Warning: serious verbal diarrhea today...
Reasons why it may be time to go off caffeine (again)....
- I feel like a poster child for female heart attack these days...like I'm wearing a sandwich board that says "DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!" Plus the seesaw it puts me on might be a reason I've been so bitchy this week...much as I'd like to blame it all on what douche canoes my company suits are being...
- Been reading Dr. Dean Ornish again, and he says it's bad. And I'm ready for a fresh guru, so he must be right...
- The espresso machines were down at Starbucks this morning. First thought, they are SO lucky I was only going to treat myself...if I didn't have spare coffee in my possession, I'd be ready to cut a bitch. Second thought, wow, this never happens....probably because of the danger of homicide and flash mob (and not the cheesy kind where people dance randomly in Grand Central, more like the kind with villagers with torches and pitchforks...).
- I then drove to my parking lot and thought I had a plum space, but it turned out to be populated by a Mini Cooper, and I had to resist the urge to drive into the damn thing like Kathy Bates did to the VW in the Winn-Dixie parking lot in Fried Green Tomatoes.
Well, starting tomorrow, because now that I've been deprived of my latte, I'll crave the sucker until I get one at lunchtime.
Sweet Christ, what a week! I finished my mandatory minimum OT yesterday, went home, and literally did a brown stare into my Kindle or the tube the rest of the night, because my brain couldn't fire up to work in straight lines. I'd have started drooling if I'd had the energy.
My boss was asking for more OT yesterday, when they haven't given us a straight answer yet about whether or not we're going to be required to work on Saturday, and whatever we'd work extra wouldn't count toward Saturday, and I had to resist the urge to email him back, "are you fucking kidding me?!" It's still a little tempting (to say the aforementioned, not to work the OT), because while the new boss is certainly sharp and drinks the company Kool-Aid, he also has a slight accent, droopy eyes, and wears his hair longish, so he has this outward appearance of being perpetually stoned...combined with a personality that suggests that he should be walking around with a game controller in one hand and a skateboard in the other. Pretty sure he's not a skater, though, so I'm stereotyping just a tad. Still, wouldn't be the first one probably to question if he's high at work.
Ironically (well, maybe, since that's one of those overused words and I should really look up if I'm using it correctly...), I'm not as concerned about the caffeine as I am about the amount of sugar I put in it. Much as I've been balking about the Clean Food books being too far afield from my normal eating habits to warrant fair attention in my dietary decisions, the fact is that when I go to the cardiologist next week with Ornish's latest book in hand, Dr. A. is gonna be like, "good, start YESTERDAY, because didn't we talk last year about you being 20 pounds lighter next time we met? You're OK now, your heart hasn't changed too dramatically from the last echo, but do you really want to die when you're 60? How 'bout 50? 45?"
Yea, OK, he won't say it like that....his bedside manner's pretty mellow. But maybe he should, because this hedonistic lifestyle is killing me and I don't wanna spend my life always looking for the one magic answer that's gonna "fix" my food/body image/health issues.
Speaking of social anxiety (yes, I changed topics, keep up), had a dream last night where I was visiting with Ashley English and her husband. I'd brought the cat for some reason. Really gotta stop reading the Bloggess' book before bedtime; it sends my brain to surreal places. So we finish visiting and I'm getting ready to leave, because I don't want to overstay my welcome, plus they say they're going down for naps with the Hux man (their son...seriously beautiful kid), which doesn't make sense because he'd just gotten up from one, but I didn't say anything. Then M and L show up (local pagan friends of mine), and it's obvious Ash is having a party, but I'm not invited, which is fine, because this was our first time meeting, but then I can't find the cat and have to keep busting back into their house to look for Fig, while their house fills with people, and I feel quite out of place.
Thing is, I'm pretty sure this dream isn't really about social anxiety...it's about me not making my dreams into reality quickly enough. Was talking with B on Monday night and I mention the move to SC and he interjects, "but sweetheart, you've been talking about moving for years now." And while my immediate response in my head is "well, fuck you very much," I admit he's right and chatter away about how this time will be different (please gods!!!)...and I remember how real friends are allowed to say shit like that, and we've been apart for so long, it just surprised me...
But he brings up a good point, and it's always a bit of a fear, that my dreams won't measure up nearly well enough to the reality I'm able to create. Mixed in with this are the memories of Dad, the guy who was firmly grounded in reality, but still had dreams of his own that went unfulfilled. He once joked about opening up a popcorn store, one that sold all kinds of flavors. He was just mentally raveling a thread probably, but I walked past an empty retail space the other day and thought to myself, "damn, that would make a kick-ass popcorn store."
Lord, I'm wordy today...so those last 3 paragraphs are my way of saying I'm feeling like a poser and am going to invest myself back in the Encyclopedia of Country Living and my gardening books, so I can get back to learning about the nitty gritty of homesteading. I'm tired of talking about making my own cheese and canning my own jelly as things I'll do in the vague future. Also, gonna get some solid work done about the move, while the stock is up and we're planning the trip up there in June to look around.
Image from here.
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