Reverb Broads 12/8/11 prompt, courtesy of Kristen: Why blog? Why do you or why do you like to blog (recognizing that these are not always the same thing)?
Just over three years ago, I left a 15-year career in biotechnology. I didn't leave to be a stay-at-home mom, although that is what I ended up doing. I left because I burned myself out. I was crumbling at work, yelling at people, crying in meetings. It didn't help that my husband just had been seriously ill and was recovering from surgery, but frankly I started to unwind even before then. So I left, and I have absolutely no regrets. It was the right decision hands-down.
But now my youngest is in school, and I'm here by myself (plus high-maintenance dog and 2 cats) in the house. I enjoy volunteering in my kids' schools, but I needed another outlet. I was bored and unmotivated, and my self-esteem was plunging. A few friends had suggested that I write a blog. I had started one almost a couple years ago, but didn't keep it up. So this fall, I decided to get back into it.
I battle depression. Although I take medication, I still struggle. I really dread structure and control in my life, but I need it to keep me from sliding down into the dark pit. So I've started giving myself "assignments." If folding the laundry isn't an assignment, it won't get done. But, as stimulating as folding laundry is, I need to use my brain more. And less, actually. Meditation and yoga are other "assignments."
It's not that I don't enjoy writing, but when getting out of bed seems like an huge feat, writing a blog entry is feels impossible. And when you feel that way, you don't willingly start brainstorming ideas. You turn on the games and just go into autoplay. So, writing the blog has become another assignment. It is fun, and it is good for my soul, but I do it because it's due today.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
How to Waste an Entire Day on You Tube
Hot diggity dog, this is going to be fun! Beverage-spewing laughter is what I live for. I'm a snorter, and proudly so. I love my snorts, they are the children of my favorite moments. The most challenging aspect of this prompt would be choosing one topic, so I'm just not gonna. This
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
10 Things I Maybe Might Think About Avoiding
Reverb Broads Prompt for 12/06/11: List 10 things you would never do.
I know a LOT of people with strong opinions. They love the movie or they hate it. I envy that. I find myself doubting my judgement. Why don't I care more? Oh well, moving on.
So to pick ten things I would NEVER do is pretty challenging. I think it's safe to say I'll never wear Mork suspenders, but that really doesn't feel list-worthy. So I'll just go with the highly unlikely list, because as a former scientist, one can never rule out all variables.
1. Polar Bear Plunge. I've yet to think of a reason to do this, but perhaps there will be one some day.
2. Wet t-shirt contest. Just seems like a bad idea for everyone involved.
3. Wet t-shirt contest while doing Polar Bear Plunge. Okay, now I'm cheating....
4. Party like it's 1999. Where the hell did this come from? Just popped into my head, I swear. I am not a night owl. I'm a homebody who likes to be cozy on her couch in her pjs by 9:00pm.
5. Anything ever featured on Fear Factor. I just don't enjoy eating crazy shit. I don't know why anyone does, but whatever floats your boat.
6. Keep a tidy house. Sorry dear, I just don't see that in the cards.
7. Begin a sentence "I'm not a racist/homophobe...". Sorry folks, if you have to add a disclaimer to what you're saying, then ya' are.
8. Give up drinking coffee. Two words: "my precioussss."
9. Bikini Wax. Just, no.
10. Take myself seriously.
I know a LOT of people with strong opinions. They love the movie or they hate it. I envy that. I find myself doubting my judgement. Why don't I care more? Oh well, moving on.
So to pick ten things I would NEVER do is pretty challenging. I think it's safe to say I'll never wear Mork suspenders, but that really doesn't feel list-worthy. So I'll just go with the highly unlikely list, because as a former scientist, one can never rule out all variables.
1. Polar Bear Plunge. I've yet to think of a reason to do this, but perhaps there will be one some day.
2. Wet t-shirt contest. Just seems like a bad idea for everyone involved.
3. Wet t-shirt contest while doing Polar Bear Plunge. Okay, now I'm cheating....
4. Party like it's 1999. Where the hell did this come from? Just popped into my head, I swear. I am not a night owl. I'm a homebody who likes to be cozy on her couch in her pjs by 9:00pm.
5. Anything ever featured on Fear Factor. I just don't enjoy eating crazy shit. I don't know why anyone does, but whatever floats your boat.
6. Keep a tidy house. Sorry dear, I just don't see that in the cards.
7. Begin a sentence "I'm not a racist/homophobe...". Sorry folks, if you have to add a disclaimer to what you're saying, then ya' are.
8. Give up drinking coffee. Two words: "my precioussss."
9. Bikini Wax. Just, no.
10. Take myself seriously.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Holy Falling Flapdoodles!!
By all rights, my story should be an animation. Sometimes it seems like my husband and I are more cartoon characters than people. I've got the squeaky voice, the exaggerated facial expressions, and well, just general ridiculousness. But that would betray my absolute love affair with physical comedy. Some of my best laughs have come from trying to introduce my tall, lanky husband to winter sports. Luckily for me, he falls with true comic finesse. The time we went ice skating, he spun a full 360 degrees and did the whole futile arm flapping before landing with skates in the air. Then there was cross-country skiing. The hill turned right, and Jon went straight. He ended up just sitting down in the snow, but I was not to be denied my guffaws. Every time he tried to get up, he kept sliding down hill and falling again. And again. I think I peed my pants that day.
So, my movie would totally be physical comedy. I'd love to see Amy Pohler and Will Arnett cast as me and my husband. We are a couple of goobers, and not a day goes by without cracking each other up. My husband claims his "talent" for fulminating flatulence is due to the presence of an extra organ in his intestine, which he calls a "flapdoodle." A few years ago, he got extremely sick, and was taken to the hospital where they discovered a mass in his large intestine. He went into emergency surgery that same night. I rushed home to get my kids' stuff, picked up Alex from daycare, and dropped the kids at my in-laws. I gave Jon's parents the scoop, told them I'd keep them informed. I barely made it to the hospital before he went into surgery. I held his hand, told him everything was going to be okay, and when the anesthesiologist told me he had to take him away to get prepped, I kissed Jon and said, "ask them to remove your flapdoodle while they're in there."
I'm happy to report that despite a few GI irritations and a couple scars, my husband came through this whole experience with no signs of cancer and is in good health once again. Flapdoodle and all. But heck, my love for physical comedy can overcome the frequent offensive odors in the bedroom. Because after all, farts are funny.
So, my movie would totally be physical comedy. I'd love to see Amy Pohler and Will Arnett cast as me and my husband. We are a couple of goobers, and not a day goes by without cracking each other up. My husband claims his "talent" for fulminating flatulence is due to the presence of an extra organ in his intestine, which he calls a "flapdoodle." A few years ago, he got extremely sick, and was taken to the hospital where they discovered a mass in his large intestine. He went into emergency surgery that same night. I rushed home to get my kids' stuff, picked up Alex from daycare, and dropped the kids at my in-laws. I gave Jon's parents the scoop, told them I'd keep them informed. I barely made it to the hospital before he went into surgery. I held his hand, told him everything was going to be okay, and when the anesthesiologist told me he had to take him away to get prepped, I kissed Jon and said, "ask them to remove your flapdoodle while they're in there."
I'm happy to report that despite a few GI irritations and a couple scars, my husband came through this whole experience with no signs of cancer and is in good health once again. Flapdoodle and all. But heck, my love for physical comedy can overcome the frequent offensive odors in the bedroom. Because after all, farts are funny.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
The Square Peg Turns 40
I'm now 40, yeehaw for milestone birthdays. But I still feel like the class clown whenever I'm in a group of school parents or at one of those home parties that the neighbors host. I feel both cursed and blessed to be a chronic square peg. I'm happy with who I am, but it does get lonely. Especially living in small town/suburbia. You just don't see a lot of moms having tricycle races down the driveway with their kids. Their loss, trust me.
It doesn't help that there are a couple of golf course neighborhoods in my town. Those moms wear high wedge heels and makeup, and their hair is always styled. They always look good. Maybe it's just me, and they aren't judging me by my too-short jeans and stained t-shirt or my bathroom haircut. But they aren't exactly rushing over to talk to me either.
I honestly don't know what the hell my "style" is. My biggest criteria for clothes are comfort and cotton. I really like cotton. Lately I've been into leggings, because I like to be able to do yoga whenever I'm in the mood, and I don't want to have to change clothes, so now I have a new criteria - long shirts. Tunics I guess they are called. I do NOT have the body to wear leggings without proper butt coverage. So I guess my style is "practical." I really wish I could wear the nice fashionable clothes and shoes, but I always feel like a walking Christmas tree when I do. I feel so obvious.
As my daughter gets older, and shows more and more of her mother's lack of conformity, I think about the example I set. To be true to who we are is very important, but too often we end up in a competition with other personalities. Are we friends with kindred spirits because of common interests, or is it some weird social sorting system? Why aren't more jocks friends with band geeks? They both might listen to the same music, read the same books, laugh at the same jokes. Maybe they don't. I sure don't have the answers, and even if I did, no one's asking me the question.
So to jump back to the question: "how have I grown or remained childlike?" I guess I would have to say that I've grown because I keep trying to improve life for myself, my kids, my community. But you could also say that I've remained childlike because I'm still asking questions, still looking for answers, and I still haven't figured out who I am and where I fit in.
It doesn't help that there are a couple of golf course neighborhoods in my town. Those moms wear high wedge heels and makeup, and their hair is always styled. They always look good. Maybe it's just me, and they aren't judging me by my too-short jeans and stained t-shirt or my bathroom haircut. But they aren't exactly rushing over to talk to me either.
I honestly don't know what the hell my "style" is. My biggest criteria for clothes are comfort and cotton. I really like cotton. Lately I've been into leggings, because I like to be able to do yoga whenever I'm in the mood, and I don't want to have to change clothes, so now I have a new criteria - long shirts. Tunics I guess they are called. I do NOT have the body to wear leggings without proper butt coverage. So I guess my style is "practical." I really wish I could wear the nice fashionable clothes and shoes, but I always feel like a walking Christmas tree when I do. I feel so obvious.
As my daughter gets older, and shows more and more of her mother's lack of conformity, I think about the example I set. To be true to who we are is very important, but too often we end up in a competition with other personalities. Are we friends with kindred spirits because of common interests, or is it some weird social sorting system? Why aren't more jocks friends with band geeks? They both might listen to the same music, read the same books, laugh at the same jokes. Maybe they don't. I sure don't have the answers, and even if I did, no one's asking me the question.
So to jump back to the question: "how have I grown or remained childlike?" I guess I would have to say that I've grown because I keep trying to improve life for myself, my kids, my community. But you could also say that I've remained childlike because I'm still asking questions, still looking for answers, and I still haven't figured out who I am and where I fit in.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
"If the you of today could go back in time and give advice to any of the previous yous, which age would you visit and what would you tell them?"
Have I learned nothing in my 40-year struggle in this crazy world? What would I say to a younger me that would make life easier? Should we even try to make life easier? I don't know what it is about life that makes us want to keep experiencing it, but something about figuring it out as I go is appealing.
That doesn't mean I've made mistakes, or that I don't regret any of my actions. In fact, if I could go back in time, I think I'd just give myself some practical advice. Imagine the shock of 20 year-old Andrea, innocently studying population genetics in Helen C. White library, as the current me pops into space and says "you REALLY don't want to eat that entire bag of Skittles." I'm sure her first reaction would be (ala Edna E. Mode of "The Incredibles") "my God you've gotten fat."
But come on, we didn't listen to our mothers or our aunts or any other adult who tried to spare us the pains of life, so why would we listen to our own future self? "Screw that, I'm eating the Skittles! Who made you so smart anyway?" I'm not too good at heeding advice. Perhaps I'm self-destructive in a way, because even when it's obvious that the smart thing to do is read "Gods Bits of Wood" because Professor Sheub told you that 30% of the final was going to be on that book, I still don't listen. My husband contends it's my contrary nature. "Tell Andrea to have a good day, and she'll go out of her way to make it bad."
As the Indigo Girls said so perfectly, "the hardest to learn was the least complicated." It doesn't take a future self to tell you what's best for you, it just requires you to pay attention and listen to yourself. And if you can't listen to your present self, the future self will have no more influence. We aren't trying to make our lives miserable, we just can't help ourselves. Today, if I received a visit from 50 year old Andrea (who better frickin' be thin, dammit) and she said "Andrea, stop wasting your time with computer games, you'll really appreciate it if you spend your time doing yoga and meditating," my response would be "no shit." I don't need the advice of thinner, older me to tell me what would make me happier. I already know. What I really need is the older me to come back with a cattle-prod and give me a good zap every time I log onto Steam.
But just in case I could make a difference, I'd go back and tell 35 year old Andrea to put a bra on with the dress she wears to the company Christmas party. She's going have a lot more fun if she's not worrying that people can tell.
That doesn't mean I've made mistakes, or that I don't regret any of my actions. In fact, if I could go back in time, I think I'd just give myself some practical advice. Imagine the shock of 20 year-old Andrea, innocently studying population genetics in Helen C. White library, as the current me pops into space and says "you REALLY don't want to eat that entire bag of Skittles." I'm sure her first reaction would be (ala Edna E. Mode of "The Incredibles") "my God you've gotten fat."
But come on, we didn't listen to our mothers or our aunts or any other adult who tried to spare us the pains of life, so why would we listen to our own future self? "Screw that, I'm eating the Skittles! Who made you so smart anyway?" I'm not too good at heeding advice. Perhaps I'm self-destructive in a way, because even when it's obvious that the smart thing to do is read "Gods Bits of Wood" because Professor Sheub told you that 30% of the final was going to be on that book, I still don't listen. My husband contends it's my contrary nature. "Tell Andrea to have a good day, and she'll go out of her way to make it bad."
As the Indigo Girls said so perfectly, "the hardest to learn was the least complicated." It doesn't take a future self to tell you what's best for you, it just requires you to pay attention and listen to yourself. And if you can't listen to your present self, the future self will have no more influence. We aren't trying to make our lives miserable, we just can't help ourselves. Today, if I received a visit from 50 year old Andrea (who better frickin' be thin, dammit) and she said "Andrea, stop wasting your time with computer games, you'll really appreciate it if you spend your time doing yoga and meditating," my response would be "no shit." I don't need the advice of thinner, older me to tell me what would make me happier. I already know. What I really need is the older me to come back with a cattle-prod and give me a good zap every time I log onto Steam.
But just in case I could make a difference, I'd go back and tell 35 year old Andrea to put a bra on with the dress she wears to the company Christmas party. She's going have a lot more fun if she's not worrying that people can tell.
Monday, November 7, 2011
The Strain
So, I just finished reading The Strain by Guillermo del Toro (I love saying that name). This book is about a virus that turns people into vampires. And not the Stephanie Meyer kind, either. These bad guys definitely fall into the Stoker category. It's dark, with a few heroes up against an insurmountable task. It's scary, it's creepy, it's gross, and it's... good. Like Dracula, this story does not distract you with romance, or even comic relief. It's pure horror. It combines our fear of monsters, contagious diseases, and parasitic worms. Yes, that right. Parasitic worms. The vampires even have a snake-like appendage that comes out of their jaws to suck the blood. Oh, and if that's not foul enough for you, they shit out this white goo as they feed. I bet that would send Bella running into Jacob's arms faster than a silver bullet.
I like horror stories. The horror genre is total escapism. Even in fantasy and science fiction, you still deal with social, political, and personal issues. In horror, it's just about survival. Kill them before they kill you. Simple solutions. Maybe not always easy, but simple. We have a problem: vampires, zombies, body snatchers, what-have-you. We have a solution: kill them. Lately it seems none of our problems are simple. And our enemies aren't simple either. They are Wall Street, Republicans (or capital L Liberals, if you will), insurance companies, your neighbor with the stupid yappy dog that barks all hours of the night. This past year, people have even been so low as to suggest TEACHERS are our enemy. Jeepers. What can we do? Have we become that spoiled?
Maybe a good zombie infestation would snap Americans out of this nonsense. It's not like we are using our brains much, anyway.
I like horror stories. The horror genre is total escapism. Even in fantasy and science fiction, you still deal with social, political, and personal issues. In horror, it's just about survival. Kill them before they kill you. Simple solutions. Maybe not always easy, but simple. We have a problem: vampires, zombies, body snatchers, what-have-you. We have a solution: kill them. Lately it seems none of our problems are simple. And our enemies aren't simple either. They are Wall Street, Republicans (or capital L Liberals, if you will), insurance companies, your neighbor with the stupid yappy dog that barks all hours of the night. This past year, people have even been so low as to suggest TEACHERS are our enemy. Jeepers. What can we do? Have we become that spoiled?
Maybe a good zombie infestation would snap Americans out of this nonsense. It's not like we are using our brains much, anyway.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)