Ran across a blog post today titled Worst End of School Year Mom Ever. I can relate. I think most teachers feel like bad teachers at the end of the year.
Main reason: standardized testing. It’s The Worrrrrrrrrrst. Bad for kids, sure, but as I tell the kids: “At least you get to DO something. I just have to SIT THERE.” In fact, read I Got Middle Schooled for a little taste of what teachers and proctors go through. It’s horrifying and hilarious.
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Three years ago, I shared my experiences with anti-depressants. The magic bullet I mentioned was amino acids—a monster truck load of them per day—which I took for several years, and they definitely helped. But they were super-duper-expensive and not-at-all covered by my super-duper-crappy health insurance. I weaned myself off them within the last six months, and I think I’m doing OK. I have my moments, but between CrossFit, food choices, and workin on mah shit, I’m maintaining a pretty healthy level of sanity.
Ugh. Norovirus. Or food poisoning, or something. When I wasn’t exploding from both ends, I was curled up on my pull-out couch with the dogs, moaning. Moaning! I literally moaned for, like, 15-minute stretches. Then I would watch two episodes of How I Met Your Mother, and then I would turn it off so I could moan some more.
Picture me there behind Redford, moaning into his ear. He was very tolerant.
Seems to be gone now (knock wood). I’m vertical today, and I’ve eaten a banana and some Rice Chex.
In other news, my dad swung through town earlier this week. :)
Talking to my sister on the phone: “Amy picked me up in the middle of the melee at RDU. I was nervous because of the guy on the goddamn lawn mower going back and forth.” (It was a cop on a Segway.)
Amid bon mots, he said something about how I seem, here on the blog, “almost desperate for a relationship”. Isn’t that the worst word to hear about yourself? Desperate? Wasn’t that the ultimate high school take-down? “God, she’s so… desperate.”
But he’s right. I do seem, here on the blog, almost desperate for a relationship. I’d even take out the ‘almost’.
That’s for two reasons. First, both ends of the spectrum, the one that goes from “Victorious Is What Happened” to “Cyclone of Despair”, are compelling, but the middle? Not really, right? The “I Got a Solid Eight Hours So My Day Wasn’t Too Exhausting” and the “Grocery Store, PetSmart, and Home Depot in One Outing—High-five, Me” that make up most of my life, I mean, I’m pretty excited about them, but they make for vanilla reading. So, I’m going to write about the times when I’m either feeling a sense of hope or one of catastrophe. And granted, the latter happens more often and is usually funnier.
So that’s the main thing. You hear about my being desperate to be in a relationship because that’s what’s interesting.
The second thing is that I’m desperate to be in a relationship.
Not desperate. But yeah, kinda desperate. Two reasons, I like companionship, and I want kids. In the post I just linked to, I said I wasn’t an extrovert. But I am. I’m an extrovert. Being around people energizes extroverts (and saps the energy of introverts). I definitely get energy from being with people.
However, I’m shy. People say, “Isn’t that the same as introverted?” No. Shy means I’m scared of people I don’t know. Like, all of them.
I’m scared of people, but I need people—ain’t that the worst?
Anyhow, it’s got me thinking, that’s probably why pretty much all my dating in the last four years has been online. Because I don’t make eye contact with people I don’t know (because I’m scared of them) when I’m out in the real world, so it’s hard to connect. Maybe I should try that? Eye contact? With people I don’t know? My hands are sweating.
Two years ago, 70,000 people heard me tell a story.
A year ago, I was trying to control the controllables. Maybe making eye contact with strangers is controlling a controllable? Or maybe I try a different website. A friend recently sent me this one, which takes a sort of different approach to the whole online dating thing… I’m gonna go lie back down and moan some more.
First of all, thanks for your comments/voicemails/emails of support, but I’m fine. I actually feel fine—no joke. I had been feeling more optimistic about this relationship than previous ones, so yes, I was a little disappointed when the Dutchman bowed out. And startled. He seemed in it to win it, you know? But I really do feel all right.
Because truth be told, my Man*—the honest-to-jeebus One—might say, “Duck,” on this same issue, but it’s not enough to make him say, “Goose.” I can guaran-damn-tee it. I got too much going for me. I feel good.
That being said, I’m not getting back on OKCupid. I’ve been banging my head against that wall too long. So the Universe is going to have to deliver me my partner some other way.
*GAH. I am so heteronormative (heterosexual?). I keep forgetting that I’m supposed to be open to lezzing out.
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Three years ago, I set the bar low. This year, I’m setting the bar, eh, maybe torso-high?
First, let’s reflect on last year’s resolutions, shall we? I don’t floss (#2) or make my bed (#4) as much as I had hoped I would, but heck if I haven’t reduced my sugar intake (#5) by pounds. GOOD FOR ME. I have a sugary treat a few times a week, maybe some Greek yogurt with various mix-ins (I feel a vlog coming on!). I don’t think about sugar as much, and that’s truly a revelation.
I tried to dress better (#1), but I didn’t really have the tools, did I? I give myself a pass on that one.
I did SO VERY WELL not engaging in political or religious debates on Facebook (#3). Not perfectly, but on the few occasions that I slipped up, I was usually able to sit on my hands after one comment.
My self-talk (#6) was not good. I utterly failed at being nice to myself. I’M A FAILURE. I SUCK.
Hahahaha.
I was in a romantic relationship (#7)… Can I count it as a two-year relationship since it spanned 2012-2013? I think so.
So this year! Here goes:
1. Manage my depression/anxiety. My treatment requires a cocktail of interventions: amino acids, vitamins, exercise, time with friends, dog-walks, and some sort of regular group or individual therapy. I had let the last bit slide for financial reasons, and that was a bad move. But as of yesterday, I’m back in the game!
Woohoo!
Mental health!
Yeah!
Yeah.
Ugh.
2. Eat even less sugar. I’m interested in what a no-sugar (except special occasions) Amy would feel like. This resolution will commence once I’ve finished the can of whipped cream in my fridge. And maybe my Greek yogurt. Maybe this resolution sucks?
3b. Wear makeup. But listen, I just can’t bring myself to paint my face for work. It seems ridiculous—I teach sixth grade, plus I have to be there at 7:15am. Who even invented 7:15am? So my compromise is this: lipstick during the day (I’ll even re-apply!), mascara or full makeup (as I see appropriate) when I go out on weekend nights.
Deal?
Deal.
High-five.
4. Be positive about my job. One complaint a day. That’s all I get. This’ll be hard. I had used my one complaint by 8:20 this morning.
5. Keep a cleaner house. I love a clean house, and I’m good about tidying up for company, but I have trouble putting stuff away and vacuuming if nobody’s going to see it. I tried having a chore chart for myself—that didn’t work. I also used the old put-a-sticky-note-on-the-computer trick.
Speaking of parties, a year ago, I built my fire pit! Best investment of three days and 180 bucks ever. I’ve had, what?, eight or nine fires since then, including this New Year’s Eve. And that was a hellified good time.
Happy Retrobruxist Friday, y’all, and happy 2013! (What are your New Year’s resolutions?)
Hey, guess what! I have some kind of ragey infection in my EYEBALL! The opthalmalogist took fancy pictures of my splotchy cornea yesterday. As an aside, amongst the things you never want to hear at a doctor’s office: “I think it’s really good you came in today.” Also: “I don’t think it’ll affect your vision.”
Anyway, I get to put steroid/antiobiotic drops in my eyes four times a day for ten days. As an aside, I’m pathologically incapable of landing a drop in my eye. My flinch response is like a thunderbolt. So, essentially, I spent $25 at CVS on cheek/eyebrow/mouth drops.
I didn’t ask my eye-guy if I should forego tomorrow’s Tough Mudder, Redux, because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have liked his answer. As an aside, almost-certain death tomorrow, you guys!
Three years ago, a guy tried his hand at negging me. Suck it, guy.
Two years ago — miracle of miracles — I found a dude on eGoddamnHarmony that I actually liked. (Never blogged about it, but I did email him. He didn’t respond. <sniff>)
And a year ago, with just a few simple guidelines, I was riling up the segment of the CrossFit community that either (a) couldn’t read; (b) didn’t get my sense of humor; or (c) both.
Three years ago this week, I wrote the first of several letters to my baby boy, Redford. You’re still my baby boy, buddy, even if you weigh 80 pounds!
I put up a new profile on OKCupidtwo years ago. So glad that worked out for me (mwop mwop). By the by, I closed up shop on OKCupid a few weeks ago. I just can’t, y’all. It was not fun. It was the opposite of fun. If-and-when I managed to sort through the mostly terrible prospects, I dreaded every date. I’ll either find that the love of my life is the friend of a friend of a friend or I’ll be a spinster. That’s how it has to go.
One year ago—yes, this, look at this and then reread the paragraph above. I’m going to start looking in the mirror every morning and saying, “You look beautiful and you sound perfect. I’ll tell you this every day.”
