Humor, Life

Rando Fri II

I’ve written about Rando Fri before. If I was able to figure out how to link that to this on my iPhone, trust. I would do it.

With my impending cross country drive with my 8 year old Labrador and 2 year old Australian Cattle Dog, my thoughts are very dog-centric.

  • I hope that cbd oil works
  • How do I use the bathroom at a rest stop during the drive? Leave them in the car? Take them into the stall? Note to self: take wipes for their paws.
  • I know! Pee on the side of the road? Note to self: take wipes for me.
  • I just worked my last “fri-yay” in a long time.
  • How do you get a cattle dog pup to chill in a car for 6 hours a day for 4 days?
  • I’m not sure how clean a house has to be when you leave it.
  • Ok, only one more episode of Downtown Abby tonight, I swear.
Habits, Humor, Life, midlife, Running, women, womens lit

Shut Up, Pants!

Did I quit running? I’m not sure if I did. I ran and ran for four years, and now? Meh.

It started with a Super Spartan, then Disney Princess runs and Star Wars runs – half marathons, 10ks, a couple of 5ks in there to keep me honest. But now….

I know I need something to train for. I can’t just run to run. With my impending move to a much higher altitude, I’m also intimidated. I have low blood pressure and heartbeat already – I’m afraid I’ll pass out somewhere along the road in a new town.

I can see it now, me laying on the side of a country road, slightly concussed, calling my husband.

“Come get me. I’m concussed.”

“Where are you?” He would say, already in the car.

“I don’t know.”

And woe is me if I had our cattle dog with me, his baby.

Excuses, you say? I agree. There is nothing easier than being middle aged and lazy.

I have started to stalk online a running club in my new town, thinking it will get me running and social (I am terribly introverted and so is my husband. Peas in a pod!).

However, I have noticed that my excess chub isn’t melting away like it used to. Before I could just use the power of thought, but now, post 40, it seems things have changed. At least that’s what my pants keep saying, and boy are they vocal!

“Lunges. Remember lunges?”

“When’s the last time you did a sit up?”

“A lap around the block wouldn’t hurt ‘ya. Take the cattle dog.”

Pants are nags. Not like tops.

The tight armholes in my blouses are more like “Well, this is interesting”, and my jersey tees just talk behind my back with my bra, something about doing push-ups and maybe dips. Jersey tees are kind of passive aggressive come to think of it.

The bra? She’s just doing her best. Definitely not an instigator.

Maybe I will. Maybe I will start running again, just to shut them up. Stupid clothes. At least my leggings and tech tees are supportive. They’ve been clamoring to get out of the drawer anyway.

Aforementioned baby.

Life

RandoFri

Can we start a Random Friday? Where we just share all our mental randos that have nowhere to go. Stuff that might be a good tweet but then you have to think about condensing it, but not a post because it’s all disjointed and messy, like tangled hangers.

Maybe we can call it “Tangled Hangers”, or “Chicken Paws and Smokes”, which is what my sister calls it when I come home, feed my dogs frozen chicken feet, have a post-work smoke and tap away on my phone, though I am usually checking my bank balance or likes on Instagram.

I’m open to titles/hashtags. But let’s get started, shall we?

  • Being called “Ma’am” is nice and awful because the person saying it is so polite but it means that the person decided that I am so not a “Miss”.
  • I am not lacking vitamins or depressed like I thought I was during the week, because it’s Friday after work and I feel great! I think I just hate my job. Which is fine, because I gave notice on Monday.
  • When I gave notice at work, co-workers commented how they would never want to move to where I’m going. So strange, since they weren’t invited.
  • Jeremy Brett made the best Sherlock Holmes, although I am a Cumberbitch.

Now you. Whatcha’ got?

Life

Professional Coffee Rainstorm Dog Word Mangler

It’s been a good ten days since I took the pressure off. The constant narrative of “I should be writing, I should be writing”, once gone, is such a relief.

I found myself in a better mood, more relaxed, able to laugh more. I even enjoyed a movie or two. And then…

The voice started again. How would I describe this room, that person? Tighten it up and make it concise?

I read a book. Listened to an audiobook, tried to tease apart the details in Sherlock Holmes (which I listen to every night as a lullaby).

I read over my old writings. They’re the same as now – not that good, but with some insights and humorous parts, but too self absorbed for an audience. I really entertain myself, but others? Not really. There’s a lot of skill that goes in to that, and I haven’t learned it.

For now, I love words, books, the escapism and the relatable humor. But I also love dogs, rainstorms, going for a run and coffee. Doesn’t mean I’m going to make a career out of it.

I really do have to find my Next.

Life

Me = ????

My defining inner dialogue (since I was about 15) was that I wanted to be a writer. I may have been wrong.
And that, dear friends, is like walking around nekkid. 

It was my dream job, but I never chased it – just mused about it and got frustrated. Everything was holding me back! I couldn’t be a writer because because because. 

The last few days I’ve been paying attention to how I structured my life, what I enjoy doing, what I make time for, and writing isn’t one of them. 

Maybe I’ve been wrong for 30 years. 

So, my next experiment is to remove it from my head. Not a writer. Writing a novel/movie/kids book is not a goal of mine. That leaves a huge void, and I need to figure out what to fill it up with.  

Kind of like an elimination diet, but in a mid-life crisis sort of way.

Habits

Between Two Walks

I did not forget again. Well, I remembered, then I forgot, and then I remembered. I really thought that writing every day for just a few minutes would be a piece of cake, but as I try to do it I didn’t realize what a time crunch I am living in. No wonder I always felt so harassed all the time.

But at the same time, it doesn’t Beyoncé only have 24 hours in a day? Granted she may have some assistance and “people”, but then again I am not doing a world tour or have any photo shoots coming up. At least not yet.

So far this experiment has been illuminating. I didn’t realize that I was always rushed for a reason. I thought I just had a bad attitude. Nay, my life says, your inability to write on a regular basis is confirmed due to life.

Going forward I think I’ll have to write prep more – like get all the meals planned and not hit the snooze button in the morning. Even this had taken me dictating during a morning dog walk and finishing up after an evening dog walk. 

I don’t know how I’m gonna do it but I have to find a way.

Habits, Self help

I Don’t Need A Hug, I Need To Run Laps

Most of the self-help out there is crap. I know because I write some of it. 

Motivational posts, writings on wellbeing, bringing “balance” to your life (I just had to spell check “balance”, that shows much of it I don’t have).

I suppose it must work for some, or maybe not at all since it’s a huge industry and people keep consuming more of it looking for answers. 

Every day it’s a struggle for me. There are only so many hours in the day, so it’s not about balance, my day is about priorities. And never mind about support. My husband will do something if I chase him down about it, but that’s more in the nagging genre.

I have been self-helping for 20 years, and it hasn’t changed me much. My fault, you say. Maybe. But I am who I am.

However, I may have found an ally. Have you heard of Gary John Bishop? I bought one of his audiobooks, mostly because I liked the cover – I’m a sucker for tattoos. One morning commute I found myself laughing as he was yelling in his thick Scottish accent “You’re going to die! Everyone dies! That’s it!”

This is someone I could get behind. 

I don’t want to analyze my relationship with food, or someone to tell me to explore my childhood, or to meditate. I need an ass kick and someone to tell me to knock it off. 

I don’t need therapy. I need a drill sergeant.

Venting, Work

3% to Perspective 

The company I’m working for is slashing the budget. They overspent, this year and over estimated this years income. They couldn’t live up to it. Now, it’s time to pay the piper.

Last year I got a 4% raise, the year before – nada. This year, they project a 3% raise for me. I don’t make a lot of money so the increase isn’t much.

I know the debates – be thankful for a job, that I’m getting anything….I know I’m not alone in that I do the job of several positions. Three, that I’m aware of. I’ve also been there over a decade.

I didn’t mean for a bitchfest post, but that’s all that’s been on my mind today. 

I suppose I should try to focus on something else.

Last week I really worked on my sleep quotient. It was a real effort to make sure I got the recommended 7-8 hours. I didn’t realize that I was only getting about 6 until I took a moment to figure it out.

This is boring too. Not enough sleep, not enough money – what a whiner. My problems aren’t really “problems”, are they? Just crap to complain about, a distraction.

Hmm. A boring post but it’s brought me some perspective. 

Habits

One A Day

An assignment: to post to my blog once a day for 30 days.

Why? I need to get in the practice of writing, and making time for it.

I always envisioned writing taking place at a wooden desk, facing a window with a view, in a starched white shirt and wearing glasses (although I don’t need them). In reality I just need to lock myself in a closet for a few moments.

BUT, I have always wanted to write, have always written, and have scores of files stuffed with miscellaneous notes and starts of things.

So I am just practicing. I’m curious, too, to see if this takes me somewhere or nowhere.

For now, I offer my sleeping pup as amusement.