Out of the Dark

For the second time in two days, I got myself on the treadmill and pushed the button. It was, by my own account, a success--I ran (jogged) the first 20 minutes non-stop, and after a brief walk, cranked the speed up higher than I've been able to so far on this treadmill. I ended up (by the machine's calculations) completing 3 miles in 40 minutes, my best effort on this treadmill yet. (I keep clarifying "this treadmill" because honestly, I don't know how accurate it is. It's a lot tougher than the machines at the gym--even my husband has said so. And after he ran outside yesterday for the first time since running on our treadmill, he is even more convinced it's not wholly accurate. My inner statistician would like to know how far I'm running and how fast, but really, I guess the important thing for me is to be able to carry a consistent pace for a longer period of time. That's my goal. I'd like to be able to run a 5k in less than a day.)

Which has led me to consider, again, purchasing a heart rate monitor. The thing is, a HRM won't tell me my distance or my speed, unless I shell out some real bank. So I'll probably just put it on the "when I win the lottery" list and forget about it for now.

Started working on the super secret sewing project this week, and I should have a good portion of it completed by this evening. Of course I got in a hurry and screwed something up already--not a big deal, just a minor fix, but I hate getting the seam ripper out, especially because of a careless mistake. Lesson learned. Maybe.

My goal is to run 4 mornings out of 5 this week. I think the reason for my lack of motivation has been the realization of how out-of-shape I got in just six months, and the self-disgust for allowing it to happen. Depression sucks and it makes you fat to add insult to injury. "Take it from Dr. Dre--depression can be a real motherfucker." Word.

Guess Who's Back...Back Again...

Well, not that I ever really left.

I don't have time to blog. But I need to blog. I don't have time to complete posts to my blog I get paid for, much less this one. But I have too much crap in my head that I can't post on that blog, because paying gigs limit your content and creative license. And I need a lot of creative license.

I'm sure posting will be just as erratic and unpredictable as ever. But you never know...

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I'm meeting with another headhunter today. This will be three now that I have trying to find me a job--you'd think at least one of them will be able to pull something out of their ass within the next six months. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to stand living here in limbo. I certainly can't spend much more time juggling 75 open files on my own.

I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed. Entirely, completely, absolutely overwhelmed. It's not like I have a lot to do--"do" as in physical labor, I have a husband and children for that. The problem is that I have to be the brains of the entire operation--it's up to me to remember everything, up to me to schedule everything, up to me to pay everything. I manage the finances. I manage the house. I manage the bills. I manage the kids. I manage meal planning. I'm like the goddamn CO ordering my grunts around and supervising them while praying I haven't overlooked anything. And it's too much for one person. But no one else is willing to take on the responsibility. And even if they were, they do such a half-ass job of it, it causes more problems than it's worth.

I appreciate that Ben gets the kids up and dressed and fed and ready and out the door every morning. I do. Really. But really, when I've already got Bob's drugs dispensed out and his clothes laid out and his bag packed, how damned hard can it be? It's not like he's keeping track of homework or permission slips or anything else. Okay, he does give Bob his lunch money every day, but he doesn't even do that right--just gives him a set amount, which is actually incorrect, and calls it a day. What the hell?

The unfortunate reality is, I could do it all on my own. The only thing I can't do is earn a substantial paycheck.

I'm sure he feels the same way about me--that I do nothing while he holds down the fort all by his lonesome. I wonder if all couples with small children feel that way.

Truthfully, we've almost painted ourselves into a corner where it's no longer feasible to raise children when both parents are employed full-time, unless they work opposite shifts. The schools complain there isn't enough parent involvement but the kind of involvement they want is ridiculous, unnecessary, and overburdensome. No, I don't have time to take my child to the library even once a week, because I have to spend at least an hour working with him on his homework. And we're only all home together for about two hours between dinner and bedtime. So I can either find a way to incorporate more hours into a day, or I can give up sleep and force my kids to follow suit. Neither seems like much of an option.

I did tell the husband today I can see the time coming when I will have to forego my job for something less time-consuming and demanding, like substitute teaching, so I can be available for the family. The older Bob gets, the more problems I can see him having, and it's going to make it hard for me to be available for him if I'm tied to a full-time job. Ditto for Boozy. Not to mention all the other shit I micromanage on a daily basis.

Forget living "green"--we all should learn how to live "lean."

Is This Thing On?

I don't know if this blog even has any actual followers anymore. I wouldn't follow me because I suck at regular posting. Fuck it, it's summer--I have better things to do with my "spare time" than stare at a computer screen and wax poetic about my fucked-up life. There are tans to attain, bikes to ride, children to embarrass...the list goes on and on...

I have actually been doing shit. All the aforementioned activities, of course. Lots of biking. Lots of running at the gym (I'm still not brave enough to try actually running on the mean streets of the Happy Rock). Lots of hanging with the boyz. Sewing, too. I've made myself a couple of skirts and think I may finally be ready to take on...a zipper.  Duh-duh-DUH...

And then there's all the not-so-happy stuff that I won't bore everyone by detailing. Suffice to say I'm doing a really great job if I make it through a day at work without hiding in a bathroom and ruining my mascara. (Damn non-waterproof shit.) Hate my job, hate db, hate db, hate db. Hate db so much that I spent a few minutes beating on my steering wheel tonight while pretending it was his face. I thought I broke my thumb for a while, but I think it's only bruised. I wonder if I can sue him for that...

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Does my lengthy stretch between posts make me an *official* Bad Blogger?

Whatevs, it's summer. Live with it.

My other blog is also in desperate need of attention, as well. Don't see that happening soon either, unless we hit a serious stretch of bad weather that extends into weekends. We had a pretty helacious storm here today--came on right about noon and was, thankfully, over by 3. The pool re-opened at 4. We returned home around 6.

Yeah--it's like that.

I did manage to do one creative thing today--my oldest niece is having a birthday next weekend, and I've commissioned for a pair of pajamas. I decided to throw in a pair of "slippers" as well--flip flops adorned with strips of the same flannel I'm making her pj pants out of. I've got them mostly finished and plan to work on the pjs tonight.

Right now, there's a 2-year-old sitting on my chair behind me, alternately trying to unclasp my bikini top, rubbing my back, and slapping my rear while yelling "BUTT!" and then laughing. We're teaching him to be such a good citizen.

I've also been investigating running shoes. I've taken up running lately. Here's why--at 15, I could barely, barely run a mile without collapsing, and my best time was damn near 11 minutes. Lately, I've been able to run 4 miles in just under 40 minutes. And that makes me feel kind of like a badass.

The downside is my high arches and underpronating feet, which inevitably lead to shin splints. Very, very painful shin splints. Most of the time I just run through the pain (bad, bad me) but after a run or two, I find I need at least a couple of days to recover (and lately that's not even enough). It's gotten bad enough that just this afternoon, at the pool, the toddler pressed down on my shins while scooting himself off the end of my chaise and it hurt enough to make me scream. I'm also a huge pussy, but trust me, it hurts. So even though my old shoes are barely worn on the bottom, I'm thinking I've had them about a year and it may be time to invest in a new pair. Unfortunately, I'm also cheap, so let the battle between my wallet and my shins begin...

I did FINALLY get a haircut this morning. I decided to suck it up and take my chances at the salon very near my house. And my old stylist was just sitting in there, killing time between appointments. It was like running into an old lost love. I've not been that happy to see someone in a while. I also did step one of my 2-step color this afternoon--so long, gray hairs!

I think it's time to take off this wet suit now before I start to mildew.

Memorial Day

It's been kind of a crazy weekend. For not having really done anything, it feels like we've been "doing" non-stop since Friday afternoon.

Starting with Friday night BMX racing, now with new and improved (or at least "improved") bike (new pedals, fully working brakes, and a bigger sprocket/chain/gear thingy). It must have worked, because he took 3rd--his second placing finish so far this season. And he worked for it, too. I was ridiculously proud.

Saturday, I asked him what he wanted to do, and his response was "can we just, like, stay here and play in the backyard?" Who am I to argue with that? We set up the kiddie pool and the slip'n'slide and had ourselves an afternoon. After I dropped him off that evening, I went to the gym for a run (over 4 miles in 45 minutes, and I ran a full 15 minutes straight without stopping at a 10:00 mile pace), then came home to sticky chicken on the grill, grilled corn on the cob, and pasta salad, served on the deck with a nice cold beer and sugar-free Creamcicles for dessert.

Yesterday was more of the same--pool time with the toddler. Then to my sister's house for a barbecue, which was promptly rained out. Hmph.

Today--another beautiful sunny day spent poolside watching the toddler "swim." Unfortunately, we have also discovered "swim diaper" really means "creates a biohazard in any pool, just add water." Gross, gross, gross. And why must he shit EVERY. TIME. he gets in the pool?

Back to the grind tomorrow. I'm hoping for an excellent 4-day week. I'm feeling "tanned, rested and ready" (so the political joke goes), and really hoping good things start happening after Wednesday...but that's a post for another day.

Meow

So today I'm going against my recent vow to avoid processed foods. Yeah...that's going to be a tough one to uphold, really. I live in the burbs. We don't have cute little convenient corner grocers that stock fresh produce and crap. Instead, we have Quik Trip, and you don't want to eat anything from there unless (a) you're drunk; (b) you're starving or (c) you have PMS. And since I don't like going to the grocery store every day, I think a little processed fare is going to have to sneak in every now and again.

I am, however, trying to be a good little soldier. So far, so good. Started my day with a cup of coffee brewed in my new French press (husband keeps asking me what's French about it and aside from a portion of the enclosed instruction booklet, I honestly don't know) with some almond milk and a Soy Joy bar. The "joy" part of that is a total misnomer--there is nothing joyful about eating something that tastes like cardboard and looks like a turd--but they are a mere 130 calories, proteinariffic, and portable. And they still taste better than some of the protein bars I've had the displeasure of wrapping my mouth around.

Lunch is rice noodles--more processed food but hey, it's ramen, whatever--and a can of cat food tuna. With any luck I'll start chasing imaginary things and scratching the shit out of my cube wall by mid-afternoon and will be sent home. In an effort to improve my chances, I might start interjecting "meow" into every sentence around 1:30ish.

I have no idea what lies in wait for me in terms of dinner, but I did bring some rice crackers and fresh cherries to nibble on (assuming I don't get sent home for hissing at anyone). And my plan is to go to the gym tonight, as we hope to be at the bike track tomorrow evening. I killed 45 minutes on the stair climber last night--go me!--so tonight I will likely return to the treadmill to see if I can repeat last Thursday's performance.

Biking, Thinking, Dyeing

Friday night, the husband and I found ourselves in that strange but wonderful situation other parents occasionally find themselves in.

We were childless. At least for the next 12-24 hours (at our discretion).

Let the wild rumpus start.

I dropped the older child off for the weekend with his father while the husband sent the younger child off with Grandma for the night. After my dropoff, I hit the gym and hit the treadmill. With my feet. Repeatedly. I didn't pound it as hard as I did Thursday night, but I still managed to go 3.88 miles in 45 minutes (and burned 425 calories). Not too shabby. Again, I went with my strategy of a 5-minute walking warmup, followed by running as long as I could before I thought I might die, then walking no longer than 1 minute before running again, and forcing myself to run for at least 10 minutes before walking again.

When I was through torturing myself, I went home, cleaned up, and we went out for Thai food. It was awesome, except I asked for "medium" and got "hot," which meant my spicy basil and chicken stirfry was damn near painful to eat. No pain, no gain--I ended up leaving a substantial amount of rice on my plate (another first for me) because I was full. And because my mouth hurt too fucking bad to eat anymore.

Yesterday, even though we had no damn good reason to wake up at dawn, we did--7 a.m., to be exact. We got up, cleaned up, loaded up our bikes, and hit First Watch for breakfast. We haven't been to First Watch in ages, and since it is where we spent our first hour as a married couple, it's always been a favorite of mine. Again, I didn't eat everything on my plate (left some potatoes behind) because I was full and knew better than to stuff myself before our ride.

Fat and happy, we headed for Little Blue Trace trail. Our goal--to bike from one end of the trail to the other and back. No small feat, as the trail is 10 miles one way. But it's reasonably flat and well-maintained. It was a beautiful sunny day. It was also muddy as hell. And windy--a couple of gusts damn near took me and my new lightweight bike out--we rode the first leg of our trip entirely against the wind. There were times I wasn't sure I would make it. But about an hour and 10 minutes in, we reached the other trailhead and it was time to turn back. The return trip was a cakewalk by comparison--amazing how much easier it is to ride with the wind working for you instead of against. By the time we got to our car, we'd been riding for 2 hours and 10 minutes, and I felt like a rockstar. A muddy, sweaty, stinky rockstar.

We picked up the toddler and went home, where we showered and promptly collapsed into a sunburned heap on the sofa.

I spent the evening finishing the book I've been reading, and thinking about things. I've been contemplating the logic (or lack thereof) involved in "just living with" my mental state. It really does seem ridiculous, even though it's kind of my M.O. where my health in general is concerned--preventive or treatment measures are always too expensive, too time-consuming, too inconclusive as to effectiveness, too embarrassing, too damned scary, or just too whatever for me to either pursue them or keep up with them. I took allergy shots for years, but stopped because it was a real pain in the ass to go to the doctor every week for a shot. I took prescription sleep aids for a while (Rozerem is awesome) but stopped because of the cost (and haven't slept as well since). I haven't been to the dentist since the oldest child was 3 because that last trip was nightmarish and I'm scared to death to find out what kind of horrible shape my teeth are probably in now that I've had another kid.

My mental health is no different. If anything, it's worse. I have a lot at stake. I can't afford to pay "drug roulette" the way I've forced my kid to play. (Why would I make him endure it when I won't go through it myself? Because I'm still more or less functional--he was not.) I also can't afford to have psych records floating around with my name on them--my older child has a crazy, mean biological father who will, I'm sure, take me back to court to try to regain the custody he lost during our first go-round, and I don't want any paperwork declaring me crazy winding up as an exhibit. I don't have time to take my kid to his appointments, much less take myself to one. And we haven't been able to afford for more than one member of the family to require medical expenses.

But really...am I doing any of us any favors by just continuing to "live with it?" When I'm good, I'm pretty darned good, but when I'm bad, I'm useless. And with all my excuses and whatnot, aren't I just contributing to the stigma of mood disorders--the very problem I'm always soapboxing about?

Wouldn't it make more sense to get my shit together?

So I'm thinking about it and making some decisions. Decisions that I will keep confidential because, well, I want to. Until the judiciary no longer consider depression a hinder to one's ability to parent, I have to. In the meantime, I will keep on keepin' on (as the hippies say) and do the best I can.

I will also resolve to not forgetting sunscreen when I go biking on a sunny day. And I will dye my hair, because gray isn't sexy, no matter what all the old hippie bitches would have you believe.