in which i rant about body image on facebook

the following is shamelessly copied and pasted from a comment i made on a dear friend's facebook status update, in which she mentioned that people who haven't seen her in a while often compliment her by telling her she's lost weight, when in fact, she hasn't. my response:

 

People feel the need to give meaningless "compliments" to women. It is sexism and sizism at their most annoyingly polite and it's infuriating. The other day a woman stopped me in the grocery store to tell me that I'm beautiful. I was surprised, not bc I was unaware, but bc she seemed compelled to tell me this. Then she kept gushing, and finished with "I mean it ... You have a beautiful face!" I somehow managed to turn away without slapping her and without telling her that my ass is also amazing or offering to kiss it. Here's the thing: There is no need to pay me a compliment on my appearance whatsoever. I happen to know that I look amazing, and also that I am fat ... And unlike the rest of America, I don't consider those two facts to be mutually exclusive. I am also aware that being pretty, and being fat, do not represent my character or personality. People are generally superficial, shallow assholes, and I'm tired of pretending that they can't help it. I feel I should apologize for the rant, but I'm not remotely sorry. This shit right here is a big part of what's wrong with our society and its attitude toward women. How dare I be fat, when I'm so pretty, and obviously could be a benefit to aforesaid society, if only I didn't take up so much space.

Unflushable, Part 2: Seven Tips for Dealing with Rejection

dear delusional, spurned, jerkface idiot:
ringing my doorbell three times at 11:30pm and demanding (again) to know why i dumped you, even though i gave valid reasons and tried to be kind, is not an effective way to convince me to give you a second chance. it is, rather, quite a good way to get a furious diatribe on (most of) the reasons i dumped you, the reasons i will not take you back, the reasons i will not even consider it, and a few reasons why you are a sorry excuse for a man who never deserved my notice in the first place. now that i've told you in person and in no uncertain terms that i do not want you to ever contact me again, the next time you call, text, or show up at my doorstep (mr. creepy mccreepypants), i will get a restraining order. and if i hear one word of a rumour that you might have said anything about me to anyone i know, i will let "hill justice" take care of you.

i have composed 7 tips to help you deal with rejection:

tip 1: sending me stupid and mean text messages are not a good way to get me to take you back.
tip 2: if you want to have a reasonable adult conversation with me, don't ring my doorbell at 11:30pm.
tip 3: don't ring it three times.
tip 4: if i ask who it is, and you tell me, and i say to go away ... GO AWAY.
tip 5: if you ignore this advice, you are stupid and deserve what you get. you are likely to receive some uncomfortable truths about yourself, with little to no sugar-coating. it will undoubtedly end badly.
tip 6: if you are so completely delusional that you might have on some level convinced yourself that YOU dumped ME, you must become reconciled to the fact that i will metaphorically crush your face with the irrefutable truth that i, in fact, dumped you. i will repeat the language with which i brutally dumped you over the phone with none of the guilt that followed the original dumping. i will yell at you, at 11:30pm, within earshot of at least 4 elderly neighbors, that i totally dumped your ass, and that it's time to get the net. and i will furiously order you to never call, text, or contact me again in any way.
tip 7: if you were not a delusional bastard, you'd probably have figured out at least some of the information above. but since you are, you probably drove away feeling self-righteously angry and justified in all your bad behavior. and you probably won't figure out that the next time you try to contact me, i will put a restraining order on your ass so fast it will make your head spin (which is conveniently located way up inside your aforementioned ass).
i hope that's enough closure for you, fuckwit.

In which I begin to be willing to see and accept.

It is not a just world.
It is just a world.

Unflushable

One week after the original break-up, I agreed to a "lunch date" with ex-bf, during which I had to explain in detail why I broke up with him. I cited reasons of his lack of support during my health scare, and general selfishness and used the mean text message as the clincher for why I would not give him a second chance. I tried to be amicable and polite, and not to hurt him more than necessary. That was this past Friday. Saturday, he texted something about the Hulk (The Avengers came out this weekend - awesome movie!), and then on Sunday night he called. I should have let it go to voicemail, but I thought maybe we could be friends. TOO SOON. I guess that gave him the encouragement to think I would welcome a grand gesture from him ... which leads me to this morning's drama ...

I have to go to the doctor twice a week, to get my INR checked. My doctor's office is 30 minutes away, so I try to go first thing every Monday and Thursday mornings. My mom goes with me, not because I need her to, but because she wants to. After the nurse checks my blood, we go to breakfast at this little diner on Main St, and then we come home, and I go to work. It's not a traumatic experience in the least, but it's annoying to have to go. That's one of the reasons I let my mom join me - it affords us the opportunity to spend time together, and distracts me from the annoying part.

This morning, I dashed out the door in a hurry, carrying my jewelry, my sweater unfastened, hair down, no makeup on, and a male voice said "hey". Shocked, I turned around and there was ex-bf. WTF? He wanted to take me to the doctor. I said no. He begged. I said my mother is here, waiting on me in the car, and she is going with me. He begged more. I said really, no, b/c I. don't. want. to. date. you. And he asked if I want him out of my life. Um yeah, of course I do ... that's why I dumped him. But I said very nicely that it's not that I want him out of my life, but I really don't think it's a good idea for us to date. So he got all mad and stormed off, and sarcastically apologized for giving me a heart attack. I said I didn't mean to hurt him. He said "well, you did." So. Third time's a charm? Maybe he'll stay down this time. Ugh.

another disappointment, not grand enough to be called great.

two months ago, as a last ditch effort to get over the douche-canoe ex, i went out with a guy who latched on to me really fast and before i knew it, i was in a relationship with a man who didn't really rock my socks, on or off. a few weeks in, i realized that we had some pretty major religious differences. as in, i am a Christian, and he is not. that's wouldn't really be such a big deal in the short term, except that he has set himself against the church, and feels that faith and reason are mutually exclusive. the only reason he actually gave me was basically "because george bush". needless to say, this was not a satisfactory explanation. especially considering that i, a Christian, do not like george bush. or the crusades. or racism. i am not a hatemonger, and i do not force my beliefs on anyone. i don't hesitate to talk about my faith, but i don't try to change anyone's opinion. he was constantly disrespectful of my faith, and often accused me of judging him, when i wasn't doing so at all. on the contrary, he judged me, and openly said that my faith was the one thing he would change about me. not only was he incapable of accepting me fully, he accused me of not being willing to accept him because of his lack of belief. the thing i could not accept was his derision of me and my faith. my issue was not his lack of belief, but his attitude about mine. i realized that if i broke up with him immediately because of this, he would blame the entire situation on "religion". foolish of him, but he is not a terribly insightful or self-aware person. by this time, i had lists and lists of reasons why i did not want to be with him. i was really busy with work, and honestly, i didn't have much time to worry about him because it was tax season and i was working 45+ hours a week and doing last minute tax returns on the side. among the items on the list were his manners: he makes terrible mouth noises, scrapes his teeth on eating utensil (even when using a spoon), holds his fork like a small child and shovels food into his mouth, and talks with his mouth full. he also overeats, which, since i'm trying to overcome compulsive eating disorder, is as dangerous for me as if i were a recovering alcoholic dating a heavy drinker. he is slow to speak, and slightly dull, but often hinted that i talk too much. he has a bad habit of pouting. he is nervous in crowds, which makes eating in a crowded restaurant not fun at all. he is hyper-sensitive in regards to other people and his perceptions of their opinions of him, but he was totally insensitive about my feelings. he is a bit racist, and his racism is most often directed toward indians. he complains about his job, and the "idiots" and "clowns" he works with, but does nothing to improve his situation or his attitude. i also have some bedroom complaints, but those are probably not appropriate to share, even here. toward the end of tax season, i was exhausted, stressed, and just struggling to get things done. i was working my regular job from 11am - 9pm during tax season, and in the last weeks, i had early morning appointments with tax clients. he worked a 3pm - 11pm shift. i told him that i needed to start getting in bed earlier, and that i couldn't talk on the phone for several hours every night, because well, i fucking need sleep. but he still called or texted every night, often waking me up. and if he didn't get to talk to me, b/c i didn't wake when he texted, or b/c i looked at the phone and said "fuck you" and didn't answer, he would pout and send texts that he missed me (after two or three days, seriously). this was, to say the least, exhausting. and i wasn't feeling well at all. my arm started swelling, which was odd. then i got overheated during a choral concert and almost passed out. he was there for the concert, and drove me home afterwards. i told myself i would wait until after tax season was over to really think about my exit strategy. i had two more days of tax season, and my schedule would change mid-week from 11am-9pm to 8am-5om. i went to my doctor the day after tax season was over, and they started running tests to see what was going on with my arm. on friday, after more tests, they determined it was a blood clot in the subclavian vein (under my collarbone) and i was hospitalized all weekend. the great danger was that it is close to the superior vena caeva. which goes through the heart and to the lungs. fortunately, the bloodclot is not IN the svc, which would have meant some very invasive surgery. i texted a couple of local friends, to let them know what was going on. my two best (local) girlfriends came to see me saturday afternoon, and eventually, the boyfriend dragged his butt over to see me ... he apparently did not feel any sense of urgency, because he did dishes and laundry and waited until 7:30pm to show up. oh and he didn't eat dinner, so he complained of being hungry. i really couldn't do anything about that, except offer him some of my contraband snacks and ask him why the hell he didn't bother to feed himself while he was dicking around all day. because really, i fully expected him to be there as soon as he could get there. because that's what you do when the person you think you're falling in love with is in the hospital. i got to come home on sunday, and i figured he would come over sunday night, but he didn't even suggest it. and really, i couldn't suggest it. i took monday through wednesday off work. i had to give myself shots, go back to the doctor, pick up medicines, and somehow try to wrap my head around what had happened to me. lots of people were calling, texting, emailing. i felt showered with love and attention, and it was sweet but overwhelming. i returned as many texts and calls as i could, but i didn't get everyone. i missed two texts from the bf on monday. the first because i was on the phone and had lots of texts, and the second came after i was asleep for the night. that night, he called me after 1am, angry and worried. i don't always wake up sweetly, and this time i woke up mad. i explained to him quite tartly that this is not about him. he doesn't get to call the shots right now, b/c i am sick, this is not ok, and he needs to get his head out of his ass and realize that this is really hard for me and it's all i can do to take care of myself, without worrying that he might be worried about me. i didn't mention how difficult it had been to go to sleep in the first place ... but let me tell you, it is fucking hard to sleep these days, and it's very likely that my bedtime that night had involved crying, praying, and more than a few minutes staring into the dark. needless to say, i was not pleased at being woken up, and i was not gentle about it. he asked if he could come over and bring me something, and i hesitantly said yes, and asked what time. he said noon. so, the next day, i woke up early enough to shower and get ready by noon, and though i was hungry, i figured i should wait because he was likely to bring lunch, seeing as how he was to come by at lunchtime, and surely he would be trying to take care of me. he finally came at 1:30pm, and he didn't bring lunch. he brought a few sad-looking flowers from his yard, in a drinking glass. now, i should make a side-note here that i am usually quite fond of home-grown flowers. they are beautiful and smell gorgeous. a lovely, full bouquet of flowers from someone's garden is actually my favorite type of floral gift. three small, almost spent roses and a branch off a flowering tree do not make for a full bouquet, and the thoughtfulness is diminished by knowing full well that they were hurriedly selected at the last minute before he came over, so as not to come empty handed.  and why only three roses? i know there are more than three blooms on that rosebush ... could he only bear to part with three? was the prospect of picking more just too exhausting or time-consuming? he claimed to have also gone by the supermarket to get better flowers, but that they didn't have anything pretty. whatever. i thanked him graciously and added water to them. since he hadn't brought lunch, i offered to make something, since i was hungry. he declined and said he would grab something on his way to work. so, being the southern hostess that i am, i couldn't eat when he wasn't eating. i waited. he basically sat and stared at me for a little over an hour, and seemed to be waiting for something from me. looking back, i think he was expecting me to apologize but i'm not sure why. he eventually left for work. i ate some lunch, finally, and slept most of the day. he didn't offer to come over the next day, and i went back to work thursday. he texted me while i was at work, and i guess i replied sporadically, but did not reply to the last text on thursday, because i didn't really feel it necessary, and because that night i had a resurgence of anxiety about my health situation. friday morning i went back to the doctor, because i needed reassurance and more information. this whole thing has been terrifying. still is, actually. i'm trying to be cool about it, because there's really not much i can do but follow my doctors' orders and take my meds the way i'm supposed to, and get my blood checked when they tell me to (right now that's twice a week). boyfriend texted and i responded because it was more or less convenient to do so. he asked if he could see me over the weekend, and i didn't respond because i needed to think about my answer. i decided that based on the past week alone, i had plenty of reason to break up with him. i figured we could have lunch on saturday and talk, and i'd let him down as gently and humanely as possible. i didn't want to hurt him at all, but i knew it was inevitable. so i called him friday night, intending to set up a lunch date. he didn't answer, but called back soon after. we exchanged pleasantries, asked after each others' health, and i told him how scared i had been the last couple of days, especially the night before. i said it was really humbling to realize how close a call i have had, and how grateful i am that i went on friday instead of waiting the weekend to follow up. he said somewhat casually, "yeah, because it could have been serious." well, that flew the fuck all over me. i retorted "no, it IS serious. it COULD have been fatal." i shit you not, he replied slowly "that's not good." really? really, you dumbass fuck? really, it's not good that your girlfriend could have fucking died, and even now she's still not completely healed of this thing and she's going to in treatment for 6 months? they don't put you in the hospital for a fucking papercut. this is a big damn deal and you are a selfish, self-absorbed, insensitive, ignorant redneck asshole ... but i kept that to myself. i just eloquently said "yeah. not good." and THEN. then. then he said, "well, you've kinda been ignoring me this week, but that's ok." i asked him to repeat that, and he did ... verbatim, keeping his tone the same. don't men know that when we ask them to repeat themselves we are giving them a chance to retract whatever idiot thing they just said, to save their sorry hides? so when he repeated himself, i asked "really? you really think i've been ignoring you?" and he said yes. omg. the fucking idiot really thought i was ignoring him, after what i had been through. i had no idea what to say, and what came out was "this is not working." his response was to angrily say that he'd come get his stuff on sunday. shocked at both of us, i told him that he really didn't need to feel like i was ignoring him, b/c again, NOT ABOUT HIM. but he didn't get it. so i had to say again that it wasn't working, and he made up something about losing signal soon (total lie), and couldn't get off the phone fast enough. i figure he had to go cry. i was so shocked and angry that he would have the balls to accuse ME of neglecting HIM ... i'm still shocked, actually. instead of waiting to see him on sunday, i packed up the few things of his that were at my apartment, and took them to his house on saturday while i was out running errands. he wasn't home, so i left them with his roommate and texted to tell him that they were there, that i wasn't trying to avoid him but i didn't know he would be out. and that brings me to this week. this week, ex-bf dumbass has been posting lots more anti-Christian things on his facebook (almost all his posts have been snide and anti-Christian ever since he and i had our discussion about faith, but it has escalated over the past few days). it should be noted that while i might post something about being Christian, i never say anything against atheists, agnostics, or any other belief system. anyway, today he sent me a text. it read: "You obviously were trying to avoid me and Im glad youre seeing a therapist to help resolve that ego. Take care." i got this text at work this morning. and tonight he posted a hateful comment on MY link on MY facebook wall. the only reason i don't remove and block him is that he seems to be on a vindictive streak and i need to be aware of any need for quality control. i feel like i am under attack, and despite the fact that i ended up dumping him for reasons totally separate from our religious differences, he is acting like that's what he thinks it was. i don't know what to do, or how to respond. i am hurt, but not heartbroken, because he never really touched my heart. more angry and annoyed than anything. i want to rise above the situation, and leave him squarely behind me, but i cannot allow him to sully my name or reputation. i'm afraid he will try. also, i feel a self-righteous indignation that he would even try to pin the blame for this on me. i want him to know exactly why i broke up with him (except for the bedroom part - that would be cruel). i want it to be finished, but really finished my way ... why can't my exes have the decency to fall off the face of the earth, or at least move to texas?

grammar rant originally posted on facebook

If I may go all "Mrs. Thistlebottom" on all y'all for a minute, I need to get something off my chest. It baffles me that native speakers of English, who have undoubtedly spoken English since they were toddlers, cannot master the proper use of the subjunctive case. "I wish I hadn't cut my hair" does not take longer to say than "I wish I didn't cut my hair", and yet ... and YET. People choose to use the latter, which is not only grammatically wrong, it is semantically a totally separate sentence. I know you meant to say "hadn't", Miss Grammatically-stupid-girl-on-pinterest, because the caption accompanied a photo of long hair. However, saying "I wish I didn't cut my hair", conjures a mental image of one who never, in fact, cuts one's hair. In another example, "I wish I would have chosen my words more wisely", although an understandable sentiment, would be better expressed with the more grammatically correct "I wish I had chosen my words more wisely". Hint: the better choice would have been option 2, and it would have saved you the effort of saying an extra word. Additionally, if you were typing that sentence, it might have even saved you the embarrassment (if you are capable of being embarrassed by such things) of inevitably misspelling the word "would". If you are trying to be lazy, you are doing it incorrectly. See, a lolcat would have said "rong", but lolcats have notoriously bad command of grammar and spelling.

in which i link to someone else's blog, and then rant about perfection, or lack thereof

read this other blog: The Disease Called Perfection - Dan Pearce

this. this is what i struggle with personally, and this is what makes me want to shake people when i know the perfection isn't real (and i can tell ... because no one's life is that perfect). yes, i want to be perfect. guess what: i'm not. my fat frees me from it to a point. it's hard to pretend to be perfect when you carry 125 extra pounds of imperfection with you everywhere you go. on the other hand, i still have to fight the desire to seem perfect, because although i know i will never appear perfectly perfect because i am undeniably fat, it makes me want even more to be perfect in every other area.

i hate asking for help at work, because it means admitting i don't know everything.
i always put on at least mascara and lipstick because it's bad enough that i'm fat ... i should look as pretty as i can.
i don't try to make new friends because i don't want people to think i don't already have lots of friends.
i don't have lots of friends because i'm single and i have no kids, and at my age that makes me the weirdo. again.
i am afraid i will always be the weird fat kid in the corner who says inappropriate things.
i don't want my mother to know i'm not a virgin, because it would hurt and shame her.
i can't tell my father he was (and is) abusive, because it would hurt and shame him.
i am afraid to fall in love again because i am so very broken.

i have an eating disorder. it's called compulsive eating and it's like bulimia but without the purging. it's scary and complicated and so much a part of me that i don't know how to not be like this. but i'm trying. not to be perfect, or thin, or beautiful. i am beautiful and sexy the way i am. but i don't want to be a slave to an eating disorder. and this is such a painful one. no one in this fucked up society is going to look at me and say "poor em, she's got an eating disorder because her pediatrician put her on a diet when she got boobs at age 10." they're going to say "poor em, she's fat and lazy and has no will-power, and obviously no self-respect." do i care what people think of me? of course not! i am an empowered woman who does not need approval for my sense of self-worth. the true answer? of course it matters. i want people to like me and think i'm cool. i may not need their approval but it doesn't hurt. i want people to be nice to me and not give me weird or pitying looks. i want them to not talk about dieting all the fucking time, or say "ohhhh that food you're eating smells soooo good i wish i could have it on my diet but it's sooooo many points." what it tells me is that they are better than i am, because they have not given up on their dream of losing 20 pounds by summer, and i have obviously given up, so i'm not good enough. fuck you, bitches. i've lost 21 pounds since this time last year and i'm still wearing the same clothes because at my size, 21 pounds is almost nothing. if i continue to lose weight at this same rate, i will have lost my cheerleader in five years. i will be 40, and i'll have wrinkles. my hottest time is now, and i'm too fat to enjoy it. so yeah, maybe i'm not good enough, and maybe i'm crying while i type this. and maybe you can go fuck yourself because i know you're not perfect whether you admit it or not. and maybe one of my imperfections is that i want you to be miserable because i feel like you judge me. because it matters that people find me wanting. because it matters that the man i loved cheated on me with a skinny bitch. because society tells me that it's my fault for being fat, and not his for being a fuckface douchebag. and everywhere i turn i get the message that i'm not good enough. i don't know what else to do to make it different. how the fuck am i supposed to fix it, when my power is stripped from me at every turn? the power is not theirs, and my power isn't enough, where do i get the strength to carry on? the Creative Power of the Universe is strangely silent, or maybe i just won't shut up with my ranting and sobbing long enough to listen.

in which I ponder my own brilliance and gorgeousness

Life is not about being happy. Happiness is a happy side effect that happens once in a while, but not always. If we were always happy, would we even know it? I rather think the human condition is such that we cannot be continually happy, because then happy would become normal and then we would equate happiness with ecstasy. We have to have the emotional chiaroscuro to fully appreciate those moments in which everything really is shot through with light like golden thread ... being unhappy is what helps us realize that joy is precious. (ah, joy ... such a better word than happy)

I posted this as a comment on a friend's blog post, which was on the subject of happiness and how Voltaire was not as smart as people want to think he was (she never once said that. I am taking liberties with interpretation). In the original comment, I misspelled chiaroscuro. So embarrassing. >.<

My pleasure in my own (not at all) brilliant words led me to ruminate on the following:
Occasionally the drivel that flows from my tongue (or fingers, as I type) resonates with self-proclaimed brilliance. I realize that I am delusional, and what I say is usually quite trite or pedestrian, but I prefer to think of myself as insightful and brilliant. I would never say that out loud and in public, but there you have it. It is a false confidence, just like when I look in the mirror and say "Daaaaaaaaamn, girl, you is FINE!!!!" and then proceed to make sexy faces at myself, sometimes going so far as to take pictures to forever preserve my gorgeousness on facebook. I have not forgotten that when I take the makeup off, my face is ordinary, and my blonde eyelashes give me "the odd, lashless look of a rabbit." But in my mind, on good face days, and on good brain days, I am gorgeous and brilliant. Just like the people who love me perceive me. I find it helpful to take pictures or jot down my self-deemed brilliant thoughts for posterity, and for myself ... because I never know how long those bursts of delusion will last. It's good to be able to remind myself that sometimes I look like this, and sometimes I say really cool things, and if I were Adele, people would post my brilliant words over a gorgeous picture of me, and then pin it all the fuck over pinterest.

If I were a famous person, my fans would do something like this.

quest: reclamation of self from the listless void

i don't know how to be a grown-up. i just ... don't. i wake up, get ready, go to work. it feels like school. sometimes i do errands before work, since currently i work the second shift. sometimes i'm late, and when that happens i just hope my boss doesn't decide to be upset about it this week. i clock in, log in to my phone, check my email, and then i sit at my desk and ponder what i have to do. usually i work on whatever project that has the most ominously looming deadline. it feels like one long study period, in which i have been given 8-9 hours to accomplish vague steps to an impossible goal, while being watched and judged by everyone around me. do they have nothing better to do than worry about my deadlines and productivity (or lack thereof)? after work, i go home. sometimes i go to the store on my way home, but usually not. when i walk in the door it's as if my clothes have suddenly become the itchiest, tightest, most uncomfortable garments ever sewn, from a "wool, fire ant blend", and my shoes become a half size too small. i strip down to my underwear in record time. i avoid the tempation of my comfy bed, because i know that i have to feed my body and unwind, and that sleep is not the solution. i consider what i really want to eat. tomato basil soup with small shells ... requires one large pot, one small pot, and a colander. two out of three are sitting in the sink with stacks of dirty dishes. dishes in the dishwasher are clean. this has been going on since sunday night's dinner with the boyfriend. and at this moment, i think, why didn't i clean these this morning? last night? sunday night? the bigger the mess, the more i hate the thought of dealing with it. so leftover spaghetti for the third night, and too tired to do anything about the kitchen. just like a kid resisting putting away toys, except no one is telling me to do it but the easily silenced voice inside my head. the clothes pile up on the bench at the foot of my bed, since it is the depository of every article of clothing i've worn since saturday. five days of panties are in a heap next to the hamper. why not in the hamper? i have no idea. after i eat dinner, i watch tv till the boyfriend calls, and then we talk till i fall asleep and say incomprehensible things, at which point he sweetly wishes me good night and sweet dreams, and i go to sleep wondering when it's going to fall apart.

where does my time go? there are 24 hours in the day. 9 of them are for working, and 7-8 of them are for sleeping. that leaves at least 7 hours of time for myself. i usually take 1 hour in the morning to get ready. do i really dick around for 6 whole hours every night? yes. yes i do. for 6 hours i prepare and eat dinner, watch tv, and look at the internet. i know i talk on the phone with the boyfriend for an inordinate amount of time, but we've only been together a month. this pattern of get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed, has been happening since january. what is going on with these un-accounted-for hours? void. i need to reclaim my void time, and use those hours doing things that make me feel like me.

• bubble bath
• mani/pedi
• lotro
• reading
• knitting (while watching tv)
• listening to good music
• sitting on my balcony at dusk (this can't be done while i work this shift, but it will be over in three weeks)
• basking in sunshine
• swimmy splashy class

i can do almost all these things after work, in the time i'm voiding. after tax season ends, i will be able to include the other activities as well. not every night, no. but if i plan a couple of home-maintenance activities for myself, and reward myself with an hour or two of the activities on this list, and then go the fuck to sleep, i can wake up in the morning early enough to have a peaceful morning hour for myself, to ease into the day. this is important and i am worth it. this might mean shorter conversations with the boyfriend. by might, i mean will. i think he'll understand. if he doesn't, he's an ass. so, i guess i have a plan for the personal portion of my time, i just need to manage the professional side. and since i have been at work for over an hour and have accomplished ... this blog post and updating some software, i'd say i really need to get on that right away.
more on that later.

cooking blogs: a demi-rant

i love pinterest. i've found lots of fun recipes, and a few of them are actually possible even for me to try, and that's super awesome. sometimes i click on a delicious-looking picture, and it takes me to a blog post with the recipe on it ... somewhere. surely, there's a recipe! it's a cooking blog, after all. i can tell by the adorable kitschy kitchen images and the cleverly cookly blog title. but it seems like a personal account of a winter's day between a midwestern woman and her adoring husband, and their little dog, butterbean. after finally giving up on finding the secret to making the delicious-looking food item, i see it ... a picture of a bunch of groceries on a kitchen counter! oh my goodness! apparently the snow inspired this woman to make a recipe she saw on another blog (insert link to second posturing blog post by another midwestern woman with a penchant for winter weather, hand-knitted hats, and soup). [hint: do not follow that link unless absolutely necessary] after the photo of what seems to be ingredients, i also see a picture of some chopped up veggies and a collection of herbs. and another of a nice looking pot. or sometimes a crockpot. skipping down to the last picture, the delicious-looking one i saw on pinterest. THEN! a list of ingredients (pictured above). and a recipe. but this soup has lots of onions in it. and kale. and some sort of herb i've never heard of, but i'm sure i can find. a whole chicken? really? who has that kind of time!?!? repin anyway. maybe someday i'll have a chef.