holidailies

I haven’t really talked about it here, but I guess it’s time.  I go through these cycles where my crazy ramps up.  Where my focus is lost, but where I have the motivation and eagerness to do anything.  Everything.  This cycle usually comes after some time of sitting around, doing absolutely nothing.  And if it weren’t for the fact that 50% of the time I have a toddler here, and I refuse to be a Crazy Mother, I might totally lose it and not keep my shit together.  But I’m pretty good and together and I know how to wake up and go to work every morning, so my crazy isn’t nearly as bad as one might think, especially considering the dramatic description I just gave it.

So I’m right now in the part of the cycle where I want to do everything:

• I have christmas knitting ALMOST DONE.  Finished right mitten last night.  Tonight I will tackle left mitten by re-working the pointy hand, and finishing off the finger and thumb.
• I agreed to a sock challenge next week.  The Hawaii Ironman sock challenge.  Which is ridiculous because I’m going on vacation, but not really, because I’m visiting family and skating in a derby tournament and visiting old friends, and taking my son.  So in between all of that I’m sure plenty of sock knitting is going to get done.  Uh huh.  Yeah joce, you’ve pretty much won it.
• I kind of want to CO for another sweater.  But shhh don’t tell anyone.
• I am currently obsessed with money blogs.  Specifically money blogs of single moms who don’t make a whole lot.  Basically women that I can identify with.
• Running a half and full marathon has always been on my list.  My mind is thinking half this year.  Like Harvest Half maybe?  Maybe not.  We will see.
• Shaun T, Insanity.
• Weight loss blogs, always my fav.
• Menu planning.  I’m determined to develop menu plans and shopping lists that don’t get old, that don’t cost an arm and a leg, and that my son will eat.  As a sidenote it turns out that he loves cucumber, tomato and zucchini, and will eat each of them raw.
• Time management.  Because whenever I get into this frenzy, time management and organization pops up and I feel the need to harness some energy and get myself in a place where I make lists and accomplish things.  A good friend of mine pointed me in the direction of David Allen’s Getting Things Done, and apparently it’s a whole cult that I wasn’t invited to back in the day.  Well I got my invitation.  And because I’m not spending money (see money blogs bit) I am weeding through info on the internet.  Not the same, I know, but I’ll buy the book at the end of the month provided I came in under budget.  Or you know, shell out the twelve bucks to renew my library card.  Which might actually be more than that, since I might have lost the card.  Because I am organized.
• Emotions?  I don’t know how to label this one.  I’m trying to deal with my insides a little bit.

Individually these things all sounds kind of healthy.  But taken on all at once?  My mind is racing and I’m having a hard time focusing on what exactly I should be doing right now.

It’s kind of my year and I’m getting excited about being in charge of me, about calling the shots and not having to justify my choices.  I’ve been staying up until 4 and sleeping in until noon, and holy hell is it fantastic.  I’m on vacation.  My office is completely closed from noon, December 24 and reopens 8AM Jan 4.  And I’ve taken until the 18th off as vacay.  So I’m soaking it up and loving it.

It’s 4 in the morning on Jan 1.  I meant to write this entry earlier, before Jan 1, about intentions and how I kind of believe in them now, because last year my big intention was that I would leave my husband.  And I did leave him, even though in the back of my head I didn’t know how that would ever be possible.

After a long long night of drinking, and sober, and movies, and obsessing, I have to write this down so I can get past it:  He doesn’t want me.  He doesn’t see me.  He likes me as a friend.  He doesn’t care that I get weak in the knees when I look into his hazel eyes.  That I see his crooked smile and laugh.  That I look forward, always, to the next time I will see him.  He really, truly doesn’t feel what I feel.

It doesn’t matter that he came over here and took apart a tv and did manly soldering and tried to make it work.  It doesn’t matter that he unloaded furniture when I made a crazy furniture purchasing trip to IKEA, with no plan as to how the hell I was going to get it all up to the third floor.  It doesn’t matter that he appears to really like me.  He does.  But that’s all it is.  He’s a nice guy and he likes me.  And he doesn’t want to sleep with me.

So this year, yes, my one big intention is this:  I am worthy of love.  Of meeting and getting to know someone who does care.  Someone who is just as excited to see me in the morning as I am to see them.  Someone who wants me to cook for them, who wants to know that I got home safely at night.  Someone who wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss him.  I am worthy of love from myself.  I will exercise.  I will eat well.  I will hit hard on the derby track.  I will start running again.  I will pay down my debt.  I will finalize my divorce.  I will have IDs made with my maiden name.  I will read and write and take pictures and hike and live.  I will let go of this ridiculous crush that I’ve had for nearly two years.

I will show my son how strong women can be.

I will get in touch with my feelings.  I will not be intimidated by my mother.  I will not hold grudges against people who genuinely didn’t mean it.  I will sing.  I will go dancing.

In 2010 I will love myself.

There’s a scar on my right elbow.  It’s barely visible now, it’s been probably 25 years since I got it.  Roller skating.  Funny, I know.  Now I skate hard in roller derby and scrapes and bruises are badges of honor.  I was huge into roller skating when I was around 6 or 7.  Huge.  I had books on it.  I had these old, second hand rental skates that my parents bought off the local roller rink.  How could I forget this?  When I started playing roller derby I thought that part of my attraction was my background in figure skating.  I forgot how obsessively I used to roller skate.

Mom and dad would take me to the local rink.  We had a big old house with tile floors.  They let me rip shit up in the house.  Whenever.  There were no restrictions in that house.  There were also no pads or helmets…

One day dad took me to the park to skate.  The old park in town.  It had pathways and small hills.  It was a nice place to skate.  I don’t recall going there often, but that was probably just because of The Incident.

There was a hill.  We were at the top of it, looking down, and I hesitated.  I recall crying a little to my father, telling him that I didn’t think I could do it.  But he said I could.  He believed I could.  He told me to hold his hand and we’d go down it together.  So I held his hand.  And he went faster than I did.  (More mass so more momentum?  I dunno.)  And we fell.

He felt really bad about it, because I cried, and I’m sure I cried for longer than I needed to, because I liked the attention that it got me.  Attention from my father.  Can you see where this is going?   Yes, I’ve admitted it in therapy.  I crave attention from men.  I am sure this comes from my relationship with my dad.  But you see the part where he believed I could do it, and kind of forced me down the hill?

I wrote earlier this week about theCrush and how it was attractive to me that he believed that I could make it down the hill (snowboarding).  Cliche or not, I know that I look for my father in relationships.  I look for what he has taught me, by example, what makes a man a man.  I like a man who can fix his own car.  I like a man who doesn’t feel like he has to share every emotion.  I like a man who is a little mysterious, who doesn’t give away all his secrets.  My father was that way.  I never knew what he was up to.  When he surprised me and did something nice for me, I really felt loved.  I am fiercely turned off when a man shows me all his cards.  Face up.

And I don’t understand it, because really, I don’t have the best relationship with my father.  I don’t tell him stuff.  I don’t particularly enjoy listening to his stories.  But for whatever reason, I still want what he has given my mother for all these years.

My company Christmas party is tons of fun.  Tons.  The boys wear suits, the girls wear high heels, and we all show up after work, like little kids who are playing dress-up in mom and dad’s closet, magically clean and unwrinkled.  With pants that are of an appropriate length.  (I work in a field where men are notorious for wearing their pants too short.)

We dance.  And we get drunk.

Last year I took my husband.  And The Crush.  It wasn’t planned.  Crushboy asked me at work that day if we could pick him up.  I said ok.  Husband said ok.  It was all ok.  Already my husband had reservations, because I told him how much I liked Crushboy.  I was trying to be honest.  Anyhow.  I got hammered.  Crushboy got hammered.  Crushboy and I danced a whole lot.  I may have touched his arm a little too much.  Husband was not impressed and although I had a great time dancing the night away, the flirting that went on did not go unnoticed.

This year was so, so different.  I went without a husband.  Crushboy did not go.  (For no good reason, he claimed that he didn’t know if he’d be in town.  He might have been lazy to get dressed up.  He might have been afraid that I’d hit on him.  He might have been afraid that he’d want to jump me.)  However, crushboy did offer to give me and the friends that I went with, a ride home, because taxis are not always easy to find in this city around Christmastime…  We did not take him up on the offer.

I got dressed up.  I looked good.  I wore heels.  I danced in the heels.  I drank lots of alcohol.  I did not get off the dance floor.  Not once did I have to worry about my date being happy, because check it, there was no date to worry about.  I was free to dance with whomever I chose.  (Last year I had to ask the husband if he was ok with me asking other people do dance.)

So a year later, I’m having more fun.  Feeling prettier.  Living better.

You tire of people.  I know this because you’ve told me.  You’ve complained about hanging out with people for too long a period of time.  You get bored of things.  So I was nervous, because an entire day with me?  With just me?  Recipe for almost-sure disaster.

We made plans.  For the first time ever, we made plans together.  Alone plans.  And I know it wasn’t a date, but still, it was a date.  The kind of date you have with friends you hope to never be without.  Outside of all my crazy thoughts where I imagine that you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you, I treasure the fact that you’re in my life.

2.5 hours one-way.  Which means we had to meet up early.  Earlier than I like to be anywhere.  Earlier than you like to be anywhere.  But we did it, we were both on time, and you were sweet enough to buy me coffee.

Funny, unrelated, coffee story:  I had a meeting with the ex a few weeks ago.  We stopped for coffee and I ran in to get it because the drive-through was clogged.  I returned with coffee and sugar.  Except he doesn’t take sugar, and he knows you do.  He said he’d keep it in the car for the next time you’re there, having coffee with him.  I’m sure he was annoyed.

Back to my story.  You took me up on that mountain.  You forced me to do runs I never would have tried.  You let me rest.  You never made me feel shitty for all the falling.  You pushed me harder when I was ready to give up.  You don’t know what it means to me, you can’t know, because you didn’t mean it at all in the way that I felt it, but to know that you believed that I could take those runs, with the trees and the steepness, and the face full of snow, I’ve never had a man believe in me that way.  Not just say he believes, because we both know you’d never say it, but show me.  That’s seriously hot.

You’d be so embarrassed if you know about this.  That these words, this love letter, is floating out there on the internet.  The gushing.  I’m not one of those people, except apparently I am.

Basically the day was perfect.  We had fun.  We laughed.  Root beer may have come out my nose at one point.  I never once thought about the fact that it’s Christmas and I’m 33 and how did my life end up here, single, mom, alone.  Because I wasn’t alone.  You took care of me, in ways you will probably never know.  I’ve never stayed on the hill for that long, gone on so many ski lifts, boarded through so many trees, had my pants so full of ice.  I’ve never had so much fun working so hard.

And at the end of the day we went home.  And I don’t think you were sick of me, after twelve hours together, because really, if you were, you wouldn’t have texted, called, IM’d.  Not in a creepy, possessive way.  Not in a “hey what are you doing?” way, but just everyday stuff, because that’s what we do.  Even after an entire day together, we still have everyday stuff to talk about.

I drive myself mad thinking about you and your intentions, but when I really think about it, I’m happy with this.  I like this.  This is really all I am rationally able to give.

I’m thankful.  This Christmas, I am blessed and thankful.

I’ve been working out with Shaun T’s Insanity workouts for a week now and tonight I took measurements because I’m curious.  The scale hasn’t moved the way I thought it would, but holy eff, the inches have, so I’m not as discouraged as I originally was.

Nothing like a few inches off to keep my motivation up.

1 lb down, 6 inches total.  Granted the six inches are from a combination of seven different body parts, but still.  The ones that matter:  2.25″ off my hips, 2″ off my waist.  1″ off my chest.

In the past I kept the weight loss and non weight loss parts of my journal separate, but I think this is such a big part of why I am the way I am, why I second guess myself, why I don’t think I’m attractive, why I doubt that a man will want me, that it really does belong here in the regular journal.  My weight fuels all of my negative self-talk.  If it’s gone how will I function?  I don’t know, but I really want to find out.

Often I have these thoughts that roll around in my head, and I make plans to turn then into journal entries, where the words fit together neatly and they make me feel like I know not only how to express my feelings, but exactly which feelings I want to express.

Most of the time those entries never make it to the computer.  I used to never leave the house without a notebook.  And I guess I’m still in that habit.  But originally it was so that I would never lose a thought.  It’s like never leaving the house without a camera.  Sometimes I have those fits too.  But now I just keep a notebook in my purse because I might have to make a shopping list, or remember to look something up later.  Nevermind that my phone can do that thinking for me.

But the point of this entry is simply this:  I want to remember this feeling I had tonight.  Wednesday is always drop off night.  Every other Wedsnesday, the drop off is just for two days, and I get him back on Friday for the weekend.  Tonight was  the alternating one, where I don’t see him again until Monday.  I enjoy my quiet weekends.  I get stuff done, and I have time to be alone; to re-center myself.  Parenting with my husband was a constant thing.  It was semi-on all the time.  We could all be at home and everyone would be involved.  There was little downtime, and when the downtime was with the ex, it still wasn’t true downtime.

Parenting alone is a different thing. There’s on and off. We meet at daycare and transfer the carseat and his stuff from my car to his van.  And since we were both there around the same time, we went inside together.  Because of the way things worked out, I left them in the daycare.

I kissed my son goodbye and walked out of daycare, a place where you only leave alone in the morning, alone.  And I felt it.  Not the expected “hm what will I do with this glorious time alone?” feeling, but the Lonely Single Mom who might feel shitty, and even though I am glad I don’t live anywhere near my family, I sure could use the company right now, and doesn’t the fact that it’s Christmastime make it a million times worse(?), feeling.

So I stumbled upon this last week.  Basically 6 improv actors go to a Knicks game.  One of the actors goes for snacks and gets lost trying to find his way back.  His friends see him looking at the stands and start calling to him, trying to get his attention.  Slowly the entire section gets in on it, as he cluelessly walks around, with that desperate searching look on his face.   The people who commented on the entry seem to have thought it was entertaining and sweet.  That it brought out the best in people.

I do not agree.  I think the fact that we look at each other and jump on the bandwagon is embarrassing.  This mob mentality is exactly what happens every four years when we vote in new presidents.  Too few of us take the time to do the research and come to an independent decision.  When we raise our kids we try to talk to them about evaluating situations fairly and coming to our own conclusions. And then we jump up and down and participate in the wave at sporting events.  Because everyone else was doing it.  (Sure, the wave is harmless, but still.)

And do you not think that the entire section, after all the hugging and cheering at the end of that video, feels just a little duped by the “hoax” that they participated in?  Y’all remember the public’s response to James Frey and his Million Little Pieces, right?

Whether its jumping up and down trying to get someone’s attention or jumping into the act in a violent gang rape, the mentality is the same:  when in the middle of an enthusiastic crowd, humans are less likely to go against the grain.

Or things I’m really good at doing.

I have a friend who insists that every man you are interested in gets a pro list and a con list. This way when you hate him and want to sock him in the stomach, you can remember the reasons you love him. And when he rejects you or makes you feel shitty, you can refer to the con list and remind yourself of how awful he might have been.

Here is a list that men can use to remember how grandly I am able to fuck things up.

1. Coffee at 5PM.  It’s Sunday.  You know how I am.  I need to have coffee at some point on Sunday, and if it doesn’t happen until 5PM, so be it.  It’s now 1AM and I am not in bed.
2. Working out at 10PM.  Again with the late start on Sunday.
3. Sleeping in on Monday.  Bad idea.  Monday is the ONE day of the week that I need to show up by 8.  Refer to 1 and 2 if you’ve forgotten why I am so very bad with this one.
4. Obsessing.  I have had a crush on a boy for nearly two years now.  Your math is right.  It started while I was married.  Clearly I am not in control of my crazy.
5. Obsessing over a coworker.  I left that part out, didn’t I?
6. Obsessing over a coworker who is probably not that into me.  If he wanted me he would kiss me.  Sometimes he looks into my eyes and I imagine that he wants to kiss me, but it’s my imagination and sometimes I am nuts.  This week’s focus will be on being less “available” to him.  This needs to stop.
7. Knitting for a boy.  I have a week or two to finish these mittens.  If he doesn’t wear them I will be pissed.

So basically this was an entry about a stupid stupid boy.  And about becoming unobsessed with him.

Except you see the irony, right?

I wasted my 20s.

Seriously.  Maybe the difference isn’t as apparent to you as it is to me.

I can’t even put my finger on exactly what has changed, aside from the 60-70 lbs that is no longer there.

I love myself more now.  Even though I write about how much I hate my body, I’m in a better place than I was in when these pictures were taken.  Maybe knowing that this is my past will help you to understand where my feelings are coming from.

I’m turning 34 in a few weeks.  Since these pictures were taken so much has changed.  I think for the better.  If my son would just poop in the toilet already, I’d be more firm in that.

Part of leaving my marriage was about me not wanting to wake up ten years from now and saying “what did I do with my time?  How did I let this happen?”  I feel like I’ve taken the first step, both with relationships and with my health.

(Don’t worry, those of you who know me in real life.  That weight was lost pre-baby, so you didn’t miss anything.)

10 years ago...