Perspective 3 -- Living in my own personal episode of Glee

I had to go in for a sleep study last night -- I've been suffering from some pretty overwhelming fatigue, and Mr. Bean says I keep kicking him at night, so it made sense to check for things like apnea or restless leg syndrome.

As I was answering questions for the technologist, she stopped and looked at me. "I know you! We went to school together!"

I get this question all the time from people; I have one of those faces that reminds everyone of someone that they know. I am almost never someone from school. At least not their school. This time, however, it turns out we did go to school together; she graduated with my younger sister.

This made me cringe a little inside.

I try hard not to think about high school. I was as awkward, and frankly as obnoxious, as any character from Glee. I had a small circle of friends, and a significantly larger circle of detractors and tormentors. It wasn't as bad as middle school -- nothing is -- but it's still not a time I'm keen to return to.

Then she kept talking. "I'm sure you don't remember me. I hung around with Jim's younger sister, Heather. You were always with Jim and Dave and the rest of the cool theater kids and the swing choir and you were always on stage. I wanted to be just like you. I used to sit in the prop room and listen to you sing."

"Me? ME???? You're kidding, right?"

"No. You just always seemed so confident and you had so many friends."

The truth of the matter was that I was always in fear of the next taunt, of losing my lines, of Jenny, and Jean, and heaven-knows-who-else, who were always waiting for me to fail so they could move in and take my part. I was afraid that, at any time, Jim and Dave and the rest of the cool theater kids would decide that I wasn't cool enough for them anymore. This would happen periodically. I was always on the fringe of the really cool, talented kids group, for all that I used to pull down the lead roles in the musicals. So I compensated by never really engaging with anyone. I didn't remember this girl, apart from her being part of the cloud of friends who hung around with Heather. For all I knew, I might have treated her like dirt, in an attempt to assuage my own insecurity.

I swallowed hard. "Was I ever mean to you?. I was a total brat sometimes in high school."

"No; you were really nice to me. You always said thank you and you encouraged me to keep singing. Gawd, I mean it; you haven't aged at all since then. It's kinda scary."

"Well I'm not so sure about the aging thing, but I'm glad I wasn't mean to you. Because you seem like a really good person." I went on to tell her about what was going on with several of the kids she had graduated with; that Heather had opened a couple of very successful cafes here in town, that Tracy was living in Phoenix with my very cool brother-in-law, that Angie had lost more than 100 lbs and was an athletic trainer.

During this whole time, she was putting electrodes on my skin, in my hair, behind my ears. I felt like I was on The Machine from Princess Bride.

It was a fairly miserable night. I couldn't get used to the electrodes or the belts or the other devices she put on me. I also had an infrared camera and a microphone on me all night long, with her in the next room. So there I was, facing a night of subjecting someone who apparently didn't recognize what a total dweeb I was in high school to my snoring, my sleep talking and the nighttime functioning of my digestive system.

I had a sleep disorder alright: I didn't sleep. Not sure what they'll learn from this.

But I'm once again reminded that every experience can be different, depending on your perspective. I'm also reminded, yet again, that it is more important to be gracious than it is to be popular. And probably some hackneyed rot about making one's words sweet or something like that.

"I need applause to Live!"

20/15

That was how my vision tested this morning. I'm fairly amazed, really. They told me not to expect better than about 20/40 the first week with improvements over the course of a month.

So I'm pretty psyched. All in all, even with the bit of discomfort and the inconvenience last week, it's been totally worth it.

In other news, we have a primary on Tuesday. I was joking with a girlfriend from Illinois last night that Ohio is the New Hampshire of the Great Lakes: Everyone pretty much ignores us most of the time, unless there's a presidential election going on then then Whooo doggie! We're the belle of the ball! The big debate was down the street at the University (where hubby goes to school, but did he get me tickets? Noooo.) Caroline Kennedy was at the YMCA in my little berg last night, stumping for Obama. I knew this only because the convenience store over by the freeway had a ginormous "Welcome, Caroline Kennedy!" sign out front on my way home last night. I guess she needed a slurpie while she was on the campaign trail. Hubby is the lead Precinct judge for election day, so he's pretty psyched.

I'm still undecided. I know it's un-cool not to be a fervent Obama supporter right now, and by golly, he's awfully charming and engaging in a Jack Kennedy sort of way. But I'm still wondering if I should abandon the opportunity to elect a very capable and experienced WOMAN to the White House, just because she's part of the Old Guard and a bit of a shrew. There will be more listening and soul searching over the next several days, here in the Land of Bean.

Final thought: We've had 18 inches of snow at my house over the last week, with another 4 inches forecast for today. Enough, already!

Be well, gentle readers.

w00t!

This is what I saw when I woke up this morning. No; it didn't say 12:30. It said 5:30. That was when my in-laws called to say they made it home from Florida. No small feat, as we had about 6 inches of snow overnight.

But hey! I'm reading the clock! And lots of other things as well! Like the Interwebs. This is OK.

So the surgery went well. By "well", I mean that it was, bar none, the weirdest thing I have ever experienced. Ever. And I had an emergency c-section while fully conscious. If you haven't experienced that, let me explain that I was given an epidural and then, while I was fully awake, and watching, they cut me open and took another human being out of my body.

This. Was. Weirder. Did you see A Clockwork Orange? That scene with the eye? That one?? That's what they did. Clamped my eye open. I handled it with grace. And by "grace", I mean that I freaked out, sat up, hyperventilated and passed out into the arms of a male nurse who bore a striking resemblance to Brendan Fraser. At least, in my freaked-out, dilated eyes condition he looked like Brendan Fraser. He did. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I won't describe the rest of the procedure, but I can say that, thankfully, it's only five minutes per eye and it didn't hurt.

Did I mention it was weird?

But today, I can see! :) Everything. Clocks, trees, snow, navel lint. Everything.

It's pretty cool.

Laser Surgery: Day 5 post-op

Still can't see doodly. This kinda sucks. The whole world looks like those word verification thingies that you have to fill in when you comment on Ali's blog.

The doctor swears it'll be better tomorrow. I hope so. Because it took, like, ten minutes to type this.

Final thoughts before bed

Did you wear red today? Even if you didn't, if you're one of my female readers, please visit Go Red for Women and take the heart disease assessment. Because I love you and I want you to be healthy.

I think the series Lost is being produced by former executives from McDonald's and RJ Reynolds. Because those who watch it are utterly addicted. And those of us who don't Just. Don't. Get. It.

Be well, my friends.

Irony

Apparently it takes my deciding to have surgery to correct my vision, for me to find a pair of glasses that I totally dig.

Pics to follow soon.

Definitions

A Good Day:

I used to define a Good Day as any day one is not having an episiotomy.

I now define a Good Day as any day that does not require a trip to the hospital for IV rehydration.

I think this simplifies things a lot.

The strain of stomach flu going around here is so nasty that it made the news. I can verify that, in fact, after contracting this one would have to get better in order to die. I picked it up Saturday and I have just successfully completed my first meal of solid food since then. A piece of toast and some cottage cheese. The thought of that even frightened me, but hunger won out.

Needless to say, my eye surgery has been put off until later in the year.

The only bright spot is that the five pounds I put on over the holiday? Gone! Plus another five. If I don't die, I might make target weight by the end of the month. ;)

I'm going back to sleep now.

Weekend in Braille

Let's see if I can muster a bit more grace today than I did yesterday, hmmm? Sorry for being so bitchy.

This weekend, I get to participate in an experiment in understanding what it's like to be legally blind.

This isn't by choice, mind you.

On Monday, I am going in for my first appointment aimed at getting my eyes fixed so I don't have to wear glasses or contact lenses anymore. This wasn't in the works, frankly. I wear contact lenses for something like 18 hours a day, seven days a week without the slightest complaint.

However, I learned a few weeks ago that I was about to lose *several* weeks of unused vacation time due to my having maxxed out my vacation bank here. That didn't please me, but I couldn't see any way to suddenly use six weeks of vacation before it evaporated.

And then I learned that I could sell back my extra vacation and put the money into a medical spending account.

Bingo. I have a date with the #1 refractive surgery department in the region. For FREE! I'm loving this.

The part I'm not loving is that I cannot wear my contact lenses for 48 hours before I go in.

This wouldn't be a problem, except that I lost my 15-year-old glasses on a business trip several months ago and have been living on just my contacts since then. My original game plan had been to replace the glasses from my medical account, until I learned about the whole free surgery thing.

But I just learned last night that I can't wear my contacts. All weekend.

So, yeah. I'm a total moron. In fact, that's exactly what my husband said last night. "Wow. You're a freakin' moron, aren't you?" Yeah. He's a love, ain't he? I told him to kiss my unmanageable ass.

I'm so screwed. Nowhere to get a cheapo pair in my strength (because I'm pretty much bat-blind without my lenses in) before tomorrow.

This'll be a learning experience, for certain. I'll check in as soon as my eyes stop being dilated on Monday and I can put my lenses back in. ;) Hopefully, that'll be BEFORE the OSU national championship game starts.

Have a great weekend!

Old, busted hotness

Agent J: Wait, what are you doing?
Kevin Brown/K: I always do the driving.
Agent J: Oh, no.
Kevin Brown/K: I remember that.
Agent J: No, what you remember is that you used to drive that old busted junk. See, I drive... the new hotness.
[pointing at Kay]
Agent J: Old and busted.
[pointing at himself]
Agent J: New hotness.
[Kay looks at Jay for a second, then Jay hands the keys over]
Agent J: Old, busted hotness.

I think I've found my new moniker. Old. Busted. Hotness.

I have bad ankles. Have I mentioned that? Well, I do. Had three surgeries before the age of 25 because I totally roached the ligaments playing volleyball. As a result, I have not been on a pair of ice skates since I was 12 years old. Bad ankles and ice skating are not a preferred combination.

Until this year. My daughter took up ice hockey and she frankly needs practice time to sharpen her skating skills. Ice time is at an enormous premium here -- hockey is as popular as soccer in these parts -- and so we have opted for the Family Skate night at the local rink to get her some much-needed practice.

Tonight, they shamed me into putting on a pair of skates.

42-12 = 30. That's how many years it's been since I was on the ice. You learn to fear falling over the course of 30 years.

Still, I think I did myself proud. I managed not to fall on my butt or any other part of me. Even remembered, albeit briefly, how to skate backwards.

You know, in your hip, there is this muscle. It's one of the adducter muscles. Its primary purpose is the pull your leg straight out to the side. It's rarely used. Unless, apparently, you are ice skating. Then, it appears to be your primary source of locomotion.

That little muscle is pretty wicked sore right now.

Time for a hard reset

So I was thinking abut my slightly panicked post last night and the thoughtful comments I had from some of you about it, both here and at that other place I hang out. Love you guys. Really.

It occured to me around 2 am that I have completely abandoned my maintenance program. It's like 'Oh well, I'm too busy to take proper care of myself anymore and all those things I was doing before were just me being selfish'. Yeah. OK. And then I got on the scale this morning and I've re-gained 3 of the 15 pounds I lost over the summer.

'Ouch' is right.

So as of today, were hitting the reset button here at Camp Beanie. Here are the new rules, for anyone who cares. Maybe I'm just writing them down for me, but hey, it's my blog. Ninnyninny-boo-boo.

• No more eating after 8 pm. This was a pretty hard and fast rule for me for years and it kept my blood sugar in check for a long time. I haven't checked my sugar in awhile -- I was a chronic hypoglycemic as a teen and young adult, which puts me at risk for developing diabetes now -- but I'll bet it's been running high.
• No alcohol until Thanksgiving. At least. Yeah, it's only one drink, and yeah, it's only a couple times a week, but on top of the exhaustion and the stress of the last few months, it's that one drink that's making me overeat and not exercise. So off it goes.
• Back to exercising EVERY DAY. My pedometer misses me. And I think I miss it. I told Hubby I wanted to rake the leaves by hand this weekend, instead of using the leaf sucker.

He thinks I'm insane, but he also offered to help.
Beanie, 1; CouchPotato, 0.

• I'm going to bed at 10:30 until further notice. At least until I catch up from 4 months of sleep debt. Except for next Friday. We're seeing Lewis Black next Friday. Hey, a gal's gotta live.

I kinda don't want to cry anymore. We'll see how all this feels next week about this time.

Thanks for being here.

So what gives?

So I finished phase I of Beanie's Death March Project, and while I have Phase II to go through, it's a more known quantity and I have more control over those parts that affect me, so it's looking OK. The rest of my job is going pretty well -- my quarterly report is late, officially, as of today, but I'll have that rectified as of tomorrow.

I've had a headhunter (ahem...Executive Recruiter) chasing my tail for a job in the private sector that looks great, and would be great if it wasn't so travel intensive. I think I'm going to turn it down, but I'm interested to see how big a bag of money they intend to beat me with before all is said and done.

Mom is on the mend, albeit slowly. She's bored to tears in my house with no way to get around, which means that I cannot remove an article of clothing or dirty a dish without it being whisked from my sight and cleaned.

But I can live with that. In fact, I'm thinking about hiring her.

Seriously, though, I think in another month, she'll be back on her feet and back in her house, with a bit of help. So this is a good thing. And she and S haven't murdered each other, so I'm officially declaring victory. Yay!

My daughter is doing well in school. This is a big deal, given that she was expelled from school three times before her fifth birthday.

You think I'm kidding. I'm not.

But she's kicking booty and taking names this year, is making friends, flunking spelling (which proves that she's really my kid and I didn't buy her from a trafficker named Ahmed) and being a great, normal, 2nd grader. And she makes me laugh every day.

All things considered, my life could be a whole lot worse.

So why do I feel like bawling my eyes out 24/7? Why am I jumping on every little perceived slight? Seriously, I feel like I'm falling apart at the seams. I want to sleep -- constantly -- and when I am not comatose, I'm just not focusing.

What gives?

A riddle

Because I don't get a lot of time to blog, I have to strike while the iron is hot. So yeah, we have two posts in one day, after a three-week absence.

What do you get when you mix a good girlfriend in town for a wedding, 2 bottles of decent champagne, the realization, at 11 pm, that your grey hair has become too noticeable to ignore, and an all-night drug store?


Yep. It came out purple.

I had to color it two more times, with highlighting assistance from the almost-seven-year-old, to get it so I could go to the aforementioned wedding without pretending I was the clown hired to entertain the kids during the reception...