I will write because I love it and because it is so much easier than dating. --Crazy Aunt Purl.
I will stop hoping so much.
I will be kind, even when it is easier or funnier to be mean.
I will appreciate my body for being healthy, and continue to work to make it healthier.
I will pause every time I compare myself to someone else, and I will try to stop.
I will spend one Ipod Song's worth of time decluttering every night.
I will not put it off because it may just go away.
I will always ask, is this what i would want the other person to do?
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Soul Crushing 101
I have one patient right now who is a grumpy old man. He's actually nice, and I'd probably be grumpy too when I'm 94 and recovering from massive cardiac surgery, but when it comes to therapy he's ridiculously grumpy. Ask him to put on his clothes and consider getting out of bed at 9 AM and you get an evil look. Hand him a 1.5 lb weight and tell him to do wrist curls and you get a muttered "Jesus Christ." He does not want to be in rehab, and we are sending him home ASAP, but until then we are locked in a battle of grumps.
Anyway, today I was shadowed by the new OT on the other rehab floor. (side note, when did I become qualified to educate other OTs??? time flies!!) For the record, she is tall and blond (and on a professional note, seems like she'll be a great OT!). She was sitting with me and Mr. Crabby while we were playing this balloon batting game (works on keeping your balance while you're standing, makes you work your arms a bit, AND Mr. Crabby was actually smiling and enjoying himself, though he'd never admit it). We take a break, and he looks at her and says, "I don't see any rings on your finger. How does a pretty girl like you not have anyone claiming you yet?"
Let's move beyond the obviously old-school sexism here and focus on what is clearly the soul crushing part. I have worked with this man 90 minutes a day for a week and a half, ringless for the entirety. Has he ever--EVER--wondered why I am still single? Certainly not aloud. But give him 5 minutes with Julia, and he's all about the flattery slash lechery.
Is it the blond thing? Is it the fact that she hasn't made him suffer through the indignity of getting up halfway through the morning, thus is not a horrible shrew, thus becomes a mystery as to why she hasn't caught a man? Or is it a "pretty" thing, and I have been found wanting even before he had the comparison to make?
In any case, my little internal vanity flower crumpled like a "before" penis in a Viagra commercial. Just what I needed after a long day of work. Luckily, I am petty, and I have means of retaliation. Tomorrow, I'm getting him up at 8, and we're breaking out the 3 lb weights. Let's see who's wilting then!!! Mwahaha.
Is that wrong?
Anyway, today I was shadowed by the new OT on the other rehab floor. (side note, when did I become qualified to educate other OTs??? time flies!!) For the record, she is tall and blond (and on a professional note, seems like she'll be a great OT!). She was sitting with me and Mr. Crabby while we were playing this balloon batting game (works on keeping your balance while you're standing, makes you work your arms a bit, AND Mr. Crabby was actually smiling and enjoying himself, though he'd never admit it). We take a break, and he looks at her and says, "I don't see any rings on your finger. How does a pretty girl like you not have anyone claiming you yet?"
Let's move beyond the obviously old-school sexism here and focus on what is clearly the soul crushing part. I have worked with this man 90 minutes a day for a week and a half, ringless for the entirety. Has he ever--EVER--wondered why I am still single? Certainly not aloud. But give him 5 minutes with Julia, and he's all about the flattery slash lechery.
Is it the blond thing? Is it the fact that she hasn't made him suffer through the indignity of getting up halfway through the morning, thus is not a horrible shrew, thus becomes a mystery as to why she hasn't caught a man? Or is it a "pretty" thing, and I have been found wanting even before he had the comparison to make?
In any case, my little internal vanity flower crumpled like a "before" penis in a Viagra commercial. Just what I needed after a long day of work. Luckily, I am petty, and I have means of retaliation. Tomorrow, I'm getting him up at 8, and we're breaking out the 3 lb weights. Let's see who's wilting then!!! Mwahaha.
Is that wrong?
Sunday, October 24, 2010
You Might be a Single Girl If...
You might be a single girl if you own more cat scratchers than pieces of furniture.
You might be a single girl if your bedroom's main color is pink, and the main theme is "flowers."
You might be a single girl if you have more than 1 pair of heels just lying in your car in case of an emergency.
You might be a single girl if you leave your bras hanging on the drying rack two feet from the front door until the NEXT laundry day.
You might be a single girl if you come home from work and blast Taylor Swift to unwind (although I refuse to download "Mine" because I think "you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter" is one of the silliest lines ever written and you refuse to support that kind of lyric. What?)
You might be a single girl if your DVR is full of HGTV, Food Network, and shows where the hosts or main actors are cute men.
You might be a single girl if your fridge is full of different Ben and Jerry's chocolate fro-yos just in case one day is feeling more "Phish Food" than "Half-baked."
You might be a single girl if your bedroom's main color is pink, and the main theme is "flowers."
You might be a single girl if you have more than 1 pair of heels just lying in your car in case of an emergency.
You might be a single girl if you leave your bras hanging on the drying rack two feet from the front door until the NEXT laundry day.
You might be a single girl if you come home from work and blast Taylor Swift to unwind (although I refuse to download "Mine" because I think "you made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter" is one of the silliest lines ever written and you refuse to support that kind of lyric. What?)
You might be a single girl if your DVR is full of HGTV, Food Network, and shows where the hosts or main actors are cute men.
You might be a single girl if your fridge is full of different Ben and Jerry's chocolate fro-yos just in case one day is feeling more "Phish Food" than "Half-baked."
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Bucket List
This weekend I cam up with a bucket list for my thirtieth birthday, which is a little less than two years and two months away.
I know the age of 30 does not equal death, so a "bucket list" might seem a little overdramatic, but I've been thinking more and more about where I am in life right now versus where I wanted to be in life by now. Again, probably stupid, but I just can't help it. When I imagined myself at 27, I had elaborate fantasies of what I would be. A wife, a published author, working with kids or maybe even staying home with my own child. I read a quote once that said the act of growing up was the slow giving up of all the dreams you had as a child. Really sad, but as I sit as an adult woman, I start to realize how much this applies to me. What do I have? A job I am invested in but not really too passionate about. No husband, no book, no baby. While I have so much that compensates (wonderful friends, two really adorable cats, and all the things I am always so grateful for--family, basic health, a roof over my head, etc), it is a hard pill for me to swallow that I have not achieved what I always just assumed I would have--and what I still really, almost desperately, still want to have made for myself.
Some of this lack of achievement is due to luck or fate or whatever (which is another post I have percolating in my head), and part of it rests solely on me. I haven't tried hard enough, I've been too easily defeated, I haven't dared when I should have, blah blah blah and yada yada yada. You don't really want to read a narrative of my WHOLE psyche. But I'm tired of it. I'm getting too old to not be getting what I want. What I've always wanted.
So here is my bucket list. I'm an OT, and for each of these long-term goals there are multiple short-term steps, but I'll spare you all those gory details. But the two main ones are: by the time I am thirty, I will have had a work of fiction published, and I will be in a committed romantic relationship. Not too much to ask, right? Not unless you consider how spectacularly I've failed at these things before.
There are other things with which I haven't been quite as unsuccessful at achieving. I want to be in good shape, I want to maintain my friendships and have nurtured others, I want to have saved up enough money to have bought a car or a condo or something equally adult-y, I want to be working in an area of OT I am actually passionate about.
There it is. out in the universe, which I ask to hold me accountable. A 30 year old bucket list. And I will certainly keep you updated as to which items I cross off!!
I know the age of 30 does not equal death, so a "bucket list" might seem a little overdramatic, but I've been thinking more and more about where I am in life right now versus where I wanted to be in life by now. Again, probably stupid, but I just can't help it. When I imagined myself at 27, I had elaborate fantasies of what I would be. A wife, a published author, working with kids or maybe even staying home with my own child. I read a quote once that said the act of growing up was the slow giving up of all the dreams you had as a child. Really sad, but as I sit as an adult woman, I start to realize how much this applies to me. What do I have? A job I am invested in but not really too passionate about. No husband, no book, no baby. While I have so much that compensates (wonderful friends, two really adorable cats, and all the things I am always so grateful for--family, basic health, a roof over my head, etc), it is a hard pill for me to swallow that I have not achieved what I always just assumed I would have--and what I still really, almost desperately, still want to have made for myself.
Some of this lack of achievement is due to luck or fate or whatever (which is another post I have percolating in my head), and part of it rests solely on me. I haven't tried hard enough, I've been too easily defeated, I haven't dared when I should have, blah blah blah and yada yada yada. You don't really want to read a narrative of my WHOLE psyche. But I'm tired of it. I'm getting too old to not be getting what I want. What I've always wanted.
So here is my bucket list. I'm an OT, and for each of these long-term goals there are multiple short-term steps, but I'll spare you all those gory details. But the two main ones are: by the time I am thirty, I will have had a work of fiction published, and I will be in a committed romantic relationship. Not too much to ask, right? Not unless you consider how spectacularly I've failed at these things before.
There are other things with which I haven't been quite as unsuccessful at achieving. I want to be in good shape, I want to maintain my friendships and have nurtured others, I want to have saved up enough money to have bought a car or a condo or something equally adult-y, I want to be working in an area of OT I am actually passionate about.
There it is. out in the universe, which I ask to hold me accountable. A 30 year old bucket list. And I will certainly keep you updated as to which items I cross off!!
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Single Lady Saturday Night Thoughts
For various reasons, I am at home alone on this Saturday night, being lame. And, as is normal, I am having thoughts.
One. My cats are defective felines.
I mean, they're super cute, and I love them, but they're defects, for two main reasons. First of all, they miss me when I'm gone. The joke always has been, what's the difference between a dog and a cat? The answer is a sense of time. If you leave your home but come right back in immediately because you've forgotten something, a dog is over the moon ecstatic. "Oh my god, oh my god, you've been gone sooo long, i've missed you soo much, never leave me again!!!" Do the same with the cat, and he looks at you with disdain, like, "You again?" This joke is not true with my cats. They miss me. I went to visit my parents for two days, and they were so excited to see me. They have been cuddly and needy and clingy since the moment I walked back in the door. I like having dog-cats, but I kind of have to fight the urge to tell them to act more catlike and ignore me.
Second of all, they SUCK at killing bugs. I've had a recurrent bug problem, and my cats are next to useless. Isn't one perk of domesticated animals like cats and dogs supposed to be their protective capacities?? Aren't cats supposed to be natural predators? When I got my furbabies, I assumed that since they were shelter kitties, they came from the streets. I thought they'd have mad hunting skillz. Oh, how wrong I was. This evening they sat on the window sill and watched this bug toodle all around them. Occasionally one would reach out a tentative paw and bat the thing ineffectually, but mainly they were just fascinated. I swear, this bug crawled right over Lulu's paw, and she just watched it. Name me one cat--or one creature even--that would sit and let a creepy crawly creepy crawl all over them. I can name you two. Useless excuses for protectors. Cute, but useless.
Thought Number Two. "Comfort food".
I read SELF and Fitness Magazines. I work in healthcare. I know what's good for my body and what isn't. And I try really hard to do what's good for it, not bad for it (most of the time). So when my sources try to convince me that comfort food is the enemy of my waistline, I try to listen. They tell me that comfort food is a mask for my emotional needs, that when I feel the need for chocolate I should find more healthy alternatives like talking to my friends or going for a walk. And I do try. But sometimes you just need to say "screw you" to awareness. And as I stood over my counter at 8:15, already in my pajamas, cutting huge hunks of brownie out of the pan and smearing it with peanut butter, that is exactly what I did. And I have not a regret in the world :)
One. My cats are defective felines.
I mean, they're super cute, and I love them, but they're defects, for two main reasons. First of all, they miss me when I'm gone. The joke always has been, what's the difference between a dog and a cat? The answer is a sense of time. If you leave your home but come right back in immediately because you've forgotten something, a dog is over the moon ecstatic. "Oh my god, oh my god, you've been gone sooo long, i've missed you soo much, never leave me again!!!" Do the same with the cat, and he looks at you with disdain, like, "You again?" This joke is not true with my cats. They miss me. I went to visit my parents for two days, and they were so excited to see me. They have been cuddly and needy and clingy since the moment I walked back in the door. I like having dog-cats, but I kind of have to fight the urge to tell them to act more catlike and ignore me.
Second of all, they SUCK at killing bugs. I've had a recurrent bug problem, and my cats are next to useless. Isn't one perk of domesticated animals like cats and dogs supposed to be their protective capacities?? Aren't cats supposed to be natural predators? When I got my furbabies, I assumed that since they were shelter kitties, they came from the streets. I thought they'd have mad hunting skillz. Oh, how wrong I was. This evening they sat on the window sill and watched this bug toodle all around them. Occasionally one would reach out a tentative paw and bat the thing ineffectually, but mainly they were just fascinated. I swear, this bug crawled right over Lulu's paw, and she just watched it. Name me one cat--or one creature even--that would sit and let a creepy crawly creepy crawl all over them. I can name you two. Useless excuses for protectors. Cute, but useless.
Thought Number Two. "Comfort food".
I read SELF and Fitness Magazines. I work in healthcare. I know what's good for my body and what isn't. And I try really hard to do what's good for it, not bad for it (most of the time). So when my sources try to convince me that comfort food is the enemy of my waistline, I try to listen. They tell me that comfort food is a mask for my emotional needs, that when I feel the need for chocolate I should find more healthy alternatives like talking to my friends or going for a walk. And I do try. But sometimes you just need to say "screw you" to awareness. And as I stood over my counter at 8:15, already in my pajamas, cutting huge hunks of brownie out of the pan and smearing it with peanut butter, that is exactly what I did. And I have not a regret in the world :)
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Not fat, just fluffy.
In the last few days, I've gotten this comment no less than three times: "You look like you've lost weight!"
I am not sharing this to brag. I'm sharing it because of my prototypically nutsy reaction. The first time, I was pretty pleased. I definitely lost some weight as soon as I started working again, since both the sit all day in class/drink beer every night graduate school phase and the my mom is an amazing cook and I live at home and can't find a job so why not eat phase ended. And this summer I've been working hard to eat right and exercise every day, though I am not the best exerciser and Ben and Jerry's fro-yo is included in my "eat right" plan. But yes, I have dropped a little bit of weight. And since I carry all my weight in the tummy/chest area, I think it's more noticeable than it might be.
So when my coworker who has been dieting post baby said it, I returned the compliment and said, you know, thank you, yes i've been trying to be more body-conscious, and walked around feeling a little better about myself. Then a nurse said it, and then, today, one of my patient's daughters said it. And while beggars can't be choosers, I'm beginning to not be flattered by the comment.
I mean, let's think about it. The patient's daughter is the best example; we had a long conversation on Friday, about her weight no less, and she never said a word. I can guarantee you I have not lost weight since Friday, but she wasn't just trying to be nice--she genuinely believed I had. In essence, then, she and everyone else are basically telling me that they think of me as heavier than I am, that the me in their memory is porkier than the me standing in front of them. And everyone has said it with appreciation, so clearly the me in their memory is not as good looking as the me in front of them. And since I have no illusions that the me in front of them is but so great-looking in her boring rehab therapist clothes, I have real sadness for the super plain-jane me in their memory.
Speaking of the clothes, the daughter today and I decided maybe it was just my outfit; being a Sunday, I went a little casual, rocking some jeans and a dark t-shirt as opposed to my standard issue shower-ready khakis/shirt combo. So my aura of being complimented quickly faded as I realized that I had just learned my weekday attire makes me look fatter. I shouldn't be surprised, I tend to think of flattering clothes as unprofessional, especially for my profession. Which is not a big deal, except now I'm going to obsess over whether I look chunky as I get ready for work.
Sigh. I'd ask if I'm overthinking this, but I pretty much always know the answer to that question. It takes a special ability to be this neurotic, and I'm sure everyone's jealous they don't have it :)
I am not sharing this to brag. I'm sharing it because of my prototypically nutsy reaction. The first time, I was pretty pleased. I definitely lost some weight as soon as I started working again, since both the sit all day in class/drink beer every night graduate school phase and the my mom is an amazing cook and I live at home and can't find a job so why not eat phase ended. And this summer I've been working hard to eat right and exercise every day, though I am not the best exerciser and Ben and Jerry's fro-yo is included in my "eat right" plan. But yes, I have dropped a little bit of weight. And since I carry all my weight in the tummy/chest area, I think it's more noticeable than it might be.
So when my coworker who has been dieting post baby said it, I returned the compliment and said, you know, thank you, yes i've been trying to be more body-conscious, and walked around feeling a little better about myself. Then a nurse said it, and then, today, one of my patient's daughters said it. And while beggars can't be choosers, I'm beginning to not be flattered by the comment.
I mean, let's think about it. The patient's daughter is the best example; we had a long conversation on Friday, about her weight no less, and she never said a word. I can guarantee you I have not lost weight since Friday, but she wasn't just trying to be nice--she genuinely believed I had. In essence, then, she and everyone else are basically telling me that they think of me as heavier than I am, that the me in their memory is porkier than the me standing in front of them. And everyone has said it with appreciation, so clearly the me in their memory is not as good looking as the me in front of them. And since I have no illusions that the me in front of them is but so great-looking in her boring rehab therapist clothes, I have real sadness for the super plain-jane me in their memory.
Speaking of the clothes, the daughter today and I decided maybe it was just my outfit; being a Sunday, I went a little casual, rocking some jeans and a dark t-shirt as opposed to my standard issue shower-ready khakis/shirt combo. So my aura of being complimented quickly faded as I realized that I had just learned my weekday attire makes me look fatter. I shouldn't be surprised, I tend to think of flattering clothes as unprofessional, especially for my profession. Which is not a big deal, except now I'm going to obsess over whether I look chunky as I get ready for work.
Sigh. I'd ask if I'm overthinking this, but I pretty much always know the answer to that question. It takes a special ability to be this neurotic, and I'm sure everyone's jealous they don't have it :)
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Secret Single Shopping Behavior
The title of this comes from an episode of Sex and the City; Carrie confesses that since Aidan moved in with her, she's missing her Secret Single Behavior, including spreading jelly on saltines and eating them standing up at the counter. Sometimes it seems like my whole life is Secret Single Behaviors, but the one that came to my mind today was my Secret Single Shopping Behavior.
I got paid yesterday, so today I went shopping. Woohoo! First of all, let me confess that I am totally shallow--shopping makes me happy. REALLY happy. My friend once asked me what I was on when I called her immediately after buying three pairs of shoes. Screw occupational therapy, give me retail therapy anyday.
The one thing, though, is that I don't really like shopping with other people. I mean, I'll go to H&M or DSW with my girlies, but more often than not, I go alone. I tend to get self-conscious about my shopping style and/or what I buy--yes, I can be insecure about ANYTHING, it's a really great quality I possess--and I kind of feel like I don't want anyone to be exposed to my weirdness. I was reminded of this when I got in my car today after my three hour shopping marathon. Let me tell you what I buy at Target (one of four stores I went to--I'll spare you the other stores to preserve some sort of an image) to make myself happy. Three collage picture frames, cat litter, body lotion, a bra, a new water bottle (to use while I soak my other water bottle in bleach to prevent mold, true story), a new yoga mat (I learned the hard way that yoga mats have an irresistible texture for cats looking to sharpen their claws), and Frizz Ease smoothing serum. I unloaded these treasures into my trunk, got in the driver's seat, and turned on the car. Miley Cyrus's Party in the USA came on the radio right as I turned the key, and I made the following noises: "Oooooh, yay!!"
This, I quickly realized, is Secret Single Shopping Behavior. Buying a crazy random assortment of things and being so excited about it I get pumped about singing along with Hannah Montana.
So I know that if I ever live with my boyfriend or get married, they will see everything I buy, and if it's the right person, he will love me anyway. On the other hand, shopping will always be on my list of things I'd like my partner to never have to see me do, along with such lovely moments as clipping my toenails or organizing my tampons. Because I still think that, especially when it comes to me and my habits, love means never having to say "let's go shopping."
I got paid yesterday, so today I went shopping. Woohoo! First of all, let me confess that I am totally shallow--shopping makes me happy. REALLY happy. My friend once asked me what I was on when I called her immediately after buying three pairs of shoes. Screw occupational therapy, give me retail therapy anyday.
The one thing, though, is that I don't really like shopping with other people. I mean, I'll go to H&M or DSW with my girlies, but more often than not, I go alone. I tend to get self-conscious about my shopping style and/or what I buy--yes, I can be insecure about ANYTHING, it's a really great quality I possess--and I kind of feel like I don't want anyone to be exposed to my weirdness. I was reminded of this when I got in my car today after my three hour shopping marathon. Let me tell you what I buy at Target (one of four stores I went to--I'll spare you the other stores to preserve some sort of an image) to make myself happy. Three collage picture frames, cat litter, body lotion, a bra, a new water bottle (to use while I soak my other water bottle in bleach to prevent mold, true story), a new yoga mat (I learned the hard way that yoga mats have an irresistible texture for cats looking to sharpen their claws), and Frizz Ease smoothing serum. I unloaded these treasures into my trunk, got in the driver's seat, and turned on the car. Miley Cyrus's Party in the USA came on the radio right as I turned the key, and I made the following noises: "Oooooh, yay!!"
This, I quickly realized, is Secret Single Shopping Behavior. Buying a crazy random assortment of things and being so excited about it I get pumped about singing along with Hannah Montana.
So I know that if I ever live with my boyfriend or get married, they will see everything I buy, and if it's the right person, he will love me anyway. On the other hand, shopping will always be on my list of things I'd like my partner to never have to see me do, along with such lovely moments as clipping my toenails or organizing my tampons. Because I still think that, especially when it comes to me and my habits, love means never having to say "let's go shopping."
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