Thursday, October 22, 2009

Of Anxiety and Happiness

Two totally unrelated emotional events today:

1. Sitting on the bus as it barrels through the streets of NW DC. The sun is shining. It's abnormally hot for October, but it feels good. I'm peeking through the window, thinking and texting in between the spindles of prayer that are seeping from my brain to the heavens. I see a man playing the trumpet but I can't hear him. He's homeless or at least slightly destitute. Another man in a business suit walks up to him, hand outstretched and I can see there's something in his palm...he slips it gently into the palm of the trumpet player. I think maybe it's a cigarette. The trumpet player smiles big, wide, overbearingly at the palmer and hugs him in an awkward hold. Words are coming out of his mouth now- these men are old friends. I imagine business suit gives trumpet a cigarette every morning. They are friends! I still can't hear the conversation, I'm just a bus observer, just like always...But then. Then. The suit walks away, shaking his head and smiling just as the bus rolls slowly past the trumpet. The trumpet is blowing hard, long notes. His cheeks distended like dizzy. A triumphal shout to his friend and the cigarette at 8 am. I can actually hear it and this makes me as happy as anyone.

2. New drug. New dread. Everyday at 1 o'clock, I think the sky is falling for about two hours. I can't think. I can't do much of anything except bounce my leg and blink. I've been taking the NSAID for three weeks and now I can bend, stand and jump without breaking. But this gross cloud of two hour anxiety is NOT working. I texted you once and asked if you were ok? Is something terrible going to happen? You said you were fine. I thought it was intuition. Turns out it was just the damn drugs. I guess I'm not a visionary afterall.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Stories I will probably tell my children Part 3

NINNY BETH GETS EVICTED

So my landlords are getting a divorce. It's a quiet sort of separation. We don't hear from them often unless we have a fly infestation (true story) or the air conditioning breaks down during the hottest week of the summer (true story). That's why the email we got at the end September was so alarming- NOTICE: 30 days to vacate. In this communication, the landlady expressed her sorrow at having to kick us out, but she needs a place to live and a home for her children. Are you kidding???? The letter was overly dramatic and cc'd the landman who happened to be at our house fixing the squealing dryer (true story) so I assumed it was a passive aggressive ode to divorce if ever such a thing existed. And it was. Turns out, she had no legal ground to stand on and we get to keep our lovely home at least until February when we may be booted out into the winter snow drifts of northern virginia (lie).
























NINNY BETH FINDS JOY TUCKED AWAY IN A CUPBOARD AND THEN THROWS IT AWAY BECAUSE IT'S OLD.

























NINNY BETH REUNITES WITH HER KOREAN ROOTS.
There was this time I saw Dai and Scott in Virginia!
We did as we always do: smile for the camera (cheese-uh), eat korean food from dubious vendors, buy tights that are made to look like skinny jeans and watch some serious b-boy action. All in the parking lot of a K-mart. I love











































NINNYBETH AND THE CHLOES.

I got a new calling. I'm in the Young Women's Presidency and I have the charge to befriend the chloes. That's right. Two completely adorable blondies who flip their hair and exclaim "awwww, that's sooooooooooo Sweeeeeeeeeeet!" to everything you say. The best part about this is that I am once again reminded of how NOT cool I was at 14 (true story). But if you look at the chloe's hair and compare it to the picture of me on the right (don't get confused) you might see that was headed in the right direction (lie).













At any rate, it's back to mutual for the likes of me...young women values, charm bracelets and awkward teen angst. It's good for me. It's good for me. It's good for me.













Thursday, October 15, 2009

Well, This Is Most Inconvenient, Indeed

How many times do I go to the bathroom in a day?
How many minutes after drinking a thimble of water do I need to use the facilities?
How often have I purposely chosen dehydration in fear of no discernable (or less desireable) toileting options?

If you know the answer to any of these questions, you will understand why the CLOSED (for one month) BATHROOMS ON THE SECOND FLOOR (my floor) of my workplace is distressing. NAY, unacceptable. There are a few reasons this has driven me to consider a removable catheter:

  1. Other people (my boss) will now be very aware of JUST how many times I go to the bathroom every day (10) as I will be missing from my office for 15 (30) minutes at a time.
  2. Strangers use the other bathrooms...STRANGERS! People I DON"T KNOW are sitting their naked bums on the same seat as me. At least on my floor I know everyone and can ascertain to some acceptable degree their cleanliness and hygiene. I don't know those other butts.
  3. There are stairs. Just in case you were confused about that...the 1st floor and 3rd floor require that I walk up STAIRS. Try navigating stairs with your legs crossed. not easy.
  4. Kidney failure imminent. Holding it, not good.
  5. Though I have ceased and desisted (for the most part) with caffeinated beverages of the diet variety, I still like to retain the possibility that I could drink a diuretic if necessary. But not so now. No no. This bathroom situation has killed HOPE.

That is all.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

All This Going To Crazy

I don't know how else to say this so I just will. I'm crazy. I have been for a long time, I feel like I will be for a long time to come. I can not rest my brain. It swirls and buzzes with all manner of thoughts, ideas, stories, weirdness. I hyperfocus on somethings, blow off others. Right now, in this space, I am hyperfocusing on why I am not married. An ex sent me an email link to an article about why men marry some women and not others. I can't stop thinking about it. There are all these women all over the streets of DC. They have rings, they have husbands, they have babies in little baskets in their bikes. They are on their cell phones talking about the ring, husband and baby in basket. I walk with my face turned to the sun, wind whipping my hair, thinking about everything dying and wondering how I got so shaken. How I got so wobbly.

What's so very interesting is that I feel ashamed. Ashamed that no one has chosen me. Embarrassed that I wear a badge that screams unwanted. I know I can't be the only person to feel shame at being single, but it's a new emotional revelation to me. The thing is that I realize this feeling is so outside of me... that my shame is based on the idea that others are judging me when in reality, no one probably even gives a crap. Most importantly (and perhaps ironically?), why do I feel the need to say it out loud to my blog? To the very audience that could be that silent judge I beat back with feverish prayers and moments of hard earned clarity from a source outside of myself. But, still I do...I need to tell you about it. I feel like this is so big in my body right now that if I don't put it somewhere it will implode and I will be lost.

Caviat: I'm not the bitter type and I'm not heartbroken. Please don't respond to this with how men are jerks and I'm perfectly ok. I'm working through these thought processes so I can eventually have the kind of marriage that I want to have. I brought you along for the ride. I'm willing to experience a little discomfort in this endeavor. It quiets my brain for while.

Friday, October 02, 2009

Hated for Loving

I don't know when it all changed. Once upon a time, they had to beg me to eat my vegetables, practically shoving them down my throat under severe duress. But like any good romance novel, those hateful, violent first glances soon began to turn and before I could say, "WHAT THE ...WHAT?" I was accidently brushing up against brussel sprouts only to discover a gentle flame fanning in my loins. (has anyone else noticed a recent theme in my blog posts? or is it only the single mormon man backing away carefully who can hear my shriveling eggs screaming?)

So yes, I love the carrot, the spinach, the tomato, the eggplant, the asparagus, the pepper and even the aforementioned sprout. In fact, I love them so much the I routinely add them to everything I consume...you'll find them sneaked in to the most unassuming dishes...chili with broccoli, eggs with spinach, burritos with EVERYTHING. I've even started tossing a handful of normandy blend and brussel sprouts into my carcinogenic microwaved lunches. But here's where I'm confused. Instead of being CELEBRATED for my healthy ways, I am mocked. Routinely. My coworkers stand at the door of my office, shake their heads and laugh while saying things like, "What the hell is that? Carrots? Only you would eat carrots." Really? I'm really the only person you've ever known to ever eat carrots?

or my favorite "Why are you eating broccoli????!!!"

I've tried to understand this phenomenon and explain it away. The truth is that these people have not been with me on my journey toward a healthy self/body image and the subsequent change from a costco sized bag of cheetos for breakfast to a handful of baked cheetos and a sweet potato for lunch. But it still doesn't really make sense. It's not like I am that naturally skinny girl who can pound a pizza and then wake up the next morning bloat free. We're all allowed to hate her and be annoyed when she says, "I'm on a diet. I'm fat. Watch me eat my celery and pills for lunch." I LOOK at a piece of pizza and my face starts to swell. That's painfully obvious to anyone who's seen me post-papa john's two for 10.

So what's the deal? At what point did the sentiment change from, "oh, look, that fat girl is eating green things instead of a pint of ben and jerry's. Good." to "I will point and mock and make you seem like a freakish vegetable eating outsider." ? I can't be the only one eating carrots and wondering about this?