What a Nice Day

Work is so overrated.

I didn't sleep as late as I'd hoped, but I did relax, awake, for nearly an hour before I got up, which I love to do. I think it makes the difference between being rested and being jolted out of sleep and into functional mode. It's one of the things I most love about summer vacation. Anyway, I rested, I had a good workout, I tidied up here and there, made some phone calls, and in general had a lovely day.

I have only minor chores for tomorrow, and then Sunday, it appears, R is making the final choice on her wedding gown, and to my amazement, she seems to be leaning towards the one that I liked best! (Everyone liked it best, which is usually enough for her to pick something else. She's quite the stubborn individualist.)

No other news for me today. Thanks to the warnings of a few folk, I'm going to attempt to back up what's left of my D-land archives tomorrow. I had begun copying each entry over to here, and I'd like to continue that, but I have so much more to go that for now, I just want to have a backup. We'll see if that can still be done; I did it a few times in the past, but it takes a long time for the file to download.

I've got just a bit more laundry to put away tonight, and then I hope to stretch out and read some. I'm still reading Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell, and enjoying it, but it's really long; I guess I'm about three-quarters through it. Oh, for the days when I had the time to sit down and read even a long book straight through, even if it took days. I loved doing that.

Why ... ?

It's lunchtime in the library. The usual gang of boys is hanging together, now at the far end of the library so I don't have to hear them. They will occasionally erupt in boy noise; they are draped across the furniture that probably is big enough for them, only they don't realize it because they don't get yet how big they themselves are now. I see t-shirts and sweatshirts, jeans, and big, big sneakers. I see hair that needs a trim, faces and hands that need to be washed. The whole teenage boy thing.

 

And then a group of giggling girls comes in, and as they settle down at a table, I see that one of them is actually a boy. He's wearing black slacks and a garnet colored button down shirt, buttoned up all the way. He wears geeky glasses which he pushes up on his nose every few minutes. He's wearing black shoes, not sneakers.

 

Gay.

 

He has all the mannerisms that one would associate with the gay stereotype, which is not to say that all gay people fit this stereotype, or even that all kids with these mannerisms are gay. Really, do you know if someone is gay unless s/he says to you "Oh, btw, I'm gay."?

 

Yes, sometimes you do.

 

The boy is at the table behind me now, reaching into a large Nordstrom shopping bag he has with him and showing things to the girls, his friends. Seems to be parts of a project he has for some class; I'm not watching closely. He stands with one hip higher than the other, a hand on that hip. He reaches into his backpack for his phone and a pinky stands apart from his other long, slim fingers. He holds the little phone in his hand with his fingers pressed flatly against one side, not clenched in a paw or handled carelessly. He laughs, high-pitched.

 

What I want to know is this: how does he know to do this? Why? It's unlikely that these are behaviors he learned from his parents, yes? Perhaps it's what he's picked up from TV even before he knew he was gay -- for all I know, he doesn't know yet -- that this is how gay people are. Maybe he saw people on TV, knowing nothing about them at all, and adopted their mannerisms because they felt comfortable to him. This has always been a curious thing to me. How ... why ... do children take on behaviors associated with being gay? It's not as if it's a requirement. There are gay boys who know that they're gay but no one else knows unless they're told, because there's nothing overt about them.

 

One of my daughters had a friend in high school who was obviously gay to everyone but himself. No other boys would share a room with him on the senior class trip, so he didn't go. He went away to college and after about five minutes there, he looked around, and suddenly realized "Oh! I AM gay!" One of my other daughter's best friends from high school knew he was gay from childhood, but no one ever gave it a thought; he hung out with the same guy friends he'd always had, he was the same kid he always was. No one knew he was gay unless he told them.

 

It's something I wonder about, how kids grow up the ways they do, how they make choices, or if there are no choices. It seems strange that someone would pick up a kind of behavior that's generally frowned upon, but it seems even stranger that this happens all over the place, boys developing stereotypical gay mannerisms regardless of where they grow up, or in what circumstances. I do agree that whether or not someone is gay is not learned behavior, it's just the way they are, like hair color, but the behaviors I would think would be acquired. Maybe not. Maybe it's part of the born-that-way thing. But then, why some and not all?

 

I got no answers. Just wondering.

It's a Surreal Day in the Neighborhood

As you might have guessed, one of the very first thing I do each day when I wake up is obsessively check the weather. Today was supposed to be cold, getting colder at night, dropping into a deep-freeze -- their words -- tomorrow.  I went out to start the car at about 6:15 and yes, it was cold, but I didn't put on a hat or gloves. Fifteen minutes later, I went out to the car to leave, still no hat or gloves, I was fine, and when I turned on the lights and looked in front of me, I said aloud "It's snowing?"

 

Yes, Virginia, there is a snowstorm, right here today, and my best friend in the whole world, Chris Cimmino the weatherman, did not say a word about it. (He may have said something about snow elsewhere, but not here.) And now we have more thna an inch on the ground. Damn snow.

 

As LA mentioned in a comment, I am hoping that the medical marijuana helps what I've got, and no, I'm not really looking to get stoned. Been there, done that. I'm hoping that a couple of tokes at night -- or pills, or whatever form I can ultimately get it in -- will be enough to relax my tight muscles and reduce some inflammation, thereby reducing some pain. That's all.

 

Now, could I get my hands on some non-medical marijuana if I wanted to, and try it out? Certainly. I know a guy who knows a guy; it wouldn't be that difficult to get. But one of the guiding principles of my life has been to avoid anything that could ultimately lead to the loss of my job and/or teaching certificate, and I think getting busted for grass would qualify. I made it clear to my kids how I felt about marijuana, and also clear that it could never, ever, ever be smoked in our house because doing that is AGAINST THE LAW. I'm only considering it now because it would be legal. And I think I still need to maintain a good relationship with my own personal Bad Schmuckazoid, aka, the rheumatologist (or "rheumie", as I saw it on a website yesterday) because I may need him to prescribe it for me.

 

I spent nearly 45 minutes this morning shifting books (re-arranging shelves) and my back is killing me. I can't do this anymore with heavy reference books, but I was working in fiction, for a change, and I was curious to see how many calories this would burn, so I wore my heart monitor watch, which provides such information. The watch recorded about 37 minutes of activity and about 100 calories. Of course, now I need intensive care, but if I can get myself to finish it this afternoon, I will actually have burned 200 calories in a day! (The job is half done.) Of course, there's really no possibility that I can finish it today, although a second dose of tylenol may be in order, and maybe then I can do it. Or not.

 

For now, I have to pull some books for a class later and get ready for them, and then it's lunchtime.

The Bad Schmuckazoids

My sister and I are now referring to rheumatologists as a group as The Bad Schmuckazoids. She really knows how to turn a phrase.

 

It has been clear for some time that her B.S. was giving her the standard meds for arthritis and fibormyalgia, but that these meds were not good for her, and she's finally found a different doctor who's straightening it all out and getting her back on track. It's as if she lost six months of her life to bad medicine interactions. On the other hand, I was very proud of myself because I refused to make some of the changes that my doctor wanted (and which my sister made, because her doctor said to.) I resisted the injectables, and still will. I resisted dropping Lexapro (for depression) and replacing it with Cymbalta (for depression and fibro.) And then ...

 

I was reading an article yesterday on Medical Marijuana (as one does) and arthritis, in which the pros and cons of the MM vs. the standard treatments were given. To my horror, I learned that the med I am taking -- methotrexate -- is pretty sucky, too. I looked it up on an independent site, and found out that what I'm already taking also has a host of lovely side effects such as mouth sores and diarrhea (wait, isn't that why I take meds for Crohn's?), constant alternating hot flashes and chills (which explains a whole lot of my last few months), and, wait for it .... possible unexplained blindness and/or sudden death.

 

Needless to say, I am quitting this shit as soon as I can. I called the doctor's office to find out if I can just stop or if I need to wean off, and, suspecting what his answer would be, I called the pharmacist while I was waiting for the doctor to call back. I have the incredible luxury of using a small, family-owned pharmacy, one of the few left anywhere, and this is why. I have known the pharmacist I spoke to since he was a kid, since he delivered prescriptions for his father when we first moved to B-Town 24 years ago, and now he's been one of the pharmacists there for many, many years, and he knows me. All three of them know me. So I asked. He said it would be better to wean off. And the doctor said? Just stop it. I knew he would say that. That's what doctors say. It's like they're pissed because you're not taking the med they gave you, so fuck you. When I wanted to stop the hormones, that's what the gynecologist (that I used to go to) said: Well, just stop. Not wean off over the course of a year and half so you don't have sudden, horrible side effects (which is what the internist had me do.) Just stop. Fuck you.

 

Anyway (she said as she turned on the desk fan, mopped her face off, and took off the top layer of shirt), that's the tale of yesterday. I would so much rather deal with the arthritis/fibro/knee pain and take tylenol and shmear on Aspercreme than take that crap. (Oh, btw, one of its other side effects: avascular necrosis, which is the side effect I got from prednisone that's causing my knee and elbow to deteriorate. So I've probably been making that worse, since we already know it's a side effect I get.)

 

As for today, I'm not library walking, since I'm still very achy from yesterday, but I'll try to do the Fit after school. My little Shepherd's Pies with turkey came out really good last night, and I may, believe it or not, try it again in a few weeks with veggie crumbles, and use soymilk and soy butter in the mashed potatoes so that the Hubs can have some as well. It smelled good, or at least I assume so, since he hung out in the kitchen while we were eating, something he rarely does. Wednesday is one of our "on our own" days, so I may finish up some leftovers, or go with a frozen meal. Depends on what I eat during the day, I guess.

 

In goofy news, the underwire on my bra actually broke into two pieces yesterday while I was wearing it. I didn't realize this until I got home, but it made me wonder how long I was walking around with one low, so to speak. This is just soooo encouraging on the weight loss front, eh?

 

Anyway, I was going to share a picture with you all of my loved ones, as I see them on my desk, but I can't figure out how to do that in an email post. Toorrow, perhaps. I'm going to take the picture anyway, and see what magic I can work with it later at home.

Oh hai

It's just that kind of day. Here, getting through it. Every part of me aches today, which is not so much fun. I've managed to fit in a lot of walking, so that's good, but otherwise, it's a not-much-going-on sort of day. I'm keeping the physical tasks to a minimum, so no heavy book lifting, which means I'm mostly working on overdues, which I hate, because it pretty much makes me mutter "Stupid kids" over and over under my breath all day.

 

I'm making not-exactly-Shepherd's Pies tonight (since I'm using ground turkey instead of lamb), but it's an easy recipe and it makes four, so I'll have two left over to freeze. I wonder if the Hubs would eat it if I made it with meat-like substance (or veggie crumbles or whatever they call them.) There were things he wasn't crazy about before -- cookies, for example -- so he doesn't miss them, but if someone ever came up with good Kentucky Fried Vegetable Protein, he'd be all over that. I think if he ever gave up veganism, he'd be at the KFC window in five minutes.

 

I've only taken three sick days this year, and one of them was for the mammogram (so, a doctor's appointment but not actually sick), which means I've only been out actually sick twice. This has got to be some kind of record for me. My goal, of course, is to use as few sick days as possible so I'll have them if/when the next big thing hits. Even so, I'm thinking about Friday as a mental health day; I haven't done that this year at all. I could use a catch-up day, I think, and K is off Thursday but working Friday, so that would be nice and peaceful for me, sleeping late, Wii Fitting when the mood strikes. I think I'm talking myself into it, eh?

 

I am not bummed -- heaven forfend -- but work is pissing me off today, I guess. I was cleaning out some files this morning, and I came across a memo I wrote in January, 2007, so that's three years ago, right when the new library opened, in which I listed several things that needed to be done before we could say the library was finished. And three years later, not a one of them has been done. None of these were things that needed to be done by me, of course; I know how to do my job. But really, shelves in the store room? I gave detailed measurements to three different people, but I never got shelves. Unfinished outlets, as in holes in the wall or wooden pillars with wires in them? Still open. (Not live wires, I've been assured, but who knows.) So that's a little annoying. But not a biggie.

 

So, cooking tonight and collapsing on Friday. Sounds like a plan.

Welcome to Moron World

You can hear my teeth grinding, right?

 

I just went to check something on YouTube, having just upgraded QuickTime, so I wanted to try a download trick I learned last week but which didn't work, and the filtering software blocked access. The reason? It said that YouTube is only available to users who have staff accounts.

 

O .... kay.

 

So I emailed the head tech and told him what happened and what the error message was. Here's his answer:

 

Yes, youtube is only open for staff accounts

 

Duh. Not the brightest bulb. I wrote back

 

Yes, I know YouTube is only available for staff accounts. I've been a member of the staff since 1977. What kind of account do I have?

 

I mean, come on. The man knows my name, has met me, knows who I am and what my job is. Did he think a student with my name and email address was directly emailing him with a tech problem?

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Yesterday, K and I once again found ourselves under the thumb of the chief of the garbage police. Actually, it started Saturday, when we were ordering our weekly Chinese take-out dinner. R and the SnL were with us as well, and we were all writing down our orders so I could call, and the Hubs -- the reason we started the whole Chinese food tradition, since there's not all that much we can all eat together -- ordered nothing. I asked him why. He said he didn't feel like having soup (his usual) that night. So I foolishly asked "Why not something else?" And here it is:

 

He has now decided that henceforth he will not consume any food that comes in any kind of container that is not 100% recyclable.

 

At the risk of repeating myself, may I say O .... kay.

 

Virtually all the Chinese food comes in plastic containers, all of which is recyclable. But the rice still comes in the those paper cartons with the metal handles, and the Chief doesn't think that kind of waxed paper container can be recycled. I'm guessing he wasn't too happy with the soup noodles that came in the waxed paper bag, either. (He finally did break down and order soup.)

 

Sooooo .... I guess one day this week, I'll drop by the place we order from, even though I've never been there in person (but they know me on the phone) and ask if it would be possible if from now on, all  our stuff came in plastic. When I tell the Hubs that I've done this, he will be APPALLED that I asked anyone to make any adjustment for HIM. The alternative would be that K and I would continue to order and he would continue to go pick it up (as he does), but he wouldn't get anything. Why? BECAUSE HE IS A  LUNATIC, that's why. (And K says that if he doesn't get anything, she won't order anything either, so let's just say that we now know what stubborn tree her apple didn't fall from from, but actually, she's right this time.)

 

Since then, I've been extra careful about recycling, because if there's anything I absolutely cannot abide, it's when he goes through the garbage for stuff that I've thrown out incorrectly, and re-disposes of it in a more thoughtful manner. He thinks he does this when I'm not looking. He's wrong. Anyway, now you know why he's the Chief of the Garbage Police.

 

That was the insanity of my weekend. I got my nails done Saturday morning, and had to get wraps (as opposed to the gel nails I used to have, and that I loved, but were too expensive), because my own nails break and split and peel and were a horrible mess. They always were before, but now I'm used to having hands I'm not ashamed to show people, and I liked that. This is something else I'll have to keep up, but way cheaper than the other kind. Then I got a haircut, real short again, since my hair grows fast and I can keep this style going probably till June or July and then let it grow some before the October wedding. Short hair is so easy; I love it. And for all I know, I may keep it shorty short for the wedding too, I just haven't decided. Not until I get a dress, anyway, and lose some more. If my face looks thin enough, short hair will look very chic. Okay, chic. Very may be going too far for me.

 

One hour until midterms are over, and then we go back to the normal routine of school life here. My fiction shelves are still lovely -- I've been giving them the once over every morning -- and my new book displays look great, too. Outside is another story, as we're having some Armageddon-ish weather today, strong winds and heavy rain. As I look out the window, I can actually see the gusts of rain pushing past. It's icky out there.

 

Okay, long enough. Back to the mines.

 

In a Perfect World

In a perfect world, garbage wouldn't smell.

Food would never go bad in my refrigerator. New food would just be there when the old food was used up, no shopping. All the cheese would be pre-sliced.

In a perfect world, nail polish would never chip and peel. In fact, natural nails would all look neat and tidy and perfectly shaped, and would never need to be filed or cut.

 

Hair would stay where you style it, and not go off on its own just because it's windy or humid.

 

In a perfect world, you would be able to buy jeans that actually fit and flatter you each time you go jeans shopping, and they would always be the right length.

 

Buying a bathing suit wouldn't become a soul-shattering experience.

 

In a perfect world, pens, pencils, paper clips, staplers and tape would always be at hand, never where you left them last and forgot where that was.

 

Glasses and keys would always be exactly where you need them to be, nowhere else.

 

In a perfect world, there would always be something worth watching on TV, even if you have no cable and have only five stations.

 

There would probably be an all Law and Order, All the Time station, which would ensure that there would always be something to watch. There would never be gold, or figure skating, or rodeo on TV, because they are boring to watch.

 

In a perfect world, all the technology would work all the time, and if it didn't, someone would immediately show up at your door to fix it or explain it to you.

 

Someone else would prepare wonderful home-cooked low-calorie meals, and would do all the laundry and cleaning, without even being asked, and put all the cars in the driveway at night.

 

In a perfect world, all the little things would take care of themselves, leaving time and energy to deal with the big things. I'm just saying.

 

 

Attack of the Librarian Crazies

I'm having the kind of day where I giggle a lot. Not out loud, unless I'm alone, because .. well, you know. Although it's probably not less crazy to giggle when I am alone.

 

Here's my triumph of the day. I got on the scale this morning and saw -- aw, hell, let's just go with the real numbers -- 155.8. WOWZERS!! My first goal weight is 155, so how close is that! But then I realized that the scale was wobbling a little; I've been putting it in a different place on the bathroom floor the last few days, so I moved it back to where I always used it before and stepped on again.

 

155.4.

 

I was dancing, I was giggling, I was pumping my fists in the air. Now, this could be 156.x tomorrow, but this means I can do it, and will hopefully still be 155.x tomorrow so I can tell Dr. Resnick in the afternoon that I weigh 155 and he will be Very Proud of Me. As I am myself.

 

So then, foolishly, thinking that in honor of this great moment I should also look thinner today, I decided to wear some undergarment that holds my flab in, and as a result, I am uncomfortable and hot all day. But then, a little voice in my head -- you've all got the little voices, right? -- sings "155.4!  155.4!" and I am giggling again.

 

I've also decided in the last few days that one of the things I must remember to do is savor wonderful moments. I have two sublime moments every day, or nearly every day, and I want to be aware of them and enjoy them. This is what they are:

 

The one I've been aware of for a long time is that brief moment at night when I lie down under the covers and for the first time all day every piece of my body is supported by something and I'm not fighting gravity anywhere and I think "Ahhhhhhhhh." It's a perfect thing. The other one, and this I've only really thought about for a couple of days, is when that first rush of coffee in the morning pours through my mouth, and every day I think "This is what the gods drank on Mount Olympus. They called it nectar, but it was really coffee. AHHHHHHHHHHHH."

 

I'm really very easy to please.

 

So, the librarian crazies. For one reason or another, I decided that today was my day to work on the Fiction shelves. To shelve every book that needed it, to go over every shelf and make sure every book was where it was supposed to be, and to "edge" all the shelves, which means to align all the books with the front edge of the shelves so that everything looks neat and tidy. I got about halfway done; I'll finish the rest tomorrow during midterms. Less than an hour after I stopped working, the lunch period started, and what did I see? Kids descending on the Fiction section, poking around, pushing, moving, taking books out and putting them back who knows where and in my head I heard myself -- there's that voice again -- scream "NOOOOO!! Not my beautiful shelves!!!!"  And this folks, is the Librarian Crazies. Correct me if I'm wrong (I'm not), but the reason for having everything in place and neat and all IS SO THE KIDS CAN FIND THE BOOKS THEY WANT.  Yes, yes, of course. Years ago, we had a librarian at one of our junior high schools who really did freak out if someone moved the books on her shelves, which was a major case of not getting it. But this was a momentary lapse on my part, and like the giggles, all kept to myself, so no harm, no foul.

 

I'm making some kind of fish for dinner tonight; I don't have the recipe with me so I don't remember what it is. K has been cooking up a storm lately, and you know, it really is nice to have someone make a home-cooked meal most nights. But tonight is my turn. I think I can handle that. Unless the giggles get me.

Gretings from Libraryland

I should have stayed home today, but K has the day off, and I was uninterested in seeing her face when she realized that I would be there, too. So I'm here. We're closed for the testing from 8 to 12:15, at which time the whole school closes for lunch and the kids go home, and then we have to be back at 1:45 -- that seems like too long a lunch -- for a ridiculous workshop, lasting until 3:30. I still don't know why we don't get Martin Luther King day off; either you get who he was and what he stood for, or you don't, I guess, and our school system is in the "don't" column. K, of course, has no work today, since she works for a museum/charitable foundation/university. (I can't quite work that out.)

 

So far, I've made a whole lot of phone calls, and investigated several wedding photographers online. (I can't work on my new book order because the barcode scanner beeps; no noise, they're testing!). R has it narrowed down to two dresses: the one that's more like what she had in mind, and the one that was a knockout on her. She needs to decide. The more expensive of the two is less than $500, so we're keeping that cost down, anyway.

 

I slept for about two hours last night, maybe three, which is amusing, because I have this new app for an alarm clock, and if you swipe "Bedtime" when you go to sleep and "Wake Up" when you wake up, it keeps track of how many hours you sleep on a daily basis. Although of course I swiped "Bedtime" when I turned the TV off at 11:00, and didn't fall asleep until after two,so it doesn't really count.

 

Speaking of keeping track of stuff, and I hope I didn't write this last week, I've just decided that all my keeping track of calories and weight and blood pressure and whatever: it's not OCD. It's a computer game, at least to me. It's all part of a big game that I win by lowering my score each day, i.e., weight. Or produce information to pass along to doctors. (The Crohn's tracker is the best one. You do not want details.) So that makes me feel better about myself.

 

I've had more pain recently, so I haven't worked out as much, and as a result, my weight is stuck. It's not stuck at a bad number, but I'm only about a pound away from my first goal number, which I set as my March 1 goal, but I'd really like to hit it for my Thursday doctor's appointment. I guess there's a chance of that. Then I set my next goal, which is another ten pounds in two months. (Give or take.) That would bring me to the end of April and to a weight I never thought I'd see again. That's when I decide if I want to stay there or try for five more. That's when I go shopping for my mother-of-the-bride dress. Although I may start to look around online, just to get an idea. A suit? A dress? Slinky is out for me, and I won't be comfortable in sleeveless. Ah well. Something else to do.

 

One of the testers is asleep with his head down on the tesst. Three others are still writing. Will this day never end?

I Walked a Mile in My Shoes

Sorry for the title; I couldn't resist.

After sitting through the long hours of testing in the library this morning, after lunch (and after the fire drill), I walked laps around the perimeter of the library and then more laps weaving in and out of the stacks, wearing my nifty little pedometer the whole time, and I came in at just under a mile.

Anyway, it was something to do.

I have a list of tasks to do before Monday, and I actually accomplished some of them just in the last few hours. My desk is tidy, my second load of laundry is in the washer, my chipped nail polish is gone, and .... well, that's it. In the morning, I have to pay bills and finish the laundry, and then I'm off for what I hope is a happy day of wedding dress shopping. Unfortunately, my good ear is a little blocked tonight, so I hope the machetenesta is a good sport. Actually, I'm pretty sure she is. I'm also hoping that we can all be less formal tomorrow and relax with each other. I just hate being on my best behavior.

All righty then, a little Wii Fit, if I can muster up the energy and get out of this particular hot flash, and then it's off to bed for me.

Drawing to a Close

It's nearly the end of a stupidly boring day at school. They were testing in the library for four hours this morning; I spent most of that time sitting in the computer lab, keeping it open for anybody who wanted to use it, and having no real work of my own to do. I tried to read a few times, but it kept making me sleepy.

 

The neato news of the day is that I may have a chance to attend a conference in March in New York City, all expenses paid! That includes three nights at a Hilton near Times Square, all conference fees paid, and they'll even give me money for transportation to and from. It's a contest that apparently I have a very good chance of winning. (Not many applicants; they're selecting 70 school librarians to go, and ... well, anyway, I have a good shot at it.) It's actually two conferences, one about a grant I received a year or two ago -- they're sponsoring the contest -- and then a second huge one that's held every year by the local public TV station, starting the next day. (They're really looking for people to attend the first one, but are throwing the second one in for free.) So I'm thinking if they're paying for the hotel and all, and all I need to pay for is my meals, why not maybe see a show while I'm there? And see if one or more of my children can get in on it with me? (Not the conferences, just the hotel and/or show.) Anyway, who knows; looks like a mini-vacation with very little funding (or effort, actually) on my part. And probably buckets of swag. More details to follow, I'm sure.

 

No icy hot today, and my eyes aren't watering, but boy, I sure do hurt here and there. Even so, my plans for the afternoon are limited to getting some blood drawn for next week's doctor's visit and then working the new game seriously. And then to lie down. It's the lying down part that's my favorite moment of the day, I think, the moment when all the little parts of my body realize with a tremendous sigh of relief that they're done fighting gravity for the day. I just love that.

 

Otherwise, I leave here in about an hour and I'm much more awake now, and drinking lots of water today, so that should keep me going until I'm released.

On the Day After

My new scale? Yes! Not only does it seem accurate, it also seems that giving up the oatmeal put me back where I was a few days ago. I like this scale.

 

New pedometer? Cute. At the moment, I'm wearing two, the old one and the new one, to see if they're calibrated the same.

 

New game? Also cute. I didn't play much last night, just enough to set it up and try it out. I had to name my little avatar, which looks like a punk-skateboarder kid, so I named her Norell, after the character in the book I'm reading.

 

My real discovery of the day? Icy-hot. I had tried some topical pain relievers before and got no results, but something I read yesterday made me want to try this, and dang if it doesn't do something. Some pain, still, but much less, and I can now actually bend over from the waist with some small degree of flexibility. Astonishing! Of course, my eyes are watering all morning, and this really just makes the hot/cold thing I'm doing all the time anyway jump right off the charts. When I get home later, I'm going to smear it all over my neck and shoulders and see what that does. And perhaps some eyedrops to go along with that.

 

As crazy as it is to be keeping track of every little detail, as I do when I'm in this mode, it really is nice to feel like I'm taking care of myself and doing good things for myself and it's working. Speaking of which, I'm going to do my neck stretches now. More in a bit.

 

Later. It's the first lunch period now, and the library has been closed all day. (They're giving some sort of make-up state test to about six kids.) So I'm in the computer lab, hanging out with whatever kids wanted to come here during their lunch period. At least it's not as noisy as it is every day in the main room of the library at this time. But booriiing. OMG. There's no work to do in here, and it's too hot (as opposed to the freezing library today), and I'm getting so sleepy. And hungry. Lunch in ten minutes. Time to post.

 

Happy Birthday to Me!

And as a lovely gift for me, the New Jersey legislature yesterday approved medical marijuana. It won't start for several months because they have to put the bureaucracy in place, and they've tightened up the final law some from the original proposal, but I still qualify. It's enough so that I think I can choose not to go on the stronger meds, and wait to try this first and see if it helps.

 

Bureaucracy. Apparently, a great many people fear that the distribution system will be corrupt and that criminals will get into the medical marijuana, and one kook even expressed his fear that people will now be streaming from all over the country to New Jersey just to get the MM. Uh, seriously doubt it. As for corruption, well, this is New Jersey, so I can't imagine how they're going to avoid that unless they recruit workers who come exclusively from out of state, although what state has the most honest people, I couldn't tell you. It's not that we're not honest here, it's just that a great many of our politicians have a well-erned reputation for setting the gold standard in corruption. Not all, but yes, many.

 

I have lost no weight in three days. I think it's the oatmeal for breakfast. I went back to a Dunkin' Donuts Wake-Up Wrap this morning, no bacon. One day I will perfect how to make that at home, but for now, I guess I do need the protein and no grains to get me going in the morning. At this point, I'm eating practically no grains at all. (Hmm, let me think ... well, the flour taco with breakfast; it's tiny ... none at lunch, none at snacks ... that's it.) Theoretically good for you? Certainly. In the real world, not so good for me, as it turns out. (I do have pizza here and there, though, but in smaller portions.)

 

After I posted yesterday, as the day progressed, I found myself starting to feel extremely content. Odd. I remember saying in therapy once some years back, after my father died, that I felt flat, as if I had no capacity to be either unhappy or happy. This is not that at all. I am, in general, happy. Of course, there are things that bother me, but things don't stress me the way they used to, not little things, and not many big things. What is, is, and que sera sera. (What will be will be.) Until my next big health issue (and I don't fool myself; there will always be something), I can smile when I see a rubber ducky, or when a kid thanks me for helping him, or when I finish a Fit routine. I can say "Oy, my back really hurts" without expecting the world to stop around me, or just living in complaining land. It's amazing how much easier it is to manage the physical crap when the emotional thing is stable. And no, I'm not that evolved; I know that I am taking meds that help make all this possible. I don't feel like a Pollyanna, I just feel like the me I'm supposed to be, the me I like being.

 

Everybody now: awwwww.

 

I was thinking earlier today about the first birthday I covered in diary-world, which was my 50th, seven years ago. That was not a low-key birthday celebration; everybody knew and I brought in dessert for the faculty room which consisted of all of our favorite childhood treats from the fifties: ovalteen and kool-aid, Hostess Twinkines and chocolate cupcakes, more. I gave out party favors. It was great.

 

So, it's a quiet day with a good possibility of pleasant drugs to come. Can't beat that for a birthday.

Such Things Happen

I got a call last night that a former colleague had passed away. Although he had been a teacher in the school  when I was a student, he was a brand-new baby teacher then, and was really in my age range. He retired the minute he turned 55, and was 62 when he died the other day, playing racquetball.

 

I always wonder about why some deaths seem to have more impact on us than others. It's not a matter of closeness; of course, we are most affected by the deaths of those we love, and who love us. I've actually heard about three deaths in the last 24 hours, all of them men who were taken before their time. (In their fifties and sixties, but not elderly.) But it isn't even a matter of knowing the people; sometimes, the death of a particular famous person has more impact on us than others'.

 

Perhaps we simply identify more with some people than we do with others; we have a greater sense of tragedy with some than with others. I don't know. I guess I'm in a morbid state of mind today, as one might expect. I'm not bummed, just thoughtful.

 

On a happier note, we went over a lot of wedding details and budgeting information yesterday, which was fun and all good stuff to know. We're going to go dress shopping this Saturday, R and K and I, and the SnL's mom, henceforth to be known as the machetenesta (which is the Yiddish word for what she and I are to each other, or will be after the wedding.) She's very nice, I like her a lot. I could see hanging out with her here and there, especially once we all relax with each other.

 

A quiet day at school today, hot and cold, hot and cold. Or maybe that's just me. Anyway, all I have to do today is the workout, and then I'm making some kind of pork chops for dinner. The new plan is that I will make dinner on Mondays. Fine with me. K isn't home for dinner on Wednesdays, and she can cook any other night she wants to. And if not, also fine. I can always cobble together something.

Carrying On

I did get a servicable pedometer at Sports Authority yesterday (in exchange for a top I got last week that didn't fit me), and I was able to calibrate it this morning once I got to work because the carpeting in the library is made up of pieces that are each a square yard, so no measuring, just counting and calculating, a bit. It seems accurate enough.

The empress commented that a balance scale, the kind they use in a doctor's office, is really the best way to weigh yourself, and this is, of course, true. When my sister moved into her current house, I got her one of those as a house-warming gift. (And they are incredibly heavy, which stands to reason, but duh, we carried it upstairs ourselves anyway. It's probably how we both damaged or spines, etc.) Sadly, I have no room for such a device anywhere in my house, and I'm reluctant to get to school each morning and go to the nurse's office and strip down just to use their scale. Mine was a little wonky again today, but I need to work with it a little, and then it'll be fine. I have checked its accuracy over the years against balance scales, so I know it's reasonably good.

 

School is, as always, odd, but at least it's Friday and I can sleep in a little bitty bit tomorrow. We have heat in the library today, which is nice, for a change. Oh, here's something: it's lunchtime now, and the library is open, nice for a change, and I looked up and a boy is sitting at a computer with his chair tilted back -- as kids do -- but so severely tilted that disaster was certainly imminent. I called over to him and asked him not to lean his chair back, and he said, not in a nasty way, "Why?"

 

Why? Is today this kid's first day of school ever? Has he never been told not to tilt a chair back -- impossible -- or never heard anyone else told that? Don't kids still start hearing in first grade "Don't tilt your chair back; it's dangerous." And did I tell you about the kid a couple of weeks ago who asked me to help her find information on Duke Ellington? I took her to the music books and showed her jazz and swing, then we went to the biography books in Reference and I said she could look him up as a musician, or as a prominent African-American, or as a famous person from the twentieth century, and of course, just as an American. And she said to me, totally mystified, "How do you even know who he son is?" (She had been assigned to research him for a project on the 1920's.) How do I know who he is? For one thing, I'm way older than the kid is, but come on. This guy is part of the official design for the Washington, D.C. quarter. It's not like he's a nobody nobody ever heard of.

 

As today marches on, I'm hungry, I'm tired, I want to go home, lie down, and eat boxes and boxes of cookies, and very many pies. I really like pie.

 

Stop the Madness!

Well, I am in weight loss and obsessive health mode again, and while this is certainly satisfying on some level (as OCD sufferers find their compulsions satisfying on some level), not surprisingly, it is also driving me crazy. Mostly, it's interfacing with devices that's got me at the moment.

 

For example: my scale either needs a new battery or a serious attitude adjustment. I weighed myself before the shower this morning and was a delightful pound a half away from my interim goal weight, actually more than a pound less than yesterday. My suspicions were aroused. Later, I weighed myself with all my clothes on, shoes, pockets full, and I weighed eleven pounds more than the first time. (If I am wearing eleven pounds of clothes, with shoes and pockets filled, I need to have my head examined, but that's another issue.) Five minutes later, I weighed myself a third time, mostly by now to see what was up with the scale, and also I had *ahem* used the bathroom, but not excessively, and I weighed five pounds less than the second time. So then, no real idea what's going on. Or what I weigh, for that matter.

 

I started wearing a pedometer last week to count my daily steps. First day, at K's museum, lots of walking, it said I walked 1800 steps, which seemed not quite right. On Monday, back at school, it said 5000 something, more in the expected range. Yesterday, a day much like Monday, nearly 8000, and over 5.5 miles walked. Soooo, that'll mean a new pedometer is in order, I think. This one seems to have taken leave of its senses. My old one was great, but it went through the laundry a few too many times, and ultimately died.

 

In my quest to eat a healthier diet, I tried to have a banana every day with breakfast. After three days, I decided that enough was enough. I'm on the cusp of 57 years old, and dammit, I do not like bananas (Sam I Am) and will no longer force myself to eat them because someone thinks they're good for me. (Unless I actually do get to go the medical marijuana route, because, to tell the truth, I ate an awful lot of bananas back in college when I was *ahem* impaired. Tee hee.)

 

Oh, and the other thing. K and I were sharing our Wii Fit results and other things, and it came to our attention that our BMI figures and recommendations were very different. That seemed odd to me, because we are essentially the same height, so why would it say she'll hit the magic 25 BMI at 135 pounds, but I won't hit it until I weigh about 125 (aka, never.) I thought, well, we're both about 5'2" and a half; she probably rounded up to 5'3" and I rounded down to 5'2". Where do you go to get a really accurate height measurement?

 

If you're in a school, you go to the nurse's office, of course, which I did yesterday. What I wanted, of course, was a good reason to round up to 5'3". What I got? I am now officially 5'1" and three-quarters. In other words, now I have to round UP to 5'2". In other words, I am SHORT and I am GETTING SHORTER.

 

Connected to this revelation or not, I also realized yesterday that what would really make my neck feel good is traction. I investigated, and when I got home, I lay down on the couch with no pillows except a small neck roll, so my head was just supported, and after fifteen minutes, I was a new woman. (In a manner of speaking.) My neck didn't hurt all night, and I slept that way, too, and today is not too bad. After a week or two, I'll go get measured again; maybe my missing quarter inch will show up. (I've actually lost a full inch from my highest height, but I'd be happy now just to reclaim the full 2" over five feet.)

 

Oh, btw, when I was researching pedometers before, I came across some weight calculating site -- all of those are total bullshit, and I know it -- and it said a woman of my height (I rounded up) should weigh 110 pounds. Which indeed I did, at 15, when I wss this height but had not yet sprouted any sizable knockers. 110 pounds? I believe I could accomplish that if I removed both arms, both legs, and my head. Maybe I could leave the arms. Who comes up with this nonsense, fashion photographers?

 

So that's it, the fitness devices have a Code Red out on me. Today I have to return something to the Sports Authority anyway, so I'll swap it for a new pedometer, and then squeeze in the workout. At least my Wii still loves me.

Brrr

I tried to post from the phone yesterday, but the blogging app ate it. I wanted you to know how cooooooold it was here yesterday. When I came in at 7:00, the thermometer at my desk read 50 degrees. That is too cold for inside, man! I had my coat on for hours, until the temp inched up all the way to 60.  I took a picture for you all of the spaceheater on my desk, along with the thermometer, but its time has passed. I went to Target after school yesterday and got a nice, big spaceheater, with a thermostat, and it oscillates and everything. It's about 66 in here now, but I'm having a hot flash, so I'm shvitzing. Just can't win.

 

This week is kicking my ass. I am tired beyond tired; all I want to do all day long is curl up with a blanket and pillow and go back to sleep. It could be in the library, I don't care, but you know, the powers that be frown on that sort of thing. I did cancel my nails appointment for after school today because I don't have the patience to just sit there. I just need to grab a few things at ShopRite and then come home and maybe do the Wii, or maybe collapse first and then get up and do the Wii. I haven't decided.

 

I didn't do the workout on Monday and I missed it, but I just had nothing to give. I did do it yesterday, along with an errand or two and making dinner, and I felt better after the workout, so I want to do it. I'm getting another game that's just walking, so maybe I can do that when I'm too beat to do all the little Wii Fit games. The new game is coming next week; I'll see how that goes.

 

Looks like we're powwowing with the new in-laws some time over the weekend to discuss All Things Wedding. As far as I'm concerned, we'll give R and the SnL an amount of money and they can make any plans they want to. She asked us if we had any "demands" for the wedding -- leading me to suspect that the other side does -- and the Hubs said yes, he had one demand. He demanded that they have the wedding of the their dreams and live happily ever after. (Altogether now: awwwww.) I have no demands other than that myself. As for the others -- I'll come up with a name for them -- I have met them and I think they're lovely people, but I guess they want what they want. (But getting my fabulous daughter should be enough, no?)

 

Oh, I have a class coming in. Tomorrow.

Bonehead Move of the Day

I attacked the A & P this morning with a Plan. I knew what was on sale, I knew what I had coupons for, I knew what I needed. K contributed her shopping list, and when the newspaper came, we gleefully pounced upon the five coupon inserts and carefully cut them into shreds, each insert gone over by both of us.

We shopped carefully, and well. The popcorn I had a coupon for was still more expensive than her favorite brand, which was on sale, so we got that instead. Some things I didn't need right away (like vitamins) I didn't get because they weren't on sale, even though I had a fabulous coupon. We rocked the A & P.

We went to the self-checkout, as we always do. She scans, I bag. I had three or four full bags and a bit more to go -- my own bags, I always bring my own bags -- when out of nowhere came the realization: I had left my wallet at home.

Needless to say, the kid was not happy, but the cashier who manages the self-checkout was very nice, told us to finish the order, at which time she selected an option for us to pay her instead of paying where we were. We parked the cart at our station and hightailed it for home, running the balance between driving fast enough for the frozen food not to melt and not fast enough to draw the attention of a police officer, because, duh, I did not have my wallet with me.

So, done. I have lunch for the week, I have breakfast, I have frozen meals for dinner, and each of us is going to make one home-cooked meal this week. Mine is fish; I bought all the ingredients -- not many -- except the actual fish, which I will get at the fish market on the day I need it.

Next up, taking the decorations off the Christmas tree. Or maybe next weekend, eh?

And Now It's January, They Tell Me

Hello. I have one more day off before I have to go back to work. Isn't it funny how when I was first sick with the Crohn's -- three years ago right now -- all I wanted to do was go back to work? Now all I want to do is sleep late.

My latest annoyance is that, come February, our cable system is going to eliminate showing all non-HD channels they have HD channels for. So when you go to channel 2, for example, which is CBS, you're gonna get HD whether you want it or not. Now, I have an HD TV here in the family room, and an HD cable box, but I NEVER watch TV in HD. Why is that? Because once I got it all set up, I discovered that on an HD broadcast, the closed captions are too small too read. Which wasn't a big deal when I had an alternative. Now it's going to be a big deal. I mean, it's not as if I don't have the TV on all the time. Anyway, I just talked to the cable company -- we're the ones that lost the Food Network and HGTV on January 1, not the ones who were in danger of losing Fox -- and explained my situation to the lovely young man on the phone.

I did many errands today, including a short mall visit with the Sibs, who got her first look at my colored hair and liked it very much. I can't imagine how many people will comment on it at school on Monday, but after a day or two it will be over, I hope. I'm wondering if I need highlights to soften it a little, but the Sibs says it's good.

I'm reading Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell, an interesting read, and curiously, another small print thing with me. I bought the book a couple of years ago, but I couldn't read it because the print was too small, no matter what glasses I wore. So I gave it to the library. But I just got it the other day as an ebook, so the print is my standard setting, and quite readable for me. Oy, the accommodations! Did I mention I even got a catalog the other day with stuff in it to help you open doors, and tie your shoes, and all that other stuff that people need help with when they *ahem* mature? I just hope I never start wearing the velcro shoes. Then they can put me in the home.

Food shopping tomorrow, with major couponage.

Who's With Me?

Two-thousand-ten?
Two-thousand-and-ten?
Twenty-ten?

I'm going with twenty-ten, the way we said, for example, nineteen-eighty-six.

I'm just saying.