kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Health

  • Stay calm and carry on with new perspective

    Stay calm and carry on with new perspective

    If our original plans had gone as expected, we would be on a direct flight home instead of waiting for a taxi outside of John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford, England. Our “vacation” had been extended a week to ensure that I was fit enough to be on an eleven hour flight. I remember the strong scent of exhaust in the chilly air, a blush colored horizon through bare trees and strains of a familiar Beatles’ tune coming from the hospital lobby while I stood there, glad I wasn’t on that flight. I was exhausted and more than a little disoriented; at times I remember feeling as if I was watching myself from another place, detached from current reality. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but more, a sort of buffered effect. A cloaking device.
    (more…)

  • It’s not easy being Green.

    Feeling-Green.jpg I know you’re sick of hearing it, but it is what it is. I’m sick. My head feels as if it’s the size of Barbie’s, the right side of my throat (if not constantly lubed up with scorching hot tea or ice cold water) feels like I swallowed a cup of glass shards, and the right side of my neck and ear are sore.

    I should probably go to the doctor, but I don’t think I have one. I sort of got one a little more than a year ago when I was desperate, and then when I decided that the COBRA payment on our medical insurance was highway robbery, purchased Blue Cross, which is just legalized highway robbery. You know, make your monthly payments, and at the same time, put money in an account, so when you go to the doctor and pay for the visit you can get a tax break. Who thinks of this malarkey? So I haven’t figured out who our doctor is or whether she takes Blue Cross. And no, we haven’t gone to the doctor. We have paid eight trillion dollars for the insurance in the last year, however. You know. Because we have absolutely nothing better to spend the money on. But I tell you, I truly sleep well at night knowing that we’re helping support the payroll at Blue Cross. There’s nothing like giving back. Bleary-Eye.jpg

    Where was I on my suffering and pain…

    Oh yes, and then there’s this goop thing. How is it possible to breathe out of both nostrils, yet detect swamp remnants somewhere behind my face, causing me to make persistent noises at night when the MoH, who is the world’s worst sleeper, is trying to act like he can pretend as if he’ll ever go to sleep. Ever. It just gives him another reason to not sleep, which I wouldn’t wish on anyone. So to be THE reason he’s not sleeping is humiliating.

    He said to me this morning as I was surveying my puffy unloveliness through bleary eyeballs in my bathroom mirror:

    “Do you know how loud it was last night?”

    “No,” I answer, not really wanting to know.

    “It was so loud I could hear it downstairs over the radio.”

    Puffy-Unloveliness.jpg Now, I’m wondering what radio because it’s easier to think about that than what he’s describing, and am trying to picture him down there in the middle of the night. Well, actually, I think it was a bit after twelve. Is that the middle of the night?

    He continues, “You really sleep soundly. I even tried kicking you.” I’ve invited him to try and wake me up by nudging and shaking, but kicking? I should check my legs for bruises. I did volunteer to sleep on the couch tonight, however. True love and all that sort of thing, you know?

    Clearly, I’m not running on all cylinders, but I’m still aware of a few things that are going on out there through my haze of swamp residue and general disgusting grossness:

    Like Earth Day. Being green. Saving the planet one curly light bulb or ugly Prius at a time. I’ve started our transition to those curly light bulbs for more than green reasons. They’re beyond cheap at Trader Joe’s. But we have a ton of those recessed lights whose brightness rivals that of approach lights on a runway, and I haven’t quite gotten around to figuring out what to do about those. Our telescopic light bulb changer isn’t designed to hang on to those curly light bulbs and I’m not thrilled about getting up on our extendable ladder. It’s a bummer, because I just can’t wait to see what it’s going to look like with a bunch of pig tails protruding from our ceiling. In the meantime, we just don’t turn them on. Does that count? Green-Light.jpg

    It should count that on trash day, our recycler is beyond full. I need to receive an award for this. Of course, much of it is wine bottles, but the paper takes up quite a bit of space, too. Junk mail should be outlawed. Not the email kind. The snail mail kind. There’s tons of it and I can’t begin to find out how to stop receiving it. Junk-Mail.jpg The unwanted magazine subscriptions that feature plastic surgeons and society events are an easy phone call or email. But the election crap, and the charity organizations asking for money? It’s ridiculous. At least it gets recycled.

    We keep our cell phones way beyond what’s fashionably correct. But that isn’t because we’re being conscientious, it’s because we just don’t care that we are carrying fat, heavy phones that are banged up beyond all repair. What? Worry about the looks I’ll get the next time my clunker crashes to the floor in the grocery store bringing looks of disdain from those who have surgically attached the latest RAZR2 to their ear? Feh. Ours work just fine.

    Disposal-or-Trash-.jpg I rarely put anything down the garbage disposal any more. It’s a toss up whether putting food in the land fills or out to sea is best, and it sounds noble to even consider it, but I have to be honest. Our plumbing sucks. And since we’ve had a few back ups in the last year, I try to keep the ol’ disposal’s running time down to only when necessary. That means if anything stinky is going in the trash, it has to be orchestrated with trash day. Do I need to explain how many things are in my freezer that are headed for the trash because I couldn’t leave them to rot for a week before the garbage truck came? What. A. Pain.

    Full-Fridge.jpg But hey! Did you know that having a full fridge helps keep energy costs down? There’s less space to circulate the air, so the motor doesn’t have to work as hard. I wondered why I kept all that food in there. It couldn’t possibly be that I have deep-seated problems relating to hunger or neglect from childhood. Just kidding, mom. Really.

    Sticking with the food theme, my coffee grounds go out to the flowerbeds as much as possible. And I’ve thought of taking the leftovers that Starbucks puts out each day, but I just don’t have that much dirt to plant in anymore.

    And I bought those grocery bags that are reusable. Ten of them. I’ve actually used them three whole times since I got them. Of course carrying them in the trunk of my car doesn’t exactly help me remember that I have to use them every single time and it’s hilarious when I pop the trunk after leaving the store and see them unused. Dork. Reusable-Bags.jpg There is another problem: without the plastic grocery bags, the RTR is concerned that he’ll have to use the clear thin plastic bags the newspaper comes in to scoop the dog poop when he’s walking Miss Big. The horrors of carrying doggy poop are bad enough, let alone doggy poop that you can actually see. But I’ve got that covered when the time comes.

    I haven’t figured out what to do about the kitty litter, though.

    Any ideas out there?

    No, the cat is staying. Besides, she’s adopted and fixed.

    So happy almost Earth Day, all. Aren’t you exhausted now?

    P.S.  I had absolutely NO idea my nostrils weren’t perfectly symmetrical.  Go figure.

  • Walking, talking, and thinking about good things.

    It’s still dark in the morning when the alarm goes off at 5:10 and I rarely hesitate before throwing back the covers to step over the doggo and find my way to the closet. If I’m lucky, I’ll avoid the Yack Star, who will want to eat, and actually make it downstairs with two shoes that go together. Navigating the stairs in the dark is scary enough to have to feel my way along the wall, making sure I land solidly on each step.

    Still not quite sure I’m awake, I glance at the clock and notice that only a few minutes have passed, so I pause long enough to grab a glass of water. My heart is pounding as I reach for my car key and wallet, hit the garage door button and fall into the driver’s seat. I cautiously back out, and head to my friend’s house, sometimes not quite realizing that I’m not still under the covers, snug and sleeping soundly.

    I never know if she’ll be awake when I arrive and so use the sloping curb of her driveway to stretch my stiff calves while I wait. Once in a while, the elderly man who lives across the street comes out, wanting to know who I am. He’s just being a good neighbor. But since my friend and I have gotten back into the swing of things, she’s been up and ready to go. I’ve not had time to even consider whether I’ll be brave enough to tap on the glass next to her front door, hoping she’ll hear me, and causing her dogs to bark.

    We start out with her loping yellow Lab each morning, barely awake, and it seems the first point of discussion is food. Often it’s more of a confessional, with comments like, “I wasn’t very good yesterday,” or “My husband looked at me and said, ‘Wine?’” Other times our talk is about which recipes we’ve tried. Somehow it makes getting up and over those hills much more easy.

    There’s something soothing walking that early in the day. The annoyance of cars leaving for work or taking kids to school comes much later, and except for the occasional ghostly shadow of someone who has ventured out to retrieve their morning paper, we see no one.  Hear almost nothing beyond the rustle of some small animal in the ivy, or the soft hooting of an owl somewhere high up in the eucalyptus trees.

    We’ve improved our route time by about six minutes even though we haven’t worked to do that. And only one incline continues to kick our butts, even though we’ve figured out that if we’re absorbed in a conversation, our minds don’t linger on the agony of lungs stinging for air or bodies gravity insists upon keeping close to the asphalt.

    As we approach the end of our route and the last rise, I feel the air change. It’s warm, and hints of the weather we’re to have this weekend — sunny and near 80 on the coast. For a moment, I think of summer and all that comes with it.

    By the time we return to the starting point, the sky is much lighter, and I drive home knowing that I’ve done something good for myself. We’ve walked about 16 miles since Sunday and I smile, acknowledging that it’s not bad for two well-seasoned chicks. I make plans for my day — not strict plans, though, because it’s Friday and I don’t have to do anything if I don’t feel like it.

    But I do feel like it. I feel like continuing to think carefully about what I eat. I feel like finding a place for my mom to live when she returns to Paradise from her non adventure on the Wrong Coast. I feel like cleaning my house, and planting some flowers, and lining up what I’ll be cooking this weekend.

    And I feel like spending time with the MoH who has been putting in 15-hour days. With any luck at all, I’ll actually get to see him. It puts a dent in my style when he’s not around.

    Maybe I’ll bake something with dark chocolate.

    It’s loaded with antioxidants, you know.

    Happy weekend.

  • Smile.

    The head has cleared, my throat no longer feels like the tunnel of death, and I can sort of tell that there are things on Earth that don’t smell like s*ot.  Sorry.  I just can’t spell it.  It’s disgusting.

    But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to say Happy New Year to you all.  I tried to make it around to your blogs and hope I didn’t forget anyone.  Well, it’s not exactly like Santa trying to get around to all the giftees in the world, you know.  But still.

    It was nice “seeing” you again and reading about what you’ve been up to even if the MoH is now in bed, I’m up alone, the T.V. that Best Buy has still not delivered parts on is blaring, the RT is snuggled in his bottom bunk unfortunately not as much on the mend as I, and well…

    …I’m not sleepy.

    Must have been all that decadent lounging on the sofa and in bed for two days with Kleenex sticking out of my nose.

    Hopefully you’re smiling.  And if I can wish anything for you, it’s that.  That you’ll smile as you head into 2008, believing that good will happen when you least expect it.

    Imagine what could happen if you did expect it.

    See you soon.

  • What to do on a Friday. Or not.

    Since I officially have a J.O.B. now, I get to brag that I get Fridays off. And since I only work four hours a day the other four weekdays, clearly I’m not taxed here. Actually, I knew that it would be just enough time to throw off my blogging responsibilities. So thanks for your patience as I figure it out. Some of you are gifted in that area and manage to work and blog quite effectively. Show-offs. Or is it that you use that company computer? Only on breaks, right?

    So what to do with this Friday and the weekend?

    Grousse a bit about DubYah and the ridiculous “bail out” of the home mortgage catastrophe.

    • How nice that yet again, people who KNOWINGLY got themselves into a mess they can’t get out of get to keep their mess, but have someone else pay for it. Can I get in line for that, please? How can anyone not know that they can’t afford something? No. Way. And the lenders and agents who instigated the whole thing to pad their own wallets and then bail when things began to get soft need to be thrown in the slammer. Losers. They threw Martha in the slammer for something miniscule in comparison, and since this mortgage business is affecting the economy, uh, I’m thinking they need to round the crooks up. The whole “bail out” is a scam, anyway. Sort of along the lines of “Tastes Great! Less Filling.” Tastes great! Less filling! Serve it up anyway, George. You go right ahead. What. Ever.

    B*tch about a hike in our medical insurance because I had another birthday; its high cost must not have been quite high enough.

    • Mind you, we’ve only had the insurance since this past spring. If Blue Cross would give up sending stoopid statements on high quality shiny paper printed in lots of purdy colors (that just confirm we’re getting hosed monthly because there are only zeros on the statement), they could probably save a zillion dollars. Then they wouldn’t have to charge me the extra money that is just going out the window because we don’t use it. You can’t exactly USE medical insurance with a deductible that rivals the national debt. Welcome to the land of opportunity. The place where you purchase medical insurance just to prevent the loss of a home in the event of a serious medical condition. Wait. I could maybe swing a deal with the banking and mortgage crooks, then not have to pay. Sure.

    Clearly, others understand this is the land of opportunity and the home of the brave.

    • After you rip everyone off, enjoying their hard-earned cash and credit (sans taxes, of course), why not ask for leniency because you want to turn your life around after you’ve had all this fun? *Can I borrow your spoon so I can stick it in my throat and gag?* If the judge believes these two free-loading ass*oles, I have a terrific chunk of land in Paradise that is a veritable rain forest with unlimited water and city politicians who aren’t liars.

    Lest this all depress you, we can look forward to the colors the fashion industry has in store for us all next Spring. Um. I can’t wait. Spring ‘08 Colors The MoH just may be interested in a nice trouser in Snorkel Blue and a shirt with French Cuffs in Spring Crocus. Wait. On second thought, maybe one of Buckler’s designer swim suits. The gold lame.

    http://www.chic.tv/swf/chic_tv_affiliate_player_medium.swf?h=274508D4
    And last but not least — I saw this standing in the grocery line a couple of days ago.

    • A suggestion or two? Tubal Ligation. Condoms. Birth control pills. Strategically positioned stitches. Lobotomy.

    But it’s Friday. So I’m going to spruce up my casita and get ready for the weekend. There’s holiday shopping to be done, a tree to be chosen and to decorate, and maybe…just maybe…another performance of yours truly on ustream.tv this Sunday. Don’t hold your breath for it, though.

    My follow through sucks right now.

    But we’re healthy, damnit.

  • Dear Desiree…

    Tally-Ho NaBloMoPo on Day 14. So move it. Can you do it? Make it burn…on three…ready? Let’s go. Whatever. But this one will be short, because I have to do a post on my food blog today, too. I was nearly done with a post two days ago, was loading the last photo, and then…Yes. That silly message that says something about being reset so the connection was lost came up after I realized things were getting a bit slow and I suspected the inevitable was about to happen. When’s the last time you actually saw mad? You know. Like, really mad.

    November 14, 2007

    Dear Ms. Bartlett:

    I just thought I’d take a moment today to let you know you kicked my butt the other day. Seriously. I should have known better, and that’s what I get for not taking the time to do a bit of research; i.e., look before you leap. I should have channel-surfed a bit. But you looked so harmless. So sweet. It was that smile.

    I’m sure you’re far too busy for someone like me, but I’ve been trying to find ways to make sure I get regular exercise. I don’t always look forward to it, but do a fairly good job of getting in some exercise at least four days a week. But I’ve been struggling with the time change since I have a tendency to go out late in the afternoon or early evening to walk — hopefully right before the MoH gets home. One day it was completely dark by the time I’d finished, and although I sort of enjoy that, occasionally, the brush by the side of the road engages my overactive imagination and my constructive pessimistic proclivities begin to map out my defense on the chance the boogey man is hiding in the bushes and is getting ready to jump out to get me. Little does he know that I’m ready to grab the sides of his face in my palms and dig my thumbs into his eyeball sockets, knee him in the nards, and if necessary, ram his nose up into his sinus cavity with the base of my palm. Of course, a lifetime of repressed rage would most likely also be unleashed and there wouldn’t be much left of him.

    Yes. Well, um, so I had waited too long to walk and it was already dark, so I decided to take a look at the free On Demand channels on cable. I thought I’d seen something about Exercise on Demand and thought I’d give it a shot. Mind you, it was some time ago (like years) that I’d see this feature of our monthly service to Time Warner, but that’s beside the point.

    You would have been proud. I had appropriate exercise clothes on, and my tennies. Hell, even my weights were close by. I have to be honest though — I was a bit worried about my left arm since it’s been so screwed up with tendonitis. But I wasn’t going to use that as an excuse. I was going to suck it up.

    Suck dough balls was more like it.

    Sheeeeee-it. You smiled the entire time you were kicking my butt. In fact you kept telling me to smile and each time you did, I wasn’t. What’s up with the whole smiling while your tongue’s flapping around your chin? Have you ever tried to do that? But since I’m a team player, I tried, and I did learn that if I smile with my teeth, at least I can get air into my oxygen deprived lungs.

    And I did appreciate that you kept telling me that I could take a break any time I wanted. I did notice that you smiled when you said this, like it was some kind of a dare. I’ve got you all figured out, marching in place there and not losing count while you’re smiling and telling me to take it easy. And not sweating. Not a single shiny place on your body.

    Do you have any idea how hard it is to hang on to a weight when sweat’s dripping down your arms? Huh? And your your spine? Well, suffice it to say it was a veritable river headed down to my drawers. At least the RT didn’t make any comments when he walked by wondering about this latest project his mother had gotten involved in. And he didn’t laugh when I grunted, either, and I was listening.

    I know you know that I knew I’d be doomed after the warm up and before the weights because I was already toast. That you knew that I’d know those repetitions would make my muscles feel like they’d been flopped into a frying pan set on sizzle. You totally knew. And you smiled the entire time. But you also knew I’d feel like *thank gawd I’m done* successful and proud after you ran me through the wringer the routine. I know you’d know that I knew I’d know you knew. Yanno?

    So all in all, the beginner’s (ohmygawdwhatmustheregularworkoutbelike?) workout was a freakin’ killer great and because it was an interminable, exhausting only 30 minutes, I switched to a cardio salsa dancing workout that finished the job you started immediately afterward. I’ll have to thank her another time since I couldn’t see the writing on the screen with my face on the floor didn’t catch her name.

    But hey! It was so incredibly tortuous and I was so sore the next day fun, that I was thoroughly encouraged to go on my walk again, making sure I got it in before the sun went down — in the drizzling rain.

    So thanks, Desiree! The next time I need my butt royally kicked an amazing workout, I know how far and fast to run in the opposite direction you da man.

    Devotedly,

    Me

    p.s. Might you be related to Rachael Ray? Just asking. It must be the smile.

     

     

    Actually, the workout was excellent, and I was surprised that I felt as if I’d gotten more done than twice the time on a vigorous walk. I enjoy getting outside, keeping an eye on my odd neighbors in Paradise breathing, and watching the sunset, but this is something I need to do a couple of times a week. The on demand channels are an included service, and I can exercise whenever I want, which is, well, not a whole lot different that most everything else I do. So…okay. Whatever.

  • To Whom it May Concern

    Dorothy, are we in Kansas yet? I don’t know what day in NaBloPoMo I’m in, but have already figured out that it’s a gonna be a long haul…

    November 6, 2007

    To Whom it May Concern:

    There isn’t one special person I’d like to address today. Blame it on Thinner. You know, that hunk ‘o metal and plastic that I step on once a week just to see how quickly I’m losing the battle of the bulge? Yes, Her. And yanno? She’s just as heartless as she’s always been. Cold, calculating bitc….

    The MoH and I started a little health plan a week ago and he has lost three whole pounds as of yesterday and I’ve lost notta-one. Zero. Nothing. Nada. I am so completely sick of this whole thing I can’t see straight. No, I’m not talking about just from this past week. Hell, this goes back months. COULD I GET SOME PROGRESS HERE, WAITER? What kind of establishment is this anyhoo?

    I don’t want any advice. I don’t need consoling, or understanding or links to research or plans or anything like that. I read. In fact, if I could figure out how to sustain life by just reading, I’d be in heaven. I read, question, research, examine, wonder. I do all that crap like breathing. I could probably spout off any fact that anyone wants to know about being healthy. But I guess I just am not willing to live on a spa diet and bust my ass an hour a day each and every day of the week. I’m destined to be a dumpling. A morsel.

    Photo 2.jpg

    What I need is a bit fat sucker machine. A giant Flo-bee. One that I can just hook up, and not only will it remove any adipose tissue I’m not overly fond of, but it will suck out the genes I have that have nudged me to this point over the years, fine American Farm Stock that I am. Sheesh. SOOOOOOOO-EEEEEEE….

    I don’t want to be skinny. Hell, I don’t even want to weight what I did when I was in my twenties. I just want to be rewarded for:

    • eating bran cereal in measured quantities (2/3 c.) with nearly fat-free milk — 1%?
    • eating wraps (whole grain with fiber…)with mushrooms, spinach, onions and other animal feed
    • nibbling at nuts and prunes
    • eating cautious quantities of food
    • skipping bread, or anything with processed white flour
    • avoiding any kind of fat — even fat that’s good for me — well except that bit of avocado…
    • exercising, and yes, breaking a sweat (at which I’m exceedingly accomplished)
    • not even looking at butter
    • drastically (gasp) decreasing wine consumption and drinking red instead of white with a calorie-less bubbly lime flavored mixer
    • eating non-fat plain yogurt by itself
    • eliminating quite a bit of meat from our diet in the past week and what meat we’ve had has been in four oz. portions
    • not intending to, but skipping a few meals, ( and boy did I pay for that with shaky, trembling legs and drowsiness)
    • not eating chips, or cookies, or candy, soda, or ice cream (which I rarely, if ever, eat anyway) REALLY.
    • when we went out last Friday, ordering a salad that I didn’t even eat all of
    • not being able to remember the last time I had pizza or fast food in any way, shape or form. Wait. I had pizza when the fires were burning — so two or so weeks ago?
    • having ONE small piece of Halloween candy
    • walking between 10-12 miles last week
    • eating only ONE piece of that luscious Bostini that I actually ended up throwing in the trash and isn’t that a complete crime for being so very wasteful…

    OKAY? Jeez. Maybe some TNT would help. Just blow the parts off me. But yanno? I think I’ll just nuke the damn scale. She’s a stupid b*tch anyway. And a liar, with that Thinner staring at whomever is brave enough to step on her ugly face. That’s what she gets for lying. Thinner Bitch_0963

    I know. I’m supposed to be patient. Understanding. Do yoga. Feel positive that I didn’t GAIN weight this week. Excuse me? I’m sick of open-minded, positive thinking, too. Seriously. A little hissy fit and some generally nasty thinking has got to be healthy once in a while. Maybe if I get really worked up here, I could burn some calories.

    Whatever.

    And the thing that is SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO annoying about this is that I actually LIKE myself. Honestly. I’m not doing this because I abhor the sight of myself or consider myself to be unsightly. But at some point, I’m smart enough to know that as I age, I need to be very aware of what and how I eat, and the degree to which I exercise because I want to live a very long time. And people in my family do. Very long. And what the hell fun will it be to not be able to move, or think, or write, or create nonsense with my hands? No thanks.

    So I’ll just plug along. I’ll just accept whatever comes my way and feel thankful, feel gratitude, feel…calm. Peaceful. I’M CALM. OKAY? Photo 1.jpg

    I’m going to organize closets now. At least that way, I can actually see what I’ve accomplished and won’t have to soothe say my way to some level of awareness and understanding that will allow me to exist harmoniously with myself. What a load of horse sh*t.

    Whatever.

  • Not so Scarlett nitty gritty

    Not My Self Portrait I guess October 8th is as good a day as any to decree that I’m back in the getting healthy and looking great saddle I fell off of after summer ended. Without a lot of fanfare, I’ve created another page up at the top called Daily Nitty Gritty so I can hold my Rubenesque self accountable for how much I eat, drink, and exercise. For some reason I’m simple-minded enough to comply with the rule that if I eat it or drink it, I write it down. I guess I must believe that I’m my own worst enemy, or that my conscience is anyway.

    The way this simple tactic works is that I will avoid doing anything that I’m not ready to fess up about. No, I’m never compelled to cheat. And I’m not messing with goals that are related to pounds lost, either, because the frame of mind I’m in, I’d prefer to consider that I’m working on eating more vegetables, less meat and saturated fat, more fish, more whole grains, drink less wine, drink more water, and combine cardio with weights. Sound reasonable?

    I’ve gotten on that damn scale just to note where I’ve begun (yes, back to square one). And I will get on it to track the pounds I do lose once every week on Tuesday like I was before. There has to be some reason to look forward to Tuesday since it’s the sorriest day on the calendar to me and always has been.

    So no more procrastination. Just call me Scarlett. Well, maybe not… okay.  Beulah.*Dang, girl. Them are some eyebrows…* No Southern Belle

    Okay, so my face doesn’t look quite right on Scarlett’s body since I had to cut off my cheeks and darken the brows, but I sure as hell know a lot more about the Photoshop CS3 present my niece gave me than I did when I started. And Jen at Absolutely Bananas who seems to be able to do the Photoshop cut and paste thing in her sleep gave far better directions than my Photoshop book. Thanks!

    So, how’d I do, teach? Well, outside of my face being fatter than Vivien Leigh’s, the photos not quite being the same size (I did try…), and not taking a new photo to cut and paste because I’m butt ugly today on a bad hair day scale of 1-10 with mine being a -3.5.

    Let’s see. Does that quite cover all the excuses?

  • Glucosamine, Progesterone & Bubble Baths

    Somehow, I never made it to Target yesterday. By the time I decided to leave the house, it was after 12. I shook my head at the traitorous clock chiding myself over my lack efficiency. I used to be so organized. Well, maybe I just thought that of myself, languishing in years of self-indulgent praise. After all, I was worth it, wasn’t I? What a load of crap.

    With some degree of resignation, I ventured down the hill to the drug store to peruse the section that might have glucosamine and chondroitin for my less than limber joints. Well, they’re still quite limber, they just hurt like a sonuvvahbitch. It wasn’t tough to find, there was so much of it. And just to keep me occupied, there were combinations of the two — how convenient. From what I’d read, both were necessary for my annoyingly persistent aches, so why not save having to choke down more than one horse-sized pill a couple of times a day.

    It’s just unbelievable how much this stuff costs. Talk about having us by the short hairs. Let’s see — ache until your eyeballs fall out, or shell out the 25 bucks for a month’s supply. How much can it cost to make the damn things, anyway? And what about the side effects? I deplore taking pills or caplets, or anything that is supposed to “fix me” for any reason. I’m highly suspicious of the conflicting reports the media spreads about the benefits or lack thereof that “dietary supplements” can have. In the case of glucosamine, it seems that to alleviate the achiness in my joints, I will only have to tolerate increased intestinal gas. Great.

    If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I’m so excited to be able to now understand why the loving endearment Old Fart exists and that I may soon be a card carrying member.

    I tentatively settled on a brand I easily recognized. But after picking up one container, holding on to it while I read a few more labels, then placing it back in its slot to retrieve another, and proceed to repeat the whole indecisive process, I had to wonder whether the druggist who was encased in his shop a few feet away thought I was a loon or not. I finally chose “Triple Flex.” All the ingredients and quantities checked out, and I allowed myself to be coerced by the image of a slick sports like body wrapped in a computer generated grid that appeared on the box. So, that wasn’t too bad.

    I, too, could possibly have a body with a grid wrapped around it. Perhaps be the next 6 Million Dollar Old Fart.

    On the other side of the aisle were products I’d seen before and dismissed back in February when I was of a mind to tough this surgically induced menopause bullshit out. Now that it’s seriously kicking me in the ass throughout every day, like I said yesterday, “I’ve been pinned,” so I better figure it out. But there’s just something bizarre about the whole hormone thing and I wander over to the section that has other “personal” products like condoms, personal lubricant, hot flash cold packs and what I was looking for — Progesterone & Phytoestrogen. It comes in a container that sort of looks like deoderant. I saw this product months ago and have kept it in mind, wondering if it would be better than the heinous HRT cellophane patches I wore on my abdomen for a month before rebelling and abandoning their use. Somehow this “measured dosage pump” of “purified water, aloe vera gel, sunflower seed oil, natural glycerine, shea butter, stearic acid, natural progesterone,” and a litany of other things that don’t exactly sound “natural” seems less threatening. Why not just try it? If I have hair growing on my palms after a month, I’ll rethink my strategy, right?

    Nearly 50 bucks poorer, I then made my way to the kitchen store in the same mall to purchase the juniper berries I knew they’d have for the beef daube I was making for dinner. Yes, juniper berries. And yes, they look just like the berries we’d pick off the junipers in front of our house and fire at one another. Who knew? So, I didn’t get to wander the aisles at Target, but this was better. I love the kitchen store. After staring at depressing supplements for a half hour, fondling brioche pans, salivating over imported balsamic vinegar, and lusting after a new rectangular fluted tart pan, I was more than fine. For a while.

    After catching up with the RT and his daily report on how the new school year is going and what kind of homework he has, I puttered around in the kitchen preparing dinner, expecting to be in better spirits. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. So I poured myself a glass of wine, grabbed my book and headed up to the bathtub for a soak. The phone rang on the way with the MoH calling to let me know how late he’d be. “How was your day?” he asked, not expecting my response. After all, how could one have a less than stellar day when nearly zero is required with respect to responsibility. “I’m not feeling all that hot, so I’m headed up to take a bath,” I explained. The few seconds of silence on the phone was expected as taking a bath is yet another thing that I just don’t do. And before dark? Unheard of. In five years, I’ve probably used my bathtub fewer than 10 times. But a cool bath just seemed to be the ticket to breaking the malaise that had been dragging me down all day. I told the MoH that it was no big deal. That I’d be fine by the time he got home.

    What About a Bath?I opened the window to let the wind in, poured in a ridiculous amount of something milky, bubbly and promising rejuvenation, made sure the water was luke warm, then settled in. Waiting until the water was a few inches from the top, I turned off the faucet. Waiting for the water to work its cool, soothing wonders. Feeling the gentle pushing of air against the blinds over the window. Listening to the rustle of the palms. Watching the golden glow of early evening sun against the chimney above the skylight. Melting.

    Maybe I’ve been wrong about baths all these years.

    I could get used to this.

    No problem.

    Maybe I should blow the dust off my Pilates book. That should be much easier on my joints instead of power intervals and walking lunges.

    But I’ll have to work out how to lay on the mat, keep my glasses on my face so I can read the directions, and do the routines.

    Hell, who said any of this ever was easy? Huh?

  • Achy Breaky Creaky Self

    Working From Home I’m alive and well after making much ado over my stint at the keyboard yesterday. But barely. I can honestly say that if I had been writing fiction, then I may have ended the day on a higher note, without the headache and stiff neck. Without barely being able to straighten myself and walk into the next room. I could have been writing a piece of fiction oozing with superfluous adjectives that make one wince in much the same way an extremely sweet piece of candy does. With a feisty character whose name is Alexandra or Fiona. Yes, perhaps something on the steamy side conjuring images of gazelle like bodies cavorting through the surf on a tropical island after an intense session of exertion — you know, at a spa. Uh, you weren’t thinking what I think you were thinking. Were you? Shame.

    But still. Entertaining.

    And after two very early mornings of strenuous walking — well, for me it’s strenuous — I could barely move after sitting here as long as I did. Tell me. Why is it that I can sit here and do what I want to do, and am not stiff and sore at all? Hmmmm…? Mind over matter, I’m sure. How pathetic. But I’m also exaggerating.

    So today, I’m not going to sit here any longer than necessary. I’ll actually get in my car for a reason other than to carpool kids to school. I’m going to Target — the land of uber cool advertising and chic but cheap stuff to purchase that I don’t really need. I wander up and down the aisles with absolutely no purpose on earth other than to look at countless items I won’t buy. Sure, I have a list of the usual “have tos” to purchase, but I wait until the end to pick up those items. After I’ve perused the book section longingly. After I’ve cruised through the plants. After I’ve looked at the cookware, the gadgets, and the stationery. The towels. Candles. Sportswear.

    I do need some sports wear. You know, for sports. Okay, so not sports. But exercise.

    Yes, I still exercise, but you should see what I exercise in. To convince you, I’d offer to let you smell it, since I wear it more than once a week, but I’m sure you’d politely decline. I need to get back into some kind of a routine. The ocean water was less than lovely when I last swam because of waves, low temperatures, tons of seaweed and tourists who just stand in the water. They do. Plus, we had begun to ramp up the intensity of our swim, so I’d end up with my tongue hanging down to my knees after I got home, already dreading the next time we’d go. Then, the humid weather seriously kicked my butt (I would so not be able to live on the Right Coast or in the South, weakling that I am…) and I’ve had some issues with my joints — especially my wrists. And no, it isn’t because I’m typing. One hurts more than the other, and the last time I checked, my right hand wasn’t hitting more keys than the other. Yes, the keyboard is level with my wrists. Yes, yes, yes. To be honest, the soreness is probably yet another change related to hormones. Do you know how annoying it is to have to say that? I hate saying it. It’s like calling “uncle” or whatever that is when someone has you pinned. I give up, okay? Except I can’t.

    I’ve been a bit resistant to finding out exactly why my body is feeling the way it does from one time to the next. I’ve never been one to dwell on aches and pains I may have except in the paragraph above… A headache rarely moves me to take an aspirin. I just grin and bear it, and always have. But I’ve also never had body parts removed, and it gives me the creeps to think about it — still. I’d rather ignore what I notice instead of acknowledging that concern hovers around in my mind with every change I notice. I’d rather not be reminded about how much in my body has been affected by the removal of those organs.

    I used to understand when I was exhausted after a long and busy day at work. Even then, I’d deal with it understanding that I could get in bed earlier, or pay attention to my diet, make sure I was exercising, or quit my job! But this is different. I’m exhausted today and I have no reason to explain it. Yes, I got up at 6:30. And I spent some time outside trimming bushes grown over during the summer. But that shouldn’t make me tired. I could take a nap right now, and I’ve never, ever been one who naps. Remember napping in Kindergarten? Sheesh. I could never go to sleep like the other kids. I’d lay there on my towel from home staring at the ceiling tiles and watching the kid next to me drool and twitch until the teacher told me to go to sleep. And then I’d shut my eyes and pretend.

    My knees feel better today than they did yesterday– but that’s because we didn’t do “intervals” during our walk yesterday morning, or the walking lunges that I know I will pay dearly for when I do them.  Ten of them.

    My VBF is just stronger than I am. Plain and simple. She does it all and just keeps on ticking. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m whining when I say that I’m sore, or that my arm is throbbing as I walk, forcing me to raise it over my head to relieve the pressure. But yesterday was the straw. I vaguely remember my doctor saying something about glucosamine…so I finally decided to see what I could find about why I’m feeling this way, and what I can do about it.

    It’s pretty depressing to read:

    “You may feel listless, depressed, isolated, indifferent, unenergetic, weak, unable to sleep, or anxious. You may lose emotional stability and contentment, becoming moody, hair-triggered, prone to fits of tears for little obvious reason, irrational, impatient, lacking any self-esteem. You may have trouble breathing, experience irregular heartbeats, or experience anxiety attacks.”

    Oh, and here’s a good one with respect to the effect of low estrogen on memory:

    ” You may know what you want to say, but the specific word just isn’t in your brain even though you know it’s one you know very well. You may forget or lose things, or you may get lost yourself, unable to remember how to travel a route with which you are familiar.”

    Hmmm…yes, I’ve noticed this. In fact, it’s a bit scary when I’m driving somewhere and I have to think about where I’m going because I’ll just drive on auto pilot. Yes, I’ve done this before, and do remember doing it when I was in my late teens and early 20’s. But now? Feh. It happens all the time. No, I do not have ADD.

    Ah-Ha! Look at this:

    “Both physical energy and joint inflamation seem to be related to estrogen levels. When they dip, we may become physically fatigued beyond whatever sleep we’re losing to insomnia. We may also develop creaky, aching joints, stiffness after being still, and actual symptoms or exacerbation of osteoarthritis, especially in the knees.”

    Ah, but validation is a double edged sword, isn’t it?

    I am seriously going to Target. Either that or bawl my head off. I’m not one to feel sorry for myself — ever. But this is ridiculous. When I find some energy, I’ll figure it all out. In the mean time, I guess I’ll just keep looking for answers, keep exercising, and try to understand it all.

    It’s not fair. I know. Life’s not fair. Hahahaha. Whatever.