Friday, September 09, 2011
The man who fails to plan really plans to fail. I don't know who said the original version of this, but that one came from the great philosopher/rapper Chali 2Na.
It takes awhile for that to sink in. And even when it does, sometimes my mind spits it out again as I say, "Eff this," and stick my head in a bag of salt and vinegar chips.
But really, I do best when I plan. When I was planning my dinners after my lunches, I managed to stay not only in my calorie range, but on the LOW END of the calorie range for 12 days straight. I also have a tendency to say "Eff this" when I mess up once. Oh, I try to get back on the wagon immediately, but then it's like, for two days, then it's for no days...for a month or something.
So I gotta plan. And I will. I have the tools. I just gotta use them. SIMPLELIFE4REAL (aka My HERO) has posted a link on her blog to her ingenious 8-week meal plan that never recycles a dinner. It would make a good template OR even a whole meal plan for me. ELLEYKAT kept it simple, just by logging first, then eating. Very smart.
Hmm, what other plans can I make?
And I welcome anyone to point me back to this blog when I post another one about salt and vinegar chips, stuffed crust pizza and multiple bowls of Frosted Mini Wheats. I can certainly have those...if I plan for them.
Thursday, September 08, 2011
I wavered with the gym. The rain here is awful. It was hard to see even with the windshield wipers on at their fastest. Driving was a little scary, but I made it okay to the gym parking lot. I circled for a spot, like I normally do. As I started a new loop down a new aisle, it started to pour EVEN HARDER. Then I sneezed five times. Then I left.
I feel kind of lame about that, but I really couldn't imagine. And I lived in New Orleans for four years, without an umbrella, so it's not like I'm a rain wimp.
So, here I am at home, wrapped in warmth with a cuppa. Which is fine, but I can't figure something out.
How do I get the right mindset to stay in my calorie range?
I do really well for awhile, then I stop doing well, and then I become an eating machine. I often have struggled to find an eating plan that works for me, keeps me full enough, and is in SP's calorie range for me. And I'm still not there.
Right now, my problem is salt and vinegar chips. I eat those like it's my job. That has to stop. Cold turkey. Also, the last couple days, Sour Skittles. I eat those when I have allergies, because they scratch the roof of my mouth and my throat when they're itchy.
Maybe if I quit both of those, that's enough for the calorie range to work itself out.
Thursday, September 08, 2011
I have a head cold. I have a pressure headache, my nose is stuffy, I'm sneezing. My throat hurts a little. I coughed once.
I think I read somewhere that you can exercise with a head cold, just that you shouldn't with a chest cold. So I'm still planning to go to the gym after work today.
I started to waver a little bit when one of my colleagues sprayed me with Lysol and told me that I should go to the gym so I can infect everyone there, and maybe take the Metro there to expose as many people as possible. He made me sound like I was trying to engage in biowarfare. It made me feel a little bad.
So is it socially irresponsible of me to go to the gym? Should I go home and do weights instead? I may have to anyway, if my headache gets worse, but if it doesn't, am I a bad person if I go out and possibly spread my germs?
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
I figured I needed a vacation.
And I have been working a lot. But not that much, in the grand scheme of things. What with my shortened hours at my day job last month, I suppose I was only working 42 hours a week. With regular hours back on, I guess 55. Certainly doable.
And my vacation came, in the form of a proven reset button. I went camping Labor Day weekend with my childhood "second parents." I've been going with them and their daughter since I was 8, and the whole thing is so steeped in tradition. My friend couldn't come, so it was them, my husband and me, which is just as well. I love them, so it wasn't weird or anything. It was also the first time my husband had come. His having a good time was very important. He says he did.
But since we got back yesterday, I don't know what's been the matter with me (or him, or us). He just says the WRONG things all the time! And I even tell him what the right things to say are. Like, yesterday, I wanted to go to bed by 8pm for second job, and our plane landed half an hour late, giving me 72 minutes from landing to 8pm. He had decided last minute to check a bag, because he had gotten a bunch of liquid stuff from his sister. You know how when people travel back to their home countries, they always wind up taking a lot of stuff back for people and coming back with stuff for other people? That stuff. Liquid stuff that was probably worth $5, he paid $25 to get the bag checked and spent a good 20% of my 72 minutes waiting for the checked bag.
But that's not what I said. Not at first, anyway.
I complained about the plane landing late, and he said, "Oh, are we at Dulles? Did I make the pilot land the plane late?"
And it's like, "HEY! Don't be a jerk! Just say it sucks, and be done with it." When he didn't, then I brought up the 72 minutes and the $25, especially since a local friend just got back from Peru, so he could have brought the liquid stuff he wanted straight back here to DC, instead of making us schlep it all the way from Texas.
Then, tonight, while I was taking a shower, I poked my head out because I could hear some noise. Little Dog had pooped in the bathroom. I start screaming my husband's name. He doesn't come. Four, five, six times, I yell, everytime louder, till I can't yell any louder. By this point, the dog has walked through it, somehow gotten it on the bathroom door, and is leaving a trail of nast in his wake. Once I was finished with my shower, I was really annoyed.
I came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe, and saw that he was washing dishes, cooking, and had the TV up, so he could hear it over the running water, and I told him really exasperated-like what the dog had been up to, and come help me clean it up now. He held the bag while I cleaned, about which I didn't complain. Then, he brought it up later how I'm picking fights, and I told him, I'm not angry with you about not hearing me, but wouldn't you be irritated in that situation, if you'd been yelling for several minutes, and I never came. Even if it weren't on purpose, you would be annoyed. Then he started in on, "Why didn't you do this? Why didn't you do that? I'd've done this. Etc." And that made me so mad.
So I went crazy.
He picks at me all the time. If it isn't sarcasm like at the airport, it's critical questions like the poop. And as I get madder, he just keeps doing it. Then, he goes, "Why are you yelling? I don't understand," but he KNOWS what he's doing. You know what I mean? It's like I'm a beehive and he's a brat with a stick.
The end of this last drama was that we talked and I actually don't know that and don't even really think we solved anything, but an uneasy truce has been set. The best I could manage was a snide, "Yes, you should treat me with respect, and I will do the same." And he said, "I don't feel you're being genuine," but I was. It was snide, because I had a hard time paralleling the people we were at that moment with who we had been a few hours previous. It made me sad.
Anyway, I woke up this morning to a bunch of my soda in the fridge, the computer set up for my second job, and a love note from him. Much better.
Now, please don't think I'm glossing over my part in this. After all, I titled this blog post "Volatile," and my husband certainly is NOT the volatile one.
But I'm not quite sure why I'm acting the way I am. Is it because of the second job? And if so, should I quit? I really don't want to. I really enjoy the work and the company. And how can it be the job--or the lack of sleep due to the job--if it started at the end of the vacation, when my reset button was sufficiently pushed? Why IS he annoying me so much? And what to do about it?
I can only change myself and my reactions to things, and I do need to work on that. I wish he didn't know how to and didn't so frequently push my buttons, though, either. I've COACHED him in dealing with me, and he doesn't do it. I'm absolutely NOT the type to say, "You should be able to TELL how I feel," or "Why don't you ever say the right things?" or "Why didn't you get me X for Christmas? I wanted X. How could you not know I wanted X? Can't you read my mind?" I'm NOT that way. I am very explicit in my instructions, "Just say, 'it sucks the plane was late.' Period," but it's like he doesn't listen. Well, it's not like he doesn't listen. He really doesn't listen. Argh, it is so frustrating!!!
Now that I've come to a natural ending, I kind of feel like maybe this blog was a waste of time for you and for me. I don't know. I am really down on myself lately. But it just seems like this is so small compared to other people's stuff. And maybe even boring to some people. I hate when people post drivel. Ah, well.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
After my last blog, my husband had to take Sammy to the cardiology department at the clinic where the ER is based, because they couldn't tell if there was fluid in his chest at the regular doctor. Sammy has a heart murmur, and I guess that made it harder. They needed a specialist.
Before he got to see the cardiologist, he saw the ER doctor who released Sammy yesterday. The doctor looked Sammy over and said that he has to find a different point of reference when it comes to Sammy, "because, to me, (pointing at Sammy waddling along the floor) THAT is abnormal."
Then he x-rayed Sammy's abdomen...and Sammy's digestive tract was COMPLETELY clogged. The stomach was full, the intestines were full, the rectum...EVERYTHING. He asked how much we fed him. Sheepishly, my husband said he may have had two breakfasts this morning, but I'm pretty sure that's a fib. I'm pretty sure that his stomach was so full because I gave him three servings of green beans, a cookie, and a heaping measuring cup for dinner.
For the record, also completely my fault. But I was just SO HAPPY that he was home, and the green beans are a low-calorie treat!
So the ER doctor said that that was probably the reason he couldn't sleep very well and why he was crying everytime he sat down on his belly. It could also explain the strange breathing.
Sammy had to stay at the doctor until the cardiologist was available to see him. All of his problems were potentially because of his tummyache, but also there could be fluid in the lungs or chest, or it could be because of heart disease from the heart murmur.
Husband got a call a little later telling him he could pick up Sammy. Oddly, the problem wasn't the full tummy, the heart murmur or fluid. It wasn't fluid...it was FAT. There was FAT in the chest area, which, they told him, "is very common in overweight dogs."
So Sammy was diagnosed as having BUTTERBALL SYNDROME.
He should be about 10 pounds, but he weighs 13.7. When we got him, he was between 12.5 and 13. I got him down to 11.5 pounds at one point, but then my husband started doing weird things, like giving him a cookie EVERY TIME he pooped outside. Giving him a treat EVERY TIME he got his eyedrops. Giving a treat EVERY TIME he looked extremely cute. And apparently, I found out today, the heaping measuring cup at dinner is a staple when my husband feeds him. I normally make sure it's level or even a little lower.
It's a wonder Sammy doesn't hate me. Not only did I almost kill him, but I also am a food miser. Well, now Dad's going to have to be a food miser, too. His new treats are green beans. One at a time.
So, maybe Sammy needs his own SparkPeople account. Hey, SparkGuy! Can you start a SparkDog website?
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