The Year of Magical Thinking…

The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan DidionWith apologies to Joan Didion* for stealing her title, I am doing that thing. You know the thing I mean? Where you do the “year ago today” thing and look back and think about what you were doing a year ago and sort of relive last year while living this year and feel like you are in two places at once.

It screws with my head.

Magical thinking.

See, magical thinking is based in patterns. We think we see patterns where there aren’t patterns or create patterns where we want them to be. So, if I really want to believe something, I will start looking for proof and–as if by magic–I find it!

It might be my thinking if I wait to have children until my mother did (at least 24 years old) then it isn’t an “accident” and my children will be welcome and approved.

It might be my thinking that if I have always fallen in love in the fall and it is now fall that–wha la!–I should be running into Mr Right (Now) at any moment.

It might even be that if I could turn back the clock to those moments before the events that sent me reeling toward right now occurred that I could, somehow, avert them.

It doesn’t matter that my mom was divorced within 4 years of giving birth. (I didn’t follow the logic past the “approval” to see if the pattern held, I would be a single mom shortly.)

It doesn’t matter that the reason I have always fallen in love in the fall is because that is when you go back to school and hook up with a new guy. (Yeah, I am back in school–but all of the guys are either married or gay which makes them somewhat unsuitable for my love interest.)

It doesn’t even matter that I can’t turn the clock back and even if I could that I couldn’t change anything except–perhaps–the day it all finally blew apart. (The wasband’s temper was hardly within my control.)

I am still doing it. Magical thinking. Looking for the pattern. Trying to find control when, frankly, I have none.

There is a time for looking back. It helps to understand what got you where you are. But at some point, you have to point forward. I am working toward the balance between reflection and action.

Driving home tonight I was absolutely terrified for about 20 seconds. Why? I realized that I was on the road with my little kids and no one expected me at the other end. I could vanish from the earth and it would be at least 12 hours before anyone noticed. I felt completely disconnected. It was an acute attack of the larger unease I have been feeling the last few days. Generally, I am a pretty upbeat, expecting-the-best kinda girl. The last few days have found me worried about everything–money, health, death, school, friends, love, car, and so on–and unable to accomplish much of anything.

I think it is the Magical Thinking pushing me in this direction. As scary things happen to the people around me, I can’t help but wonder if I am on a bad-luck stretch of the highway. I am looking for the clues that my turn to get sideswiped is comin’. Enough already.

I need a good night’s sleep. I need to make a list of the stuff that I need to accomplish. I need to pat myself on the back for successfully navigating one of the hardest years of my life–while managing to graduate from school, homeschool two children, and stay at goal weight.

I can do this–whatever this might be. And I don’t have to resort to magic.

*OMG if you haven’t read this book, go now and find it! It seems trite to use words like “breathtaking” and “perfect” but The Year of Magical Thinking is both. I read it in two sittings and am going back to read it again. It is one of those books that sets you to making lists of people who need copies. I feel like I should write Joan Didion a thank you note for opening up her soul. But that seems even more trite than saying her book is “perfect.”

Life and Death…

It is such a fine, fine line between here and there. Two of my very favorite people have been dancing on that line for the last bit. One is hanging on with every ounce of her being. One just teetered over the edge.

I’ll start with the still living. Gammy–as my kids call her–was out of my life for 21 years in spite of being one of the kindest people I have ever encountered. I got to reconnect with her this summer when I reintroduced myself to my paternal clan–and we are very early in the rebuilding stages. She went in for “routine”* surgery last week, was sent home the next day, and should have been fine. But she wasn’t. I’ll spare you the details, but she has been through 3 additional surgeries and tons of trauma (she needed some 6 pints of blood and 4 pints of plasma on Sunday alone!!) and is–amazingly–alive.

How close?? How close did I come to never seeing her again? My sisters and dad are almost speechless with fear and exhaustion and I feel like I am watching the whole thing through binoculars. It is impossible to describe the feeling of being so tightly emotionally bound to people you barely know. I want to gather them in and nurture them–but I don’t even know them well enough to have a clue what they would consider nurturing! I am just praying that I get the chance to learn. I almost didn’t.

Tracey's FlowersTracey’s mom, Noreen, was one of those women who just gave–and not the leftovers–she gave her best. When I married the wasband, Tracey and her brother were both in the wedding. Now, Tracey is an incredibly talented artist–with style in surplus–who did all sorts of wonders for my wedding. But, as a bridesmaid, isn’t that part of the job?

But her mom? Her mom didn’t get an official title in the production, but she sure should have. She made Tracey’s dress, drove a 15 passenger van full of guests across 3 states (and earned the nickname “Maria Andretti”) , assisted with the video, posed for pictures, offered sound advice, entertained the hotel staff, managed to smile the whole time, and then returned that van load safely home.

I can’t even look at the pictures right now. It reminds me that I have let some people slip away. I sort of lost some of them in the divorce. I got “too busy” to keep up with others. I missed the opportunity to reconnect with others.

Yeah, I believe in an afterlife–and all the solace that provides–but I am still very, very sad for those of us who will miss her amazing ability to be so casual about what a big deal she was. I am very, very sad that she got away without a goodbye. I had plenty of warning. She fought cancer for a very long time. I thought about calling, sending a card, sending flowers. I thought. I didn’t. I let her get away. Shame on me.

*I have always corrected anyone who called surgery “routine.” It is routine only for the medical personnel involved. I know there are folks who have lots of surgeries–but I doubt even they consider turning off their bodies, having them sliced open, having things rearranged and removed, sewing the whole package back up, and then waking up to round-the-clock vitals checks as a “routine” part of their day.

Missed their target…

Catalog CoverI just got a catalog from Jessica London in my mailbox. The cover features a size-6 model wearing a pretty periwinkle shirt/shell set. Having never heard of this company, imagine my surprise to discover that they cater to women who wear sizes 14W-34W.

I say, “cater” but what I should say is that they sell clothing to this group of women–they cater to the misguided illusion that women who wear plus sizes need to be deluded into thinking that they will suddenly shrink to a size 6 upon donning the outfits.

There is not a single model in the entire catalog with a BMI over 20. Gah!!

I don’t wear plus sizes anymore, so I can’t buy anything from this company–and if I were wearing plus sizes, I wouldn’t know from the cover or inside shots that they carry them!

How is this considered “good” marketing?

I am hoping it isn’t–or that it doesn’t continue to be.

Things gotta change.

A Year Ago…

Labyrinth by Gina LynetteAnniversaries are pretty cool. Usually. I am a sentimental girl who thrives on marking time and remembering when. So, it should come as very little surprise that I am sort of “celebrating” a very odd anniversary.

Get to it, woman! What anniversary?

The anniversary of the major blow up event that led to my eventual divorce and rebirth as–well as me.

Sure, I made strides toward the newish me. I started the weight loss MegaChallenge thing. I went back to school. I got great haircuts and color. But it wasn’t until I did the heave-ho to the marriage that I actually felt like I was making progress.

I haven’t been very forthcoming with the events leading up to my divorce. It isn’t shame so much as not wanting to be a dirty-laundry-airing someone. I guess being raised Southern has a stronger hold that I would like to admit. I mean, geez, it wasn’t until last year that I could say out loud that I might need to lose a few (read: 50) pounds!

At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeonly marriage-basher, I just have to say, “If you hate your marriage, get the hell out of it!” If it is sucking the life out of you what are you doing sitting there making up excuses to stay?

Perhaps this is a message to the me of 2-4-8-12 years ago who thought she could work hard enough to make it all okay. Perhaps it is a message to my stuck friends who are miserable and keep hanging on. Perhaps it is totally misguided, but if I had only had the courage to walk when I first figured out that my marriage was a bust I might have saved myself and my children a whole lot of pain, grief, and therapy.

The great news? I am out of there!

Deep breath.

I am so happy to be on the other side! If I had known how precious life would be without that constant gnawing, I’d have done it so much sooner! Life has been so, so, so sweet.

Sure, there are still days when nothing seems to go right. Car parts still break. Kids still get sick. Computers still crash. The difference is that I start out with the emotional energy to deal with those every day stresses without the chronic downer of an unhappy, abusive, controlling, spiteful spouse to suck me dry before I even get started.

Yeah, I know that everyone acts in their own time. I am hardly one to point fingers–I procrastinate better than anyone I know! I wanted to make sure I had exhausted all possible options for saving the marriage before I left. Unfortunately, I almost lost my life in the process.

No, I didn’t plan on getting a divorce when I stood in front of God and everybody in that parade float of a dress. Thank heaven I was able to change my plans before I ended up in the choir of angels–and that I get this whole new shot at figuring out what I want in life and going for it!

So, it has been a year since I figured out that if I didn’t end my marriage that I would likely end up dead. I am alive! Happy birthday to me!

Brain fog rolls in…

FallHave you ever really wanted to blog but had so few firing brain cells that you just couldn’t make an entry make sense to save your traffic??

No?

Well, lemme fill you in on what it is like. I have opened the word processor no less than 15 times in the past week and started typing. I get about 5 paragraphs into it and go back and re-read what is there. I shake my head in utter dismay because it is completely unintelligible. I close the browser window and assure Blogger that, yes, I really do want to navigate away from the page without saving my changes.

Gah!

It isn’t that I don’t have any news. I do! I saw 145 lbs on the scale on Sunday. I went to the gym on Saturday. (Sure it was closed when I got there, but I actually laced up my shoes! That has to count for something, no??) I could tell you all sorts of stories about my wacko family–including that my mom and step-dad moved an hour away without ever officially telling me that they had bought a new house. I could even update you on my grad school progress. (Did you know that textbooks no longer come with covers? They are still over $100, but they are all paperback. I could rant for hours on this alone!)

So what, you ask, seems to be the problem?

Allergy med head.

Ugh.

I don’t know why my immune system takes such strong offense to the change of seasons, but let the temperature adjust by 10 degrees and I am practically incapacitated for 2 weeks. I am allergic to just about every plant and animal on the globe. My allergist actually took pictures of my scratch tests–the reactions were so strong that my whole body looked like one big, swollen mosquito bite. Oh, and lucky me, I am one of the 3% (not a scientifically-based statistic. Go look it up if you want to know. I can’t be bothered in my state.) of the population that reacts to allergy shots by getting worse. Tack on a metabolism that runs through meds in half the normal time, and you have a recipe for allergy med head.

So, forgive me if I am somewhat unaccounted for as fall arrives. I am wandering around bleary-eyed.

Swimwear Shopping or How I Faced the Dragon…

Watercolor Sun Collage -- Gina Lynette & Ned Andrew SolomonI last bought a swimsuit in February 2005. I weighed in the 190 pound range, and everything I tried on looked like what it was: a rather snug garment doing its level best to hold in all of the lumpy parts without splitting a seam. After trying on no less than three billion suits, I finally found one that I could tolerate. I have to admit that it did a pretty decent job of snugging in the bulges and holding up the flab and I wore it faithfully to pools and gym spas for over a year.

I don’t know when I noticed how large it was. Probably around the time it got warm enough to put on a swimsuit—so, June? But then life exploded and I just lived with it because, quite frankly, I would rather pluck nose hairs—even strangers’ nose hairs—than try on those latex sausage casings. That is, I used to prefer all sorts of tortures over facing the three way mirror in my almost-nakedness. But how was I to know that even this trauma could be reduced to a memory??

Labor Day is officially the best day—price wise—to purchase swimwear. Everything is 75% off and the racks still have loads of options. Any other year of my life, the following paragraph would be filled with how much I hate swimsuit shopping. Not this year. I will say that it took my very best friend practically dragging me to the mall to even get me started in the direction of replacing my trusty casing. He is a very, very patient man, (he would have to be to be my best friend after the couple of years I have had, no?) but even he was getting tired of hearing me bitch about how huge my suit was and how un-pretty I felt in it.

So we went shopping. He asked my size—in past years that would have been met with an “oh—I don’t know—um—huge??”—and I said, out loud, “Let’s start with 12s and then we can adjust.” He proceeded to pull one of every—and I do mean every—size 12 possibility off of the 20 rounders. When he had a good arm load, he handed them to me and shoved me toward the dressing room saying, “I’ll keep digging; you get started.” And so he did and I did. Out of those first 30 suits, 25 were just wrong—cut, color, fabric, or bra just didn’t do anything for me—but the other 5 were definite possibilities. When I found a suit that I was feeling pretty good about —sit down—I walked out of the dressing room and asked how it looked. Each time, I would bring an armload of non-contenders and he would replace them with his latest finds.

We finally narrowed it down to 3 that did all the stuff I wanted. (Made me look incredible, supported my post-pregnancy and weight-loss self, and covered my ass—there is nothing worse than a bulgy, saggy, up-the-butt suit.) I wanted 2 suits (75% off!!) and we decided on 2 of the three just before we noticed an adorable suit on a mannequin (I have never been the size of a suit on a mannequin!!) and said, “I might as well give it a shot.” It fit perfectly, I look fantastic in it, and long story longer I walked out of there with 2 terrific suits that I cannot wait to wear in public!

So, yes, weight-loss groupies, even the dreaded swimsuit phobia can be a thing of the past. I feel invincible!! Well, except for that little gall bladder thing that sent me rushing to the hospital last Thursday, but that is for another post.

Can’t Fix It…

Yeah, I know there is a typo in my previous entry. I saw it as soon as I clicked, “post.” Unfortunately, I haven’t made the decision to convert to the new Google Blogger irrevocable version so editing the post has proven to be a formatting nightmare. Just suffice it to say that I have lost plenty of time trying to make it better. I am off to slay another dragonfly.

My friend (as in bridesmaid–though I doubt she puts that on her resume–and godparent to my child), Tracey, has landed herself a year-long teaching gig in Japan. Swing by and say, “Hello” or “Konichiwa” if you are one of those intrepid speakers of foreign languages. I’m not. But I like to pretend I am and pepper foreign words into my every day speech. Between that and my penchant for saying “grad school” every 7 minutes, I am a pretentious cuss to be around. Yeah, can’t fix that, either.

What can I fix? A mean grilled mozzarella cheese sandwich on whole wheat with–oh my universe–Penzey’s Sandwich Sprinkle on it. I don’t make a dime off of the stuff, so it is with pure heart that I say, “How did I ever live without this???”

(Warning: do not try to substitute said sandwich for phase 1 of your gastro-bypass diet. Dreaming of said sandwich is perfectly acceptable, though.)

Little Progress at Lightning Speed…

The days are just whizzing by. I don’t know what happened to August. When I was finishing up my BS degree in June it felt like I had all the time in the world before school started again. Well, all that time is a memory, and a vague one at that.

My first course in grad school (I try to drop “grad school” into every conversation) is a survey course on HRD (Human Resource Development for those of you with a life) in which we are going to complete a career assessment and create an HRD career plan (sounds like such fun—seriously—and three is about my parenthetical limit for one sentence so I am going to put a period and start fresh now). Most of my undergrad coursework was about getting hours behind me. Yeah, I enjoyed school (sick, I know) but I didn’t get to take many classes which turned my crank. Every course without exception in my grad school (there it is again) program is so up my alley that I get all giddy from reading it (sick, I know).

So, career thoughts and life thoughts are swirling about. I am a life-coach-literature junkie so I have done the whole dreaming, visioning, planning, first steps thing before. Thing is that all that stuff about every day being a fresh start and people creating their own luck and folks manifesting what they need happens to be true. It sounds like so much claptrap, but I have experienced the phenomenon of calling what I need to me enough to know it to be spot on. Combining concrete planning tools with the belief that we *can* be and have whatever we want in our lives makes for some pretty exciting stuff!

Some people call it prayer—ask and ye shall receive—some call it magic, voodoo, universal supply, good karma, what comes around goes around. It doesn’t seem to matter how you label it—you just gotta accept it and remember the availability of it. One of the barriers to my bliss as a single mom is access to childcare. I love, love, love my kids but I’d like some time to do un-kid stuff from time to time. Basically, being the sole provider of all things to my children all day every day (and nights, too!) is leaving me low on energy and enthusiasm. So, I wrote an email to my best friend expressing this need.

The one thing I can do to alleviate this feeling of entrapment (which is what it is) is to locate excellent, dependable, flexible childcare options. It is vial to my mental health to know that I can schedule breaks without having to ask the wasband or my mother as both are no longer options for support.

I need (hear this universe) someone who can come to my house for evening events–like school–who is able to provide their own transportation. I need someone who is available on weekend days. I need someone who is available for overnights (either here or at their place.) And I need each of these options to be very reasonably priced–or some form of financial support to cover it.

So there. It is within my power to get the time away that I need in order to be fully available when I am with my children.

I clicked the send button and headed off to a new homeschool activity with these self-same children. Skip ahead a couple of hours into this activity and not only did I find a sitter, I found 3 teens who can come to my house almost anytime (they homeschool and are flexible time-wise), a family willing to let me drop my kids off pretty much whenever (“There is always someone here…”), and leads on a couple of other options. I am still following up on the details, but—c’mon—you gotta admit that the whole timing thing was pretty awesome!

Fitness? Yeah, well. I packed a moving truck in 100 degree heat. Does that count?

Blogger Google confusion…

Okay, so I head over to the Blogger homepage to sign in and update my screaming fan and it does this weird Google sign in thing and asks me to switch and tells me I can’t go back and something about a beta (isn’t that a fish??) and I am so completely confused!

Deep Breath…

What I signed on to report is that I have no appetite.

Yes, I am complaining!

It isn’t like I am only a little hungry and eating a little food. I am absolutely food averse this week. Yes, I put lots of my favorite foods in the fridge–lots of green leafies and cheeses and salty snacks and even (gasp) a carton of snow cream–and nothing looks, smells, tastes appealing to me. I am pretty much living on slim f@st and cashews. (I don’t drink it for the “diet” but because it is cheaper than Ensure and keeps me alive when I get like this.)

The food aversion is related to my (withheld from public consumption) diagnosis which is kicking my butt right now. The problem is that when I relapse I am weak and don’t feel like eating. When I don’t eat, I get weaker and am less likely to want to go fix something to eat. I end up in an ugly spiral leading to lower and lower energy and altogether unacceptable quality of life.

It seems utterly ridiculous to be posting my frustration with *not* being hungry on a semi-fitness related blog. But good nutrition is the cornerstone of my health plan. When I eat like shit I feel like shit–and that goes for too few calories just as much as it does for too many.

So, my goal for tomorrow is to eat at least 1000 calories and to get outside in the sunshine for a walk. I need my strength back so that I can sort out this incredibly important and irreversible Blogger Google sign in beta switch thing.

On the downward slope…

I woke up to a new low weight. Everyone extend a warm welcome to 146.5 lbs. After 9 months of bouncing between 147 and 150 (my maintenance range) it is pretty cool to find that I still have the ability to lose weight.

Now, if fretting could be considered exercise I’d have all 200 of my sessions done in days. Stewing is my new favorite pastime. I picked it up about a month ago and I would really like to get back to my centered, happy personality. Hopefully soon…

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