It's lunch time. I gather up my wallet, phone, and kindle then head down to the cafe. Once again, I realize I have no appetite although I know if I don't eat in a few hours I'll find myself gritting my teeth, my shoulders so tense they're practically up to my ears from the raging headache I'm not aware of until I'm so tense it's exhausting. I grab a juice, water, and sandwich, pay the cashier and casually walk through the large, noisy, cold seating area down to the small arrangement of uncomfortable couches in the atrium.
I'm disappointed to see there is a meeting taking place in my spot, but I snag the furthest chair from the meeting and settle in. I'm starting a new novel about... magicians? I can't even remember, but it doesn't matter. I read to escape. I begin reading - my mind is pulled away by the chatter to my right - I focus back to the text - again I hear their conversation mixed in with the novel, complicating the story in my head. I take a sip of my juice and suddenly I'm bombarded - the tv on the wall - the women walking past me - the distracting gait of another across the room. Six different conversations intersect, jumbling in my head, disarming me.
Frustrated, I try again to pay attention to story of these teenagers... geniuses? Sigh. I'll have to go back, I'm not picking it up.
Most days this is my life. Some places are easier than others. Some days are easier than others. Sadly, as hard as this is - today is a good day.
You can't really imagine, can you? You think I don't like the book or I'm not trying hard enough, but the fact is as I type this I'm thinking about the keys jingling across the room, the girls laughing to my right, the man talking to them as he passes - I'm interrupted for a pleasant exchange with a coworker - and still I'm somehow able to finish my train of thought. You don't expect to hear I was diagnosed with A.D.D. after days of thorough testing when I was 10, that I was on medication from ages 10-17, but not liking the reactions I was experiencing I took myself off the drugs and just forced myself to cope. You don't expect to hear I coped like that through college and work until I was 32. You can't comprehend the mental acrobatics I do every moment of every day just to stay on task, on topic.
At least I assume you don't. I assume this because if you understood you wouldn't joke about it. You wouldn't ask if I've taken my meds, you wouldn't tell me you've often thought you might have it. I'd like to think you'd respect me for the daily struggle and all the things I still accomplish. I'd like to think you'd wonder instead how I can go without time just to relax and still manage to stay so cheerful.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Friday, August 30, 2013
Extreme Ways
I know that when you are working out and you don't eat you shut down your metabolism. I know that's bad, but despite (because of?) the huge increase in activity I just don't want to eat anything and I'm not sure what to do about that. This morning I've been staring and picking at a container of yogurt with no desire to eat it. Now it's time to shower and I have to throw it away.
On an unrelated note, my quest to figure out my blood type has stalled out. Apparently the reason the Red Cross didn't put my type on my donor card was that if there isn't enough blood to use, they don't test it - they just toss it. So I went through a decade of emotionally building myself up to be able to donate without passing out (although just barely) and they didn't even use my blood. This is not an encouragement to donate again considering my intense fear of needles.
I'm just going to admit that I'm going to allow my doctor to do the blood work she wants when I go in a couple weeks and ask her to also run the type test. THEN it will be over. I will know and I will stop feeling like a mad woman.
On an unrelated note, my quest to figure out my blood type has stalled out. Apparently the reason the Red Cross didn't put my type on my donor card was that if there isn't enough blood to use, they don't test it - they just toss it. So I went through a decade of emotionally building myself up to be able to donate without passing out (although just barely) and they didn't even use my blood. This is not an encouragement to donate again considering my intense fear of needles.
I'm just going to admit that I'm going to allow my doctor to do the blood work she wants when I go in a couple weeks and ask her to also run the type test. THEN it will be over. I will know and I will stop feeling like a mad woman.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Down For the Count
I may have mentioned that I am participating in the Day Zero 101 in 1001 challenge for the second time. If you haven't heard of it, you should check out their site here. The first time I attempted one of these challenges, I fell way short of completing it. I'm hoping to be much more successful this time - and it certainly helps that they have drastically improved their website, showing you the percentage you are towards completion (10%).
One of my goals this time is to complete the 100 Push Ups challenge (which can be found here). When beginning this challenge, the participant begins with a test to see how many consecutive, good-form push ups they can complete. I managed 6, just barely passing level one and crawling into level 2. This means of a seven week program, I begin on week 2. I had hoped with all my yoga planks I would be further along, but I'll take what I can get.
Tomorrow begins the challenge!
One of my goals this time is to complete the 100 Push Ups challenge (which can be found here). When beginning this challenge, the participant begins with a test to see how many consecutive, good-form push ups they can complete. I managed 6, just barely passing level one and crawling into level 2. This means of a seven week program, I begin on week 2. I had hoped with all my yoga planks I would be further along, but I'll take what I can get.
Tomorrow begins the challenge!
But If You Try Sometimes, You Get What You Need
Being an actor is tough - anyone who has ever faced the emotional roller coaster of auditioning can attest to this. It seems everyone has heard that actors should "get used to rejection", and its true, you do learn to live with the potential that you will not get all the roles you want. Sadly, this makes a rejection streak somewhat jarring when coming off of a ""pinch-me-could-I-possibly-be-this-lucky" streak. Hello, depression.
My friends, trying their best to be helpful (when honestly they're probably thinking what a jerk I am for not being satisfied with the roles I've already portrayed in 2013) suggested I had been working non-stop for so long perhaps I needed the break. Nonsense! I huffed, I get depressed when I'm not onstage - which is absolutely true.
But there are always things we don't see coming. Several months ago, I was asked to be a bridesmaid in my sister's wedding in July and the Matron of Honor in a college buddy's wedding in October. I was terrifically excited for a couple weeks, and then I promptly derailed into my incessant worries about being "the fat bridesmaid". This worry coupled with a convenient groupon forced me to face my anxiety/fear and take a yoga class. Once I'd used the value of my groupon I was hooked. I kept taking tougher and longer classes as often as possible. Given my heavy rehearsal schedule, this was difficult, but I made the time. Eventually thought, my theatre schedule and my yoga schedule because un-workable.
Undeterred, I signed up for a yoga channel on my Roku and began practicing at home... however, by this time I had lost a fair amount of the balance and strength I had gained over those months. I was thinking it was okay, and I was still feeling like I was much more toned than I had been - although it concerned me that on my monthly doctor visits I seemed to weigh more than I felt I ought.
...then my sister's wedding photos came in. They are stunning, the photographer did an amazing job, but I am without a doubt "the fat bridesmaid". Staring at those photos, I considered my new-found free time, the Husband's recent decision to start walking on his lunches at work, and the fact that our 3 year old Australian Cattle dog had picked up a little extra pudge around his hips. I decided we would walk as a family (the 10 year old cat would not be forced along as I once tried to walk a cat and it was a wildly unsuccessful endeavor which resulted in my sister and I dragging a large, very fluffy blue cream calico by a leash down the sidewalk - thank goodness for all the fur or the sidewalk would have done a number on her side!) I ran the plan past the Husband and he agreed. We would walk on the bike path down by the river every night, unless it was dark or raining. I was allowed to run ahead if I wanted to and he was allowed to bring his swanky new camera if he wanted. That was last week. Last week we walked on Monday, had a meeting on Tuesday and then we got lazy. Over the weekend I stepped in a hornet's nest and while attempting to strip my hornet-laden clothes to get into the shower, I stepped on one, it promptly stung me, causing me to scream, jump, roll my ankle and fall... No running on Saturday, Sunday, or Monday.
Today, I felt better. I convinced the Husband we needed to get moving and we'd both feel better. He relented. I planned to walk, but immediately found myself - just as the week before - interval training. It seemed I wanted to be able to run again. I was proud. Last week I ran 3 miles in 43 minutes, with an average pace of 14:18. Tonight I ran 3.40 miles in 46 minutes, with an average pace of 13:37! Not bad improvement. I was so pleased, I decided to set a goal. I plugged in my weight and told my app I would like to lose 15 lbs by the day of my friend's wedding. The app told me this was a tough goal - nothing I didn't already know... then I got home and actually weighed myself and found I actually weighed 8lbs more than I thought.
Suddenly, I'm so thrilled for this spare time I plan on running tomorrow sunshine or torrential downpour. Also, despite the late hour, I'll be prying myself out of bed super early tomorrow so I can do some yoga before my morning shower. With any luck I'll at least weigh what I thought I weighed before when I slip on that espresso satin sheath in October.
My friends, trying their best to be helpful (when honestly they're probably thinking what a jerk I am for not being satisfied with the roles I've already portrayed in 2013) suggested I had been working non-stop for so long perhaps I needed the break. Nonsense! I huffed, I get depressed when I'm not onstage - which is absolutely true.
But there are always things we don't see coming. Several months ago, I was asked to be a bridesmaid in my sister's wedding in July and the Matron of Honor in a college buddy's wedding in October. I was terrifically excited for a couple weeks, and then I promptly derailed into my incessant worries about being "the fat bridesmaid". This worry coupled with a convenient groupon forced me to face my anxiety/fear and take a yoga class. Once I'd used the value of my groupon I was hooked. I kept taking tougher and longer classes as often as possible. Given my heavy rehearsal schedule, this was difficult, but I made the time. Eventually thought, my theatre schedule and my yoga schedule because un-workable.
Undeterred, I signed up for a yoga channel on my Roku and began practicing at home... however, by this time I had lost a fair amount of the balance and strength I had gained over those months. I was thinking it was okay, and I was still feeling like I was much more toned than I had been - although it concerned me that on my monthly doctor visits I seemed to weigh more than I felt I ought.
...then my sister's wedding photos came in. They are stunning, the photographer did an amazing job, but I am without a doubt "the fat bridesmaid". Staring at those photos, I considered my new-found free time, the Husband's recent decision to start walking on his lunches at work, and the fact that our 3 year old Australian Cattle dog had picked up a little extra pudge around his hips. I decided we would walk as a family (the 10 year old cat would not be forced along as I once tried to walk a cat and it was a wildly unsuccessful endeavor which resulted in my sister and I dragging a large, very fluffy blue cream calico by a leash down the sidewalk - thank goodness for all the fur or the sidewalk would have done a number on her side!) I ran the plan past the Husband and he agreed. We would walk on the bike path down by the river every night, unless it was dark or raining. I was allowed to run ahead if I wanted to and he was allowed to bring his swanky new camera if he wanted. That was last week. Last week we walked on Monday, had a meeting on Tuesday and then we got lazy. Over the weekend I stepped in a hornet's nest and while attempting to strip my hornet-laden clothes to get into the shower, I stepped on one, it promptly stung me, causing me to scream, jump, roll my ankle and fall... No running on Saturday, Sunday, or Monday.
Today, I felt better. I convinced the Husband we needed to get moving and we'd both feel better. He relented. I planned to walk, but immediately found myself - just as the week before - interval training. It seemed I wanted to be able to run again. I was proud. Last week I ran 3 miles in 43 minutes, with an average pace of 14:18. Tonight I ran 3.40 miles in 46 minutes, with an average pace of 13:37! Not bad improvement. I was so pleased, I decided to set a goal. I plugged in my weight and told my app I would like to lose 15 lbs by the day of my friend's wedding. The app told me this was a tough goal - nothing I didn't already know... then I got home and actually weighed myself and found I actually weighed 8lbs more than I thought.
Suddenly, I'm so thrilled for this spare time I plan on running tomorrow sunshine or torrential downpour. Also, despite the late hour, I'll be prying myself out of bed super early tomorrow so I can do some yoga before my morning shower. With any luck I'll at least weigh what I thought I weighed before when I slip on that espresso satin sheath in October.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
California Girls
Alright, so I'm not in California (sadly, I've never been to the purportedly idyllic state), but I sort of feel like it! After months and months of non-stop work, acting, and event planning that I've been beyond burned out. So, while I miss my Internet access, acting, and yoga I'm just tickled to be manning a hot pink beach towel with my Ray Bans and a biography of Zelda Fitzgerald on my kindle for company.
I have another day and a half to while away lazily with family before theatrical obligations call me back home. If I catch a another brief period with strong cell or Internet service then perhaps I'll be able to check in again - if not I'll catch you when I'm back to the land of laundry and work.
I have another day and a half to while away lazily with family before theatrical obligations call me back home. If I catch a another brief period with strong cell or Internet service then perhaps I'll be able to check in again - if not I'll catch you when I'm back to the land of laundry and work.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
God Only Knows
A year a half ago I almost lost my father. Those are horrible words to think, and harder still to type.
Growing up I revered my daddy. He was spectacular. He made me laugh, he terrified me, he taught French, to be polite, to respect adults, to appreciate fine food and drink and ohh did he teach me music. For as long as I can remember my father loved his music more than anything and he would at length to my sisters and I about it, whether we cared or not.
Then one day he felt ill and went to bed. The next day was the same. This went on for a week until as a family (without him and his stubbornness) a decision was made. My youngest sister would get someone to cover her morning classes and she would take him to the doctor - but when she arrived at my parents house she knew something wasn't right. His speech was slurred, he was acting as though he was asleep... she was worried and used her sometimes overly forceful personality to badger the doctor in to telling her that yes, she should probably take him to an Emergency Room.
It was congestive heart failure. That was Monday. On Wednesday (my mom's birthday) they did a cath and found he had 80% blockage. The left side of his heart was permanently closed. He'd likely had several heart attacks over time, and that he needed emergency bypass. The surgeon told us after speaking with him, that before he'd spoken with my dad he was not prepared to offer him a surgery. Those words hit me square in the chest like a brick of ice and lodged there.
After a very long and very risky, quadruple bypass he made it through. For the next month we walked around on eggshells, worried anything we did might be the wrong thing, Then we hit the six month mark, then the year, and in just a few days will be 18 months.
Even now, I can't think about these facts without weeping. The fact is not lost on me that his lifespan is almost certainly dramatically less than it would have been and I can't imagine my life without him. As kids we think when we grow up we won't need our parents, but I'm 34 and knowing people who don't have a good connection with their parents, I'm eternally thankful that I still do.
So here's the start of what I'm sure will be a ridiculously long list.
Thank you dad, for:
Growing up I revered my daddy. He was spectacular. He made me laugh, he terrified me, he taught French, to be polite, to respect adults, to appreciate fine food and drink and ohh did he teach me music. For as long as I can remember my father loved his music more than anything and he would at length to my sisters and I about it, whether we cared or not.
Then one day he felt ill and went to bed. The next day was the same. This went on for a week until as a family (without him and his stubbornness) a decision was made. My youngest sister would get someone to cover her morning classes and she would take him to the doctor - but when she arrived at my parents house she knew something wasn't right. His speech was slurred, he was acting as though he was asleep... she was worried and used her sometimes overly forceful personality to badger the doctor in to telling her that yes, she should probably take him to an Emergency Room.
It was congestive heart failure. That was Monday. On Wednesday (my mom's birthday) they did a cath and found he had 80% blockage. The left side of his heart was permanently closed. He'd likely had several heart attacks over time, and that he needed emergency bypass. The surgeon told us after speaking with him, that before he'd spoken with my dad he was not prepared to offer him a surgery. Those words hit me square in the chest like a brick of ice and lodged there.
After a very long and very risky, quadruple bypass he made it through. For the next month we walked around on eggshells, worried anything we did might be the wrong thing, Then we hit the six month mark, then the year, and in just a few days will be 18 months.
Even now, I can't think about these facts without weeping. The fact is not lost on me that his lifespan is almost certainly dramatically less than it would have been and I can't imagine my life without him. As kids we think when we grow up we won't need our parents, but I'm 34 and knowing people who don't have a good connection with their parents, I'm eternally thankful that I still do.
So here's the start of what I'm sure will be a ridiculously long list.
Thank you dad, for:
- Teaching me to parrot french phrases at you in your closet.
- Brushing my hair - even when you made me cry.
- Teaching me to love Bach, The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Rocky Horror, The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Jazz, Motown - in short, for giving me what people have described time and time again as one of the most eclectic music tastes they've ever seen.
- Showing me the many splendors of Vermont, even if it was never your goal to inspire an itch in me to live there one day.
- Laughing with me on my wedding day.
- Cherishing mom the way she deserves.
- Listening deeply and intentionally to me even when you don't agree with me.
- Taking me on my college visits.
- Giving me the opportunity to hike on a glacier
- Always being the man I wanted more than anything to impress.
- Being a fighter and still being here with us.
Wouldn't It Be Nice
As I was cleaning up today, I found a Jo-Ann's coupon for 50% off yarn. Something inside me squealed with joy at the thought of all the possibilities of things I could start while on vacation at the lake next week. I set it aside, thinking I would decide later.
Unfortunately, when I woke up this morning, all I could think was "you can't start a new project! You've barely started the last one!" "But, but, but... it's big... and scary..." I sputtered at myself. "Well, maybe just a small one, a Christmas gift?" But I knew I was right. Back in December I began a somewhat complex tree skirt which was to be either a wedding gift or a shower gift for my sister and her husband. In May, at her shower, I gave her a small gift with a note explaining her real gift was the tree skirt which was not finished. I told myself I would at the least get it done so she could use it for their first Christmas together.
I started it with the best intentions, but the pattern was a little confusing and I couldn't work on it in front of her - and then I got cast as the title character in a show, then I was cast in another show, and another, and another pretty much back to back. I'm not complaining, this past 8 months I have been an incredibly lucky actor - but every time I look at the tote bag in the back of my car with all that yarn... I just can't bring myself to take it up again.
So, tempting as it is, staring longingly at all the pretty yarn on that coupon, it seems my work is already laid out for me. I just need to get crackin'.
Unfortunately, when I woke up this morning, all I could think was "you can't start a new project! You've barely started the last one!" "But, but, but... it's big... and scary..." I sputtered at myself. "Well, maybe just a small one, a Christmas gift?" But I knew I was right. Back in December I began a somewhat complex tree skirt which was to be either a wedding gift or a shower gift for my sister and her husband. In May, at her shower, I gave her a small gift with a note explaining her real gift was the tree skirt which was not finished. I told myself I would at the least get it done so she could use it for their first Christmas together.
I started it with the best intentions, but the pattern was a little confusing and I couldn't work on it in front of her - and then I got cast as the title character in a show, then I was cast in another show, and another, and another pretty much back to back. I'm not complaining, this past 8 months I have been an incredibly lucky actor - but every time I look at the tote bag in the back of my car with all that yarn... I just can't bring myself to take it up again.
So, tempting as it is, staring longingly at all the pretty yarn on that coupon, it seems my work is already laid out for me. I just need to get crackin'.
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