Sunday's goal: wash hair

It's good to have goals, or so I hear.  Usually, I try to avoid them because it seems like unnecessary pressure. 

That was a long-winded way of saying my goal today is to wash AND style my hair.  It's not dirty, or I'd feel more compelled to do this.  But it scares me when I look in the mirror.  Mostly, I've been avoiding mirrors.  I'm fairly certain I frightened the FedEx driver yesterday.

My phone started acting up saying the SIM card was unreadable.  Re-seating it didn't fix it permanently.  Known issue.  Blah blah blah.  I called and ordered a new one because there was no way I could make it to the phone store.  Anyway, nice dude on the phone said I HAD to sign for a Saturday delivery.  Which meant human interaction, while I'm hibernating.  Ugh.

The fkr lied.  I didn't need to sign for it, and I scared the fresh-faced FedEx driver.  He spoke to me like one talks to a skittish feral animal.  And gently handed me the envelope.  While slowly backing up.  No sudden movements.

My phone works great now.  I tested it by calling myself because why would I call someone else?  Just kidding.  Sort of.

I spoke to my brother for a few hours the other day.  We caught up and compared tales of woe.  And laughed until we cried.  He slays me.  :)  He's got new unseen before chicken genetics playing out on his ranch.  And told me about mutual friends who were also experiencing medical problems.

It's weird.  In our teens, we had so many friends dying from drug overdoses and misadventures.  Now, we're losing friends from a misspent adulthood.  Major organ systems failing from years of neglect.  Who knew we'd ever get past 30.  It's all so unexpected and mysterious.

apparently Death decided to visit me again later

It's been a rough week, but I'm still alive.  Not really kicking because that would take too much energy right now.  I'm beyond low in energy.  And red blood cells.  Again.  FUCK YOU, ANEMIA!

The good news is I'm getting really good at this.  I'm considering turning Pro in the Worldwide Anemia event.  That's a thing, right?

And because I'm a food hoarder, not quite on the Mormon-level yet, I managed to eat enough and feed Kitten even when I could barely get out of bed.  My food is severely depleted.  I need to stock up again.  For me, for Kitten, and for Hurricane Season.  Holy fuck, that starts in less than a week.  I don't feel mentally ready, and there's a disturbance brewing off the coast presently.

Until we meet again, Death, word to your mother.

the Russians are coming, the Russians are coming

Do you ever wonder if your ancestors would be ashamed of what a wimp you are?  I do.  Here I am, lying in my luxury bed, crying about my shitty life, hugging my down pillows, in my temperature-controlled house.  Poor me.

Like many American white people, my ancestors came over from Europe and left their hardships behind.  Maybe they'd be happy that their genes survived long enough to experience easier times.  And then wonder if they really did me any favors. 

Or maybe I'm secretly descended from a weak royal bloodline?  Maybe some peasants had enough of being stepped on and kidnapped a royal baby.  By the time they realized how frail the kid was, they couldn't give it back.  That might explain my princess requirements at times.  [What else am I supposed to do when my body fails me, but let my mind wander?]

Assuming no royal kidnappings in my ancestry, how did I come from such strong people and become such a pussy?  My body is an asshole and hates me.  That's how. 

If I don't have enough energy to wash my hair, I decided it's probably not a good idea to take a 90 minute workout class.  Going up and down the stairs is stealing my breath.  Holy fuck.  I feel as if I've been stuck in a gelatinous ooze the past year, making no progress no matter how much effort I exert.  Every time I start feeling better, WHAM!

Fortunately, my dad loves me and will be delivering food to me later today.  It was both comforting and weird that he didn't ask if I was feeling poorly.  I guess he knows me by now.  It's kind of his fault if you think about it, for not sharing his stronger genes and making poor choices by joining his with inferior ones.

I'll generously decline to mention that when I thank him for my food.

sunny outside

But grey in my heart.  I want to be happy, but tears slide down my face.  I'm forcing myself to meet my workout partner at the gym.  Either the physical activity or laughing with him (or both) might help.  I'm really, really counting on it helping.

UPDATE: I cried on the drive over and wiped away the last of my tears as I walked inside.  I was hoping his eagle eyes wouldn't notice anything amiss.  Fortunately I distracted him with my delicious-smelling hair, after using my Curls Coconut Curlada this morning.

Workout helped exactly as I'd desired.  We laughed and sweated our way to happiness.  I made bird noises during a shoulder fly set, and got him to do it, too, when he did his set, although he chose a different bird.  I'm pretty sure we annoyed everyone near us with our laughter and shenanigans.  Oh well.  I needed it.

Afterward, I stopped at the store and accidentally bought dessert.  Never go shopping when you're hungry.  As of this posting, I've limited myself to just one.  So fkn ambrosial.

butterflies

In my belly.  Sitting here at the dermatologist with anxiety creeping in.  Why don't waiting rooms have Xanax in candy dishes?  Or liquor.  I'm not picky at this point. 

The office staff is very nice.  And they politely laughed at my lame jokes.  After I signed my life away on eight pages.  Eight pages FFS.  That seems like a lot, and only one page asked my medical history.  It was pretty brief.  I barely had to lie by omission.  I've decided that some past medical history isn't relevant because I've collected a lot over the years. 

While I'm waiting, two pharmaceutical reps walked out.  Ugh, fkn hate pharma reps.  And I already hate this doctor for seeing them ahead of patients.  Or even seeing them at all.  I forgot to look him up online to see how much they pay him.  I just want my scars lessened. 

Breathe, Wendy.  No running out while they aren't looking.  They know who you are already.  And the hard part was getting here.  At least I hope that's the hardest part.   Please don't overreact, Wendy's body.  I'm glad I can write my thoughts down while waiting.  It helps with the anxiety somehow, knowing you guys will be understanding later.

I hope he doesn't try to talk me into anything I don't want.  I hate wasting my time arguing with know-it-alls.  They probably feel the same hehe.  

UPDATE: It's done, and it burns!!!  I'm pretty sure half of the waiting room heard me yell motherfucker during one particularly painful spot.  Cross your fingers that it's successful.  Or at least not deleterious.  I came home and took a nip of my Brazilian liquor, cachaça, and phoned a friend.  Deep breaths.  Goodbye anxiety, I'm done with you today.

itty bitty papaya

I don't understand why this one didn't grow bigger, but it ripened and tasted yummy.

tossed my peas

I finally listened to everyone's advice and threw away my frozen peas.  And then bought more.  I'm assuming anything in the store now is safe.  If you never hear from me again, it's probably listeria.  Or a psychotic mailman.

Guess who knocked over my garbage can?  I didn't witness it this time, but really who else could it be.  Merely so I can get more junk mail that I threw in my garbage.  Vicious cycle.

lunch sans listeria

 
I have a four pound bag of organic peas in my freezer just begging me to eat them.  But the FDA is recommending not to.  My sister and Einstein fall into the OMG DON'T DO IT camp.  I'm kind of on the fence.  What are the odds that my bag is infected?  Pretty low.  No one has even gotten sick yet.  Plus, I recently finished a similar bag (which probably met these specs), and I was fine.  Yes, I can get a refund, that isn't the issue.  I'm lazy and craving some fkn peas now.  And they're right there!!

Einstein told me I could die.  My sister hit me with that, too, and when I didn't sound 100% convinced, she threw in the "it could give you a migraine" line.  Funny how a migraine is more persuasive than nebulous death.

My lunch just wasn't the same without that key green ingredient.  I added pumpkin seeds, pecan pieces, and shredded coconut to my nitrate-free bacon.  It was delicious, but pea-less.

Before I could post this, my sister emailed me that the recall list is growing.  Now my lovely frozen broccoli is on the list.  I know I've eaten at least one bag of that recently.  You may wonder why I don't buy fresh instead of frozen.  There are a couple of reasons, the main one being convenience.  When I'm exhausted and/or in pain, I don't want to go to the store and shop.  The second reason is that if the food is flash frozen at the source, it has more nutrition in it than if it had sat around a couple of days.

I suppose I need to drag my ass to the store.  All my spoonie friends out there know that's a lot of spoons.  Two eggs in my coffee today might help generate an extra, right?  See, that's what I'm talking about.  I consume raw eggs every day.  For years.  Listeria just doesn't seem that menacing.  Except for the potential migraine.

I am a privilege

If I say it enough, will I believe it?  My eyes are leaking even when I tell myself that I'm not sad.  Life is good, Wendy. 

I don't feel like a privilege.  I feel like a fraud, a charlatan.  I walk around with a confident strut, not letting people know how torn up I am inside.  I'm usually laughing or making jokes to hide my pain.  The truth is my life is mediocre at best.  It makes me ponder if other happy-seeming people are perpetrating a fiction, too.

I got brave yesterday and made an appointment with a dermatologist to fix a few scars next week.  Considering my previous ghastly luck doing that in my eyeball, I'm scared like a mofo.  My former dermatologist went commercial and does only cosmetic stuff now, which would have been perfect, except she doesn't take any insurance.  It's for rich women (and men) grasping to hang on to youth and beauty, at any price.  Who can blame them?  I want to be youthful until the day I die, whenever that may be.  And not just acting like a 12-year-old.  :)

I has a sad

I was determined not to be sad this Mother's Day.  But my niece asked me if I had anything on it with my dead mom's (her grandma's) signature on it.  So I started looking through old photos and memorabilia. 

And the sadness started.  I saw an old family portrait from when I was 5 or 6.  Everyone had huge smiles on their faces.  Except me.  Photographic evidence that I didn't have a great childhood.  I found my baby book, which was 99% empty.  No one gave a fuck to fill it in, and it got packed away.  Blah blah blah, poor me.  I saw that I filled out my height and weight when I was 17 and first learned of the book.  I'm two pounds heavier now.  Of solid muscle.  /flex   Not sure that two pounds of muscle is worth all the effort I've expended over the years, but at least I can open my peanut butter.

As I was going through old photos, I saw lots of my ex and me in happier times.  What is the protocol for dealing with these photos?  I removed all of the visible ones in my house, but it feels wrong to throw them away.  That was a huge and important part of my life.  For now, they're put away but still intermingled with my regular family photos.  Because he was part of my family.  Sigh, I need a rule book.

Mother's Day is a mixed blessing of a holiday.  Great for happy families and horrible for dysfunctional or grieving ones.  I miss my former mother-in-law but didn't send her a card this year.  I've been thinking about her all day, but I feel less ready to see her now than I did a few months ago. What the fuck does that mean?  Am I more in touch with my feelings or going deeper into denial?  I hope she's doing well.

I mostly kept my sadness to myself because I didn't want to rain on anyone else's parade and ruin their festive family celebrations.  I checked in with two of my friends who also had their moms die.  And a couple of my siblings.  But not all because I didn't have the energy.  Also, phones work both ways, fkrs.  And they didn't check in with me.  I'm sure they're mostly fine.  It's been years.  I'm feeling it because I had a recent loss, and every loss piles on top of each other like a goddamn emotional snowball.

I decided to make myself laugh and listened to the latest 2 Dope Queens podcast.  That worked a treat.  Those are some funny mofo's if you're unfamiliar. 

I want home and I want it now

So fkn thankful to be home.  And still gainfully employed.

Kitten yelled at me for 20 minutes, telling me all about how scared she was when I went missing, and the hardships she endured at my other neighbor's hands.  I didn't ask Totoro this time because I thought it might be too much for her health lately.  My other neighbor lives down the block and is always adopting and caring for strays, both animal and human.  She came in twice a day to feed and care for Kitten, who never came out because she has worse anxiety than I do.

Kitten wouldn't let me snuggle her for an hour until she calmed down more.  She didn't let me out of her sight though.  Not that I traveled far.  I made a couple trips up and down the stairs.  And went out back to grab a papaya because Totoro kept an eagle eye on my house and noticed the last few are ripe and ready to be picked.

I showered and was in bed early, with Kitten joining me shortly thereafter.  She stayed all night until I woke at 3am with a horrible migraine.  I took some imitrex and waited for the Ice Fairy to bring me my ice-pack.  That bitch never showed.  I faded in and out of consciousness and took another dose at 6am.  Kitten asked to be let out, and I didn't have the heart to deny her after she was locked in all week.  I trekked downstairs to let her out and tried to stay nearby for when she wanted to check-in.  Her separation anxiety always kicks into high gear after I return from a trip.  I was there for the first one, but I needed to go back to bed after that.  The couch would not suffice.

I grabbed my ice-pack before I went back up.  Fuck you, Ice Fairy, slacking on the job.

I came down two hours later and when I opened the door, she started her panicked crying.  She spent the rest of the day in bed with me, while I listened to audio books and podcasts and ate imitrex like snacks.  After many, many doses, I have either survived another migraine or merely temporarily subdued it.  In either case, I'm grateful this awful one waited until I was home and I had time to convalesce.

Pain is a major appetite suppressant.  I'm fairly certain my jeans will fit again, but I'm happy to stay in shorts all day.

the theme was food and boots

Oh, is it time to leave already?  I've been ready since Monday.  :)

I ate so much delicious food that my jeans were starting to be a bit too tight on me.  I tend to overeat at these events because I never know when my next meal will be, and I want to ensure that my hypoglycemia doesn't kick in.

I was astonished that so many men noticed and complimented my boots this trip.  I was equally astonished that not one person commented on my hair.  I typically get many remarks (not always complimentary) about it from strangers when out and about running errands.

This was an interesting week, once I got past my anxiety.  Co-workers opened up to me, talking about a friend's death, a relative's death, a pet's death, and even their own mortality.  Somehow I got caught up in my own bullshit and forgot not to judge because I don't know what people are going through.  Fortunately, I think I compensated for that later on in a few heart-to-heart sessions, where I mostly listened and empathized.  Here is your friendly reminder to have compassion when someone is annoying you, because they're probably going through some shit.

I managed to escape another chance to admit the death of my relationship.  I'm hoping I either never have to talk about it at work (hi to you denial) or it will be long enough to say "oh I thought you knew, that was years ago."

I learned from a hungover co-worker that the hotel gift store doesn't sell chewing gum because it's too messy, which is ingenious. 

And finally it was time to grab a cab and escape to the train station.  This cab was much fancier.  The air conditioning was already on and running.  He gently placed my luggage in the back, instead of on my knees.  And we chatted about various things as the mood struck.  He told me about previous businesses he'd had and been attacked at.  Fuck.  And why he left Pakistan many years ago, and how it is when he goes back to visit.

I arrived a bit early at the train station, and the train was late, so I had lots of time to kill.  I'd already eaten first and second breakfasts, so I decided it was time for elevenses.  I asked the station agent to recommend a place in this tiny little town and was hoping he wouldn't suggest the mini-mart across the street at the Greyhound station.  I was in the seedy underbelly of town.  He suggested Dave's Rockin' BBQ and started describing some wonderful pit BBQ techniques.  When I asked if they had that there, he said no.  Huh.

I walked two blocks over to the nicer part of town and found the BBQ place.  Omg, I love the ambience, the smell, the music.  I hope the food is good, too.  Mostly, I'm just happy to be on my journey home.  I'd much rather waste time here than make more corporate small talk. This place was full of regulars and character.  Lynyrd Skynyrd posters were all over the wall.  And of course, Tom Petty and various other '70s rock-bands.  Everyone knew each other (which would maybe get annoying after a while but seemed fun for now) and had a slight Southern accent.  The men looked tough.  And the women tougher. 

I saw a random dude walk up in shitty looking camo outfit and thought he was doing the macho version of cosplay.  I figured out when three more walked up in similar outfits that it's their SWAT Team.  Who knew they even had one.  Or maybe it's another city's using this town as a training session.  They went straight to the BBQ place. So I'm assuming locals.

The food was mouthwateringly scrumptious, and I ate more than I meant to, while rocking out to old '70s tunes.

The train finally arrived and as I got on, I complimented my conductor's eyelashes.  She then proceeded to give me an elaborate and detailed five minute tutorial on how to buy and install faux eyelashes.  ProTip: Use bonding glue for weaves not eyelash glue.

passion for plaid

Why so many checked (plaid?) shirts?  Is it in your boys' nerd manual along with the highly recommended, but not quite mandatory, goatee?  In case it wasn't clear, the male to female ratio here is completely overwhelming.  I guessed it at 40 to 1, but my white, male co-workers thought more like 10 to 1, until they looked around in surprise.  We agreed on 20 to 1, but I still think it was higher.  And they still think it was lower.  Probably because I'm such a force of nature with my own gravitational pull, and it feels like 35 women are nearby.  Talk about overwhelming.   :)   Fortunately, my managers are awesome and hire women, so my department isn't nearly so unbalanced.

I saw three black men here, two of which I knew previously.  I met the third when he said to me, "You walk like you hear music the rest of us don't."  Doesn't everyone play internal music when they want to?  That's why I have theme songs, one of which my newest co-worker said he woke at 2am with it playing in his head.  (Coincidentally, I also woke at 2am that night, but it was due to drunk fkrs outside being loud.)  We had briefly talked about that song the night before and then did an impromptu karaoke session (mostly him because I can't sing) while walking to dinner.  He found and played it on his smartphone during a meeting break.  People were humming it all day.  It's a vicious, but fun, ear-worm.

Why are hotels so poorly sound-proofed?  I can always hear the man in the room above me peeing.  And yes, I can tell it's a man because you guys sound different.  There was also a horrible grinding noise, which was intermittent but plaguing enough that I dreamed I had tinnitus.  I woke up just as it switched off again.  And my whole body relaxed and started to drift back to sleep.  And two minutes later, my alarm sounded.  Motherfucker. 

Florida man

By lunchtime, I was tired of tedious work discussions.  Doesn't anyone have fun hobbies they like to talk about FFS?  I purposely sat a table with some millennial whose face was buried in his phone.  He didn't so much as glance up when I sat across from him.  Perfect.  I took out my phone and proceeded to text and chat with friends while I was eating my steak and parsnips.

Another man sat down, and I quickly glanced up to see if I knew him and needed to make small talk.  I did not, and he avoided my eyes, so I assumed another millennial sans manners.  I went back to my food and phone.  The first dude abruptly finished, left his plate and utensils strewn about, and walked away.  I glanced over at the second one to see his reaction, if any.  He looked as taken aback as I was, so I joked that he must have been raised in a barn.  Dude says, I have a barn now, and I'm not that rude.  It turned out he lives in rural Florida and has 40 acres of farmland.  And he's no millennial.

We ended up having a brilliant lunch conversation about non-work related stuff.  He is attempting to raise native Florida fruit plants, like cherries, plums, huckleberries, and pears.  Who knew those were native?  We reminisced about Florida in our childhood.  He grew up somewhat near to me.  I learned about how he raises cattle, pigs, and poultry.  We talked about rednecks and skinheads, and he noticed my Doc Martens and complimented me on them.  We enjoyably spent the time together and barely mentioned the convention.  It was refreshing.

to pay or not toupee?

I suppose I forgot to mention that I have to give a presentation to approximately 40 people at this convention, which is most of the source of my anxiety.  Most, but not all.  I'm also anxious about the long days, and how much advanced material I'm expected to learn.  This is not a typical pep rally sales meeting.  This is a nerd convention, hence the allowance of jeans.  This should be my people.  I keep telling myself I'll be fine.  Apparently I'm not a very persuasive liar.

Yesterday, I took a taxi from the bumfuck train station to the fancy hotel.  I had a choice of this taxi or nothing.  I wisely chose this one.  After he threw my luggage in sideways and didn't even close the collapsible handle (wtf?), I immediately verified if he accepted credit cards like the whole civilized world.  No, he did not.  But he could drive me by a sketchy ATM to withdraw lots of cash.  Seriously, dude?  Fortunately I'd planned ahead and had some cash squirreled away in various pockets, zippers, and hidey-holes to cover the fee.  Because we were in backwater Florida, it wasn't that expensive.

The hotel was indeed grand and lovely.  I broke a $20 bill at check-in to have tip money for the week.  I had used all my existing singles on the train.  I jokingly assured the man checking me in that I would not be sneaking off to a strip club, so he shouldn't feel required to report me to my company.  He gave me an uncomfortable smile.  Oops.  Must remember to dial back my sense of humor here.  I'm back in Corporate World.

There was an opening reception the night before, for which I debated changing clothes.  I'm glad I didn't because I almost felt overdressed in my ensemble of jeans, boots, and t-shirt.  Most people had traveled from much colder climes and were taking this time to break out their short pants.

Do people still buy and wear toupees?  I stared at the back of one man's head for close to two hours in this morning's opening meeting, trying to decide if it was a toupee or a weird haircut.  (I was extremely bored in case that wasn't obvious, and decided not to sleep through it like the gentleman next to me.)  And of course, that made me curious what the back of my head looks like.  But not curious enough to try for more than a quick glance and say fuck it.

I sat with regular co-worker friends at breakfast and lunch.  I talked shoes and boots with a Canadian, who told me about Blundstone.  His looked extremely comfortable.  By dinner I got brave and sat with all new people.  I met a fellow AC/DC fan, a MotoGP fan, and some men with strong Indian accents who said they were from Texas, to which I said, yeah I could tell by the accent.  They were dumbfounded until I said I was kidding.  Then they thought I was hilarious.  Yay, someone liked my humor.

Every time I went to try a new type of food at a different buffet, I met new people.  The song Raspberry Beret came on just as I was walking by my manager.  I must have had a happy step, because I heard the 'wow, you walk like a model' line.  I'm fairly certain he was not hitting on me.  I hope.  I laughed and made a quick exit back to my room.  That was more than enough people for one day.

choo choo

I'm taking the train on a business trip.  This will definitely be the best part of my trip.  I'm having major anxiety already.  I had nightmares all weekend.  We were told we could wear jeans, so I'm way more casual on this trip than usual.  I hope that doesn't turn out to be a mistake.  Normally, I wear frumpy clothes.  I was once given advice on how to dress in a male dominated field.  Never sexy, never memorable.  I took it to heart over the years, and I'm sure it's saved me much grief and awkwardness. 

Today I'm throwing caution to the winds and wearing skinny jeans and boots.  I figure I'm old now and don't have to worry about looking sexy. 

A few minutes before the train is due, and a couple walks up, smoking cigarettes.  I'm already annoyed and have barely smelled their cigarettes.  I overhear the woman asking about the bathroom at the station.  The station agent says to hurry because the train is due at any minute.  They're going to New York, and now I'm anxious if they miss their train.  I don't even know them and was annoyed by them two minutes ago, but now I'm concerned for them.  I DON'T NEED THEIR ANXIETY, TOO!

A dude with fucked up sweatpants came up (almost took a pic, but I felt like it violated his privacy) and asked if he let me hold all his money (which he was pulling from an orange Velcro wallet) could he use my phone.  I'm a big meanie and said no.  Plus my battery is dying and I'm 2 minutes from missing my train.  He said he was getting on it, too.  Also, hell fucking no am I letting a stranger have all of my personal info in his hand.
 

Turns out he wasn't getting on my train.  He was on his way to the courthouse.  With those fkn pants, really?  I mean they looked fun and funky but maybe a judge wouldn't agree.  One leg was grey with graffiti designs, and the other leg was fuchsia.  Anyway, he distracted me, so I don't know if the New York couple made it.  But we did manage to delay the train by a minute or two while the conductor tried to make sense of his story.  She thought he was with me.  I guess my boots fooled her into thinking that.  Yikes.

I'd rather be home