I Go Night Night

Do you ever have one of those days when you get home and although you can't seem to remember doing anything particularly challenging or difficult, you sit down for a second and realize you're completely, utterly exhausted?

Yeah.

I had one of those yesterday.

Had you asked, I would have said the day was easy enough, nothing spectacularly stressful or difficult, and I was debating on the way home if I should go to the gym or wait an hour and go to a yoga class at the gym. I got home and sat down on my couch and all of a sudden I was exhausted.

Like, did I run a marathon or go three days without eating or something? kind of exhausted.

And ordinarily I'd get mad at myself for not going to the gym, or tell myself that I was just being wimpy, but instead, I lay down on my couch and curled up in my blankie and noodled around on the internet.

Can't tell you why I was so tired. Not enough protein....not enough water...too much heat this week...stress and anxiety let down, I don't know. It was just crazy to be home on a bright, gorgeous sunny day and wanting nothing more than to curl up and have a nap.

It's a weird balance between the days I should push myself to get to the gym because I'm just feeling a little bit lazy and the days like yesterday when my body apparently just needed to rest. And I know some people believe you push through no matter what, but I'm starting to believe that's not always the best thing to do.

So how was your Wednesday afternoon?

Better

I had a bit of a better day yesterday, which was quite a relief really.

I think talking about things with my parents and a good night's sleep and an hour in the glorious sunshine all really helped.

Talked with my brother yesterday too and said that it felt like I was having some kind of mid-life crises but that wasn't possible because I'm not old enough for that and after I told him all the things that were going on (or not going on as the case may be) he said it sounded like "the perfect storm of crappy things and timing" happening.

Yes. Exactly.

I'm in the middle of a perfect storm.

Fan. Tastic.

But, anyway, here's hoping tomorrow's a better day too.

Rinse and repeat.

Around

I'm a little bit dizzy, trying to remember to breathe, stuck, as I am, in the middle of the latest of a series of shitty lessons life has thrown at me this year.

(Or maybe it's just a repeating of the same lesson over and over with slight variations just to make sure I get it.)

So much has been hard learned this year, and by year, I'm counting from the time they took my Dad into the O.R. and cracked open his chest...






The best moments I had this weekend were walking home from the gym. I remember feeling strong and powerful and wondering how anyone could possibly resist my awesomeness, and I'm glad I had those moments to counteract the crying and the times of sitting there trying to figure out what, exactly, I'm supposed to do now.

I know this post doesn't entirely make sense, or maybe doesn't make sense even in the slightest, but I wanted to write something, didn't want to leave a blank page.

Things aren't good right now. Things are tough. I'm struggling, but I'm coping. If that makes sense.

It got warm this weekend too. Which was weird. Going from frost overnight to getting out the fans and throwing open all the windows in less than a week.

And I'm not enjoying "Childhood's End", which is disappointing, since it came so highly recommended.

Hang on, forgot to breathe again.

Bummed

I'm genuinely bummed that Steve isn't interested in getting to know me.

I'd really hoped that we would get along (we did) and that we would then see each other again and that we'd eventually end up in a relationship.

But it's been a couple of weeks and he's had ample opportunity to ask about me or to ask for my number or contact information and he hasn't.

Which speaks loud and clear.

He's not interested.

Which is a bummer and disappointing and leaves me a little sad and more than a little bit lost as to what I'm supposed to do now.

Excuse My French

I wrote out this post and then erased it and then wrote it out again and then erased it and now I'm just going to put this....

C-Dawg and I are dealing with legal stuff from the accident we were in.

And it is absolutely breaking me.

To put it mildly... it is fucking awful.

On the days where I've had to deal with one thing or another, I'm barely holding my head above water emotionally and stress-wise.

It's awful.

Not Even An "Uh Huh"

The last few nights, someone in my building has come home (from work?) and been on the phone.

I know they've been on the phone, because their phone is on speaker and continues to be on speaker as they walk from their vehicle, slowly across the parking area and into the building.

I sleep with my windows open (even though last week was SO DAMN COLD for May that I got woken up by the chill and had to find an extra blanket go figure) and am usually up reading, so I can hear this person's phone calls.

And for the last few nights, whoever he's been talking to (a wife/girlfriend/sister/mother?) has been on a not quite angry but definitely annoyed sort of one sided conversation that goes pretty much non stop from the time this guy gets out of his vehicle and gets to the door to inside.

And I don't know if maybe he's said something before he got out of his car, but the whole (minute or so?) time I can hear the conversation? He says nothing. It's just talktalktalktalktalktalktalk from this woman, and nothing from him.

And yes, I'm assuming it's a him from the giant sounding truck noise and from the lack of verbal communication on his end.

I mean, I know when I'm listening to someone talk on and on about something, I still throw in a neutral comment or two so they at least know I'm paying attention.

This guy?

Nothing.

He may slowly be becoming my new hero somehow because the whole one-sidedness of it makes me wonder how long his drive home is and if she just talks non stop the whole way.

A Whole Other Species

Speaking of Steve, last Monday was a reminder lesson in the fact that boys are not girls and girls are not boys.

I walked in to work Monday and my closest friend at worked dragged me aside to ask how my dinner and meeting Steve had gone.

I told her the same as I told you guys... it was fun, it went well, he was interesting.

Butwhatifhedoesn'tlikeme? I blurted out, not five seconds later.

And my co-worker, who knows me so well, smiled and pulled her rolly chair closer to me.

"Victoria? Guys are not like girls."

She paused.

"I mean, here we are, first thing, talking about it; I even wanted to call you last night to ask how it went and what you wore and what you thought, but I didn't, I tried to be patient and wait til this morning."

"You have to understand that Steve and his co-workers are not currently doing the same thing. They are not all piled into his room asking how the dinner went and what he thought of you, and you know they're both busy at their job and they might not get around to talking about it for a few days."

"Oh." I said, eloquently.

"WELLTHENHOWAMISUPPOSEDTOKNOWIFHELIKESME?"

Rinse and repeat this pattern for a couple of minutes until I calmed down somewhat and understood what she was saying.

Doesn't mean I like it, but I at least understood that my co-worker might not hear back from her husband about how Steve felt the dinner went for a while.

It's in moments of understanding how different we can be that I start to wonder if men and women are really the same species at all?

These Two Thoughts Are Not Related

1. I enjoyed meeting Steve.




2. I'm ready to fall in love.










These two thoughts happened into my brain around the same time. But they're not, particularly, related. Necessarily.

We're All Canada

I've been crying at a lot of things this past week or so.

Doesn't take much to tip me over into a sobbing mess, there was even a moment at work last week where I got mad at an interaction and ended up in (private, unseen) tears.

I suppose it's inevitable that when stress is high, tears are near for me. It's in these moments, though, that I feel like there's a never-ending well of extraordinarily deep sadness in me and while I used to think that meant I was broken in some way, now I just think it means I feel more than some people do. (Or maybe not, what do I know.)

One thing I do know, is that within my family, I'm different; feelings wise.

I used to think this meant I was wrong, and then for a while I thought it meant *they* were wrong and then I just kind of shrugged and figured it didn't matter who was right or wrong, they just didn't get me...or something.

A few months ago, when I spoke to the Heart Health counsellor at the hospital where my Dad completed his physical rehab program (yay Dad, well done!) she said something to me that was one of those Oprah trademarked "A Ha" moments; a true lightbulb moment I guess.

In talking about how I felt within my family and how we were all coping with my Dad's illness and ongoing recovery, she pointed out to me that we were all different.

"We're all Canada," she said.

And suddenly, I knew what she meant.

I see the world the way I see it and that includes being in touch with my emotions and wanting to hug and touch and talk and be close. And the other members of my family see the world the way they see it and they have their comfort zones with emotions and closeness and talking and sharing and we are all different. And that's ok.

I'd never seen it that way before, and even now I'm not able to clearly explain what it was she said; it just made sense.

See, Canada is known as a cultural mosiac...where people from all different cultures and countries come together and make a beautiful image. We're not a cultural melting pot - which is where people from all over might be expected to come together and change into the culture of that country. So for this counsellor to say that "we're all Canada", she meant that we're all different and aren't meant to be like each other and that as a family member, I have to accept that and value it.

So maybe I do feel things differently than, certainly the members of my family. That doesn't make me better or worse than anyone, it just makes me different.

Maybe I cried a lot last week, and maybe I'm going to keep on crying all this week too. It doesn't make me wrong, it just makes me me, getting through this tough time.

And because "we're all Canada", I can't expect my family to understand or to know how to help me, I can just expect them to be who they are and appreciate them for that. And maybe most of all, I have to make sure I take care of myself, because I'm the only one who understands what it is I need, and within my family, (and kind of within my friends) I'm the only one who has the touchy-feely-talk-about-it-let-me-hug-you-ness that I need.

That Damn Book

I first heard about it on the internet. One of the blogs I read blushed guiltily at having devoured Fifty Shades of Grey. And needing a distraction and a little fun, I figured I'd jump on the bandwagon too, and enjoy me a little "adult romance", (for mature audiences only.)

Now the last thing I thought I'd feel after reading this internet sensation of a sexy romance book was sad. I figured I'd be giggly or, well, whatever else one feels after reading some good raunchy sex scenes if you know what I'm saying, but I didn't expect to cry.

But cry I did.

And as I kept reading, I got more and more sad.

If you take out the sex part of the book, the male lead is everything I would dream about in a guy. He's gorgeous. He's a billionaire. He's self possessed and confident.

He's completely enamored of the lead female and can't keep away from her. He lavishes her with gifts and wants to protect her and take care of her and do what's best for her.

She misses him and he flies to be with her.

She challenges him and he adores her for it.

I know this is how romance novels go, I've read my share of them. There's a feisty, independent, flawed woman (many of them are clumsy and don't see their own beauty) and there's a wildly handsome and unattainable man who falls for her and they struggle through all these insurmountable problems and she leaves for a while because she can't put up with his issue but he changes for her and bing bang boom they end up together because it's meant to be and who can ignore that electric pull anyway and she's so worth him becoming a better man for.

And I'm usually just fine with this plot line and get all happy and giggly at the end and enjoy the naughty bits all the way through, but this time this book just hit me sideways.

Maybe it's because I met Steve last week and he wasn't "drawn to me like a moth to flame" and he hasn't "been unable to keep away" from me and seeing that stark contrast just made me sad. Where is my perfect guy who is utterly drawn to me?

By the time I'd finished the book on Saturday I was miserable.

And when I'm sad and miserable, my brain shouts all the nastiest things at me (fat, ugly, useless, no one loves you, no one even likes you) and that just makes everything all the worse.

But after eating a ridiculous amount of chocolate and popcorn and wanting to sit and wallow in how awful that damn book had made me feel, I took myself to the gym and felt better by the time I got home.

Maybe someone should go around putting a warning label on these books. Not "mature audience", but "do not read if feeling low about your current romantic situation".

Cuz then I would have waited a while to read that damn book. And my weekend might not have been so damn sad.

The Latest Thing To Make Me Cry

RIP MCA - Coldplay Tribute to Adam Yauch

Um

Someone here has a guest(?) who brings a cat on a leash.

I have thoughts about this.

They go a little like this: " ... "











(P.S. May the 4th be with you... Heh...)

Under Pressure*

I'm dealing with some stress right now, unrelated to work or health, but far far more stressful than it should be or maybe could be.

And so that, unfortunately, is making things in general tougher than they would usually be.

Stress and anxiety making me more stressed and anxious and yes, mindfulness and meditation are genuinely what's helping the most. But I'm still grumpy at work and little things are bothering me and they all seem to pile up and while I know logically it's just this one big worry making everything else seem big, it still feels big, regardless of whatever logic puzzle my brain gnaws away at.

Case in point? I was SUPER annoyed this week when I forgot to "post" the broken posts in the morning because I'd remembered to do it last week (post mega stress bomb) but hadn't remembered Mon/Tues/Wed and it seemed curse-worthy.

Which it wasn't.

But, nonetheless, I'm still hoping this post posts on its own, as scheduled, because even taking little worries/thoughts/troubles off my plate helps me feel a bit mellower.

I know, know, know this too shall pass, and I've been through much worse, but this has been one of those weeks where every day I've wondered why it wasn't Friday and every day I've wished I could just stay home and sleep.

I'm not cracking under pressure, I'm just feeling strained at having to carry the added weight of it.

And I'll be happy when it lessens, and at some point, disappears entirely.





*(And now you're going to be singing Queen all day too, aren't you? You're welcome.)

Test

Testing the "fixed" scheduled posts not posting issue....

Cycle

(Yup, forgot to "force post" again this morning. Sigh)

I don't want to say it's a "vicious" cycle because that's perhaps too much of an exaggeration even for me, but I'm a little bit stuck in a not so great cycle right now.

I'm under a lot of stress and it's wearing on me which runs me down and also makes me tired but unable to sleep well which also runs me down, and because I'm tired I don't want to exercise as much even though I know that might reduce the impact of the stress, but I'm too tired to exercise so I don't and then I don't sleep well which makes me feel not good so I don't feel like exercising and, well, you can see the loop, yes?

I'm not at my 100% health wise and so I've been kind of taking it easy with the gym since my cold, but now this stress and anxiety and worry about the stress is wearing me down and I feel too tired to go to the gym and then I get mad at myself for being "lazy" when really the lazy is only part of it and, well, I just need to go to the gym, don't I?

Except, I did walk a 10 K three days ago, so it's not as if I'm being completely sedentary and so maybe it's not so much the cycle as holy smokes woman would you ease up on yourself already? But I think if I did go to the gym I might feel a little less stressed but I also don't have the energy to go but maybe I should and now this is the post that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends. . . .

Edited to add: Self? I think you forgot that you did yoga on Monday too. So maybe it's ok if you didn't do much cardio Monday/Tuesday. My goodness, self, take it easy on myself already.

Sleepy

So, yes, C-Dawg and I did walk the 10K on Sunday and, yes, I enjoyed walking it much much more than running it! (Seems like a kind of a "duh" statement, really.)

But I'm also super pooped, yet again from my weekend's adventures and feel like, I think for the third week in a row, I would really quite like a weekend to recover from my weekend.

I didn't mention it beforehand, but I (finally) got to meet Steve this weekend. (The co-worker's husband's co-worker?)

I didn't mention it because I didn't want to curse our meeting yet again, so I figured I wouldn't write about it til I'd seen the whites of his eyes. And I also didn't mention it because I was trying to keep my nerves to a minimum, and the not talking about it to anyone helped. (I did tell two girlfriends a day or two before it happened but I told them "I'm going to tell you something and you can't say anything and you can't talk about it after I tell you ok?")

And I also didn't mention it because blogging's become a little on the complicated/frustrating/confusing/annoying side with Blogger's still-to-be-fixed scheduled posting issue, so I figured I wouldn't mess with it at all.

But, yeah, please imagine me Saturday night, nervous about the race in the morning and nervous about dinner in the evening.

I'm so proud of myself for managing to sleep!

The race was fun and I stretched and had a good bath after and felt pretty good, and then I just distracted myself until it was time to get ready and go.

The dinner was fun and nice and enjoyable and that's all I'm going to say, because what else is there to say?

Yes he was interesting and attractive and yes I'd be happy to see him again but, well, yeah.

No point in starting to think about anything other than what is and so I met Steve, the end.

Plus, I'm super sleepy and this was a lot of typing and I don't even know if I'll be awake enough to remember to "post" it in the morning so....yeah.

I'm sleepy. My 18 hour day on Sunday probably has something to do with that.

Learning To Be Gentle With Myself

(Whoops, guess who forgot that Blogger wasn't working this morning?)

I woke up Saturday morning feeling, for lack of a better term, vomity.

I ate a gentle breakfast and lay down on my couch. I didn't feel great, but I also didn't quite feel horrible enough to take anything for the stomach un-niceness.

After a couple of hours, I decided to nap for a bit. I kept setting my phone's alarm for ten minutes and then coming to and setting it again.

After an hour of that I said screw it, and turned the damn thing off and just napped.

I woke up around 2 in the afternoon feeling better.

Which gave me pause.

For the past few years, whenever my stomach feels less than good I always try to figure out what it is I did that made it that way.

What had I eaten, or not eaten, or maybe what was I worried about and had that set my stomach off or how else had I made this happen.

But waking up after my nap I stopped blaming myself and thought for a minute.

Hadn't I had to take a gravol in the middle of the day on Tuesday when I suddenly felt like throwing up while eating an apple?

And hadn't a co-worker walked out of a meeting on Thursday looking grey and headed straight for the washrooms?

Maybe, just maybe I was fighting off some stomach flu.

Maybe the not-happy stomach I woke up with wasn't my fault at all.

And maybe I just know myself well enough that I knew this was a "sleep it off and feel better" kind of thing rather than a "you ate something and now you're hurting so go deal with it" kind of thing.

Maybe I shouldn't always assume my stomach is upset because of something I did. There *are* stomach bugs out there, me!

And so it was a good reminder to be gentle with myself and not always be so quick to point the finger or be angry with myself.

I think this one quite possibly wasn't my bad at all.

It's That Weekend Again

I'm only ninety something percent sure (because I always like to give myself a mental "you don't have to if you don't want to" out even though I most likely won't take it) but I think C-Dawg and I are going to walk the TC 10K tomorrow.

I've written about how the experience of walking it the first time was amazing, and about my experience of running it last year (which was a real struggle, even if my post glazed over that truth,) and honestly, I'm a bit nervous of this time, even though I'm not sure how a walk through downtown with ten thousand other people and your best pal can be anything but fun.

I'm going to re-read the advice I wrote out for myself last year even though we won't be running it, and I'm going to make sure I stretch and take an epsom salt bath and maybe even pop an Advil, but that'll all just be me being extra cautious (except for the stretching, my IT band insists on that ever since the "bowling incident" gave it a run for its money) because really, it's just a kind of a long walk and it's not like I haven't wandered along Dallas Road for an hour and a half with this friend or that already this Spring.

So here's to us, and here's to everyone running, walking, or wheeling their way through the TC 10 K tomorrow.

If you're in town and haven't seen the 10K in action, you should totally head down and cheer/watch/participate. It's awesome! Especially if you go down to cheer.

The cheering really helps. And the silly ones stick with you.

("GO NADS!")

Anxious

I had an interesting insight last week, one that has come from a lot of work and self-observation and one that I think helped. Or will certainly help in the future.

And can I just say again how much I do not like this new layout and interface and it is stinky and I do not like it and it is making me grumpy when I type and probably will do until I get used to it but seriously why fix something that ain't broke? (Especially if your "fix" breaks it.)

Anyway.

At the end of last week things to do with work (that I do not talk about) got very stressful. And by Friday I had a stressful event (work related) at the end of the day and the afternoon was awfully stressful and then another out of my control and yes I'm a control freak and this was bad thing was thrown at me and by the end of Friday I was wound as tight as a very tight thing. (Even thinking back to how I felt has got me all riled up and strung out again.)

Thursday night, as I lay in bed thinking about the event and the possibility of it going wrong, I started to think about how I might possibly get into a car accident on the way there and how that would just make an awful situation even worse and how would I handle that when we still haven't settled things from the last accident and wait a second . . . Why was I worrying about getting into a car accident?

It wasn't so much an AH HA! moment as it was an ohhhhhhhh moment.

So that's what my brain does. Takes a worry (the after work work event) and runs with it and freaks out about other things too. Imaginary car accident, never finding a boyfriend, getting suddenly ill, losing my job for some random reason, etc.

And yes, the work my therapist (counsellor, whatever) pointed me towards has helped a lot with me noticing when my mind is starting to run away with things and so I was able to somehow pull away and just, well, fall asleep I guess, because I don't remember having a terrible night's sleep.

But I remember being less worried Friday morning and just regularly stressed by all the ridiculous but real things that were happening.

So I'm going to be observant now of when I'm worried or anxious or nervous about something so that I can point out to myself that what my brain is saying isn't so much about the imaginary things, but is really just a fantastical extrapolation from the actual thing I'm worried about.

Cuz it's good to learn that everything my brain says isn't true.

Especially the bad stuff.

More Than Words

Extreme - More Than Words 

I can't hear this song without being taken back to high school.

Not only did I find the guitarist to die for good looking and dreamy, (and, er, can I just say that re-watching the video, I'm still thinking the same thing?) but it was the perfect song to play over and over while thinking about the boy I had a crush on.

I can't remember anymore who it was, but I'm sure with a yearbook in hand, I could probably take a few guesses. What I do remember is listening to this song and knowing the two of us should be together. That nothing was more perfect than this song and what it meant about us and how desperately I wanted him to ask me out.

So it was a nasty surprise to go over to one of my best friend's houses and to have her tell me that she and the boy were now dating. (If that was even the term she used. She probably said "he asked me out" or that they were boyfriend/girlfriend now or something.)

I remember her telling me that and that when they'd talked on the phone (do teenagers do that anymore?) he'd told her that this was their song.

Their song.

I was devastated.

It was my dream and somehow someone else had ended up with it and not only a random someone, but my friend, my really really good friend and I started trying to figure out what was better about her than me.

She was cuter than I was, I decided. In a cute, I want to pinch your cheeks kind of way. And she didn't have bad skin like I did, of course. Why would I have assumed he'd ever have liked me anyway.

Somehow, I distinctly remember where I was standing when she told me this fact, that it was *their* song. I was at her front door, the door of her new house with the sheep in the back yard, on my way home.I think my Mom was waiting in the car.

Teenage pain is awful. It's so real and everything seems like the end of the world. (Especially the boy you love loving someone else.) Which is maybe not so different from adult pain.We just know it's not the end of the world, it just feels like it for a while.I wish I could go back in time and tell that teenage me that one day I wouldn't even remember his name.

And now, thinking on it, I wonder if it was Kelsey.

And if it was Kelsey, he went on to date another of my very good friends.

But maybe it wasn't Kelsey and I just had the bad luck of always liking guys who ended up going out with my friends.

(Also? I just looked up the singer fellow and he's still completely dishy! Nuno Bettencourt for those who are interested.)