Yep, I'm moving, again. This time though, it's the biggest move of my life.
I'm moving to Florida.
Next month.
The end of next month, but next month still.
Why?
Why not?
This last year has been a year of major growth for me. Mentally more than anything. I've dealt with some loss. I've gotten over some of my own mental hurdles. I've learned more about who I am and what I want out of life. I know there is still much more for me to experience and learn. I know I have a good life and I'm blessed in so many ways. One of the things I'm blessed with is the ability to go out and explore.
Since the first time I visited J in Florida, I've had this need within myself to not just go back there, but to go everywhere and (almost) anywhere. I've been back to visit her and since I have a friend there, it's an easy place for me to head out on my own, without feeling completely alone. It's such a drastically different place than Portland, the place I've called home for most of my life. It feels so tropical to my northwestern roots. I'm so used to the rain and being cold a majority of the time. The beaches there are so warm and inviting. Even in December. Not like the beaches here. Which I do love... but different can be just as good, if not better.
I only made this decision a few months ago, and I've kept it pretty quiet while I've started to make little changes in my life. Since I've made the decision to move across the country, basically as far away from the only home I've really known as I can get, I've really felt myself living in the present. It always seemed like such a cliche before. Living in the present. How can you do anything but? You're only aware of the present right? Wrong.
I no longer find myself worrying about things that don't really matter in the long run. I'm able to set aside worries in order to really enjoy the moments I'm in. I can let go of frustrations easier (most of the time). I don't look to my past with regret and shoulda-woulda-couldas. I enjoy what is right in front of me while I still plan and prepare for my future. The future I want. The future I'm choosing. I could easily stay in the life I have right now. It's an awesome one. I don't have a lot of drama or stress on a day to day basis. I have good people in my life and I have a lot of fun. That doesn't mean I can't want for more. That doesn't mean I can't have more. I want more. So I'm gonna go get me some more.
I can always come back home if I don't like it. Or I can go somewhere completely different. That's the beauty of it all.
It's totally my choice.
While I'm super excited for this change, and the journey of getting there, it's still a hard decision to make. It's hard because I have such a good life. It's hard because the more comfortable I get being myself, the more I enjoy the life I have now, which makes it harder to leave behind. It's hard because I'm comfortable in my life right now, and it's hard to leave your comfort zone, even for something that excites you. It's hard knowing I won't be able to just hang out with the people I'm close with whenever I want. It's hard to leave my family behind. It's hard to leave behind my second family and home, otherwise known as work. And it's hard knowing how hard it will be to find a work environment like the one I have here.
None of this is enough to scare me into not going. I'm not going to let fear hold me back (as long as that fear isn't in the form of something with eight legs and fangs. THEY ALL HAVE FANGS SO SHUT UP).
Look, here's the deal. I'm moving across country. It's scary and so exhilarating. I don't have a set plan. I don't have a job lined up. I don't have an end date for this adventure. I have a place to say (love you boo) and an end date to my life here in Portland. I have a plan to road trip down there with my dog in tow, J by my side, and of course as many shoes as I can fit into whatever vehicle I end up taking.
I know to some, this would seem like a silly, maybe stupid thing to do. To some, it's an exciting adventure everyone should try. Some people support my move wholeheartedly, and some support me with with a side of guilt. Some try to talk me out of it sarcastically, some don't want to acknowledge it at all. No matter how you choose to support me, I'm so very appreciative of all the support I get. I'm so grateful for the life I have now, and I'm so excited to see what changes this move brings to my life in the future.
Don't worry, I'll be back for visits. And no matter what, this is my home. This is the place that I love and I will miss so very much. I have no doubt at some point I'll move back here. Just don't ask me when, cuz I don't have a clue.
Wish me luck!
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Another week has passed
And I achieved...nothing. At least in the ways of fitness. Last weekend I had a little sore throat. I felt fine other than that. Until I woke up on Monday morning. It felt like my face had been stuffed taxidermy style while I slept. I couldn't breath. I was sweating like a pig but I was freezing even under my two comforters. I felt light headed when I stood up. I felt groggy like I hadn't slept at all and couldn't walk very well. Aside from the cold sweats, I imagine it felt much like a hangover but being a non drinker, I can't know for sure. I tried to make it through a shower and my usual before work routine but I quickly realized I shouldn't be trying to go out into the world feeling the way I felt. I sent a text to my boss and she let me know I would be covered. I gratefully crawled back under the covers and slept through the morning.
I woke up sometime in the afternoon still feeling like a taxidermied drunk. Somehow I managed to crawl to the couch where I watched mind numbing tv for an unknown amount of time while drinking Dayquil Cold & Flu straight from the bottle. I drank water too. I think I ate some food. I caught up on a lot of shows that mean nothing to me (who's the daddy Maury?!). I crawled back into bed around nine and hoped for the best.
Tuesday morning I woke up and still felt crappy. I had a cough that made my head throb and my nose was so stuffed I could feel it backing up into my brain. Not a good feeling. Somehow, I managed to get through a shower. My thought process told me something about how taking a shower when you're sick can really make you feel better. I basically stood in the shower just to feel the warm water. I do really love the rainfall shower head my new house came with... I had to sit down for a minute after my shower in my cozy robe with my hair wrapped up in a towel, just to catch my breath. From standing. That can't be a good sign... I did basic makeup, pausing to catch my breath and hack out some brains. I put on comfy clothes, grabbed a breakfast bar and my bottle of Dayquil and headed to work.
My coworkers all asked if I was feeling better. They told me my cough sounded bad. They told me to go home. My boss called and heard my exhaustion and suggested I take a lunch lounge on the office couch. That idea sounded delightful. After covering my face with pillow to shield out the light, my coworkers had finally had enough and they forced me to go home. They promised me they would be fine and even offered to email the boss for me so I could just leave. I gave in and went home that afternoon. I took advantage of no rush hour traffic and hit the store to replenish my Nyquil supply and get some real food on the way home. Once home I wasted no time in putting on my coziest clothes and crawling into bed.
I was bummed because I had a blind date set up for that night after work and I had to cancel. I think that's why I tried so hard to be ok enough to go to work. If I was ok enough for work I was ok enough for a date right? Who wants to make the first impression of Snot Queen, the Great Sneezer? Not this chick. Instead I slept. I laid in bed coughing, tossing and turning and feeling miserable until I was finally able to get to sleep for the night. My alarm went off and before even trying to get out of bed I knew I couldn't go in to the office again. I sent my boss another text and was again reassured things would be fine and to worry about getting better. I fell immediately back asleep. Around 2 that afternoon I woke up and had to shed a layer of cozy to get comfortable. I got a text from L, responded and fell back asleep without really meaning to. I woke up around 5 to the sound of a text from A. How was I still sleeping? Even on my laziest of days that's too much sleep. I thought of all the things I could have done with this lost day. The things I wanted to accomplish at the office. The projects I have around the house. Will there ever be time?
Why do we do this to ourselves? I know that going to work sick risks the other people at work getting sick (though none of the people I hung out with over the weekend were sick and I assumed I wasn't contagious). I know that I can't work my best when I feel like I've been novocained all in the face. I didn't sound good at all, and I'm the one that answers the phone so that's no good. So why, why would I go to work despite being obviously sick? Because I feel like I have no other option. Now, I'm in a really good position when it comes to this stuff because I'm a salaried employee. If I miss a day of work for being sick (or going on a long weekend beach trip) that doesn't mean I miss out on a days pay. With that, I have even less excuse to go to work when feeling like crap.
I've always been this way. In school I was almost fanatical about going to school no matter what (perfect attendance in elementary school ya'll!) until high school when I had a minor mishap with a disease known as "Skipsies" freshman year. After mom sorted that out I was back to my usual self. I didn't strive for perfection or anything like that. I was happy getting mostly A's and B's and once I got into the working world I was all about timeliness and attendance. I'm one of those people that's almost always early to everything, or at least right on time. To me, on time means being about 5 minutes early though. I've become a little more lax with my timeliness in the last few years but mostly just with personal type stuff like parties, where it doesn't really matter if you're right on time and sometimes stuff happens and I can't always be on time. But I do try.
So there's this crazy random work ethic thing that's ingrained deep in my brain that keeps me getting up for work every day, whether I feel up to it physically or mentally, or not at all. But there's something else that makes me go to work all the time. Something that made me miss out on all of my vacation time for the first few years of my working life. I make excuses all the time to make myself go to work. Doesn't it usually go the other way around? People come up with excuses to get out of work right? Not me. I have to go to work because I'm the only one at the office that does my specific job (though my job isn't very specific). I have to go to work because I'm expecting a toner shipment and the office will freak out if the toner doesn't come and the machine runs out of it's current toner and then they can't print. I'm the only one that will clean the kitchen on Friday. I'm the only person that can do this and that and the other thing. I've been doing my job for so long I can basically do it with my eyes closed. I transfer calls like a ninja. I am the machine whisperer. The Office Guru! No really, that's my title according to the website. I know everything about everything and if I don't know, I can figure it out. That's who I am at the office. When I'm away from the office things break and filing piles up and things get dirty because it's my job to take care of those things. I don't want things to pile up. I don't want my coworkers to be frantic because of broken machines, lost passwords and misplaced transferred calls.
It's not the end of the world. I know they can survive without me.
But that right there is the other part of the problem. They can survive without me. If they can survive without me they don't need me. If I'm gone they might realize they don't really need me....if I'm gone, the things I don't do so well might become apparent. They might see the things I've put off...They might realize there is someone better for the job...They might see the spot I haven't cleaned in a while because I'm the only one that sees it and I put it off. They might suddenly realize that the things they need me to do for them are actually not that hard or time consuming to do on their own. Maybe they'll realize I don't really know as much as they think I do. They might....They could....what if?
What the..... Why am I thinking like that?! I don't know, but it's what makes me go to work when I'm sick. Even though every single time I come back from any length of absence, even a lunch break, they tell me how glad they are that I'm back. How they just don't know how I can do this job every day. They ask me to please never leave again, jokingly but not really so jokingly. Even though I work for one of the best companies to work for in Oregon. Even though I have an awesome job and work with awesome people that I truly care about and who care about me back just as much...I still have these paranoid random mental ramblings and make myself go to work when I should be resting.
It seems I'm suddenly talking about things that make me think more than the silly things I do, here on this blog. I guess that's just where my head is at lately. I'm still having fun of course. I'll write about it. Promise.
I woke up sometime in the afternoon still feeling like a taxidermied drunk. Somehow I managed to crawl to the couch where I watched mind numbing tv for an unknown amount of time while drinking Dayquil Cold & Flu straight from the bottle. I drank water too. I think I ate some food. I caught up on a lot of shows that mean nothing to me (who's the daddy Maury?!). I crawled back into bed around nine and hoped for the best.
Tuesday morning I woke up and still felt crappy. I had a cough that made my head throb and my nose was so stuffed I could feel it backing up into my brain. Not a good feeling. Somehow, I managed to get through a shower. My thought process told me something about how taking a shower when you're sick can really make you feel better. I basically stood in the shower just to feel the warm water. I do really love the rainfall shower head my new house came with... I had to sit down for a minute after my shower in my cozy robe with my hair wrapped up in a towel, just to catch my breath. From standing. That can't be a good sign... I did basic makeup, pausing to catch my breath and hack out some brains. I put on comfy clothes, grabbed a breakfast bar and my bottle of Dayquil and headed to work.
My coworkers all asked if I was feeling better. They told me my cough sounded bad. They told me to go home. My boss called and heard my exhaustion and suggested I take a lunch lounge on the office couch. That idea sounded delightful. After covering my face with pillow to shield out the light, my coworkers had finally had enough and they forced me to go home. They promised me they would be fine and even offered to email the boss for me so I could just leave. I gave in and went home that afternoon. I took advantage of no rush hour traffic and hit the store to replenish my Nyquil supply and get some real food on the way home. Once home I wasted no time in putting on my coziest clothes and crawling into bed.
I was bummed because I had a blind date set up for that night after work and I had to cancel. I think that's why I tried so hard to be ok enough to go to work. If I was ok enough for work I was ok enough for a date right? Who wants to make the first impression of Snot Queen, the Great Sneezer? Not this chick. Instead I slept. I laid in bed coughing, tossing and turning and feeling miserable until I was finally able to get to sleep for the night. My alarm went off and before even trying to get out of bed I knew I couldn't go in to the office again. I sent my boss another text and was again reassured things would be fine and to worry about getting better. I fell immediately back asleep. Around 2 that afternoon I woke up and had to shed a layer of cozy to get comfortable. I got a text from L, responded and fell back asleep without really meaning to. I woke up around 5 to the sound of a text from A. How was I still sleeping? Even on my laziest of days that's too much sleep. I thought of all the things I could have done with this lost day. The things I wanted to accomplish at the office. The projects I have around the house. Will there ever be time?
Why do we do this to ourselves? I know that going to work sick risks the other people at work getting sick (though none of the people I hung out with over the weekend were sick and I assumed I wasn't contagious). I know that I can't work my best when I feel like I've been novocained all in the face. I didn't sound good at all, and I'm the one that answers the phone so that's no good. So why, why would I go to work despite being obviously sick? Because I feel like I have no other option. Now, I'm in a really good position when it comes to this stuff because I'm a salaried employee. If I miss a day of work for being sick (or going on a long weekend beach trip) that doesn't mean I miss out on a days pay. With that, I have even less excuse to go to work when feeling like crap.
I've always been this way. In school I was almost fanatical about going to school no matter what (perfect attendance in elementary school ya'll!) until high school when I had a minor mishap with a disease known as "Skipsies" freshman year. After mom sorted that out I was back to my usual self. I didn't strive for perfection or anything like that. I was happy getting mostly A's and B's and once I got into the working world I was all about timeliness and attendance. I'm one of those people that's almost always early to everything, or at least right on time. To me, on time means being about 5 minutes early though. I've become a little more lax with my timeliness in the last few years but mostly just with personal type stuff like parties, where it doesn't really matter if you're right on time and sometimes stuff happens and I can't always be on time. But I do try.
So there's this crazy random work ethic thing that's ingrained deep in my brain that keeps me getting up for work every day, whether I feel up to it physically or mentally, or not at all. But there's something else that makes me go to work all the time. Something that made me miss out on all of my vacation time for the first few years of my working life. I make excuses all the time to make myself go to work. Doesn't it usually go the other way around? People come up with excuses to get out of work right? Not me. I have to go to work because I'm the only one at the office that does my specific job (though my job isn't very specific). I have to go to work because I'm expecting a toner shipment and the office will freak out if the toner doesn't come and the machine runs out of it's current toner and then they can't print. I'm the only one that will clean the kitchen on Friday. I'm the only person that can do this and that and the other thing. I've been doing my job for so long I can basically do it with my eyes closed. I transfer calls like a ninja. I am the machine whisperer. The Office Guru! No really, that's my title according to the website. I know everything about everything and if I don't know, I can figure it out. That's who I am at the office. When I'm away from the office things break and filing piles up and things get dirty because it's my job to take care of those things. I don't want things to pile up. I don't want my coworkers to be frantic because of broken machines, lost passwords and misplaced transferred calls.
It's not the end of the world. I know they can survive without me.
But that right there is the other part of the problem. They can survive without me. If they can survive without me they don't need me. If I'm gone they might realize they don't really need me....if I'm gone, the things I don't do so well might become apparent. They might see the things I've put off...They might realize there is someone better for the job...They might see the spot I haven't cleaned in a while because I'm the only one that sees it and I put it off. They might suddenly realize that the things they need me to do for them are actually not that hard or time consuming to do on their own. Maybe they'll realize I don't really know as much as they think I do. They might....They could....what if?
What the..... Why am I thinking like that?! I don't know, but it's what makes me go to work when I'm sick. Even though every single time I come back from any length of absence, even a lunch break, they tell me how glad they are that I'm back. How they just don't know how I can do this job every day. They ask me to please never leave again, jokingly but not really so jokingly. Even though I work for one of the best companies to work for in Oregon. Even though I have an awesome job and work with awesome people that I truly care about and who care about me back just as much...I still have these paranoid random mental ramblings and make myself go to work when I should be resting.
It seems I'm suddenly talking about things that make me think more than the silly things I do, here on this blog. I guess that's just where my head is at lately. I'm still having fun of course. I'll write about it. Promise.
Friday, March 9, 2012
It's been a week
And not much has changed. No zombie invasion pending, and sadly, no change in weight according to the morning weigh in. I've been sticking with my plan. Last Friday I went for a walk at lunch. I went for a walk with A last weekend. All this week I've walked 40 minutes or more on my lunch and gone for a half jog/half walk after work, lasting anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour. A couple of times followed by yet another walk with L when she gets home from work. I have noticed my endurance is getting better. I can run for longer periods of time and spend less time walking on my after work jog/walks. I love getting out of the office and it's been a really nice week so I've been enjoying some sunshine while I can. I feel productive, doing something for my health every day. I even downloaded an app to help me track my calorie intake and exercise. I take the stairs whenever possible (because when the zombie apocalypse happens, elevators won't be working) and have continued taking my vitamins daily. I drink a ton of water and pack my workout bag at night so it's ready to go in the morning without having to think about it.
According to my tracker app, I'm eating just the right amount of calories and burning far more than I need to in order to reach the goal I have. Yet no physical changes are apparent. I have been allowing myself a daily dose of chocolate and this week my indulgence has been chocolate cake from Costco (brought into the office for a coworkers birthday and left here to taunt me). It's the stuff my chocolate coated dreams are made of and according to my tracker app, is actually fine calorie-wise for my "diet". But, after getting on the scale and seeing no change this morning, I'm thinking it's time to change tactics.
I'll be going from a small daily chocolate allowance to a small weekly chocolate allowance. I want to go to bed earlier so that I can get up earlier and get to the gym before work, for a swim or a stair climber session. I'm going to try to jog the trail by my house on the weekends at least once and get as much activity as I can in each day. I'm going to watch my food even more diligently even though I feel like I've actually been doing really well there.
It's discouraging not to see any changes but it's only been a week, and I'm certainly not giving up. I might not even really need to make many changes to see results, but I don't know if I can wait it out any longer before taking some kind of action. It makes me feel silly that something so small can affect my mood so greatly, but sometimes that's the case. And this is one of those times. Yesterday the world seemed so bright and full of hope. Today, even though it's sunny, I'm feeling gloomy and sad. It's still better than a few weeks ago when I was losing my grip on life all together.
I know I'm not the first person to feel this way and it might not be the last time I encounter a mental roadblock like this. I've dieted before and have been successful at losing weight. I know I can do it again. Maybe other things in my life are affecting my mood more and I'm assuming it's this instead. I've been dealing with feelings of loneliness, inadequacy and a general feeling of being lost in life. When I look at the facts, it's obvious that I'm doing fine. I have a house of my own to live in. I have a car to get me to and from the places I need to be. I have a full time job with a great company. I have amazing friends in my life that encourage me and love me just as I am while still pushing me to be my best self. So why all the negativity in my mind?
Sometimes emotions blind us from the facts. All I know for sure is I'm not stopping.
I walked today at lunch and tried for another after work jog/walk. For some reason, today, I wasn't able to jog. Not that I was physically incapable. I managed a short burst of running but when I couldn't make it as far as I hoped, I broke down. I felt like a failure for not being able to jog long distances (to me a long distance would be 10 minutes of jogging without stopping). I felt like I was letting myself down. I was angry. Angry that I let myself get so out of shape in the first place. Angry that I wasn't being more diligent in my efforts to get back into shape. Angry at all the people running by me like it was the easiest thing in the world. Angry at the people that seemed to have no care in the world (though I know we all have worries and doubts and moments in our lives where we feel less than).
I kept walking though. As fast as I could manage. I'm hoping tomorrow seems a little brighter.
According to my tracker app, I'm eating just the right amount of calories and burning far more than I need to in order to reach the goal I have. Yet no physical changes are apparent. I have been allowing myself a daily dose of chocolate and this week my indulgence has been chocolate cake from Costco (brought into the office for a coworkers birthday and left here to taunt me). It's the stuff my chocolate coated dreams are made of and according to my tracker app, is actually fine calorie-wise for my "diet". But, after getting on the scale and seeing no change this morning, I'm thinking it's time to change tactics.
I'll be going from a small daily chocolate allowance to a small weekly chocolate allowance. I want to go to bed earlier so that I can get up earlier and get to the gym before work, for a swim or a stair climber session. I'm going to try to jog the trail by my house on the weekends at least once and get as much activity as I can in each day. I'm going to watch my food even more diligently even though I feel like I've actually been doing really well there.
It's discouraging not to see any changes but it's only been a week, and I'm certainly not giving up. I might not even really need to make many changes to see results, but I don't know if I can wait it out any longer before taking some kind of action. It makes me feel silly that something so small can affect my mood so greatly, but sometimes that's the case. And this is one of those times. Yesterday the world seemed so bright and full of hope. Today, even though it's sunny, I'm feeling gloomy and sad. It's still better than a few weeks ago when I was losing my grip on life all together.
I know I'm not the first person to feel this way and it might not be the last time I encounter a mental roadblock like this. I've dieted before and have been successful at losing weight. I know I can do it again. Maybe other things in my life are affecting my mood more and I'm assuming it's this instead. I've been dealing with feelings of loneliness, inadequacy and a general feeling of being lost in life. When I look at the facts, it's obvious that I'm doing fine. I have a house of my own to live in. I have a car to get me to and from the places I need to be. I have a full time job with a great company. I have amazing friends in my life that encourage me and love me just as I am while still pushing me to be my best self. So why all the negativity in my mind?
Sometimes emotions blind us from the facts. All I know for sure is I'm not stopping.
I walked today at lunch and tried for another after work jog/walk. For some reason, today, I wasn't able to jog. Not that I was physically incapable. I managed a short burst of running but when I couldn't make it as far as I hoped, I broke down. I felt like a failure for not being able to jog long distances (to me a long distance would be 10 minutes of jogging without stopping). I felt like I was letting myself down. I was angry. Angry that I let myself get so out of shape in the first place. Angry that I wasn't being more diligent in my efforts to get back into shape. Angry at all the people running by me like it was the easiest thing in the world. Angry at the people that seemed to have no care in the world (though I know we all have worries and doubts and moments in our lives where we feel less than).
I kept walking though. As fast as I could manage. I'm hoping tomorrow seems a little brighter.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Zombie Apocalypse
I've been getting a little more obsessed with the possibility of the zombie apocalypse. I've always had a thing for zombies thanks to my mom and her love of old school horror movies. Then Shawn of the Dead came out and ever since, I can't get enough. I've always loved the Resident Evil games and movies. It's kind of strange actually, I can't watch horror movies on my own. I'm too much of a wuss and sleeping by myself in a mostly empty house that makes sounds at night...well, not much sleeping will happen if I watch a scary movie. I still see scenes from Arachnophobia when I shower every morning. Sometimes I swear I can see that creepy girl from The Ring crawling around in the dark. But zombie movies have never been a problem for me, though they do usually give me weird dreams. Zombie games are intense but fun.
It's not like I'm the only person that's into zombies and there are people who are way more into them than I am. What's the point of all this zombie rambling? Well, I've decided to start a training program. That I made up in my head. It's the "get fit for the zombie apocalypse" program. See, you have to be able to run to stand any kind of chance at living when the apocalypse comes and in my current state, I wouldn't get very far. You need to be strong to stand a chance at survival, and at this current moment in time, I just don't feel I'm strong enough to make it very long.
Plus, I'm planning on visiting J in Florida this summer and I'd like to feel comfortable in a swimsuit since summer in Florida means long days at the beach.
Why is any of this going into a blog post? I think it will help me stay accountable and maybe motivate some other people to start thinking about how they're going to survive when the first zombie wave hits. Having a short term goal helps motivate me because I know when I'll be able to take a break (summer vacation) and having a long term goal keeps me from falling completely off the health wagon when I reach my short term goal. I remember when we did the Biggest Loser challenge at work last year. I did so well because I knew I only had 3 months to get as much done as I could and at the end of that time I could ease up. I've maintained the weight loss I achieved then (25 pounds!) thanks to better eating habits that stuck with me from that challenge. I try to do something active when I can. At work, I park on the top floor of the parking garage and take the stairs every day. I take the stairs in the office building instead of the elevator. Little things that make me feel like I'm doing something good for myself.
I've had a rough couple of months personally and it put me into a funk I wasn't sure I could come out of. I withdrew from the life I loved and stopped hanging out with my friends as much because it's just been feeling like too much. I haven't been myself lately, and if anyone has felt offended by me being quiet or staying away from social events, I'm sorry. Sometimes people just need a break from life and this has been one of those times for me. I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel and it's amazing to finally start feeling like myself again. But, thanks to the rough months, I've returned to some of my not so great habits and have taken to resting when I have free time instead of doing something active. I think training for the zombie apocalypse will be a fun way for me to get back in the game. And if working out is fun, I'm more likely to do it.
So here's my plan so far: I work on the waterfront and have yet to really take advantage of that fact as much as I should. From now on I'll be spending my lunch walking along the waterfront. After work, I'll change into workout gear and take a jog on the waterfront. Since I'm just starting to get back into running for exercise I'll take it easy and work my way up to the point where I can run without having to stop for breath every 10 seconds. By planning on doing both of these things, I don't have as much pressure if something comes up that interferes with my plan. If I miss my lunch walk because I go to lunch with a friend or coworker, that's ok because I know I'll have time to jog after work. If I have something to rush to right after work, that's ok because I know I'm still going on a walk for lunch.
I still have a gym membership at Bally's so I'm going to try to get myself to go there more often. I want to get back to swimming as soon as I can. Since the weather is finally going to start warming up, and it's staying lighter out longer, I feel like my options are unlimited. I live right by the Springwater corridor trail. I love going to Multnomah Falls. I just feel more alive when there is more light. In the winter, I hardly see daylight because by the time I'm off work, it's dark. All this daylight has me motivated and energized!
As far as eating habits go, I'm going to cut back on the sweets. I know from my own personal experience that I don't do well without chocolate so I won't be cutting that out completely. But I am going to only allow myself one chocolate indulgence a day. Whether that be a cookie, a piece of birthday cake, or a truffle, it doesn't matter. I only get one. And "one tub of ice cream" will not count as one indulgence. Yea, maybe I've used that justification before. What? I like ice cream, ok?
I've also been taking a buttload of vitamins for the past few weeks to help with my mood and energy and will continue to do so until the day I die (or something like that). I take a multivitamin, fish oil, vitamin D (since we lack sunshine on a regular basis here) and St. Johns Wort. It's best to take vitamins with food so it really helps me eat 3 meals a day. I feel silly admitting it, but I have a bad habit of skipping meals. I tell myself I "make up for it" by consuming loads of calories from late night snacks but we all know that's not healthy. Thanks to the vitamins, that hasn't been much of a problem lately.
With all that said, I encourage you to think about what you can do to get yourself ready for the days of zombies. I also ask that you not feed this chocoholic or purposely taunt chocolate that you eat. If you want to do something active with me, just ask! I may not be able (or want) to do everything, but it never hurts to ask and isn't it always more fun doing things with friends? Come walk with me at lunch, or jog after work. Let's go to the falls or explore a new trail together. Or just sit back and do your own thing. That's totally cool too. Just remember, some day...the zombies will be here.
It's not like I'm the only person that's into zombies and there are people who are way more into them than I am. What's the point of all this zombie rambling? Well, I've decided to start a training program. That I made up in my head. It's the "get fit for the zombie apocalypse" program. See, you have to be able to run to stand any kind of chance at living when the apocalypse comes and in my current state, I wouldn't get very far. You need to be strong to stand a chance at survival, and at this current moment in time, I just don't feel I'm strong enough to make it very long.
Plus, I'm planning on visiting J in Florida this summer and I'd like to feel comfortable in a swimsuit since summer in Florida means long days at the beach.
Why is any of this going into a blog post? I think it will help me stay accountable and maybe motivate some other people to start thinking about how they're going to survive when the first zombie wave hits. Having a short term goal helps motivate me because I know when I'll be able to take a break (summer vacation) and having a long term goal keeps me from falling completely off the health wagon when I reach my short term goal. I remember when we did the Biggest Loser challenge at work last year. I did so well because I knew I only had 3 months to get as much done as I could and at the end of that time I could ease up. I've maintained the weight loss I achieved then (25 pounds!) thanks to better eating habits that stuck with me from that challenge. I try to do something active when I can. At work, I park on the top floor of the parking garage and take the stairs every day. I take the stairs in the office building instead of the elevator. Little things that make me feel like I'm doing something good for myself.
I've had a rough couple of months personally and it put me into a funk I wasn't sure I could come out of. I withdrew from the life I loved and stopped hanging out with my friends as much because it's just been feeling like too much. I haven't been myself lately, and if anyone has felt offended by me being quiet or staying away from social events, I'm sorry. Sometimes people just need a break from life and this has been one of those times for me. I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel and it's amazing to finally start feeling like myself again. But, thanks to the rough months, I've returned to some of my not so great habits and have taken to resting when I have free time instead of doing something active. I think training for the zombie apocalypse will be a fun way for me to get back in the game. And if working out is fun, I'm more likely to do it.
So here's my plan so far: I work on the waterfront and have yet to really take advantage of that fact as much as I should. From now on I'll be spending my lunch walking along the waterfront. After work, I'll change into workout gear and take a jog on the waterfront. Since I'm just starting to get back into running for exercise I'll take it easy and work my way up to the point where I can run without having to stop for breath every 10 seconds. By planning on doing both of these things, I don't have as much pressure if something comes up that interferes with my plan. If I miss my lunch walk because I go to lunch with a friend or coworker, that's ok because I know I'll have time to jog after work. If I have something to rush to right after work, that's ok because I know I'm still going on a walk for lunch.
I still have a gym membership at Bally's so I'm going to try to get myself to go there more often. I want to get back to swimming as soon as I can. Since the weather is finally going to start warming up, and it's staying lighter out longer, I feel like my options are unlimited. I live right by the Springwater corridor trail. I love going to Multnomah Falls. I just feel more alive when there is more light. In the winter, I hardly see daylight because by the time I'm off work, it's dark. All this daylight has me motivated and energized!
As far as eating habits go, I'm going to cut back on the sweets. I know from my own personal experience that I don't do well without chocolate so I won't be cutting that out completely. But I am going to only allow myself one chocolate indulgence a day. Whether that be a cookie, a piece of birthday cake, or a truffle, it doesn't matter. I only get one. And "one tub of ice cream" will not count as one indulgence. Yea, maybe I've used that justification before. What? I like ice cream, ok?
I've also been taking a buttload of vitamins for the past few weeks to help with my mood and energy and will continue to do so until the day I die (or something like that). I take a multivitamin, fish oil, vitamin D (since we lack sunshine on a regular basis here) and St. Johns Wort. It's best to take vitamins with food so it really helps me eat 3 meals a day. I feel silly admitting it, but I have a bad habit of skipping meals. I tell myself I "make up for it" by consuming loads of calories from late night snacks but we all know that's not healthy. Thanks to the vitamins, that hasn't been much of a problem lately.
With all that said, I encourage you to think about what you can do to get yourself ready for the days of zombies. I also ask that you not feed this chocoholic or purposely taunt chocolate that you eat. If you want to do something active with me, just ask! I may not be able (or want) to do everything, but it never hurts to ask and isn't it always more fun doing things with friends? Come walk with me at lunch, or jog after work. Let's go to the falls or explore a new trail together. Or just sit back and do your own thing. That's totally cool too. Just remember, some day...the zombies will be here.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Mini update
I'm still alive. That's all the update I can muster.
I'm not purposefully neglecting the blog or my friends or my life. It just kinda happens sometimes.
I'm not purposefully neglecting the blog or my friends or my life. It just kinda happens sometimes.
Monday, December 12, 2011
My first fire
Over the weekend I had some time to finally get some unpacking done. I have been struggling to figure out where I want things to go and how to make things functional while still looking good. Which is hard when everything you own seems so ghetto. I'd like my couch a lot more if the pattern wasn't so...ugly. So, I'm unpacking, rearranging, hurting myself and I decide since it's a cold day and I have a stash of firewood in my trunk (for those random beach/river trips) why not get some use out of the fireplace?
I've lived in houses with fireplaces for the last 3 years of my life but I never got into the habit of actually having fires. In my old house, to have a fire you had to crawl into the fireplace to open the flue. Which was no problem when I was living with my ex. He would take care of that. When living alone, I couldn't muster up the courage to crawl in there. I mean, it's dark, and there could be spiders! So, I just never had fires. Until the very last night, when I had to burn the junk mail that had accumulated in there, and I had A's boyfriend open the flue for that. In my temporary house there was a fireplace but since I was only there a couple months and it was never cold there, I didn't have any fires there either.
I love fires. It's one of my favorite parts of camping. I know some people hate the smell of campfires but I love it. I love the sound of fires, the smell of the smoke, the warmth of the flame. I know campfires, and fires in fireplaces are different, but not much. On a cold winter day, there's really nothing better then sitting in front of a warm fire. It's just that much better when it's inside your own home and you have access to all the modern conveniences in life.
It took me a few trips to get all the firewood in from my car. I set up a few pieces in the fireplace and stuck some of my to-be-shredded mail in the middle. The flue is easy to open with a pull chain on the outside, below the mantle, and just like that I had a nice fire going. My plan was to start the fire and go back to unpacking what will eventually be my "office", aka the room I keep my computer in. I couldn't tear myself away from the fire though. I kept thinking how awesome it is that I can have a fire whenever I want, in the safety of my own home. So I sat on the couch and caught up on some tv that I had missed and enjoyed the sound of the fire crackling. I kept adding wood, and moving the pieces around with my poker, which is actually just a piece of particle board that fell off of my cheap bookcase. Soon I was sitting on the floor in front of the fire watching the blue flames consume the pieces of my old desk that had to be disassembled to move. I hated that solid wood desk anyway, and I can't lie and say it didn't feel good to burn something my ex had left behind. I think that sounds a bit more sadistic than it felt, but whatever.
I see a fuzzball roll by the wall to the left of the fireplace and it startles me. Ever since I washed that blue blanket, there have been massive fuzzies scaring me all around the house. Then I realized that fuzzball had legs. HOLY CRAP! Another giant spider! Oh, NO! Instinctively I jumped up from the floor and went straight into panic mode. I had to breath and tell myself to take stock of the situation. The spider was gigantic, but not quite as big as the one in the tub had been. Why, WHY were there so many huge spiders in this house that I love? The disgusting thing started moving away from the fire and I knew I had to take action. This one was on the move, which meant I didn't have time to call for help. I grabbed my broom and blindly swung in the general direction of that monster beast. I jumped back to safety before finding out I had missed it entirely. It was hiding behind my bag of to-be-shredded/burned mail. It was so big that even though it was "hiding" against a black bag in a shadow, I could still see it. I screamed at it before bringing the broom down on top of it. Again it got away and now it was running along the baseboard towards the tv. I knew it would get away completely if I didn't hit it this time. I did a little hop and screamed again while smacking the broom down hard, finally nailing the creature. I screamed, again, while jumping back towards the couch. I was shaking, breathing hard. Why couldn't the spiders I encounter here be more average in size? Why did they have to be the size of most domesticated pets? If I had tried to use my bugzooka on this one, I would have been able to feel the resistance of it's massive body, and I just can't handle that. I shakily swept the eight legged dog towards the fire, keeping as much distance as I could. Even dead, with it's legs curled in onto itself, it was still the size of those big brown spiders I usually see outside. I imagined I could hear it sizzle and scream when I swept it into the flames. I sat on the recliner and tried to steady my breathing. So much for enjoying my fire. Now there was a giant spider carcass in there. I couldn't just reach in like before. Maybe...maybe that mutant came in when I opened the flue? I'd been there a week without opening it...maybe it had crawled in from outside...the big tree out front did hang right over the house. The tree spider must have thought it would be safe in the chimney and came down when I opened the flue. It was running away from the fire when I saw it. Oh god, but that must have meant I was close to it for a long time. I was just trying to make myself feel better about it, thinking that this couldn't be normal. Gross....sick, sick, sick. I spider proofed the house damn it!
That was the motivation I needed to get back to unpacking. Only now, I was paranoid about spiders in the house. Reaching into boxes scared me now. Putting something in the dark closet was terrifying. I pushed myself to keep going like I had never seen that spider. I know that I can't let my fear run my life, but it's still hard to push through sometimes. I was moving slow, but I was getting things done. I kept the broom nearby for protection.
It felt good to finally be getting things done in the house, even if it was going slow. I couldn't find all the things I needed to get things like my computer set up, and even though the fire was now tainted, it's warmth kept bringing me back to the living room. Before I knew it, I was fighting off sleep on the couch, and I was down to my last piece of firewood. The large log was barely on fire anymore. I got a cup of water from the kitchen to douse the flames out. The small cup wasn't enough so I grabbed the coffee pot and filled it with water. I slowly, and carefully since there was a spider in there somewhere and for all I knew there could be more, poured the water over the log until it stopped sizzling. I let the last bits of smoke fly up the chimney while I brushed my teeth and put on pajamas. I swept up some bits of ash on the floor, closed the flue, and headed to bed.
I woke up to the sound of a voice outside my door. What was it saying? I could hardly make it out. Was I dreaming? There was a sound that went along with the voice. Had I left the tv on? I pushed my eye mask up and tried to wake up.
Buzz buzz buzz. Voice. Buzz buzz buzz. Voice.
What was happening? I put on my robe and went to check the living room. As soon as I opened the door I realized it was the smoke alarm I was hearing. I jumped into action mode. First I had to shut that noise off. Sure, maybe I should have checked for fire first, but my head was pounding and all I could focus on was making that sound stop. I could now hear the voice clearly, coming from the smoke detector. It was saying "carbon monoxide" between the buzzing sounds. From the hallway where the smoke alarm is I could see smoke coming from the fireplace. That damn log had never gone out completely. I pulled up the white lawn chair that had been left in my closet and pushed the silence button on the smoke detector. "Carbon monoxide" she told me again and again. I pushed the button but she wouldn't shut up. I held the button down, and that made the other smoke detectors go off. The sound was so loud. I thought my brain might explode. Finally, she shut up.
I climbed down from the chair and ran over to the fireplace. I open the flue and then that bitch was yelling at me again. I was suddenly aware of how smokey it was in the house. I climbed back up on the chair and held down the button that made the other alarms go off before shutting them up. Again, I crawled down and tried to figure out what to do. My head was so light. I caught a glimpse of the clock in the kitchen and saw it was 4 in the morning. I ran to the front door and swung it open. The cool air gave me goosebumps immediately and I realized I never closed my robe. Hi neighbors, I'm the girl who doesn't know how to properly put out fires and walks around without pants on. Awesome.
After securely closing my robe, I swung the door back and forth trying to get the smoke to dissipate. The buzzing came back and that damn woman was yelling at me again. I closed the door and crawled back up on that chair. Every time it seemed like that buzzing was louder. Again she shuts up and I know I have to do more. I open a window in the kitchen. It was a lot smokier in the house than I had realized. I ran back into the living room and opened the window there. I swung the front door back and forth again and then I noticed the log was still smoldering. Oh no, sir. You are being put out. I filled up the coffee pot again and poured it all over the log. It sizzled, but still smoked. This was a monster log. I filled up the coffee pot again but the buzzing started before I could make it back to the living room. I felt like a crazy person. The buzzing was killing my head and I couldn't get the smoke alarms to shut up. I screamed at it to stop. I told it I was trying to get the smoke out. She shut up.
I hopped down from the chair and grabbed the broom to wave the smoke away from the smoke detector. It went off immediately. Back up on the chair. More screaming. When I shut her up again I got down and went to find the fan I had yet to put in the basement for storage until summer. I plugged it in and aimed it at the open window, hoping to blow the smoke outside. I went back to fanning the front door and hoped I wouldn't hear that awful buzzing again. Then I remembered the coffee pot full of water in the kitchen. I grabbed it and before pouring it over the log, I used my "poker" to flip the log over hoping maybe if I got the other side wet it would finally go out. It was still smoking, but now the water was coming out onto the tiles in front of the fireplace. I found some napkins to mop up the mess and when it was all cleaned up I sat on the couch to stare at the log that wouldn't stop burning. I had to wait it out. I was delirious. At least the smoke finally started to clear up. I was mad at myself. Mad for not realizing the log was still burning before I went to bed. Mad that I had warmed up the house only to have to cool it down again with freezing temperatures outside. Mad that I had really almost killed myself. Hey, at least I knew the smoke/carbon monoxide detectors worked properly. And thank God for that!
I finally had the smoke mostly cleared out, nearly 30 minutes after waking up in a daze. I grabbed a blanket and laid on the couch to wait for that log to finally go out all the way. It was nice to have a cozy blanket, freshly washed, wrapped around me with the fan going and freezing air flowing in through the open windows. Soon, I was asleep again, having strange dreams about monster dogs and running for my life.
How would you react if you woke up to the same situation? It's easy to say you would know exactly how to handle things, but how clear would your head really be after slowly losing oxygen throuhgout the night? Maybe I should be embarrassed to share this story, but I'm not. It's been a couple days now and I still don't feel completely normal. I've got a kind of nasty cough and I had a massive headache which has now been replaced with a light headed feeling that won't go away. This is my life people. The house still smells like smoke. My coat and scarf, which were left in the living room, reek of smoke so much that no matter where I go I can still smell the smell of fire.
And that's the story of how I almost killed myself this weekend.
I've lived in houses with fireplaces for the last 3 years of my life but I never got into the habit of actually having fires. In my old house, to have a fire you had to crawl into the fireplace to open the flue. Which was no problem when I was living with my ex. He would take care of that. When living alone, I couldn't muster up the courage to crawl in there. I mean, it's dark, and there could be spiders! So, I just never had fires. Until the very last night, when I had to burn the junk mail that had accumulated in there, and I had A's boyfriend open the flue for that. In my temporary house there was a fireplace but since I was only there a couple months and it was never cold there, I didn't have any fires there either.
I love fires. It's one of my favorite parts of camping. I know some people hate the smell of campfires but I love it. I love the sound of fires, the smell of the smoke, the warmth of the flame. I know campfires, and fires in fireplaces are different, but not much. On a cold winter day, there's really nothing better then sitting in front of a warm fire. It's just that much better when it's inside your own home and you have access to all the modern conveniences in life.
It took me a few trips to get all the firewood in from my car. I set up a few pieces in the fireplace and stuck some of my to-be-shredded mail in the middle. The flue is easy to open with a pull chain on the outside, below the mantle, and just like that I had a nice fire going. My plan was to start the fire and go back to unpacking what will eventually be my "office", aka the room I keep my computer in. I couldn't tear myself away from the fire though. I kept thinking how awesome it is that I can have a fire whenever I want, in the safety of my own home. So I sat on the couch and caught up on some tv that I had missed and enjoyed the sound of the fire crackling. I kept adding wood, and moving the pieces around with my poker, which is actually just a piece of particle board that fell off of my cheap bookcase. Soon I was sitting on the floor in front of the fire watching the blue flames consume the pieces of my old desk that had to be disassembled to move. I hated that solid wood desk anyway, and I can't lie and say it didn't feel good to burn something my ex had left behind. I think that sounds a bit more sadistic than it felt, but whatever.
I see a fuzzball roll by the wall to the left of the fireplace and it startles me. Ever since I washed that blue blanket, there have been massive fuzzies scaring me all around the house. Then I realized that fuzzball had legs. HOLY CRAP! Another giant spider! Oh, NO! Instinctively I jumped up from the floor and went straight into panic mode. I had to breath and tell myself to take stock of the situation. The spider was gigantic, but not quite as big as the one in the tub had been. Why, WHY were there so many huge spiders in this house that I love? The disgusting thing started moving away from the fire and I knew I had to take action. This one was on the move, which meant I didn't have time to call for help. I grabbed my broom and blindly swung in the general direction of that monster beast. I jumped back to safety before finding out I had missed it entirely. It was hiding behind my bag of to-be-shredded/burned mail. It was so big that even though it was "hiding" against a black bag in a shadow, I could still see it. I screamed at it before bringing the broom down on top of it. Again it got away and now it was running along the baseboard towards the tv. I knew it would get away completely if I didn't hit it this time. I did a little hop and screamed again while smacking the broom down hard, finally nailing the creature. I screamed, again, while jumping back towards the couch. I was shaking, breathing hard. Why couldn't the spiders I encounter here be more average in size? Why did they have to be the size of most domesticated pets? If I had tried to use my bugzooka on this one, I would have been able to feel the resistance of it's massive body, and I just can't handle that. I shakily swept the eight legged dog towards the fire, keeping as much distance as I could. Even dead, with it's legs curled in onto itself, it was still the size of those big brown spiders I usually see outside. I imagined I could hear it sizzle and scream when I swept it into the flames. I sat on the recliner and tried to steady my breathing. So much for enjoying my fire. Now there was a giant spider carcass in there. I couldn't just reach in like before. Maybe...maybe that mutant came in when I opened the flue? I'd been there a week without opening it...maybe it had crawled in from outside...the big tree out front did hang right over the house. The tree spider must have thought it would be safe in the chimney and came down when I opened the flue. It was running away from the fire when I saw it. Oh god, but that must have meant I was close to it for a long time. I was just trying to make myself feel better about it, thinking that this couldn't be normal. Gross....sick, sick, sick. I spider proofed the house damn it!
That was the motivation I needed to get back to unpacking. Only now, I was paranoid about spiders in the house. Reaching into boxes scared me now. Putting something in the dark closet was terrifying. I pushed myself to keep going like I had never seen that spider. I know that I can't let my fear run my life, but it's still hard to push through sometimes. I was moving slow, but I was getting things done. I kept the broom nearby for protection.
It felt good to finally be getting things done in the house, even if it was going slow. I couldn't find all the things I needed to get things like my computer set up, and even though the fire was now tainted, it's warmth kept bringing me back to the living room. Before I knew it, I was fighting off sleep on the couch, and I was down to my last piece of firewood. The large log was barely on fire anymore. I got a cup of water from the kitchen to douse the flames out. The small cup wasn't enough so I grabbed the coffee pot and filled it with water. I slowly, and carefully since there was a spider in there somewhere and for all I knew there could be more, poured the water over the log until it stopped sizzling. I let the last bits of smoke fly up the chimney while I brushed my teeth and put on pajamas. I swept up some bits of ash on the floor, closed the flue, and headed to bed.
I woke up to the sound of a voice outside my door. What was it saying? I could hardly make it out. Was I dreaming? There was a sound that went along with the voice. Had I left the tv on? I pushed my eye mask up and tried to wake up.
Buzz buzz buzz. Voice. Buzz buzz buzz. Voice.
What was happening? I put on my robe and went to check the living room. As soon as I opened the door I realized it was the smoke alarm I was hearing. I jumped into action mode. First I had to shut that noise off. Sure, maybe I should have checked for fire first, but my head was pounding and all I could focus on was making that sound stop. I could now hear the voice clearly, coming from the smoke detector. It was saying "carbon monoxide" between the buzzing sounds. From the hallway where the smoke alarm is I could see smoke coming from the fireplace. That damn log had never gone out completely. I pulled up the white lawn chair that had been left in my closet and pushed the silence button on the smoke detector. "Carbon monoxide" she told me again and again. I pushed the button but she wouldn't shut up. I held the button down, and that made the other smoke detectors go off. The sound was so loud. I thought my brain might explode. Finally, she shut up.
I climbed down from the chair and ran over to the fireplace. I open the flue and then that bitch was yelling at me again. I was suddenly aware of how smokey it was in the house. I climbed back up on the chair and held down the button that made the other alarms go off before shutting them up. Again, I crawled down and tried to figure out what to do. My head was so light. I caught a glimpse of the clock in the kitchen and saw it was 4 in the morning. I ran to the front door and swung it open. The cool air gave me goosebumps immediately and I realized I never closed my robe. Hi neighbors, I'm the girl who doesn't know how to properly put out fires and walks around without pants on. Awesome.
After securely closing my robe, I swung the door back and forth trying to get the smoke to dissipate. The buzzing came back and that damn woman was yelling at me again. I closed the door and crawled back up on that chair. Every time it seemed like that buzzing was louder. Again she shuts up and I know I have to do more. I open a window in the kitchen. It was a lot smokier in the house than I had realized. I ran back into the living room and opened the window there. I swung the front door back and forth again and then I noticed the log was still smoldering. Oh no, sir. You are being put out. I filled up the coffee pot again and poured it all over the log. It sizzled, but still smoked. This was a monster log. I filled up the coffee pot again but the buzzing started before I could make it back to the living room. I felt like a crazy person. The buzzing was killing my head and I couldn't get the smoke alarms to shut up. I screamed at it to stop. I told it I was trying to get the smoke out. She shut up.
I hopped down from the chair and grabbed the broom to wave the smoke away from the smoke detector. It went off immediately. Back up on the chair. More screaming. When I shut her up again I got down and went to find the fan I had yet to put in the basement for storage until summer. I plugged it in and aimed it at the open window, hoping to blow the smoke outside. I went back to fanning the front door and hoped I wouldn't hear that awful buzzing again. Then I remembered the coffee pot full of water in the kitchen. I grabbed it and before pouring it over the log, I used my "poker" to flip the log over hoping maybe if I got the other side wet it would finally go out. It was still smoking, but now the water was coming out onto the tiles in front of the fireplace. I found some napkins to mop up the mess and when it was all cleaned up I sat on the couch to stare at the log that wouldn't stop burning. I had to wait it out. I was delirious. At least the smoke finally started to clear up. I was mad at myself. Mad for not realizing the log was still burning before I went to bed. Mad that I had warmed up the house only to have to cool it down again with freezing temperatures outside. Mad that I had really almost killed myself. Hey, at least I knew the smoke/carbon monoxide detectors worked properly. And thank God for that!
I finally had the smoke mostly cleared out, nearly 30 minutes after waking up in a daze. I grabbed a blanket and laid on the couch to wait for that log to finally go out all the way. It was nice to have a cozy blanket, freshly washed, wrapped around me with the fan going and freezing air flowing in through the open windows. Soon, I was asleep again, having strange dreams about monster dogs and running for my life.
How would you react if you woke up to the same situation? It's easy to say you would know exactly how to handle things, but how clear would your head really be after slowly losing oxygen throuhgout the night? Maybe I should be embarrassed to share this story, but I'm not. It's been a couple days now and I still don't feel completely normal. I've got a kind of nasty cough and I had a massive headache which has now been replaced with a light headed feeling that won't go away. This is my life people. The house still smells like smoke. My coat and scarf, which were left in the living room, reek of smoke so much that no matter where I go I can still smell the smell of fire.
And that's the story of how I almost killed myself this weekend.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Arachnophobia (strong language warning)
Before I had ever moved my things into my new house, before I had even scheduled the movers, I had an encounter of the eight legged kind. After work on this particular Monday, I decided to take some small odds and ends to the new house. Things that would break easy, or were just easier in my mind for me to take care of. Like my jewelry holder, the bag of random wrapping paper and gift bags, that glass pitcher that didn't fit into any box, that box of breakables that didn't have a lid. I loaded up my car and headed to my lovely new home, excited to see it again.
I parked under the car port, grabbed a couple things and headed into the house. I set my purse and things on the kitchen counter and got out my camera to take the "before I moved in the house looked like this" pictures. I walked through the living room *click*, the dining room *click*, into the kitchen *flash*, through the hall *click*, and into the bathroom. I leaned back towards the tub to get a picture of the wall of mirrors. I turned around to take a picture of the tiled shower and HOLYFUCKINGHELL! I was suddenly back in the hall, panting and trying to comprehend what I had just seen.
No way. There is no way I just saw a spider that big in my tub. There is no fucking way that I just saw a spider that big, in my new tub, inches away from where I had been standing. There is no fucking way that a spider that big exists outside of tropical climates. I took a step back into the bathroom, shaking, to peer over the edge of the tub. I saw legs. I jumped back. Dear God...it's real! I really saw that! Fuckfuckfuck. I kept my eyes on the edge of the tub, to make sure it didn't come crawling over the edge. I talked to myself.
Now K, maybe you're exaggerating the size in your head. Listen K, it's going to be ok.
I take a step back into the bathroom and peer a little further into the tub this time to see the entire thing. Oh sickgrossfuckdamnitmotherfucker that thing is a GIANT! It must have mated with a fucking dog. Why is this thing real?? Why is this thing in my tub?? I walked into the living room, keeping my eye on the tub. Making sure the tub is in my sights at all times. That thing is literally the biggest spider I've ever seen in real life. I honestly don't think it would fit down the drain if I tried to wash it down. And to wash it down I would have to get close to it. Oh God, and what if I tried to wash it down and I failed and scare it and it comes out of the tub after me?! I can't handle this. I start breathing hard again, keeping my eyes on the tub while I pace the living room.
What am I going to do? I have nothing but breakables at the house. No broom to whack the dog spider with, no bugzooka to capture this unauthorized intruder with, not that I believe this giant would actually fit in the bugzooka chamber. I don't know what to do. I start to panic. Tears spring to my eyes. I'm trapped here. I can't leave and go get something or someone to help me. What if I leave and come back...and it's gone?! I'll never know where it went! I cannot possibly move my things into this house knowing at any moment I could come face to face with an amazonian spider!
You think I'm crazy right? I know. It's ok. That's why I'm writing this. I have actual arachnophobia. I've had this problem for as long as I can remember. It's the reason my mom bought me my bugzooka. Almost everyone brushes my fear off as me being just another girl afraid of bugs. Most people don't realize how serious my phobia is until they see me in a panic attack, and even then, some people still don't get it. I'm writing this to show how those panic attacks look. How my brain works when I see a spider. I think that people assume this is just something I can get over if I stop being a wuss, but that's just the thing. This is a phobia. It's an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something. That's the definition of phobia. It's not something I can control (without help). I don't like the powerless feeling that overcomes me when I'm faced with my fear. I'm normally a rational, logical person. But when it comes to spiders, I seem to lose all control.
I sent a text to my friend A about the spider. Hoping her or her boyfriend could come save me. In fact, I sent a lot of texts hoping to get help. The whole time, pacing my living room and keeping an eye on the tub. In my mind I could see the spider crawling up over the edge and coming after me out of the bathroom. What would I do if that happened? I was way too terrified to actually step on it. Can you imagine the crunch it would make?! Sick! With it's legs, that thing was the size of my fist. Literally the biggest spider I have ever seen in my life. I realize I'm repeating myself, but that's what my brain does in these situations. My friend D said he could come kill the spider for me. Of course, it took a little convincing for him to realize I was serious when I asked. I kept trying to get myself to leave the house. To get into my car, even just get out the front door. I couldn't get myself out of the living room for anything more than another peek in the tub to make sure the monster was still there. When I thought of going back to my car, I could easily imagine more of these giant mutant spiders crawling along the underside of the carport, which would mean they would be right above my head. What if one dropped down onto me?! If I went on the porch, same problem. They could be everywhere! If there was one there would be more right? I waited anxiously for D to arrive to kill that spider, but I couldn't leave my spot. A asked me to send her a picture of the thing causing me so much stress.
A picture meant I had to get close again. But I had to have some validation. I had to prove that my fear was justified. I took a step into the bathroom again. The legs were still there. I took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. I turned my phone camera on and aimed it at the tub from where I stood in the doorway. I held it high above my head to get a clear shot into the tub without me having to step any closer than necessary. Zoom is my friend. I started to shake. What if it moved? What if the shutter sound scared it? What if the flash woke it up? What was I going to do? I pressed the button and ran back into the living room, breathing hard and trying to stifle my tears. I could barely even look at the picture I took. Just enough to make sure it wasn't too blurry. But it was too blurry. I had to take another picture. Which meant I had to go back into the bathroom. Damn it. It took me three tries before I got one clear enough to send. I was shaking and I could no longer hold the tears back. Each picture I took, I thought for sure would be the one that sent this spider into a rage. Thankfully, it never moved. I got the reaction I expected from the picture, laughter. There's no way I could get close enough to get a picture that would do my fear justice.
Where was D? What was taking him so long? I stayed in the living room, glancing from the tub to the window, hoping that any moment I would see D's car turn down my street. I wanted so badly to go outside. I was so hot. Warm from all my anxiety. My face was red and tears were streaming down my cheeks. Every time I checked to make sure the spider was still in the tub I cried harder. It was real. I wasn't imagining it. And I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted so badly to be a normal person. I wanted so badly to be someone that could stomp on that fucker with no hesitation. But even the thought of it sent my mind into a frenzy. It could be super fast! It could be poisonous! It could TOUCH me. This was not ok. This is my dream house. It cannot have spiders the size of house pets! What was I going to do if this was the norm at this house? I couldn't live there.
I was literally paralyzed with fear. I couldn't move beyond the living room. I tried to go into the kitchen but two things stopped me. 1) The knowledge that if I left my watch post in the living room and came back to find the spider missing, I would absolutely not be ok. It would be my fault that it got away and I didn't know where it had gotten to and 2) There could be more spiders just like that one in the rest of the house. Just on the other side of any door. On the ceiling of any room. Hiding in the corner of any closet or cupboard. Anything that I couldn't see from where I stood had the possibility of harboring one of the biggest spiders I've ever seen. I could see it clearly in my mind and even when I told myself to calm down, even when I reminded myself that I had been in this house before with no sightings of giant arachnids, I couldn't actually move. I just kept looking back and forth, from the tub to the window that faced the street. When would D get here?
It felt like forever before he showed up. Probably because of my maniacal pacing. He laughed when he saw me. I know I was a sight...red face, trembling with fear, unable to speak properly. I hate not being able to hold my composure. I pointed to the bathroom when he asked me where it was and I backed as far away as I could while still being able to see the bathroom, and not be too close to the fireplace, which surely hid more monsters in it's dark abyss of a chimney. Even D, who has been overseas and seen those literal giant spiders admitted it was a larger spider than would be seen indoors in the northwest. It was so large that it didn't even move when he went in to kill it. It never moved. I made him flush it.
For all we know it could have been dead the whole time. But guess what? That doesn't matter to me. Dead spider, live spider, plastic spider, picture of a spider, spider on the tv screen....They all have the same affect on me. You're supposed to be able to free the things you catch in the bugzooka. I can't, simply because I can't actually touch something so close to a living spider. I can't touch a picture of a spider. I can't wipe a dead spiders guts off the wall. I just can't. I try. I really do sometimes. But the closer I get, the shakier I get and I just can't seem to get myself under control.
I made D walk through the house with me, to give him a tour at the same time we checked to make sure there were no more mutant eight legged things around. I am so incredibly grateful to have friends that will come help me when I'm a blubbering mess. A few days after this I asked some friends to come over and help me "spider proof" my new house before I moved my things in. I got spray to use around the perimeter of the house to keep spiders out. I got a can of bug spray for any live ones I may come face to face with without any kind of "weapon". And I got more than a few things to plug in that emit a supersonic sound that is supposed to keep spiders and bugs away. There is now one of those in every room of the house, 3 in the basement. We decobwebbed, sprayed, and searched until we had done all we could. Whether or not these measures actually keep bugs and spiders away, I don't know. But they give me enough peace of mind to continue living in this house.
I still haven't put my foot in the spot that spider was. I still check every room as I enter it, to make sure there's no spider there. Since seeing that spider in my tub, the biggest spider I've ever seen in person, I feel I'm better able to handle the "normal" size spiders that I come across. I still cant get close to them. I still get shaky. But I can at least keep the tears back while I trap them in the bugzooka chamber.
There are really two reasons I chose to write about this. The first, it's a funny story. When I'm not in the moment, being terrified and screaming for help, even I can acknowledge the way I act is funny. The second reason, to shed some light on what goes on for a person with arachnophobia. This has always been an issue for me. I have had to deal with this for as long as I can remember. I've gotten to the point where I don't run away when there's a spider on the tv (or in a video game), but I still can't look at it. I have spider encounter stories of all kinds. In the car, walking through webs, waking up with a spider hanging from the ceiling above my face. I've been trapped in the bedroom, in the kitchen, in the hallway. Sometimes when I use a shoe to squish a spider (after a lot of pep talking of course) I can't wear that shoe for months, if ever again. I know that it's ridiculous. I know that. I really can't help it. I want to. I don't want to act this way. I don't want to be the girl running, screaming and crying through haunted houses because of imagined spiders (yes, that really happened once). But I just can't help it. It's real fear. It's so very real and I think that's what people don't realize. I've heard people say that it's an attention seeking thing, that it's just a way to get sympathy, that I should just get over it, that I'm a drama queen. One of my ex boyfriends actually refused to keep killing spiders for me because he said I needed to get over it myself. I might agree if I didn't feel what it feels like to have a panic attack at the sight of something that's actually natural.
It's not funny to mess with someone because of their phobia. It's not funny to send someone into a panic attack. I know that no matter what I say, some people will always think I'm just being crazy. I just wanted to hopefully shed a little light on why I act the way I act. Some people have phobias of snakes, some have phobias of slugs or eyeballs, and some people really are just drama queens. But phobias are real fear. Sure, they can make for some funny stories but please be nice to people about their phobias.
I parked under the car port, grabbed a couple things and headed into the house. I set my purse and things on the kitchen counter and got out my camera to take the "before I moved in the house looked like this" pictures. I walked through the living room *click*, the dining room *click*, into the kitchen *flash*, through the hall *click*, and into the bathroom. I leaned back towards the tub to get a picture of the wall of mirrors. I turned around to take a picture of the tiled shower and HOLYFUCKINGHELL! I was suddenly back in the hall, panting and trying to comprehend what I had just seen.
No way. There is no way I just saw a spider that big in my tub. There is no fucking way that I just saw a spider that big, in my new tub, inches away from where I had been standing. There is no fucking way that a spider that big exists outside of tropical climates. I took a step back into the bathroom, shaking, to peer over the edge of the tub. I saw legs. I jumped back. Dear God...it's real! I really saw that! Fuckfuckfuck. I kept my eyes on the edge of the tub, to make sure it didn't come crawling over the edge. I talked to myself.
Now K, maybe you're exaggerating the size in your head. Listen K, it's going to be ok.
I take a step back into the bathroom and peer a little further into the tub this time to see the entire thing. Oh sickgrossfuckdamnitmotherfucker that thing is a GIANT! It must have mated with a fucking dog. Why is this thing real?? Why is this thing in my tub?? I walked into the living room, keeping my eye on the tub. Making sure the tub is in my sights at all times. That thing is literally the biggest spider I've ever seen in real life. I honestly don't think it would fit down the drain if I tried to wash it down. And to wash it down I would have to get close to it. Oh God, and what if I tried to wash it down and I failed and scare it and it comes out of the tub after me?! I can't handle this. I start breathing hard again, keeping my eyes on the tub while I pace the living room.
What am I going to do? I have nothing but breakables at the house. No broom to whack the dog spider with, no bugzooka to capture this unauthorized intruder with, not that I believe this giant would actually fit in the bugzooka chamber. I don't know what to do. I start to panic. Tears spring to my eyes. I'm trapped here. I can't leave and go get something or someone to help me. What if I leave and come back...and it's gone?! I'll never know where it went! I cannot possibly move my things into this house knowing at any moment I could come face to face with an amazonian spider!
You think I'm crazy right? I know. It's ok. That's why I'm writing this. I have actual arachnophobia. I've had this problem for as long as I can remember. It's the reason my mom bought me my bugzooka. Almost everyone brushes my fear off as me being just another girl afraid of bugs. Most people don't realize how serious my phobia is until they see me in a panic attack, and even then, some people still don't get it. I'm writing this to show how those panic attacks look. How my brain works when I see a spider. I think that people assume this is just something I can get over if I stop being a wuss, but that's just the thing. This is a phobia. It's an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something. That's the definition of phobia. It's not something I can control (without help). I don't like the powerless feeling that overcomes me when I'm faced with my fear. I'm normally a rational, logical person. But when it comes to spiders, I seem to lose all control.
I sent a text to my friend A about the spider. Hoping her or her boyfriend could come save me. In fact, I sent a lot of texts hoping to get help. The whole time, pacing my living room and keeping an eye on the tub. In my mind I could see the spider crawling up over the edge and coming after me out of the bathroom. What would I do if that happened? I was way too terrified to actually step on it. Can you imagine the crunch it would make?! Sick! With it's legs, that thing was the size of my fist. Literally the biggest spider I have ever seen in my life. I realize I'm repeating myself, but that's what my brain does in these situations. My friend D said he could come kill the spider for me. Of course, it took a little convincing for him to realize I was serious when I asked. I kept trying to get myself to leave the house. To get into my car, even just get out the front door. I couldn't get myself out of the living room for anything more than another peek in the tub to make sure the monster was still there. When I thought of going back to my car, I could easily imagine more of these giant mutant spiders crawling along the underside of the carport, which would mean they would be right above my head. What if one dropped down onto me?! If I went on the porch, same problem. They could be everywhere! If there was one there would be more right? I waited anxiously for D to arrive to kill that spider, but I couldn't leave my spot. A asked me to send her a picture of the thing causing me so much stress.
A picture meant I had to get close again. But I had to have some validation. I had to prove that my fear was justified. I took a step into the bathroom again. The legs were still there. I took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. I turned my phone camera on and aimed it at the tub from where I stood in the doorway. I held it high above my head to get a clear shot into the tub without me having to step any closer than necessary. Zoom is my friend. I started to shake. What if it moved? What if the shutter sound scared it? What if the flash woke it up? What was I going to do? I pressed the button and ran back into the living room, breathing hard and trying to stifle my tears. I could barely even look at the picture I took. Just enough to make sure it wasn't too blurry. But it was too blurry. I had to take another picture. Which meant I had to go back into the bathroom. Damn it. It took me three tries before I got one clear enough to send. I was shaking and I could no longer hold the tears back. Each picture I took, I thought for sure would be the one that sent this spider into a rage. Thankfully, it never moved. I got the reaction I expected from the picture, laughter. There's no way I could get close enough to get a picture that would do my fear justice.
Where was D? What was taking him so long? I stayed in the living room, glancing from the tub to the window, hoping that any moment I would see D's car turn down my street. I wanted so badly to go outside. I was so hot. Warm from all my anxiety. My face was red and tears were streaming down my cheeks. Every time I checked to make sure the spider was still in the tub I cried harder. It was real. I wasn't imagining it. And I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted so badly to be a normal person. I wanted so badly to be someone that could stomp on that fucker with no hesitation. But even the thought of it sent my mind into a frenzy. It could be super fast! It could be poisonous! It could TOUCH me. This was not ok. This is my dream house. It cannot have spiders the size of house pets! What was I going to do if this was the norm at this house? I couldn't live there.
I was literally paralyzed with fear. I couldn't move beyond the living room. I tried to go into the kitchen but two things stopped me. 1) The knowledge that if I left my watch post in the living room and came back to find the spider missing, I would absolutely not be ok. It would be my fault that it got away and I didn't know where it had gotten to and 2) There could be more spiders just like that one in the rest of the house. Just on the other side of any door. On the ceiling of any room. Hiding in the corner of any closet or cupboard. Anything that I couldn't see from where I stood had the possibility of harboring one of the biggest spiders I've ever seen. I could see it clearly in my mind and even when I told myself to calm down, even when I reminded myself that I had been in this house before with no sightings of giant arachnids, I couldn't actually move. I just kept looking back and forth, from the tub to the window that faced the street. When would D get here?
It felt like forever before he showed up. Probably because of my maniacal pacing. He laughed when he saw me. I know I was a sight...red face, trembling with fear, unable to speak properly. I hate not being able to hold my composure. I pointed to the bathroom when he asked me where it was and I backed as far away as I could while still being able to see the bathroom, and not be too close to the fireplace, which surely hid more monsters in it's dark abyss of a chimney. Even D, who has been overseas and seen those literal giant spiders admitted it was a larger spider than would be seen indoors in the northwest. It was so large that it didn't even move when he went in to kill it. It never moved. I made him flush it.
For all we know it could have been dead the whole time. But guess what? That doesn't matter to me. Dead spider, live spider, plastic spider, picture of a spider, spider on the tv screen....They all have the same affect on me. You're supposed to be able to free the things you catch in the bugzooka. I can't, simply because I can't actually touch something so close to a living spider. I can't touch a picture of a spider. I can't wipe a dead spiders guts off the wall. I just can't. I try. I really do sometimes. But the closer I get, the shakier I get and I just can't seem to get myself under control.
I made D walk through the house with me, to give him a tour at the same time we checked to make sure there were no more mutant eight legged things around. I am so incredibly grateful to have friends that will come help me when I'm a blubbering mess. A few days after this I asked some friends to come over and help me "spider proof" my new house before I moved my things in. I got spray to use around the perimeter of the house to keep spiders out. I got a can of bug spray for any live ones I may come face to face with without any kind of "weapon". And I got more than a few things to plug in that emit a supersonic sound that is supposed to keep spiders and bugs away. There is now one of those in every room of the house, 3 in the basement. We decobwebbed, sprayed, and searched until we had done all we could. Whether or not these measures actually keep bugs and spiders away, I don't know. But they give me enough peace of mind to continue living in this house.
I still haven't put my foot in the spot that spider was. I still check every room as I enter it, to make sure there's no spider there. Since seeing that spider in my tub, the biggest spider I've ever seen in person, I feel I'm better able to handle the "normal" size spiders that I come across. I still cant get close to them. I still get shaky. But I can at least keep the tears back while I trap them in the bugzooka chamber.
There are really two reasons I chose to write about this. The first, it's a funny story. When I'm not in the moment, being terrified and screaming for help, even I can acknowledge the way I act is funny. The second reason, to shed some light on what goes on for a person with arachnophobia. This has always been an issue for me. I have had to deal with this for as long as I can remember. I've gotten to the point where I don't run away when there's a spider on the tv (or in a video game), but I still can't look at it. I have spider encounter stories of all kinds. In the car, walking through webs, waking up with a spider hanging from the ceiling above my face. I've been trapped in the bedroom, in the kitchen, in the hallway. Sometimes when I use a shoe to squish a spider (after a lot of pep talking of course) I can't wear that shoe for months, if ever again. I know that it's ridiculous. I know that. I really can't help it. I want to. I don't want to act this way. I don't want to be the girl running, screaming and crying through haunted houses because of imagined spiders (yes, that really happened once). But I just can't help it. It's real fear. It's so very real and I think that's what people don't realize. I've heard people say that it's an attention seeking thing, that it's just a way to get sympathy, that I should just get over it, that I'm a drama queen. One of my ex boyfriends actually refused to keep killing spiders for me because he said I needed to get over it myself. I might agree if I didn't feel what it feels like to have a panic attack at the sight of something that's actually natural.
It's not funny to mess with someone because of their phobia. It's not funny to send someone into a panic attack. I know that no matter what I say, some people will always think I'm just being crazy. I just wanted to hopefully shed a little light on why I act the way I act. Some people have phobias of snakes, some have phobias of slugs or eyeballs, and some people really are just drama queens. But phobias are real fear. Sure, they can make for some funny stories but please be nice to people about their phobias.
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