I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
This was taken with my cell phone camera, so the quality isn't A1, but I wanted you all to see how adorable my TCB is. (Tee hee, I giggle whenever I think about him!)
The morning after the ball, we got up early to eat breakfast at the cafe at the casino (Pechenga, for any locals) then zoomed off to watch TCB's under 10 soccer team play their final game of the season. Once that was over, it was off to the team picnic/awards ceremony, which was awkward because I didn't know anyone, they didn't introduce themselves, and TCB was too busy doing coach-stuff to do the honors. (Gack, I'm so shy that I just hate that kind of stuff!) After about an hour, we had to take off so that he could spend a few minutes with his under 8 team at their picnic/awards ceremony, too. (Where I once again felt like an intruder.) Finally, after getting through both picnics, we went to TCB's house where he took some migraine medicine and laid down in a silent, dark room and I got ready and departed for my first four-hour shift at the Junior League'sMistletoe Mercado. I've got another four hour shift tonight, so this morning and early afternoon needs to be productive for me. I need to work in a visit to TCB, too, so this ought to be good!
Shaggy survivors hanging on after Katrina - Pet Health - MSNBC.com
Thursday afternoon. Sad, nearly starved animals - I want to go down there and adopt all of them. How could people evacuate without their pets? I mean, I understand that FEMA was not allowing them into the shelters but surely you could have just shoved your cat in a duffle bag or sent your St. Bernard off with the neighbors across the way who were going to Houston? I know that I have rose colored glasses on, perpetually, but leaving Dave and Abby behind (or even the fishies, for that matter) in harm's way is just not something I can think about. When the firestorms of 2003 approached my house, the cat carriers were open and ready in the living room and I'd left just enough room in the car for them with everything else I owned. I'd happily give up every worldly possession just to make room for them. Heck, I happily promised TCB that I'd take the kittens in if he's deployed because the thought of them being lonely and confused by his absence makes me cry.
Dear God, please take care of the most innocent victims of these storms and make sure they find a way home.
Answer: Successfully scheduling your first Maid Brigade appointment! Yea, yea, YAY Snackiepoo for hooking me up with these guys because they're very reasonable and didn't make me feel ashamed of my slovenly ways in the slightest. (Of course I will clean up and get rid of the clutter before they get to the house, but they will do the deep cleaning and that ought not be underestimated.)
Wednesday morning. Alrighty, so the Maid Brigade called my house while I was at work to get back to me on the estimate for making my condo sparkly clean again. Unfortunate but true that I work well beyond the "normal working hours", so I left a return message asking that they call me here at work during the day. We shall see how that works out.
I was supposed to get a call back from the therapist's office to confirm my appointment for two weeks from now. Perhaps the receptionist is very busy and hasn't gotten to me yet. *Sigh* Do they not understand that calling back to check on the status of things is something that a depressed person is going to have a very difficult time with? Would you not think that it would be easier than this? I do not want to deal with this today but will do my very best to get it all straightened out.
TCB and I will be attending the Marine Corps Ball on Friday at the Pechanga Resort and Casino in Temecula. My dress will be picked up from the tailor Thursday night, right after Alcott's football game. Before I go to bed Thursday, here are the additional things I either need to do or would like to do: get ballet flats to go with dress (no more high heels because they just hurt my feet too badly when I have to stand, smile, and meet lots of military Who's Whos), get a manicure (preferably a pedicure, too, but that's not an emergency because of the shoe situation), get my eyebrows waxed so that I don't look like Chewbacca the Wookie, do enough laundry to get through Saturday afternoon - including my Junior League t-shirt and a pair of jeans so that I can wear them for my shifts at Mistletoe Mercado this weekend, and pack my suitcase and Esme the Escape for Friday night/Saturday morning. Oooh, that reminds me that Esme really needs an oil change and her 10,000 mile service. Craptastic, let's just add something else to the overwhelmed girl's schedule!
And then there's work, which, while going exceptionally well, is keeping me quite busy. No loafing, mental or otherwise, going on here!
Beautiful days full of love and happiness, and still I procrastinate
Tuesday morning. My God, I must be the luckiest girl there ever way! I am so happy, I have so many people that love and care for me, things are going really swimmingly at work, I have the World's Best Boss, The Boy (aka Alcott) is happy and healthy and doing amazingly well at school, and then there's my private life. No one sees the state of things at my condo or how much I eat when I'm alone, and I'm thankful for that because it's just wretchedly miserable.
I haven't used the Hoover in about a month, nor dusted in probably two months, nor cleaned the bathrooms in at least three weeks, nor changed the bed linens since, um, I can't even remember when. And that's not even talking about the enormous mountain of laundry currently sojourning in the middle of my bedroom floor. Or the dead plants out on the back balcony that I haven't watered since my trip to San Francisco back in September. And the bags of recycling that have been sitting around for months. I hate this!
I know it's just my depression and I'm seeing it creep into other areas of my life, too. For instance, Sunday afternoon, when I had some precious time with TCB, I just sat there and napped on his couch. Granted, I'd spent most of the previous three days running around after Alcott and his siblings, but this was the first time I'd seen TCB in a week and I couldn't even keep my eyes open. I just felt like things were off between us and it's because of me, I'm certain of it. If I were TCB, I'd be questioning whether or not I like him judging by my recent behavior. I want to tell him that it's the depression and not him and that I love him, but instead I sit there, silently. On the phone last night, I babbled away like an idiot and never said anything of substance. Please don't stop liking me, or loving me, or whatever you used to feel. I promise I can get this fixed, if only I can pick up the phone that sits about six inches from my hands as I type.
And then there are all of my online friends that are so incredibly successful at the thing that sits at the center of all of this for me: weight loss. I see their happy posts and I am happy for them, but there's also a part of me that remembers when that was me that was announcing my losses, me that kept having to buy smaller clothes, me that had the world by the tail. Why did it stop and how can I get it back again? I'm so tired of having to buy size 26s and, believe me, I hated having to pretend I was just a fuddy duddy on Halloween instead of admitting to Alcott's younger brothers that they just don't make costumes in my size.
I have to go to a meeting, but I'll try to come back later and write something a little more uplifting.
UPDATE: Thanks to the actionable suggestions of the lovely and talented Snackiepoo, I've made an appointment with my therapist (Wednesday, November 16th, because that's the first date that works for both of us) and sent a request for a quote for cleaning to Maid Brigade. Progress is sometimes measured in small steps and such is definitely the case for me today.
