Yin v. Yang

Good things about my new job:
7.5 hours a day, and they're flexible.
A fresh start.
Department meetings.
New people to befriend.
Challenges for my brain.
8 straight hours of Coldplay on Pandora.
Lunch breaks.
Microsoft Outlook (don't ask me why, I just love it).
Health insurance. Good health insurance.
My team, because they're fantastic.
Bake Sales. 5 bake sales since August 1rst, because RECares.
Riverport sound checks.
All of my co-workers born before 2000 and none of them wear diapers (I don't think)
Diet Dr. Pepper fountain drinks...all day long.
Morning work outs.
Annual pay raises.

Bad things about my job:
I can't make a Target run count as work time, no matter how hard I try.
Candy machines.
Already found spider veins from sitting for too long.
Everyone knows how often I have to pee. It's frequent.
My awkwardness is not charming yet, just a little strange.
The amount of time I spend on highways numbered -70.
They are old friends, but I'm the new girl.
Actually, I'm not so much a girl. 29 is old in my office, especially for an EA (editorial assistant)
Bake Sales. 5 bake sales since August 1rst. RECares, but not about my diet.
No one there knows how funny I am, which contributes to the awkwardness.

Altogether, the good far outweighs the bad. But the bad is funnier.

FYI: I did a report on South Korea in 5th grade, which is when I first learned about the yinYang.
Your Welcome.

If you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need

Elsevier, the world's largest publisher of medical and scientific literature, forms part of the Reed Elsevier group. Based in Amsterdam, the company has substantial operations in the United Kingdom, USA and elsewhere.

Did you catch that? Substantial operations in the UNITED KINGDOM! Actually, they have offices on the Strand. In London. Next to the National Gallery. Up the street from Westminster. Round the bend from Buckingham Palace.

I'm so moving back to London, even if it means I have to start writing textbooks on surgical technology or diagnostic microbiology. Can you hear that? I believe it's London, calling.

Editorial Assistant

So, I've got this new job....
I've been temping 2 days a week at a health and science educational publisher here in town for the past 3 months or so and yesterday my supervisor told me that they would be hiring an editorial assistant soon and she'd like me to apply.
I was so excited. Then I was scared. Then I realized it doesn't pay anymore than I make now. Then I was excited about the prospect of having a job where raises and promotions are an option. Then I started freaking out. Then, I got excited again.
I haven't even told my parents yet. Part of me is resisting admitting that this is really happening because, while it is wonderful, it is not what I wanted. It might be better than what I wanted (and let's face it, I can't actually define what that is anymore), but proofreading chapters on scabies and festering ulcers was not on my radar.
I LOVE the people I work with. The team I'm on is small and I cannot say enough nice things about the editors I've been assisting. I'm oddly shy when I'm there, which I think kind of makes me come off as a bitch, but for right now I'm just trying to not screw up too bad.
So that's where I'm at. I basically decided not to worry about what would happen in August, when my nanny job ends and my paycheck goes with it, and the good Lord has worked this out on my behalf. I am struggling to be grateful, but it's a good kind of struggle. It's forced me to take a good look at my selfishness, my propensity for delusion. Let me just say that it has not been easy but it has been good. Why do people resist counseling? It's so illuminating.
While I still dream of winning the lottery so that I can spend years abroad, I am happy to say I no longer live in the fucked up mindset of believing that it might actually happen. And as much as it kills me to write this, I am very much looking forward to building a 401k (once I figure out what that actually means)! I have a lot of peace about being single, adore my rent-free apartment, am more than halfway done with paying off my credit cards and have begun saving for my Dirty 30 trip to Europe next summer.
Life is good!

Carpe Diem

From Wikipedia:

Carpe diem is a phrase from a latin poem by Horace. It is popularly translated as "seize the day". In Horace, the phrase is part of the longer Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero – "seize the day and place no trust in tomorrow", and the ode says that the future is unknowable, and that instead one should scale back one's hopes to a brief future, and drink one's wine. Compare with the Biblical "eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die", with emphasis on making the most of current opportunities because life is short and time is fleeting – an existential caution.

I should tell you, I should tell you. I should tell you, I've got baggage.
-Rent

For most of my life, I've swung pendulum style between the past and the future, carefully avoiding too much 'living in the moment' crap. I can recount many a story about growing up using my flair for embellishment; I can speculate on the amazing possibilities that are still before me. And I think this is part of my weight problem. I forget what I ate earlier, don't plan for what to eat tomorrow, and put anything I want into my mouth in the moment.

I find it very difficult, almost impossible at times, to properly identify my feelings about the present. I'm not sure why I feel this way, or even when it all started, but recently I have come face-to-face with my supreme disassociation skills and I'm finding it very interesting.
Though I'm hesitant to admit it, I'm a whole lot like my dad. When we were little he told us great tales of his own childhood; from delivering my grandparent's WWII love letters into all the neighbors mailboxes during a particularly exciting game of 'Mailman', to busting his lip open on a cookie that was really a dried starfish because his friend Fathead dared him to eat it, to point blank asking his teacher (who was also a habited nun) 'Why do you have a mustache? I thought only boys could get those.'

My dad is a great storyteller. I didn't know half of his material was bullshit until I hit my twenties. These days he likes to talk about how he is going to move to Montana, run a ranch and write the great american novel as soon as he retires. He is also extremely sentimental and most nights he can be found indulging himself with whiskey and old photo albums in his Men Den, reminiscing about the 'good old days'. It can be charming...sometimes. But mostly, he sucks at being present in our lives. His life is mostly spent looking back or looking forward, with a whole lot of drinking to distract him from the here and now. I don't know why it's so easy to feel anger or pity while detailing his life when I am so clearly cut from the same cloth.

The good news is that I have been made aware of this tendency (see, counseling is totally worth it) and now I am able to resist my incliniation to 'simply survive' as opposed to 'carpe diem'. So this July, as I end my time as a nanny and move into a more grown-up job, I will live somewhere between the past and the future. No day but today!

P.S. Don't think this means that I won't wax poetic on my last day of work. But I will be seizing THAT moment, not regressing, I swear.

Long time, no see

Fear and Loathing in St. Louis

In case you haven't noticed by my total lack of blog devotion, things kind of suck right now. I feel like I'm caught in the center of a hellstorm of weight gain and financial loss. Lately, for some reason, Hershey Kisses and Cadbury Eggs have become my new best friends and I'm finding that rather odd because I'm not really a big fan of chocolate. And at work my take home pay has decreased 25% which I'm sure I'll appreciate next April, but for right now is making it impossible to even pay my bills, much less buy gasoline or groceries.
I just feel like I am worried ALL THE TIME. It's as if there is a cassette tape looping in my head with a series of questions like "How are you going to pay for that? Who is going to hire you when you have no marketable skills to speak of? Where the hell is that guy who is supposed to 'complete me'? Why can't you 'just say no' to that slice of pizza? Whatever happened to writing that novel and moving to London?" My counselor would probably say that is my self-contempt speaking, but right now I feel like I'm just drowning in fear.
Fear of the unknown, fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of doubt, fear of mediocrity, fear of greatness, fear of spiders, fear of exposure, fear of people, fear of pain, fear of hope (that's a HUGE one), fear of death, fear of intimacy and fear of God. I am afraid almost all of the time. This is not a normal state for me and other than the weight and the money I can't seem to figure out what has happened to bring me to this place.
Last year I was involved in a seriously intense group therapy program and it helped me deal with myself more than I could have ever imagined. I was blessed to be with a handful of women who I trusted with intimate details of life that I had never spoken of before and they accepted me just as I was. But, like most good things in life, this group drew to an end around Valentine's Day this year. Everything was going well at the time and I felt like I had made a lot of progress in my life so far. The truth is, I was feeling rather fantastic (and perhaps a bit smug). So maybe it was arrogance that brought on the turmoil, I don't know. What I do know is this; No one has had as bad a spring as I have, except maybe Lindsey Lohan.
So why am I spilling my guts to you now? You came to this site in order to be entertained, not to be dumped on, right? Well, I'm sorry if that's the case. I can't really help you out with that right now because if I learned anything from group therapy it is that honesty is my most appealing asset. When I am honest, I am extending an invitation for you to be honest as well (metaphorically speaking, since this whole thing is being done via the internet and some of you I have never met before in my life). But my point is that if I'm going to lay it out there, I might as well lay it all out there. If you're still reading this blog, then you deserve that much at least. So here's my newest Anniefesto, if you will.

I am a mess.
I am scared.
I am lonely.
I am tired.
I need help.
God, if you're listening, could you make this day the first day of the rest of my life?
Thank You.

Fiber One

An important part of the points calculating formula for Weight Watchers is the fiber content of a piece of food. Basically you calculate the calories, line them up with the fat grams and then weigh that against how many grams of fiber are in it. The theory is that fiber aids digestion so to more fiber, the faster it moves through your body (or something like that, I don't really pay attention). WW does cap off at 4 grams though, b/c otherwise it could get messy. I am here to tell you, it's the truth.
Yesterday, I ate a bowl (okay, a bowl and a half) of Fiber One Honey Clusters for breakfast. It was delicious and nutricous. Then I had chicken and rice for lunch (brown rice is packed with fiber, just so you know). And then, when I got hungry around 2:30, I thought I made the right choice when I reached for my Fiber One Bar (apple strudel is my favorite, despite the picture above) instead of the bag of Cheetos. I was wrong.
That much fiber in one day is a poor decision. I mean, I felt fine all day, but when I met some friends for coffee later in the evening, I noticed a little rumbly in the tumbly. And then some rather uncomfortable pain in my abdomen. And then, well, let's just say, it got gross. There was lots of awkward farting and much time spent in the commode. Not a pleasant evening.
Okay, I know you probably weren't really wanting to read about my bowels, but I felt that it was my duty to warn you that an accident overdose of fiber can stop a girl in her tracks, so treat that stuff with the respect it deserves. Trust me.