Counting My Blessings

About 3pm on Tuesday, working on a project at the office, I started to feel the beginnings of a little "ickiness" coming on.  You know what I mean: the slight taste of infection in the back of your throat, a little bit of cough when you laugh, blowing your nose just a little too often.  I was not too concerned though, as colds are common in the dead of winter and The Writer had a touch of something over the weekend.  I was pretty sure that like all other viruses that try to come my way, it would submit to my vitamin rich eating habits and general health-nut hippie way of being.

By the time I reached my front door at 6pm on Tuesday night, I was nearly in tears.  Every time I coughed, I felt as if my lungs were on fire.  I could feel intense pain in the front of my chest all the way through to my back between my shoulder blades.  Something was horribly wrong.  The Writer came over and watched the State of the Union with me and worked on some of his writing (duh, he really is a writer).  When I woke on Wednesday morning, I could hardly breathe.  At least not full breaths.  For if I tried to fill my lungs, I would hear a gurgle deep in my chest and the cough that ensued would be so painful, I'd feel like I was dying.  I called my doctor.

1:40pm yesterday afternoon, I checked into my doctor's office.  Upon the initial exam, she rushed me into Radiology for emergency chest X-rays.  Diagnosis: Pneumonia.  WHAT. THE. FUCK.  Seriously?  I am no medical expert, but can't that shit like, kill you?  Don't Pneumonia patients have to go to the hospital?  And, I quit smoking over 7 months ago?  How could something like this happen now?  She prescribed three prescriptions: A very strong antibiotic, a codine-spiked cough syrup and a muscle relaxer to help with the pain surrounding my lungs.  She also ordered me some very specific instructions that I stay with someone for the next 24 hours.  If my temperature or cough got worse or if I reacted to the intense prescription cocktail, I was to rush directly to the ER.  Okay, fucking scary.

 So there I was, yesterday afternoon.  Waiting to take my full dose of narcotics until The Writer could come over after fulfilling his civil responsibility of Jury Duty.  Feeling VERY sorry for myself.  I couldn't go to yoga class last night.  I couldn't take my dog on a walk in the unseasonably warm weather.  I couldn't take advantage of the sunshine with a pint among my friends at my local micro brewery.  Hell, I couldn't even be at work, taking care of the multiple projects that I have building up.  All I could do was sit around in my misery and pain and feel sorry for myself. 

Sitting there, like a sad and whiny little bitch, I then learned some tragic and devastating news.  A friend with whom I was close in high school (though we've only seen one another a dozen or so times since) had lost her husband in a freak accident on Sunday.  The last time I saw her was over my birthday a few weeks ago.  She had her 2 kids with her.  She was so happy and proud.  In the blink of an eye, she lost the love of her life.  At 28 years old, she is now a widow and a single mother of a 3 year old and 7 week old. 

My immediate reaction was shock and pain for her and her children.  I wanted to hop right into my car, drive up to their little mountain house, give her a hug and stay with her to help her with any of the household duties that needed to be done while she healed her heart.  Then it occurred to me a Pneumonia-stricken, germ infested petrie dish of a human was the last thing this young and grief ridden family needed. 

My point is, it could always be worse.  As cliche as that sounds, it is true.  No matter what we have going on or how sorry we feel for ourselves, there is always someone else out there in this world in need of some compassion.  We too often take fore granted the little things in life.  For me, it is yoga class, sunshine, work, breathing.  For my friend, it is her 3 year old's voice exclaiming "Daddy!" when he comes home from work everyday.  This world would be a much better place if we all learned to take the time to nourish those little things.  The things that seem so small and insignificant but make us happy.  It is time that we not only count our blessings but hold them close and be thankful we have them.  Tomorrow is never certain.  We can choose to make impermanence a depressant or we can choose to make it a blessing.  Today, while I am sick in bed, I will hug my dog just a little tighter and be thankful for all that I have.

The Mother Load

Last night, after my weekly happy hour with my usual buds at our usual place and time, The Writer came over for dinner and a sleep over.  Upon his arrival, I made it clear that the usual beers had hit me exceptionally hard - I blame it on my new diet.  When I get a bit tipsy I tend to talk.  A lot.  And I'm all over the place talking about completely random subjects.  And many times, the conversation turns a little dark and I verbally vomit about my childhood.  Which is precisely what subjected The Writer to while I burnt our dinner.

As I presume most people did, Sister and I had a difficult childhood to say the least.  Our parents divorced when I was 4 and she was less than a year old.  We went back and forth, living between our mom's and dad's houses.  Eventually, we settled in at Dad's and came to call that "home".  We are to this day very much Daddy's Girls.  I love our mom and we have a unique, albeit complicated relationship.  But that relationship is without a doubt the root of many of the issues that usually lie dormant in my brain.

I'd say it started sometime in high school.  Sister and I were pretty much settled at Dad's.  Mom lived on the other side of the city.  Once I got my own car, I would visit her about once a month.  Our youngest sibling (our half brother) would have been about 5, a young and demanding age.  Slowly, Mom's attention drifted away from Sister and I as she understandably had to make the little one her priority.  Yet it still seemed that Mom only did the bare minimum when it came to being a mom. At one point, Sister went to boarding school in another state.  Even with his busy schedule of work travel, Dad made it a point to be highly involved in her school and visited her at every opportunity.  While still making sure I had plenty of time with him as well.  Mom visited Sister once and I'm not sure she ever made the 20 mile drive to hang out with me.

At my high school, we had the traditional "walk with your class" graduation ceremony.  But there was another, more important and more special ceremony.  It was a private meeting with my adviser, my closest friends and my family.  It was at this meeting, that I was actually presented with my diploma.  Screw the "graduation"; this little meeting was the big deal.  The morning of, Mom called to tell me she had a doctor's appointment and would be unable to attend.  (After-hours at 5pm?)  When I cried and begged her reschedule, she said the only other day the Dr. had available would conflict with my little brother's school recital.  She threw in the little-brother-guilt-trump card.  Still, who chooses a kindergarten recital over their firstborn's high school fucking graduation?  I cried and cried and cried some more.  She finally gave me an ultimatum and said "Okay, I will go to this but if I do, I will just call your grandparents and the rest of my side of the family and tell them to not bother with the big graduation on Saturday."  That stuck with me forever.  I will never forget the cruelty of her voice on the other end of the phone.  I gave up and dropped it.  The mood during that meeting was somber.  And everyone in the room could see the sadness and feeling of abandonment in my face.  She came to the big school-wide graduation ceremony.  She did the bare minimum.

In the last decade, Mom has moved out of town to a little farm community a few hours away.  I rarely go to visit, but why would I?  She maybe comes to visit Sister and I once a year.  The rest of the year is filled with empty hopes when she says she "might come down this weekend."  She rarely calls and when she does, it is conveniently during my work hours or Sister's school hours.  The next week is spent trying in vain to return her call.  These phone calls are the bare minimum.

She is coming to visit today.  She called me two days ago to say she "might come down this weekend."  As even grown children do, Sister and I have been hoping and getting excited for her visit.  Mom called Sister four hours ago to say she is definitely coming to town today.  She wants to do a lunch with us but it has to be in the heart of the city as she doesn't want to go out of her way.  Her and our brother are getting a hotel 40 minutes from where Sister and I live. Screeching brakes.  So Mom is coming, but it must not be to see us.  A quick lunch is the bare minimum.

It is times like this I am ever thankful that I have met The Writer. He luckily, doesn't think I'm completely bat-shit crazy.  Yet.  And later tonight, I can run my abandoned self into his big arms.  And forget about this shit until a year from now when Mom comes to visit again.

Goodbye, My Love

No, not The Writer.  Muthafuckin' CHEESE...

A couple weeks back, I posted about some of my goals in my new found Twenty-Nine-dom.  Well, now that I have a hot new man, the part about taking better care of myself physically is just a tad more critical to me.  Don't get me wrong, I am pretty content with my figure and have been for most of my adult life.  But like everything in this world, there is always room for improvement.

I also stated in that post how much I miss my yogi and mountain girl lifestyle.  My biggest obstacle in kicking my ass into gear is fucking exhaustion.  I am keeping fairly good on my promise to get more sleep.  But the crap I have been ingesting is leaving me feeling perpetually full and sluggish.  To give some background, I have been an ovo-lacto-pescatarian for many years now.  (I personally think the use of those words sound so self-fulfilling, but my self righteous vegetarian friends enjoy the pastime of smugly correcting me if I identify as a majority veggie.)  Basically, I abstain from all animal flesh and it's parts with the occasional exception of fish.  I also eat eggs and dairy.

A little over 2 years ago, I veganized my diet a bit more by removing all dairy sans the occasional cheesy treat.  Good fuck, I love cheese.  On this more vegan(ed) diet, I felt fucking fabulous.  I seemed to shed a little extra padding without even trying.  I was strong and fit. And I had the energy of an ADHD 4 year old hopped up on meth.  After a good year or so, those more desirable habits eventually fell to the wayside to busy life, depression and the fact that all the phytoestrogens in my mass consumption of soy milk turned me into a fucking Gila Monster...hopped up on meth. 

Inspired by one of my favorite (and fucking hilarious) bloggers, HauteMess, I made the executive decision that it's time for another go.  It's my last year in my 20's and godfuckingdammit, I'm going to be hot for it.  So here's the gist:

• Cutting out all dairy, except for the occasional, cheesy, beautiful, and special moment 
• This time, I am giving other alternative milks a whirl.  No soy induced estrogen monster for me, please.  Picked up some coconut milk to try.  
• After my morning coffee that I won't leave my bed without, switching onto green tea when I need a hot caffeine filled beverage.  This especially to take advantage of its metabolism boosting properties.
• The dreaded "Handful of Almonds" for when I am craving cheese but know it's just because I want something to put in my fat fucking mouth.  I really have nothing against almonds.  I pretty much love them.  But as a good foodie I'm embarrassed to type handful of almonds.
• Plenty of eggs.  Of course, not vegan but full of protein and good stuff.  I don't feel suffering when I eat the embryos of chickens.  So long as their mamas were free range and happy.
• Even more plenty fruit and veg as snacks.  Because I fucking love them.  That's why.  Oh, and they're good for me.  And I can eat as much as I want.
• Only eating bread or pasta or any sort of wheat product if it's 100% whole wheat
• More painful than limiting cheese, limiting my micro-brew consumption.  I grabbed a Bota Box of some Malbec for the at-home imbibe.  Because going completely alcohol free is not an option.

As a food lover and someone who enjoys creative cooking, I do not expect this to be terribly awful. Pretty much exactly what I did a couple years ago but with replacing the soy milk.  I wouldn't want The Writer to have to endure the wrath.  Speaking of that handsome devil, he is going on a new food plan himself.  All meat and cheese.  This should be interesting.

Ground Zero

After only an hour's worth of real sleep, I woke up to the morning alarm.  I was in his bed but his half was cold.  He had slept downstairs on the couch.  Not incredibly unusual, as we had a fight the night before.  Also, not incredibly unusual.  Then I remembered that this time was different.  This time the fight was a fight that I knew would likely be our last.  He heard my alarm and came upstairs to hold me and cry with me for the next hour.  I eventually showered and somehow got myself ready for work.  I gathered my things and we kissed goodbye, telling each other to have a good day, pretending it was any other morning.  It was the last time I ever saw him.

During my first few moments of consciousness that morning, my only desire was to close my eyes, wake up later, and discover it all having been a bad dream.  For the next few months, but what seemed like eternity, I spent every morning (and nearly every waking moment) that way.  Every morning, I woke up in a cold and half empty bed, realizing where I was, what the reality of my life was, and only wishing it to not be true.  This morning ritual in my psyche made me afraid to sleep at night, for I knew that in my sleep, my dreams would be of our normal life.  But when I woke, my nightmare would still be the same.

I had been through breakups before.  I have lost friends and family to death.  Hell, I have had physical, life threatening injuries that took months to recover from.  None of it prepared me for the pain I felt after that morning.  My entire body hurt from the inside out.  I had a perpetual migraine, I was unable to take full breaths, my stomach was in a constant somersault.  My daily diet consisted of coffee, cigarettes, beer and whatever food my friend Robo forced me to eat when I was drunk.

I hadn't just lost my partner and best friend.  I lost half of my friends (his friends), I lost my (practically) in-laws, I lost my dreams and hopes - OUR dreams and hopes.  I also found myself metaphorically homeless.  I was renting an apartment in the city that I only used as a week-day hotel room for when I needed to be close to the office.  I now was forced to call it home. His home in the mountains was no longer there for me.  No more nights of cooking in the log kitchen while he stoked the wood stove and fat snow flakes fell from the sky.  No more lazy days of him chopping wood while I sewed up the patches in his work pants.  No more long weekends with our friends filling the spare bedrooms.  We had plans together.  A wedding, dogs, eventually little DNA clones of us playing in the acreage surrounding our house.  Our nest was gone.

And just like that, my life as I knew it was crushed.  Though it had been crumbling for quite some time, it seemed to happen in just an instant.  Everything I loved and cared for, my goals, my dreams, what kept me going every day, crumbled that morning.  I felt as if a category 5 tornado rumbled onto everything that was "me."  A tornado with a giant fucking Wrecking Ball in the eye of it.

The Final Countdown

Here it is, folks.  The first day of the last year in my 20's.  That's right.  It's my birthday!  Last night, I lacquered my nails with a few layers of glitter nail polish.  This morning, I woke up at 5am craving a quesadilla.  Weird.

My birthday has indeed been quite the event so far. Bodhi's birthday was on Friday so we had a joint celebration at our favorite stomping ground over the weekend.  I also spent the weekend with The Writer, which was quite nice.  Although today is the actual day, I am sort of already birthday-ed out.  Likely, I will get a beer with friends after work and with any luck, later find myself in a snuggle sandwich between my dog and The Writer.

I recently experienced a surprisingly pleasant moment with regard to work.  Last week, a favorite client caught me off guard by begging me to volunteer on a committee (for the year) with a professional organization I am part of.  I don't know what came over me and why I couldn't say "no."  But I agreed to it.  Yesterday was the first meeting; a 5 hour long meeting.  I was absolutely dreading it.  After a weekend of intense debauchery, all my mind or body felt capable of doing was sitting at my desk in my office, doing busy work and surfing the net.  I even at one point whined to a coworker, "I don't wanna go.  I don't wanna go.  I don't wanna go.  What excuse can I come up with to not go?"  I was feeling the anxiety and nerves boil to the top of my head.  Both of which actually made me physically ill.

But I sucked it up.  I pulled up those big girl panties, headed into the fiery hell that is downtown and pulled my car into the valet.  As the attendant handed over my valet ticket, I said goodbye to my freedom for the afternoon.  I felt like I had just turned myself into jail.  As I entered the space, I spotted one familiar colleague and took my seat before the lunch and program began.  By the time lunch and "welcomes" were done, I felt at ease and glad to be out of the office and doing something new for the day.  We even had a team building exercise involving public speaking and I did not blush.  Not once.  *Public speaking is single handedly the most terrifying experience in the world.

The meeting was informative and productive.  I felt I had something to offer to my committee.  It then occurred to me I should feel flattered my client begged for my presence.  It occurred to me that I am respected as a professional in my field and among my peers. By the time we were set free, I felt a confidence and clarity about myself professionally that I have never felt before. It is a nice reminder that we allow ourselves to grow only when we take the risk to step outside our comfort zones, even for just an afternoon.

Happy Birthday To My Bodhi

"Those who have the courage to undertake the profound change of attitude required to develop true compassion are called Bodhisattvas."

Today is Bodhi's birthday.  Bodhi is my dearest friend.  She is one of the most incredible and amazing people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  She is my biggest fan and supports me in all that I do.  She encourages my craziest ideas and dreams.  Unless they are completely fucked up and would in some way, devastate me.  Then and only then, Bodhi kindly tells me to slow my roll.  In short, I would be completely lost and life would suck balls without her. 

Bodhi is stunningly beautiful inside and out.  But I know much of her beauty comes from her cracks.  She has suffered each ring of purgatory and fought tooth and nail to find her way out.  These cracks and scars are a testament to her strength and determination.  Through the compassion she has found for herself, she is able to spread her compassion and wisdom to everyone else she meets.  This is why I call her Bodhisattva.

As morbid and pathetic as it may be, I cannot be certain I would have survived my 28th year without her friendship and support.  The darkest moments in my life happened last spring.  I once even rushed myself to the emergency room, fearful of doing something stupid.  You all know what I mean; the details need no elaborating.  The point is, it was Bodhi's wisdom and courage and her ability to talk me off my ledge that saved me.  She helped me to realize I am not alone in this world.  We all have our demons.  And we all have the ability to pick ourselves up and fight.

Thank you Bodhi, for everything you do.  I love you more than words can tell.  Happiest of Birthdays to you, my dearest friend.

The Gloves Come Off

So as you know by now, I think The Writer is pretty swell. 

He is also my boyfriend. Really.  Honestly.  The other night, we discussed exclusivity and that is what we are.  He asked if I preferred him to refer to me as his "girlfriend" or "concubine."  I expressed that I prefer the former.  We have been dating (and calling, texting, IMing like a couple of teenagers) for the past month or so.  It may perhaps be a little quick for us to take ourselves off the market.  But what the hell; why not?  

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I proudly stood my ground while humbling myself to vulnerability and actually spoke up.  I did not wait for him to bring it up.  I did not just assume the best or the worst when he didn't bring it up.  I took charge of my well being and did it myself.  Remember my promise to myself to not hit the sack with him until after we became exclusive?  Being a little old fashioned isn't so bad.  We actually learned to like each other for reasons beyond the physical.  Whodathunkit?  Holy shit.  I'm a big girl now!

That has a boyfriend.

Mad World in a New Year

Happy 2012 everyone!

I am not big on the cheesy New Year's Resolutions thing.  I find that I will get on a kick of something then let it drop off the face of the Earth.  Of course, I then feel like shit about myself.  I find it safer to keep expectations low by not making any promises to begin with.  However, this blog project is all about getting my shit together before I turn 30.  In just a few days I will begin the last year of my 20's.  So hell, now is the best time to list my goals.  Call them New Years Resolutions, Birthday Resolutions or Life Resolutions.  In no particular order, here they are:

Be a better friend, sister, aunt, daughter, granddaughter, niece and coworker  
I firmly believe that all of us, even the Dalai Lama himself, can improve upon the way we treat those we love.  I live an incredibly lucky life due to the people that are in it and they all deserve the best of me.  With this comes:

• Keeping in touch via cards and handwritten notes, phone calls and face time (basically forms of communication other than Facebook.)
• Helping my coworkers without first giving the evil eye.  I am not actually a bitchy person, but I am sometimes certain I put fear into my coworkers.
• While I'm at it, I resolve to stop freaking out in general.  I can get very snappy when irritated.  Like a bomb.  Poor Sister probably gets the worst of it.  

Be a better Dog Mom
My sweet dog is getting up in years.  As of late, she has not been receiving the amount of attention she needs.  Sure, she is generally spoiled fucking rotten and her disposition of grumpiness and laziness part of her charm.  Still, she has been my best friend and the one to greet me every single day for the past 9 years.  Adopting and caring for her may be my proudest accomplishment of my 20's.  Sadly, she will not be with me forever.  It is my duty to return the favor and give her the best last years (or months) I can.

Take Better Care of My Body
Approaching 30, I am not exactly a spring chicken myself.  My physical health requires a little more upkeep than it did at 21. 

• Keep up on running, hiking and yoga routines.  I absolutely love these activities but one pull of an IT Band is enough to bench on my bed in front of Netflix for 6 months.
• For the love of all that is holy, FUCKING SLEEP!  My sleep routine (or lack of, rather) is much the root cause of many of my issues.  In all my 20's I have never slept enough.  I am finally too physically fatigued to enjoy life beyond the minimum.

Fuel My Passions
Full of great ideas right here!  Yet, also full of unfinished projects.  I just always find great excuses to not make them a priority.

• This blog project.  I simply love to write.  Staying current on this blog is important to me.  Having the whole wide world see my failure to do so is not an option.
• Finally starting the process of a foodie blog or some form of food writing.  Along with writing, I love food.  More than every contestant of every season of The Biggest Loser combined.
• Picking up books again.  I enjoy reading. Yet I have not made it a priority in quite some time. I was gifted with a beautiful new novel and indulgent bedding for Christmas this year.  I'm taking it as a sign the library gods miss me.
• Staying current and organized on my crafts and hobbies.  I rented my current apartment for the sole purpose of the bonus craft room.  That I hardly use because I have yet to organize it to it's full efficiency.  

Build a Small Financial Cushion
I am sick of being a broke ass.  When concerts, small trips and even just dinners out come around, I usually cannot attend due to lack of funds.  While most of us can't have everything we want, it is nice to afford small indulgences now and again.  Not having to choose between attending a friend's wedding or paying my rent would help to give me that sense of accomplishment I have been lacking these last 10 years.  

That is it.  Not too bad.  Like I said, I am not one to make the standard resolutions so I perhaps I am going easy on myself.  But it is a start to the last year of my 20's.  If I can do at least one of these things every day, I will feel my foundation getting stronger with each day.  Already writing this post, I feel a new found optimism and peppiness about this new year.