obese tuesday
Feb. 6th, 2008 09:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7So for Lent I'm not giving anything up. I'm just going to pay more attention. I'm not having caffeine unless I want it. I'm not having food unless I want it. I'm eating smaller portions and going back for seconds if, after a pause for reflection, I'm still hungry. All of that. I just want to pay more attention to my life and, hopefully, consume less.
Last night's Fat Tuesday went sort of boringly. I was stationed at an out-of-the-way bar, near which anyone could find parking, with the extra handbills for the girls who were out at bars. First off I was a bit disillusioned that no other members of my team showed up. One girl had insisted that We were making a float, for Us not for the League, and I made an effort to dissuade her of this because it seemed like a poor and needlessly divisive idea, she would not be persuaded; given her position in the league, which is higher than mine, I gave up after a pretty good effort. Needless to say, with so few people involved in the project, it fizzled out, and we wound up with NO float to represent the league. Her offer to have me take it over on Sunday was not much of a compromise; on this short notice, I couldn't get the time off. Great.
So we had no float for anyone in the league, and then no teammates showed up to flier, so the other two teams went off and did their thing, and I sat waiting for them to call. One called within an hour, saying she was out of handbills. I gave her my coordinates, again, so she knew where to come get them. She seemed surprised that I was not going to come to her with them, but I have been in this world too long to go looking for drunk people at "you know, that bar on Allen". No. You have a map. I'm marked on it. I'm staying there. Besides which, I realized belatedly, I did not have the contact numbers for anyone in the other group, so how was I to notify them if I left my station?
So no one ever came to get fliers. I attempted to call the others, using Z's iPhone to surf the Yahoo Group's messages and database to try to find their numbers, but to no avail. So I finally just went home, as sitting on a bar stool for nearly 5 hours had taken a pretty steep toll on my knees.
I like, in theory, Going Out and Partying, but really, I hate drunk people, and I'm never in on the joke, and I never really enjoy being drunk, so I don't know why I still seem to think I'm not too old to attempt this.
This morning one of my coworkers:
1) had the basement of her brand new house flood, ruining the things in boxes they had just moved in from their old house. These are not things in storage, these are their belongings they hadn't unpacked yet. (They closed on the house one week ago, 55 days of hellish litigation late.)
2) got a phone call from an aunt. Her grandfather's house was destroyed in the tornadoes in Tennessee last night; he was spared because he was in his car, in the garage, because he had just gone to move it because he heard the hail coming down. The garage collapsed atop the car, but did not crush it so much that he died; he was merely trapped for a few hours. Next door, however, her uncle's house is damaged and her uncle is missing. Fortunately her cousin took this semester off from Union University and so was not in the women's dorm when it was destroyed.
So I guess I really ought to feel better about my pathetic life. I sat in the car for a bit this morning, just thinking that I was tired and didn't want to do any of it, but didn't want anything else. Pathetic way to feel. Tried to sing to cheer myself up, couldn't actually muster the gumption. Voice still fucked up from shrieking on bout night; hair, incidentally, still completely fucked-up from my innocent attempt to put it in curlers. It's dry and brittle and all knots now. I gave up this morning and doused it in grapeseed oil to try to comb the tangles out. It's now in pigtail braids wrapped at the back of my head, and hopefully by the end of the day the oil will have soaked through and de-brittle-ified it. That's what I get for, like, two spritzes of hair spray and about four hours of very faint curls just at the ends of the hair. Why do I spend so much effort on my hair if I cannot ever wear it down, wear it partially-down, or in fact wear it in any style I can really enjoy? This is futile.
But then, that seems to be a theme in my life.
At least one of the weird random dudes at the bar where I sat endlessly last night said nice things about how funny Z and I were together. He said, "Your conversations are so interesting but you obviously know one another very well and have very compatible senses of humor and a lot of shared experience." Z and I looked at each other. "True," I said, and then Z dialed up the Internet on his iPhone and told me more Huckabee jokes.
And I remember when we first moved in together that I was so impressed with what a good roommate Z was. He was the Best Roommate Ever. I gotta cling to that. I don't remember what it was like living with anyone else. It has to have been worse. I have surely been more miserable.
I must have that winter sadness thing. I gotta get over it before the tiny spiders start coming out.
Oh, I know what'll help: tomorrow I'm going to see that physical therapist guy who knows the guy who comes to practice sometimes. Yeah. So I'm taking the afternoon off work and driving to Niagara Falls (close, but not that close) and hopefully Dude can tell me a) what exactly is wrong with my knees, and b) how to fix it. Others I've spoken to who have had tendonitis issues say that yes, only more exercise cures it, as I had thought, but more different exercise, not more the same exercise.
Oh.
Duh.
I don't know what I was thinking. Wait, I do. I was thinking that one week is plenty of healing time and if I'm just real careful after that and stretch real good I'll be fine. Except I wasn't stretching real good, or for that matter at all, because my knees were so sore I didn't want to get down on the floor and once I got there I couldn't really bend anyway.
Yeah OK I'm a complete moron. Y'all don't have to tell me.
Last night's Fat Tuesday went sort of boringly. I was stationed at an out-of-the-way bar, near which anyone could find parking, with the extra handbills for the girls who were out at bars. First off I was a bit disillusioned that no other members of my team showed up. One girl had insisted that We were making a float, for Us not for the League, and I made an effort to dissuade her of this because it seemed like a poor and needlessly divisive idea, she would not be persuaded; given her position in the league, which is higher than mine, I gave up after a pretty good effort. Needless to say, with so few people involved in the project, it fizzled out, and we wound up with NO float to represent the league. Her offer to have me take it over on Sunday was not much of a compromise; on this short notice, I couldn't get the time off. Great.
So we had no float for anyone in the league, and then no teammates showed up to flier, so the other two teams went off and did their thing, and I sat waiting for them to call. One called within an hour, saying she was out of handbills. I gave her my coordinates, again, so she knew where to come get them. She seemed surprised that I was not going to come to her with them, but I have been in this world too long to go looking for drunk people at "you know, that bar on Allen". No. You have a map. I'm marked on it. I'm staying there. Besides which, I realized belatedly, I did not have the contact numbers for anyone in the other group, so how was I to notify them if I left my station?
So no one ever came to get fliers. I attempted to call the others, using Z's iPhone to surf the Yahoo Group's messages and database to try to find their numbers, but to no avail. So I finally just went home, as sitting on a bar stool for nearly 5 hours had taken a pretty steep toll on my knees.
I like, in theory, Going Out and Partying, but really, I hate drunk people, and I'm never in on the joke, and I never really enjoy being drunk, so I don't know why I still seem to think I'm not too old to attempt this.
This morning one of my coworkers:
1) had the basement of her brand new house flood, ruining the things in boxes they had just moved in from their old house. These are not things in storage, these are their belongings they hadn't unpacked yet. (They closed on the house one week ago, 55 days of hellish litigation late.)
2) got a phone call from an aunt. Her grandfather's house was destroyed in the tornadoes in Tennessee last night; he was spared because he was in his car, in the garage, because he had just gone to move it because he heard the hail coming down. The garage collapsed atop the car, but did not crush it so much that he died; he was merely trapped for a few hours. Next door, however, her uncle's house is damaged and her uncle is missing. Fortunately her cousin took this semester off from Union University and so was not in the women's dorm when it was destroyed.
So I guess I really ought to feel better about my pathetic life. I sat in the car for a bit this morning, just thinking that I was tired and didn't want to do any of it, but didn't want anything else. Pathetic way to feel. Tried to sing to cheer myself up, couldn't actually muster the gumption. Voice still fucked up from shrieking on bout night; hair, incidentally, still completely fucked-up from my innocent attempt to put it in curlers. It's dry and brittle and all knots now. I gave up this morning and doused it in grapeseed oil to try to comb the tangles out. It's now in pigtail braids wrapped at the back of my head, and hopefully by the end of the day the oil will have soaked through and de-brittle-ified it. That's what I get for, like, two spritzes of hair spray and about four hours of very faint curls just at the ends of the hair. Why do I spend so much effort on my hair if I cannot ever wear it down, wear it partially-down, or in fact wear it in any style I can really enjoy? This is futile.
But then, that seems to be a theme in my life.
At least one of the weird random dudes at the bar where I sat endlessly last night said nice things about how funny Z and I were together. He said, "Your conversations are so interesting but you obviously know one another very well and have very compatible senses of humor and a lot of shared experience." Z and I looked at each other. "True," I said, and then Z dialed up the Internet on his iPhone and told me more Huckabee jokes.
And I remember when we first moved in together that I was so impressed with what a good roommate Z was. He was the Best Roommate Ever. I gotta cling to that. I don't remember what it was like living with anyone else. It has to have been worse. I have surely been more miserable.
I must have that winter sadness thing. I gotta get over it before the tiny spiders start coming out.
Oh, I know what'll help: tomorrow I'm going to see that physical therapist guy who knows the guy who comes to practice sometimes. Yeah. So I'm taking the afternoon off work and driving to Niagara Falls (close, but not that close) and hopefully Dude can tell me a) what exactly is wrong with my knees, and b) how to fix it. Others I've spoken to who have had tendonitis issues say that yes, only more exercise cures it, as I had thought, but more different exercise, not more the same exercise.
Oh.
Duh.
I don't know what I was thinking. Wait, I do. I was thinking that one week is plenty of healing time and if I'm just real careful after that and stretch real good I'll be fine. Except I wasn't stretching real good, or for that matter at all, because my knees were so sore I didn't want to get down on the floor and once I got there I couldn't really bend anyway.
Yeah OK I'm a complete moron. Y'all don't have to tell me.
