The Challenge

I think the hardest part of waiting two and a half years to retire is going to be staying awake.

I wasn't tired during the whole Thanksgiving break, even though I was having trouble falling asleep, because I could sleep later in the morning. I got up at 5:30 today (and had a wonderful workout), and now I can hardly keep my eyes open. (It's only 15 minutes earlier than my old routine, so it's not that. I need to sleep until eight is what the problem is.)

Anyway, the SCM is out, and it's a testing day, which means that the schedule is all jumbled up, and the person who assigns the substitutes took mine away for two of the periods I really needed him to be here. So when I needed to step out for a few minutes, I locked the library doors and went. I was just lucky there were no kids here at that particular time. But it worked out okay for me, I guess.

I need to make a CVS run after school; there's two-for-one on packs of hearing aid batteries this week, and if I don't get there early in the week, the size I need is gone. And another item or two. K said she was going to campus to work and to talk to her professor, but I imagine she'll be home for dinner.

R did not come by yesterday, choosing instead to spend the day with her sweetie just hanging out. For some reason, I think my children think this bothers me, as in I need to have them around all the time, or at least know what they're doing. Neither is true, of course. What I want is for them to have their own lives. Do I feel the need to talk (or email or something) with R every day? Yes, I do, because she lives alone, and someone who lives alone should touch base every day; it's a safety thing. If and when the time comes that she lives with the sweetie, I'll assume that he knows where she is, and if she'll be late, etc. etc., and if she's missing, he'll call me. I didn't speak to my kids every day when they were away at college because I knew they had roommates or friends who had the brains to call someone if they were missing.

My tired brain is starting to make less sense, I think. Six minutes until the bell (late today because of the testing) and then twenty more until the late afternoon person gets here and I can go. I need a nap, which I will avoid, even though not taking a nap yesterday didn't help me fall asleep any earlier. (Oh, okay, maybe it did. I fell asleep around one instead of two.)

I didn't look for the trainer today because of the strange substitute situation mostly, but I have worked out a good routine for the Wii Fit, based on stuff I found online here and there. So my questions are really about my hurty knee and my sore neck/shoulder, and what to do about those. I'll see what I can do in the next few days.

Later, home. Not only have I done more exercise today than I have in one day since I was maybe twelve, I've been drinking lots of water. Dr. Resnick will be so proud of me.

Many of the packages I was expecting arrived today, most of them Christmas gifts. But one was my replacement Mickey Mouse watch



(I put the lip balm there to show you how big it is. It's a big watch.)

and one was the supposed best sports bra in the whole wide world, Oprah's favorite sports bra! Aside from being bright blue and looking something like the breastplate on a German opera singer, the fit was terrible. Searching on the Internet for a sports bra will make you believe that anyone over a double-D simply does not take part in any sports-type activity, and not many double-D's either. But instead of just sending the blue bra back to Amazon, I called the company it actually came from, and the woman on the phone was very helpful and nice, and I'm sending it back to them and have already ordered two different ones from their website directly, and with a coupon code even. We'll see how that goes. All the sports bras I see in stores look like they were made for nine year olds, or Polly Pockets.

I'm going to sip some more water now, and configure my iPhone to play soothing sounds when I try to fall asleep later.


WATCHING KEITH OLBERMAN ON MSNBC :: ENTRY #1924
READING: The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd

The Hits Just Keep on Coming

I think my place of work is trying to kill me.

I came as close as I have to a breakdown in a long time this afternoon. (My last actual breakdown, which was in 1990, also happened in school.) I won't go into the details, but a person with whom I've had conflict before came to talk to me about something that she knew I was opposed to (but she was going to get her way anyway) and I could feel myself sliding, and I said to her "Okay. You win. Just stop talking to me." But she wouldn't. She kept hammering, saying, Couldn't she just tell her side of it? and I said No, you can't, because you win, and I'm very upset now and please stop talking to me. But she wouldn't. Finally she left, and I felt myself falling over the edge, so I told the SCM I had to go, and I called the office to tell them I was going, but I got the Colleague instead of someone else, and she talked me down from it. So I did what she said and I was okay, and then I took my mouse in my right hand and raised it up and smashed it hard down on the desk. It didn't work after that but it looked okay, so I ripped it apart with my hands.

I'm a little better now. I'm still here as I type this -- this all happened a half hour ago -- but I'm a little better. I got a replacement mouse for now, but I'll have to buy a new one, since insanity damage is not covered by warranty. That's okay.

Why? I told this person that I was sick and I didn't want to talk. I apologized for coming off angry towards her, which I totally was since the last time we conflicted. (Which was at the time because she interrupted a conversation I was having with someone and when I said "Excuse me, I'm not finished yet," she kept right on talking to the other person as if I weren't even there.) I told her I felt that she was treating me like a piece of dirt, and that my job was meaningless to her and she was going to do whatever she wanted so she could just go ahead, she could have all the books too. (Yes, I was losing a whole lot of rationality by this point.) Anyway, why? Why we she just push on and do this? To me?

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A little later. I wrote that at 2.30; it's now 3.45 and I'm home. I'm a whole lot calmer, but still angry. Now I want to confront her tomorrow and ask why she thinks she has the right to do this to someone, but I won't. She's a bully and not terribly smart, so I doubt that I'd get any satisfaction from it.

On my drive home, though, I was reminded of something my sister said the other day. It's her idea of what I should say if I ever do indeed make a retirement speech (which I probably won't, unless I say this.) She said I should stand up at the podium at the faculty dinner and look around from person to person, and say as I focus on various individuals:

"Fuck you." Next person. "And fuck you." Next person. "You're okay." Next person. "Fuck you too," and so on.

Anyway, I just called and left another message at the therapist's -- you don't think I need to, do you? -- because thinking back on my call Monday, I think I left a message in nobody's voicemail box, so nobody really got it, which is why I haven't gotten a call back. I believe I did it right today; we'll see what happens.

I have a headache, so I'm going to take some tylenol, which is totally a placebo, but it's the only thing I can take. I'm considering an extra dose of atavan, which is an anti-anxiety drug I take to help fall asleep at night, but I know I won't do anything more than consider it unless a doctor tells me to take it, because I take enough meds and I don't mess with them. But a magic pill that makes me feel calm sounds sooo nice right now.

Really, I'm okay. I'm going to have some ice cream, in fact, and call my sister. And the tylenol, right.

Rollin' the Double Nickel

So as of today, I am rollin' the double nickel, as we used to say in the seventies when mandatory 55 mph speed limits came into being. Today is my birthday and I am 55. As far as I'm concerned, this is a very good birthday, because the best ones are the ones where just a week or two ago, I couldn't even see how I was going to keep living, and here I am. 39 was like that, the birthday that came less than a month after the brain tumor. Last Sunday, I had to have my sister come and help me shower. Today, after I showered and dried my hair, I went to the cleaners' and the bank, and to a couple of drug stores looking for something. After lunch, the girls and I went to Best Buy and got me a new TV, which R set up with no difficulty at all. And for my birthday feast, I expect to order in Chinese food that I can chew, not just get soup, as I have for the last several weeks. Last week, I could only sip the broth, and couldn't even eat the wontons. Tonight? Shrimp. (But no broccoli. I don't think my colon could handle broccoli just yet.)

55 is also significant, of course, because this means that as of today, I am eligible for full retirement benefits. The teachers pension plan in New Jersey says that if you have a minimum of 25 years in -- and I have 31 or 32 -- you can retire at 55 with full benefits. Not that I'm going yet, as I've said a few times; I'd like to get in three more years, if I can. But there's an interesting sense of free fall associated with knowing that this particular option is now open.

My mission for tomorrow is to get toilet paper someplace, since I have allowed my stash to run astonishingly low in my illness. (My father is watching from somewhere, and grunting "Uhh!" because if there's anything Jack never ran low on, it was toilet paper.) And arranging for what I hope will just be a few limited absences from work this week. I expect to go in Monday afternoon, and from Wednesday on. I have that x-ray thing all Tuesday morning, so there won't be enough day to go in after; I've scheduled an urgently needed haircut since I can't go to work anyway. But starting Wednesday, I may be getting in a little late, but damn, I'm gonna get there.

Okay, gotta find something better to watch on the cool new TV.


WATCHING CRITIC'S CHOICE AWARDS :: ENTRY #1659