sueeeus

I’m feeling beat down.  Pursuant to yesterday’s traffic faux pas, I was admonished this morning in the elevator for not checking someone’s badge.  About four people came through the door at the same time, but I’m the one he admonished.  Why is that   Do I wear a flashing neon ‘kick me’ sign   Thus far, I’m not having the best of weeks.  I know.  Toughen up. 

To further amplify the state of my self-image, and concerned that I am teetering on the brink of type II diabetes, I went to see my doctor.  Translation:  still trying to get my hands on a metformin prescription.  I had a convoluted tale to tell, and I ended up half blubbering out a string of nonsensical gibberish.  One would never know that I’m a moderately well-educated professional.

There was talk about depression, but I said that I’d read that many depression medications have weight gain as a side-effect, which is the last thing I want.  So the conversation focused on weight issues.  She recommended Weight Watchers, because studies have shown that consistent attendance at the meetings has been successful.  I’ve done it years ago, but I loathed those meetings.  I loathed the whole environment.  From the cattle prod feeling of waiting in line for the big weigh in, to the boring lecture repeating things that I already know, consuming a half hour of time that could be enjoyed in so many other ways, and finally the pièce de résistance –the honor of paying for this experience, week after week after week.  The price of accountability.  It’s just not for me.

This is the conclusion.  No food after 4:30.  Period.  At least 45 minutes of vigorous exercise, five days a week.  Period.  Set small goals.  Five pounds.  Five pounds is a reachable and reasonable goal.  I didn’t tell her that I’ve made that conclusion already, and am currently living with that guideline.  But I’m  having a difficult time wrapping my head around giving  up supper time.  What kind of people don’t eat supper   It’s practically the happiest part of my day, the thought and act of sitting down with my family and sharing a meal.  All those dreams of emulating the Cleavers or the Waltons,  over.  In my life, I’ve only known one person who doesn’t eat supper.  Only one.  Granted, she is teeny tiny and has no weight issues, other than not being particularly strong.  I am mourning over a lifestyle I’m being told must change.  Of course I’ll lose weight if I don’t eat after 4:30.  That’s pretty much when I eat.  And when am I supposed to be able to include vigorous exercise   It’s a major accomplishment to get outside and take a walk on a regular basis.  I strap my giant toddler into a stroller and push him around the neighborhood.  He spies an entrance to the playground, and says, “Go dat way,” but I keep on walking, amidst much protest.  The playground is the treat at the end of the walk.  First we have to walk around, down and then up the hill before we get to the playground.  Once there, he plays while I stretch.  When we leave, chances are there will be shrieking and flailing of arms and high pitched screams and a toddler form flung passionately on the ground, very much not wanting to go.  (If I didn’t use the stroller, there would be much more of this.)  Knowing this is what I face, until I’ve somehow managed to teach him that we will indeed come back, I find the prospect of getting out for the walk all the more daunting. 

And what about Mr. Gadget   Sorry dear, we’re not having supper anymore.  I can imagine how well that one will go over.  But you see, darling, I don’t want to be Two Ton Tessie anymore, and I don’t want to have diabetes and I don’t want to die too young.  So if you want supper, you’re on your own.  Yes, it all looks peachy from here.

The thing is, about metformin, I’ve read that it has helped so many people regulate blood sugar and lose some weight at the same time, with the added bonus of helping some with conception troubles overcome whatever barriers were inhibiting their ability to go forth and populate the earth.  I have seen these effects with family and friends, both, and was hoping that if I could try it, it might be a jump start to help me get and stay on a better path.  The doctor did order an A1c test.  In a few days I’ll know whether I’ve teetered over the brink.

Today I incurred the wrath of a school bus driver.  It was one of those four lane roads and we were approaching an intersection at which the light was red, so I was slowing down.  She put her yellow flashers on, and I was half way past the length of the bus so I continued, rather than lurching to a halt (and toppling the 23 gallons of paint that Mr. Gadget, unbeknownst to me, did not see fit to remove after our shopping trip this weekend, and for which I’d already had to stop once and rearrange after one large 5-gallon drum had toppled over with a frightening thud, upon navigating the corner of our cul-de-sac, thus making me yet a little more late for my afternoon appointment, and of course he wasn’t answering his phone when I called to berate him.  Luckily, the lids remained intact and no paint spilled.)

Flashing yellow means yield, proceed with caution or prepare to stop (as far as I know, but I’m a bit fuzzy on the school bus traffic rules on four lane roads).  I decided to proceed with caution.  Apparently, the bus driver thought I should stop, because she laid on the horn and blared it at me for a good long time, while she put on the red lights and extended the stop sign.  Of course I would have stopped immediately if she had flashed the red lights in preparation of stopping, but she seemed to flash the red lights at the same time that she extended the stop sign.  I think she was too busy honking at me to coordinate her signals.  Or something.  Then, when she resumed, she made a point to pull up and stop along side me, hang her head out the window and glare at me.  I ignored her.  Or at least tried to.  I just can’t handle people yelling at me.  It’s one of those things that reduces me to a quivering and useless blob of gelatinous mush.  It makes me sick in the pit of my stomach.  It completely ruins me.  And of course, being the well-grounded adult that I am, I feel like shouting at her.  Battleaxe.

The last thing in the world that I want to be is self-absorbed and irresponsible, yet that is quite possibly how I behaved in choosing to proceed with caution.  I’m the one who annoys everyone else by driving the posted speed and using my turn signals, even when leaving my own driveway.  I’m the one who drives 20 in the school zone and gets passed by impatient drivers.  When they glare and pass, I don’t so much care.  They’re idiots anyway.  But in this case, I probably should have stopped.  I mean, we’re talking about a school bus and about children.  Good grief, there should be no question.   Even so, it has nearly ruined my day, and now I’m a ridiculous mess because of it.

Of course, I can always blame it on Mr. Gadget, thus transferring these ugly feelings away from myself.  Never mind that he wasn’t there.  Those 23 gallons of paint clouded my judgement.

And maybe, just maybe, blogging about it will help me let it go, and the world can be a bit better off.  At least, Mr. Gadget will.  Nothing excuses, me, really.  We’re talking about children, when it comes down to it.  If my own beautiful boy were on a big yellow school bus, I would very much want all traffic to conform to the utmost in safety. 

Here he is, a beautiful boy who will thankfully be spared the riding of big yellow school buses for a few more years.  And there she is, his self-absorbed and temporarily irresponsible mother, reflected in his eye.

I’ve been tagged! Outside of work, I have no social life. This blog is it. Sad, sad, sad, but true. It is, therefore, a thrill to be tagged. A thrill!

The rules of the game:
Each person tagged gives seven random facts about themselves. Those tagged need to write on their blogs seven facts, as well as the rules of the game. You need to tag seven others and list their names on your blog. You have to leave those you plan on tagging a note in their comments so they know that they have been tagged and need to read your blog.

Before I begin, I’m sorry to say that I am breaking the rules, because it’s very difficult for me to muster up the courage (or audacity ) to tag someone. I am thrilled to be tagged, but not comfortable to tag. Sorry. It’s so interesting and entertaining to follow these memes, but I’m just not bold enough to tag. Actually, in a fit of boldness, I would like to tag Suse, Meg, Miscellania, Blue Moon Girl, and My Float. But only if you want to.

1. I had a school in Idaho. I like to say it the way Meryl Streep says, “I had a fahm in Ahfrica,” but it just doesn’t carry the same punch. It was a big beautiful old building overlooking a lake in a teeny tiny Northern town. It was a true yin-yang experience. It brought much joy and much sorrow and in the end, my life would not be the same, had it not been a part of me for those eight or nine years.
   
2. I am distantly related to Katrina Van Tassell of Legend of Sleepy Hollow fame, or so I’ve been told. My grandmother has a small table that has been handed down through generations that was supposedly hers, and both my grandmother and mother have been to Sleepy Hollow, NY, to tour the cemetery and find the grave stone. However, with a little internet sleuthing, I’ve come to the quick realization that possibly there was no Katrina after all, but an Eleanor instead. That is, if you can believe everything you read on the internet. But, if you can believe everything your parents have taught you, then perhaps there was a Katrina, after all. Or, perhaps those befuddled old womenfolk of mine didn’t bother to share the complete story. Anyhow, it does make for a somewhat interesting, if sketchy, story.
3. Along those lines, I have also been told that I am distantly related to Peter Stuyvesant. Of course, this information came from my mother and grandmother as well, and we all now know to take that with a grain of salt. He sounds a bit tyrannical to me, and if we are related, well. I guess that doesn’t surprise me too much. Trivia states that he was credited for introducing tea to the United States, though. Way to go Pete!
4. In 1990, I was named one of the top inventors of the year, in my company. It was a great honor, and I really can’t take credit for being a genius designer or anything like that. I was just a young whippersnapper, doing as I was told, and my saintly lead, the real inventor, submitted the team on the patent, and shared the credit (and the prize money). What a fine leader he was. I think our picture was featured in the newspaper because I was the only woman in the ceremony. Women in engineering. Newsworthy. Sensational. (And I don’t mind. Finally, a newspaper clipping on par with my golden cousins.)
   
5. My personality type is INFJ bordering on INTJ. I’m not sure if the tendency towards the T has to do with my 20 some years in the technical world, squeezing out my inherent F traits, or not. I do find all this personality exploration and analysis fascinating, though.
6. I save gift certificates for a rainy day, and then forget about them, and by the time I remember… Just last week I found an ancient gift certificate for a massage. I timidly called the number and found they were still in business, and asked if I could redeem it. Yes! They let me redeem it! It was so old, they didn’t even recognize it. It was at least 6 years old. Today, looking for that newspaper clipping (item 4), I found a $25 American Express gift cheque dated 09/18/1991. I think it was for ’employee of the quarter’ or something. It’s so pretty, I may never redeem it. Besides, I signed with my maiden name. It sadly reminds me of one of those parables about stewardship in the Bible, where the one who buried the money is reprimanded for not investing it. This $25 is worth so much less than it was in 1991. I have a file that currently has a dinner for two certificate from a swanky restaurant, another massage certificate, a Barnes and Noble card, a community theatre certificate from 1994, and a handful of others. I plan to redeem the massage, and I’m certain the book card is still good. The others I am suddenly remorseful at the waste.
7. I don’t know how to relax and unwind. I have to stay busy and keep my mind occupied, otherwise I tend towards depression. I yearn for some ‘down’ time, but if and when I get it, I teeter on the brink of depression, anxiety, and overeating, which in turn causes more depression, anxiety, and overeating. It’s a horrible spiraling slippery slope.

Yes, I know, necessity is the mother of invention. Even so.

I have always got the American Dream burning in the back of my mind, so the entrepreneurial embers are smoldering, waiting for that spark that will amount to something plausible.

We are currently immersed in the adventures of toilet training, and have thus far purchased two different products to assist in the endeavor. One is a potty bench and the other is a small padded seat that sits atop the family commode. I don’t like the potty bench, because I don’t like the idea of having to clean it (it has not yet been christened, so to speak). There has been a wee (ha, can’t resist the pun) bit of success with the seat, but both items have useless (well-intentioned) flap contraptions that are meant to serve as splatter guards for little boys whilst seated. They pinch little leggies, and worse, pop off and drop into the toilet (retrieval of which is unpleasant and doesn’t help maintain the encouring and positive atmosphere one must evoke for this most delicate of learning experiences). With a design in mind for the ultimate ergonomic and sanitary solution, I embarked upon some market research, only to discover that my idea has already, for the most part, been realized. Hrumph. Foiled again. Instead of rushing to the patent office, I find myself on eBay, bidding for a better deal than can be found with the standard online retailers.

Another day, another idea, another dollar spent.

I wonder about the inspiration behind the book, “The Five People You Meet in Heaven.”  If I were to die and go to heaven, and if I were to meet God, or Jesus, or St. Paul, or Mohammed, or my grandpa, or my brother, and have a nice long walk and talk, I wonder how many things could be pointed out that were close calls within my lifetime.  Off the top, I can think of two, and I am certain there are many many more.

I drove a few hundred miles Eastward to visit my sister a few days ago.  I travelled on a Thursday, so the freeway was nearly all mine once I was away from the city.   Ahead of me at one point was a pickup truck towing a tarp-covered trailer.  The tarp seemed to be secure.  I could see it ripple in the wind, but it wasn’t flapping or blowing loose.  I followed this truck for many miles, when suddenly something blew away from the load.  Luckily, I was enough car lengths behind that the object shattered to pieces on the road, rather than on my car, or worse, through my windshield.  It was a large picture frame with a glass pane, or perhaps it was a window.  Even so, I had to drive through the debris.  At 70 mph, there wasn’t much time to avoid the situation.  I prayed that I didn’t puncture any of my tires,  out there in the middle of nowhere, and thanked my lucky stars that I hadn’t been hit.  A fluke like that could have killed us.

Another time, on the same freeway, but Westbound this time, I recall seeing a blur whoosh by.  The freeway was full that time, and it took a few moments for my mind to decipher the whooshing blur, and realize that it was a deer, crossing the road.  We were all going so fast.  So many drivers.  So many speeding cars, changing lanes, passing one another.  And somehow, impossibly, a deer managed to dart through the maelstrom.  Had that animal hit any one of us at those speeds, there would have been much devastation.

So.  Every day it is a blessing simply to be alive.  Life is so fragile and fleeting.  There is much to be thankful for!