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Archives for October 2015

I have a confession to make. Every time that I hear about someone going on a diet and whining about it being soooo hard, and cheating constantly and then eventually giving up, I judge them. I totally judge them, and I feel justified in this because let’s face it, I have spent almost my entire life on a diet. An extreme diet. Yet I don’t complain, I don’t whine, in fact my friends tend to make a bigger deal about it then I do. So if I can handle an extreme diet all day, every day FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE, then I feel that people can stick to a weight loss diet for a couple of weeks without complaining or cheating. I would now like to take the time to apologize to every woman I have ever Judgey McJudgersoned in my head.

Because of medical conditions, and food intolerances I have had food restrictions since I was eight. The big blow came at 24 when I found out that I have Celiac disease, which meant goodbye for good to all gluten. Since then, my list of foods to avoid has stayed mostly the same. Occasionally something new gets added when I try a new food for the first time, but for the most part it has now become second nature. That is until about two months ago, when I found out that I have a pretty severe sulfite intolerance. The severity will probably lesson as it gets out of my system, but it’s around to stay. This diagnosis was met with very much the same reaction as my diagnosis to Celiac disease – Fuck!!!

F off

Yet one more thing that wipes out a HUGE chunk of foods that I can no longer eat. Not to mention wine. No more wine for me. No more hard cider. Really no more alcohol at all with the exception of gluten free vodka. But I can’t mix it with fruit juice because, with the exception of freshly pressed, most fruit juice has sulfites. Joyous! After a couple of days of serious moping, I put on my big girl panties and set about figuring out what I had left to eat. After about a week of cutting out sulfites I felt immensely better. Whenever I would accidentally eat some, there’s always a pretty significant trial and error period with these things, I would feel it immediately. The reaction would hit me fast and hard and wipe me out for at least an hour. Needless to say, the fallout should be plenty to discourage any intentional cheating.

Despite this, over the weekend I cheated, and quite frankly I’m planning on cheating again this evening. Not hugely, but I did put wine and garlic into the red sauce I made for tonight’s lasagna, and both of those definitely fall onto the no-no list. But, I’m sorry, while you can make red sauce without wine, you can’t without garlic. It just doesn’t taste right! So, if I have immediate repercussions from cheating and yet I can’t stop myself, how in the hell is somebody who has no repercussions supposed to stay perfectly on course with their diet? Really I’m starting to believe that diets were made to be broken. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. And for those who are now concerned, I promise that the only Chianti I will have tonight will be in the lasagna, and not in a glass . . . at least that’s the intention . . .

Cheating

Over the years I have grown accustomed to receiving critical feedback. In my BFA program for acting in college it was a part of everyday life. Getting my degree in video production was the same way. If you are in the arts, people are going to comment on the art that you make. Some of them have no idea what they’re talking about. Some of them have loads of expertise and you respect their opinion greatly. Regardless of how you feel about the person, you’re going to hear their thoughts. So the sooner you can adjust your thinking, and learn that negative comments and constructive criticism are not personal attacks, the happier you will be.

I pride myself on the fact that I have learned to do this. In fact, I relish constructive criticism because it helps me to improve my work. I seek it out, and specifically ask people to tell me what they don’t like. Mind you, I’m selective about who I ask. I’ve learned that criticism from people you respect is much more palatable than from people you don’t respect. That being said, I am quite accustomed to reading or hearing note after note about the flaws in my work. The notes are usually preceded by a complimentary message, but once I’m into the thick of it; it’s criticism the whole way. That is what I’m used to, and I’m perfectly okay with it.

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I actually prefer it to the methodology I learned in college, which said that you needed to precede every negative with a positive, and if at all possible, bookend it with another positive. That’s great in theory, but in practice you spend a lot of time listening to half-hearted, pseudo-positive comments that are only said because the person is forced to say them. Ain’t nobody got time for that! Cut to the chase, give me the meat, and let’s move on with our day. The people I go to for critiques know this, and they are great at giving it to me straight. I love it!

So when I pulled up some notes from a new reader and discovered that just about every other comment was positive, I was taken aback. Not just positive as in, “I love it!” But positive in a specific way. Things like “this section is powerful,” or “I can totally see a teenage girl thinking this.” Comments for the nails that were hit square on the head, as well as the ones that went in crooked and need to be fixed. Both the good and the bad were constructive in their own way. In all honesty, I was impressed because I’ve never really thought about positive comments being constructive, but these were. They drew attention to where I had done it right, and why it was right. So in the places where I had done it wrong, (for lack of a better word and to keep my comparison tidy) I now know where to go for examples to help make it right, especially since several of them correlated to a positive note.

Okay, this doesn't really have anything to do with my blog. But it made me laugh so hard I spit coffee, so I had to share.

Okay, this doesn’t really have anything to do with my blog. But it made me laugh so hard I spit coffee, so I had to share.

I was also impressed because I know that when I’m approaching a work critically it is hard for me to focus on or catch the good things, because I’m so fixated on culling out the bad. The fact that she was able to deliver both positive and negative insight at the same time is impressive! Because her critical comments were most definitely helpful and pointed out discrepancies that need to be addressed. She did both. At the same time. Consider my mind blown.

Needless to say, I have a new skill to work on. I would love to be able to constructively point out the good and the bad in a piece as gracefully as this reader did. Is anybody else good at that too? How did you develop the habit?

There are a lot of advantages to being an adult. The other morning, I had cookies and three cups of coffee for breakfast. Was this a smart choice? No. Did it adequately nourish me for my day? Noooo! Did I feel sick later? Oddly enough, no. Did anyone yell at me and tell me to eat something healthy? No. That right there is the beauty of being an adult. I get to make my own choices. Good, bad or ugly the choice is mine. It also means that I have to live with the consequences of my choices, but I’ve been pretty fortunate in that I’ve either made good choices or, not suffered too terribly from my bad choices. I enjoy this aspect of being an adult. The paying bills and holding down a steady job, I could do without. It’s not horrible, but I’m not gonna turn down several million dollars to get out of that rat race if someone’s offering. The part of being an adult that I hate, is the moment when you realize that the shit has hit the fan and it is your job to clean it up. You are the one in charge, you are the one that everybody is looking to, and no one cares that all you want to do is curl up on the couch and binge-watch Criminal Minds. I expect parents feel like this all the time, which is one of the reasons that I do not have children. I have dogs instead, yet I find myself in that position right now. My baby boy just had surgery, and I’m facing down the barrel of six months of recovery time. He’s my baby, and I’d do anything for him – hence the surgery – but at the moment I’m feeling a little over-whelmed. I am the adult, yet I find myself looking for an adultier-adult.

Adultier Adult

I seem to have picked up the habit of not only resisting technological advances, but complaining whenever I am forced to catch up with them. For example, I recently had to upgrade my phone, because not even an old priest and a young priest could fix my old one. Despite the obvious necessity and the fact that having a phone that actually worked was a bonus, I fought the change. I put it off. I complained on social media (yes, I realize the irony of that). And when I was complaining, I adopted the hashtag – #GetOffMyLawn. Because despite the fact that I am in my thirties, I totally feel like the old guy yelling at the neighborhood kids whenever I get all uppity about updating my tech.

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Flash forward two weeks, and I absolutely adore my new phone. It’s faster, has a longer battery life and the swipe feature still blows my mind. How the heck does that thing work? I have also realized, that since I now have a phone that works I am using it a lot more. Not to call or text people, that has remained the same. The amount of time that I now spend on email, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or searching the net has skyrocketed. To a certain degree that’s a good thing. I write historical fiction and historical biographies, that entails a lot of time on the net. I also have to keep myself present and engaged on social media. But I was doing that before, when my phone didn’t work. So clearly, this extra time that I am spending isn’t productive . . . and if it’s not productive . . . then it must be wasteful. Yes?

I mean, how many times does someone really need to check their email in one day? To check their Facebook account? How many times in a day do I get something that needs immediate attention? Ummm, never. I can’t think of a single time. Now I get things that need attention before the end of the day, but I can take care of that by checking my email 2-3 times a day. A couple of hours isn’t going to make a bit of difference. Let’s face it, most of the time I read an email and then ignore it for a couple of hours anyway. Facebook or Twitter? Same thing. I can’t think of a single time that I got something that couldn’t have waited a couple of hours. Therefore, what the hell am I doing checking these things sometimes 4-5 times per hour. Seriously, that’s ridiculous!

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How much time to I waste everyday by obsessively checking in on all of my accounts? Let’s do the math. I have two email accounts, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Let’s say that I spend one minute on each, each time I check, which is realistic if there’s nothing new to see. So five accounts times one minute, times four times per hour. That’s twenty minutes per hour minimum. If I sleep eight hours a day (ha!), that’s 16 hours awake, which is a little over five and a half hours per day checking to see if there is anything new on social media. That is almost an entire work day! What is wrong with me?

And that doesn’t count the time that I spend playing Mahjong, Yahtzee and Scrabble. No wonder, I’m not as productive as I’d like to be! Therefore, I have new goal. Hence forth, I will be embracing the grumpy-old-man-get-off-my-lawn side of my personality. No one needs to be on their phone that much, so my phone is going to get real cozy with the phone pocket in my purse. At home, it is no longer going to live right by my side. I survived growing up having to get up to answer the phone, so I can as an adult too. I’m tired of feeling chained to the damn thing. Therefore, get off my lawn, and don’t expect to get an immediate response from me. I’m disconnecting.

Disconnect

I would hazard to guess that when something bad happens, or something goes wrong the majority of people have the same thought, “I want my mom.” I’m basing this theory off the fact that this is the reaction of my friends, and it is also my reaction. The former makes perfect sense. Some of my friends have absolutely awesome moms. The latter makes no earthly sense whatsoever, because I didn’t grow up with a mother. Yes, I physically had a mother until I was twenty. There was a woman with that title in my life. However, because of her disease she checked out mentally and emotionally over a decade before she physically died. Therefore, when I was upset, sick or injured it wasn’t my mom providing comfort. I honestly do not have a single memory of my mother comforting me. The truth of the matter is that she was often the cause of the upset, and the comfort afterwards had to come from me, myself and I. So if MY first reaction is that I want my mom, then I have a feeling that the majority of people have this reaction. I think it’s a societal training thing. Society tells us that mothers = comfort, therefore even if that isn’t your own experience that is still what you want.

Mom

Then it occurred to me last night, that while I didn’t get that comfort from my own mother, I can vividly remember times that I got that comfort from my friend’s mothers. Mary Kay wiping the dirt off of my face after a fall instead of simply pointing me toward the bathroom. Tammy genuinely offering to help me set something right and giving me a big hug because she knew I was upset, and no one else seemed to care. Lori teaching me how to make a meal from scratch, so I didn’t have to serve a Hamburger Helper at my first ever dinner party. Deb understanding that I had an emotionally impossible decision to make, so she told me what to do so I wouldn’t feel guilty about the choice. Amelia telling me not to be stupid, if I had to have surgery I obviously would stay at her house until I got better. Susan telling me that clearly I got the crazy from her side of the family.

I don’t know if they remember any of these moments, but they meant a lot to me. I didn’t have a mother, I had several and it has taken me years to realize that. To realize that they are the ones that taught me what I need to know. They are the ones that I want when something gets scary and I want my mom. I’ve had a bit of a rough year, and therefore I’ve wanted a mom on several occasions. None more so than this week. My fur baby, Bubba, tore his ACL. Not just torn, but severed completely. Surgery or a horrible limp for the rest of his life are the only options on the table. In my heart, I knew without hesitation what I wanted to do, but my brain needed that reassurance that can only come from a mom, that I was doing the right thing. I didn’t call all of my moms, that would be a bit excessive, but I did call one of them. I wanted my mom, and I got my mom. So thank you to all of ‘my’ moms for filling in where my own had to be absent.

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This day does not need yet another blog post from me rambling about whatever happens to be on my mind today. What this day needs, is puppies and kittens.

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And a unicorn barfing a rainbow and farting butterflies. For good measure. Tell the people you care about that you love them, and hug tight those that are close by.