On knowing my follies....

I know I talk about stressing out a lot, probably more than is really necessary.

But in talking with a friend over the weekend, I discovered something that I don't think I knew before: I get stressed about not being stressed.

That's kind of a messed up way to live life, don't you think?

I've been working on my undergrad since 1999. For people who hate math as much as I do, that means I'm starting my eleventh year of school. Which mean, officially, I've been in school for a grand total of 25 years. Non-stop. Well, okay, I took a break for one semester while I got married and there was a little dicking around when I took worthless classes at community college, but I've been learning stuff for 25 years. And what's weird is that since I've never known my life without school, I'm not quite sure what to do with my life when I do take a break, forced or not.

Take the last six weeks. I had six weeks or 42 days or 504 hours to do, quite simply, nothing. So what did I do? I jammed that full of 11 holiday parties, one visit to the symphony, and baked nearly 600 cookies. I apparently don't know how to slow down.

It's almost like, in order for me to feel like I'm accomplishing something, I have to feel stressed out. It's totally unnecessary and I'm fully aware of that. The problem is that I'm not sure how to fix it. Honestly, for the next 50 weeks, I have to live in a constant state of stress and I'm okay with that. It's the "after that" that I'm worried about.

I told my friend that it's as if I get stressed if I don't have something to be stressed about. "There must be something that I'm forgetting to do!" I told her. But that's not at all the case. I live my life in 15-minute increments -- another folly, I know -- but in doing so, it's very rare that I forget something. I have four calendars that are actively used. It's not like it's really possible for me to forget something (I say, sheepishly).

However, I did make a bit of a pact to myself in an effort to alleviate some of the stress I put on myself, intentionally or otherwise. If I'm asked to do something and I decline said invitation, that's the end of it. I won't allow myself to feel guilty for missing an event or party. I won't feel as if I'm letting someone down for not accepting an invitation out.

Because let's be honest: When you combine Type A with People Pleaser with Constant Stress Box, the results could be disastrous. Unfortunately, I am all of those things.

On behaving badly....

Ever have those moments when you just feel like behaving poorly because, for some indescribable reason, you think it'll make you feel better?

I do this from time to time.

When I'm stuck in traffic (especially in one, very specific area of my city), being angry at the world makes me feel better. I call people names and swear, all from the confines of my vehicle. There is nothing about being in that area that makes me feel "right" so being angry feels not only good, but natural.

Snarky is another behavior that I sometimes like to exhibit. I find myself getting snarky and crappy most often in online discussions and forums. More often than not, topics are related to either politics or religion (and when the two topics combine, WATCH OUT!). World issues is another topic that brings out the snark in me. I'll be the first to admit that I don't know everything there is to know about anything (except the television show, Friends), but I've got a good handle on facts, what I believe, and why I believe those things, so it's fun for me to get involved in those types of rather-heated discussions. Snarky also comes out when I've been hurt or somehow wronged. I mostly just want to get shitty. It's in those moments that I have to be really careful and aware of my propensity for this behavior because, frankly, it's pointless.

Being melancholy (read: emo) is another one that I've been known to display. This is, by far, the most inexplicable of all my poor behaviors. I really have no reason to be "woe-is-me" and yet, from time to time, it just feels good. However, I've said it before and I'll say it again: at some point (at several points, really) in everyone's lives, two situations occur: 1) your life, your situation, your problems are undeniably the most important and the world is allowed to revolve around you for the moment; and 2) someone else's issues are more important for the moment. I could probably prattle on for pages about this behavior of mine, but I won't.

But it all does beg the question: why, if I know these are crummy behaviors, do I continue to exhibit them from time to time?

On shapes and indelibility....

I think that as we get older, we all look back and consider all the choices we've made and things we've done and sort of ponder how all of those things have shaped who we are. We all want to believe that we come to where we are currently of our own accord and while that's probably true most of the time, do we ever stop to think about why we do certain things we do?

Why do I listen to a certain type of music or a specific band? Why do I write my cursive "a" and "g" that way? Why do I say that phrase? Why do I wear the style of clothes that I do? Why do I love that one movie?

If I really thought about it, I could probably pin each of those things back to a specific person. Maybe even a specific time in my life. I'd be hard pressed to find many of those people still in my life actively (most are mere memories by now), but things I learned from them tend to stick around.

Sure, my family has impacted my behaviors and attitudes in an infinite number of ways, but substantial portions of my life prove the saying that "no person can cross the path of your destiny without leaving a mark on it forever..."

We all have former lovers, grade school best friends, teachers and professors, relgious leaders, random acquaintances, even famous actors/writers/philosophers that we know have marked our lives somewhat indelibly. So it does become a more than a little true that once you've come into contact with someone and spent some amount of time with them, chances are very good that your "destiny" will be forever marked by them and theirs by you.

I wonder, then, why I hear of people getting wound around the axle when their current spouse/lover/best friend makes some remark that unintentionally hearkens back to a former life. Is it really impossible to delete a past whatever from one's being? Take my husband for example. He was married to another woman before me. He exhibits behaviors and probably says and does things that he did when he was married to her. I mean, they were together for nigh on five years. It would be practically miraculous if he never exposed to me that part of his life. She left a mark on his life. I have boyfriends from the past that have left marks on my life. Is it all that odd? Is it even bad?

Life is almost entirely wrapped up in being in constant contact with another person. So how would it be possible to deny that people shape who we are? I think we might all like to believe that we've become the person we are at this very moment based entirely on our own choices, of our own free will. But the reality is, people have shaped who I am in the same way I have probably shaped another person.

On working to live...or vice versa...

Some of us live to work. Others work to live.

I was asked the other day what my ideal job would be. What would I do if I could do anything in the entire world? What is my dream job? Naturally, what comes to my head facetiously is, "Can you get paid for sleeping, watching movies, reading, and trying on wedding gowns? 'Cause I'd like to do that!" But the "real" answer is that I'd like to work for a publishing house, doing initial read-throughs of all sorts of books. I suppose then, yes, there is a job out there where I get to read all day long and get paid for it. The person that asked me that same question would like to be a pilot, one of those fancy-schmany corporate gigs where you get to fly people to Europe or the Bahamas and sit there for a week until the client decides they need or want to go somewhere else. Yeah, you can get paid to do that, too.

The problem with both of those jobs is that it involves a lot of grunt work, essentially being someone's bitch for X number of years before maybe getting into the actual line of work intended.

It's like Andie in The Devil Wears Prada. She wanted to write, but had to be somebody's lackey just get in the door of a publication. I mean, it's hard, thankless work. I'm sure it pays off, but at 30 years old, is that something I'm willing to do? I'm not sure.

And I've always been one of those people that works to live. I work so that I can get paid and have, do, or experience anything I want to (usually this manifests itself in traveling). I'm pretty koo-koo town about savings and having that necessary, but evil cushion for those "just in case" moments. And it's come in handy (like when I unexpectedly had to drop $500 on new tires in one fell swoop). But I'm not sure I'd put it past me to blow it all on traveling. Admittedly, I'm a somewhat worldly person. I like having "things"...I like my electronics and kitchen gadgets/appliances and jewelry and whatever. I like to have fun things. So yeah, having a job benefits the life I currently lead.

But what if the job I had was the life I wanted to lead?

I recently read Ivanka Trump's book, The Trump Card, and found myself both baffled and impressed that someone my age had found passion and fulfillment in a JOB. A JOB, for crying out loud! This is a woman who wakes up every morning and (apparently) is delirious with joy that she gets to go to the office. Okay, now granted, she seems to do a LOT of world traveling for said job and she makes a crap-load of cash doing it, but it's still a job. And she shows up at the office at 6am, ready to rock and roll for the next 10 - 12 hours and couldn't be happier doing it. SHE GOES IN ON WEEKENDS!

What if I had a job that made me so deliriously happy that I actually pined for full inboxes and phones ringing at all hours? What if sitting at my desk for ten hours a day was really, truly, and honestly the most exciting and useful way for me to spend my time?

How many of us live in that world? I have a friend that appeared to live there for a while and with her new job, she very well might still be living in that world. But her situation also begs another question: can doing what you're passionate about also provide a decent salary?

I had a professor once tell me, "Do what makes you happy." That's all well and good, but what if what makes me happy ends up making me miserable because the salary blows?

I honestly wonder if it's even possible to live to work and work to live, all at the same time...

On hitting a wall...

Sometimes it pays to exist in a constant (or nearly constant) state of drama.

I'm making this new effort to write more "article" style blogs in an attempt to just try something different and see where it takes me. I call it "writing Carrie Bradshaw style." You know, daily/weekly/bi-weekly/whatever articles on whatever happens to pop into my head, using my life as muse. The problem is that my life and Carrie's life are in pretty stark contrast. For one, I'm real and she's not. Another, she's single (or was, until last summer) and I'm not. She has drama and, for the most part, I don't.

So this poses a bit of a problem for me. My life is a somewhat terrible muse. What am I going to write about? My dogs? Chores? Work? Boring, lame, and a bad idea, respectively

Certainly, being single and dealing with the issues of dating (or not) provides far more entertainment. At least, it would seem.

There are ideas I've been flirting with, but nothing seems all the interesting to me right now.

Things like:
Giving and taking advice
Full-time work + full-time school (but that poor, dead horse...I just keep kicking him!)
Having babies

I'm just out of ideas for the time being. But am more than open to suggestion.

On being complete...

We all have our ideas of what "completion" means. We've all probably completed something, some task or goal, somewhere along the course of our lives.

Some have completed undergrad, master's work, doctorate programs. Some complete projects, big and small, even daily to-do lists. Races, chores, papers, getting ready for a night out, dinner, reading a book. We've all completed something...many things, in fact.

But what does it mean to complete a person?

You know, like that line from Jerry Maguire: You complete me.

What the hell does that mean?

I've always been pretty adamant about never saying that someone "completes" me. That assumes that I was somehow un-whole or broken, missing a piece, before that person came along. I've long preferred the term "complement" in a phrase such as the one above. People are, indeed, complementary to each other.

Humanity is its own perfect accessory, really.

I have friends that are like the best pair of shoes I've ever had...stable, supportive, and sexy.
Some are like the perfect handbag...holding things I need with pockets to hold little nuggets of advice when I ask.
There are those friends that are my best jackets...I feel warm and comfortable with them, like going outside and about my life would be silly without them.
I have necklace & earrning friends...the ones that hug me when I need it and listen when I'm desperate.

My life would be far less sparkly, interesting, fashionable, or fun without any one of my friends.

So back to this "completion" issue.

I think I might be starting to think differently about that word as it relates to humanity.

I said to a friend the other day, "I can't do life without him." [Him obviously referring to my husband]

So I wonder...was I somehow more incomplete before I found him? Before he found me? Or maybe when we started dating, doing life together, got married, a new version of myself emerged. A version that, without my husband, would be incomplete and miserable. Humans, I believe, are meant to be in relationship, friendship or romantic, it doesn't matter. I believe that it's inherent in us to want to be with other people, to want to share our experiences and hurts, failures and triumphs.

I think that might answer my own question. Yes, I was incomplete before my husband. But I would also be incomplete without friends, family, humanity.

On hating my body....

It's been a year since I started my weight loss adventures.

Here was my goal: lose 15lbs by April 20, 2009 in order to look amazing in "the Britney outfit."
I started 'round about this time last year.

Here were my tools: WeightWatchers online and Jillian Michaels 30DayShred (as well as some 10K training thrown in for good measure).

I hit my goal the day I left for Vegas which was THE single most exciting day of the year, thus far.

So what do I hate about my body now? After all that work?

Two things:

1. I get these insane cramps in my toes and the balls of my feet that are painful enough to bring tears. In fact, I just got one. I was wandering around our house in circles. My husband, enjoying a cigar in the balmy 46F evening, looked at my confusedly and came inside to ask what, exactly, I was doing. "My foot hurts," was the only reply I could come up with. Mercifully, the cramp (this time) didn't come in the middle of the night. There's nothing worse than waking up at 2am with one of these horrifying cramps trying to walk the cramp off without waking anyone up. Oh my lord. I don't even want to think about it.
   
   
2. My popping jaw. What the hell is that about? Maybe it's related to stress. Maybe it's because my spine is out of alignment. Whatever the case, I don't care. I just wish it would stop. Oh, the agony when I'm trying to eat a friggin' frosted mini-wheat and can't quite get my jaw unlocked enough to crunch down. Seriously. It hurts. And I hate it.
   

So there's that. I still have a poochy tummy. I still chew my cuticles (which I am trying to quit). There are plenty of things "wrong," but those are the two things that I hate...and basically cannot control. Dammit.