, all of which probably led to the demise of our friendship.
By Saturday evening, I had already gotten my hopes up, as much as I urged myself not to. A whole lot of thoughts were crossing my inner monologue, and I could not get them to stop.
Inner Monologue: "Her parents hated me. I spent way too much time at their house. Once I dropped ice on the floor and her dad stepped in the cold puddle of water it left and he got really mad. And I was a bad friend. If I had been a better friend, she would have been excited to call and would have called already."
Response: I don't want to think that way. She's undoubtedly really busy with family.
Inner Monologue: "I should not have even given her my phone number. I should have just told her sister to tell Long-Lost I said hello."
Response: It was inevitable that I was going to feel bad. I should just admit defeat and move on and feel better.
Inner Monologue: "If I had not given my phone number to her sister, I would have felt guilty about it later and wondered if I should have given it to her."
Response: Giving the phone number to her was the right thing to do. If I had not given my phone number to her sister, I would have wondered if I would have seen and talked to her if I had given her my phone number. It's probably for the best that it happened this way.
Inner Monologue: "Maybe for some reason she's embarrassed about seeing me, like having gained 145 pounds or she has a really bad haircut."
Response: Really, Long-Lost friend might think like that. However, I already know she hasn't gained 145 pounds. She probably never feels like she has bad haircuts. And if we were friends, which we were, that wouldn't matter and she wouldn't let that stop her.
Inner Monologue: "Maybe too much time has gone by for her to feel any loyalty or sentimentality for the friendship we had that pretty much ended in 1991."
Response: That's not true for everyone who has long-lost friends.
Inner Monologue: "Maybe she lost my phone number?"
Inner Monologue: "Maybe her sister forgot to tell her?"
Inner Monologue: "Why am I obsessing over this? Why can't I stop?"
Response: You will stop obsessing about this by Monday. It will no longer be important in a few days. Maybe you are not in touch with her anymore because you were not meant to stay friends, or even having been friends in the first place. Maybe it was just a bad friendship, no matter whose fault it was.
By Sunday, I had stopped checking my cell phone as often and had accepted that she wasn't going to call.
"Surely she will appreciate the fact that I did something to reach out?"
"Am I a bad friend? Is that why I'm home all day by myself doing laundry?"
Enter, Reassuring Neutral Friend: You were not a bad friend. You are funny, smart, kind, and thoughtful, although people can be intimidated by you at times because of your combined beauty and intelligence. That's right, you're just too good for her.
Me: What? The snob technique? That's the biggest cop-out. Pathetic.
Reassuring Neutral Friend: OK, you're not too good for her. She should have called. Maybe she will call eventually. You just need to stop thinking about it.
Me: OK, I will. Eventually.
I said to tell Long-Lost that she could call if she wanted to, but I know that it will be busy there, as her parents would be there as well, and there will probably be a house full of children. I said something to reassure her that I would not feel bad if she didn't call, as in "I won't get my hopes up," which I meant to do for myself. Well, I was by myself all day Saturday, washing piles of much-neglected laundry. I kept walking past my cell phone while I was putting away the clothes, telling myself not to look if she had called, not to wonder if I had missed her call, not to imagine where we would go if we were going to meet. I hadn't seen her in 11 years. In 1997, I met her for a few hours when I went to the beach in South Carolina, where she lived at the time. In 2001 or 2002 I had talked to her on the phone a few times. In 2002, 2003, and 2005, I think, she wrote to me a few times by e-mail, but all the e-mail addresses she used to write to me no longer work. She lives a long, long way away, but I think that we were close enough that she would want to see me after all this time. We spent all three years of high school, virtually inseparable, a zillion inside jokes, a lot of fun, and a few fights, all of which probably led to the demise of our friendship.
By Saturday evening, I had already gotten my hopes up, as much as I urged myself not to. A whole lot of thoughts were crossing my inner monologue, and I could not get them to stop.
Inner Monologue: "Her parents hated me. I spent way too much time at their house. Once I dropped ice on the floor and her dad stepped in the cold puddle of water it left and he got really mad. And I was a bad friend. If I had been a better friend, she would have been excited to call and would have called already."
Response: I don't want to think that way. She's undoubtedly really busy with family.
Inner Monologue: "I should not have even given her my phone number. I should have just told her sister to tell Long-Lost I said hello."
Response: It was inevitable that I was going to feel bad. I should just admit defeat and move on and feel better.
Inner Monologue: "If I had not given my phone number to her sister, I would have felt guilty about it later and wondered if I should have given it to her."
Response: Giving the phone number to her was the right thing to do. If I had not given my phone number to her sister, I would have wondered if I would have seen and talked to her if I had given her my phone number. It's probably for the best that it happened this way.
Inner Monologue: "Maybe for some reason she's embarrassed about seeing me, like having gained 145 pounds or she has a really bad haircut."
Response: Really, Long-Lost friend might think like that. However, I already know she hasn't gained 145 pounds. She probably never feels like she has bad haircuts. And if we were friends, which we were, that wouldn't matter and she wouldn't let that stop her.
Inner Monologue: "Maybe too much time has gone by for her to feel any loyalty or sentimentality for the friendship we had that pretty much ended in 1991."
Response: That's not true for everyone who has long-lost friends.
Inner Monologue: "Maybe she lost my phone number?"
Inner Monologue: "Maybe her sister forgot to tell her?"
Inner Monologue: "Why am I obsessing over this? Why can't I stop?"
Response: You will stop obsessing about this by Monday. It will no longer be important in a few days. Maybe you are not in touch with her anymore because you were not meant to stay friends, or even having been friends in the first place. Maybe it was just a bad friendship, no matter whose fault it was.
By Sunday, I had stopped checking my cell phone as often and had accepted that she wasn't going to call.
"Surely she will appreciate the fact that I did something to reach out?"
"Am I a bad friend? Is that why I'm home all day by myself doing laundry?"
Enter, Reassuring Neutral Friend: You were not a bad friend. You are funny, smart, kind, and thoughtful, although people can be intimidated by you at times because of your combined beauty and intelligence. That's right, you're just too good for her.
Me: What? The snob technique? That's the biggest cop-out. Pathetic.
Reassuring Neutral Friend: OK, you're not too good for her. She should have called. Maybe she will call eventually. You just need to stop thinking about it.
Me: OK, I will. Eventually.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Age, Light, Stars
A few days ago I bought a calendar at Barnes & Noble that has the night sky as it appears at 9 p.m. every night. The stars glow in the dark and the calendar has a compass on it. You're supposed to take the calendar outside and find the glowing stars on the calendar and match them up with the real thing.
The daylight hours are lengthening just enough to notice now. I feel inspired and energized at just the thought of more light. And in other good news, in 10 days I will be 36. Very, very old to some, and very young to others. Is gray hair what defines old? Are experience and wisdom what define old? Are wrinkles and incapacitation what define old? Is having children or grandchildren what defines old? Is anything not young, old? Compared to the stars, I will never be old.
The daylight hours are lengthening just enough to notice now. I feel inspired and energized at just the thought of more light. And in other good news, in 10 days I will be 36. Very, very old to some, and very young to others. Is gray hair what defines old? Are experience and wisdom what define old? Are wrinkles and incapacitation what define old? Is having children or grandchildren what defines old? Is anything not young, old? Compared to the stars, I will never be old.
My Fashion Update
I never much liked those quilted handbags that started to become popular about 10 years ago. It's odd to me that the trend didn't quickly fade away. Instead, the company that created them flourished and many knock-offs were made. I never expected to have my own, but received one as a Christmas present from my sister. It's actually pretty nice looking, I think. It has indiscriminate pockets all over the place, inside and out. It doesn't even look like a quilt. You can't see the giveaway criss-cross sewing lines in it. She also gave me a matching wallet thing that can be carried on the wrist. You can put your cell phone in there and it has a clear window for the driver's license. I feel kind of guilty about getting it because I know it cost so much -- and so much more than I spent on her gifts. I don't understand why those quilted handbags cost so much. I don't understand why handbags and pocketbooks and purses in general cost so much, unless they are made of leather or something durable. I don't like carrying them around and I don't really like the way most of them look. Usually, the straps are made so that they don't stay up on your shoulder. Sometimes they don't close all the way, so if they get knocked over stuff falls out and you might lose your glasses like I did last year. I don't like spending time on finding purses I like, and, when I do find some, they might cost $60 or $80 or $120 or $245 and I can't get any of those. I did buy one for $23 that was marked down from $60. Going by its original price, it cost more than any one I had ever had. It wore out in less than a year. Before my sister gave me the gift, I had resolved to go back to my carefree days of never carrying a purse with me. I've always liked pockets. I kept everything I needed in my pockets. It's not that women really have anything more to carry than men do, it's just that we can get away with it because it's generally more socially acceptable for us females. At least around here.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Sunday
Disappointment. Life piles racks and racks and racks of hard plastic pallets of disappointment upon us, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. And why? Because that is the way that life works. Because without disappointment, we could never feel joy. We could never feel accomplishment. We could never feel success. Thank you, disappointment, for the great gifts that you make way for.
Recently when I read the Daily Om, which comes to me by e-mail every day, it had some excellent advice for all those annoyances that shout at us in our thoughts when we come across those annoyances. The writer of the Daily Om says to listen to those thoughts, acknowledge them for what they are -- messages to ourselves that define the moment for us -- separate the actual event from the way our minds processed it, and then mentally watch those thoughts move on as we let them go. To illustrate, imagine that I've been anticipating seeing a certain movie on a certain Saturday night at a certain time. Imagine that it didn't happen for one reason or another. Instead, I and five other people go see a movie I've already seen. I hear in my head that I rarely get to actually see a movie at the theater that I have chosen and I'm able to get everyone, or even someone, who I want to come, to come along. I hear in my head that this, out of all seven possibilities, is the only movie showing that I really don't want to watch. I listen to those thoughts, and I recognize that the messages I'm hearing have very little to do with the event of actually watching this movie, and that each one of the six people in our group will have different thought processes about going to see this movie, none of them quite like mine.
I've been trying to imagine my thoughts as a little train car that comes and goes through the roundhouse in my head, these past few days, and it really helps dispel the negativity I feel in the normal everyday course of events in my life. There it is, that nasty, unpleasant thought, I see it, and there it goes. As a result, I am more detached than I have been since adolescence. I don't know if that's good or bad. The buddhists would say it is good. That I am on the path to spiritual enlightenment, or something like that.
Recently when I read the Daily Om, which comes to me by e-mail every day, it had some excellent advice for all those annoyances that shout at us in our thoughts when we come across those annoyances. The writer of the Daily Om says to listen to those thoughts, acknowledge them for what they are -- messages to ourselves that define the moment for us -- separate the actual event from the way our minds processed it, and then mentally watch those thoughts move on as we let them go. To illustrate, imagine that I've been anticipating seeing a certain movie on a certain Saturday night at a certain time. Imagine that it didn't happen for one reason or another. Instead, I and five other people go see a movie I've already seen. I hear in my head that I rarely get to actually see a movie at the theater that I have chosen and I'm able to get everyone, or even someone, who I want to come, to come along. I hear in my head that this, out of all seven possibilities, is the only movie showing that I really don't want to watch. I listen to those thoughts, and I recognize that the messages I'm hearing have very little to do with the event of actually watching this movie, and that each one of the six people in our group will have different thought processes about going to see this movie, none of them quite like mine.
I've been trying to imagine my thoughts as a little train car that comes and goes through the roundhouse in my head, these past few days, and it really helps dispel the negativity I feel in the normal everyday course of events in my life. There it is, that nasty, unpleasant thought, I see it, and there it goes. As a result, I am more detached than I have been since adolescence. I don't know if that's good or bad. The buddhists would say it is good. That I am on the path to spiritual enlightenment, or something like that.
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