Mudslide of Emotion

It's been a crazy week. A tragic week.  You'd have to live in a hole to not know about the tragic mudslide that happened in one of our nearby communities.  A community that houses people that I am familiar with.  A community that I grew up around.  A community that is home to people I grew up with, people I have come to know as adults and friends of friends.  And, even if I knew no one, it would still not change how unbelievably horrific the situation is.  It would not change how my heart breaks for these people that were innocently sitting in their homes or working in their yards.  People doing repair work for home owners, people traveling through the area on a road trip or just going to town.  Families torn apart in seconds.  It breaks my heart for them.  In that one instant, the hillside decided to unleash a fury that would forever change their lives.

It all happened last Saturday.  Will was at work.  I needed to go get hay for the horses, so headed up to a place I go on hwy 530.  I thought it was odd that as I was leaving the hay place, a ton of emergency vehicles went by.  The whole way home I continued to pass vehicle after vehicle with flashing lights.  I got home and discovered their had been a mudslide on the same hwy I had just been on, but much further up the valley.  Spooky.  I immediately starting seeing the posts and pictures.  This was crazy.  It wasn't just a minor mudslide, it was HUGE.  I could not wrap my mind around it. I instantly searched my brain for anyone I knew that was up in that area.  And then the news was saying that the river was completely blocked and that when it gave way, flash flooding and mass destruction was sure to follow for miles.  Now, my neighbors would be affected.  Holy crap!  We live on a hill, so we would be safe from harm, but what about so many of my friends?  I was seriously worried.


 Will finally came home from work later that afternoon.  He informed me that the very area that had this massive slide was where he went on Thursday to do some target practice just two days prior.  This information made my stomach turn.  This could have been Will.  I could have been at work and never known why he didn't come home.  He didn't tell me he had gone shooting, I would never have known and he could have been killed.  This is one of those moments where my therapist would tell me to simmer down and not turn this situation into worst case scenario.  Sorry, Doc, the train has left the station.  I was so sick to my stomach over this whole thing, I couldn't shake it, I just kept watching the coverage, feeling helpless.  I wanted to go help.  I wanted to search for people, I wanted to to do something.  Those people were trapped and they needed to be rescued.  I heard them say on the news that they heard people calling for help, but that it was getting dark and it was too dangerous for the first responders to go in there.  They had to look at the safety for everyone.  I felt even more sick than before. I could not get the image out of my head of someone trapped, cold, wet, injured, begging for help and no one being able to get to them.  I agonized about what they would be going through all night.  If they would make it till the morning.  I thought about their families and what they must be feeling.  I could not even imagine.  I thought about the first responders and how they would be haunted by those cries for help and how they could not get to them.  I know how brave those firemen are and all the other emergency responders.  Not just them, but all the neighbors trying to do their part.  How agonizing for all of them.  That was all I could think about.

I got up the next morning and turned the TV on immediately, hoping for good news.  The only news we had was that they had people up there searching, but it was hard due to all the mud and water and debris.  They did not hear any signs of life on this day.  I was so incredibly sad.  As I looked through Facebook I saw the story of a woman who had left her husband and three kids at home and now she had no idea where they were, or if they were alive and safe.  My heart broke for her family, now separated. I made the mistake of clicking on her FB profile.  I just wanted to see if her or her family was anyone I knew, anyone I had seen.  What I read tore me apart.  She had a post about being so excited to get to be a Girl Scout leader for her daughter's troop.  Another post talking about how grateful she was to spend the day with her family that she loved so much.  Yet another post about how much she loved them and enjoyed their time together.  She seemed to be a God fearing woman.  How could this happen to her?  She was happy.  She was thankful.  She was blessed.  Why did this happen to her?  How could God let one of his people that was seemingly such a loving person go through this?  My sadness dropped to a level that I could not come out of.  And, the other stories kept coming.  Another gal had a horse rescue, caring for horses others had neglected or abused.  She was no where to be found.  Another person lost their wife and granddaughter.  They were beautiful and still full of life.  Again, seemingly stellar members of the community.  I continued to be sickened.  The couple sitting on the porch reading the paper together, married for 46 years.  The husband made it, his wife, also a celebrated member of the community, perished.  The stories continued.  People lost everything, their homes, their loved ones, all of their belongings.  How could life be so cruel?

I have spent all week watching the news, watching the FB feeds, hearing the stories.  I cannot stop thinking about it.  It consumes me.  I think about how these people were all just living their lives and it was all taken away.  Some of those people so thankful for everything they had.  And it was taken.  I struggle with that. I should be more thankful.  I should enjoy each day more.  I should embrace it all, because I don't know when it will be taken.  I can't be prepared for that day when it happens.  I want to be, I want to know, I want to plan, I want to be ready.  How can I be? It's not possible.  And, maybe I don't want to be.  I should live everyday to the fullest so that if it is all over in the blink of an eye, I will have enjoyed it all.  The problem is, this is where I am broken.  I feel like I can't enjoy it.  I worry about Will going shooting again.  What if he goes somewhere dangerous?  What if this happens to him?  What if we go somewhere that isn't safe.  I mean, we think it is, but it turns out it isn't?  What if? What if I was the one sitting home wondering if Will was alive or dead, but knowing in my heart he was dead?  I could not survive that.  I feel full of anxiety.  I feel like any moment it could all be taken away from us.  Taken away from me.  Who would care for my dogs, my horses, my stuff?  How would my family feel?

My anxiety increased last night as the wind blew so hard, slamming into our house time after time.  I went to bed scared.  I was scared the trees would fall on the house and kill us in our sleep.  I was scared the roof was going to blow off.  I was scared the windows were going to blow out.  At one point, the wind hit the house so hard, I sat bolt upright, gasped and said, "Oh my God!  That scared me so bad!"  I looked over and Will was sleeping soundly, snoring.  I sat there, sick to my stomach, sure I would throw up.  I laid there for hours, heart racing, mind reeling.  I thought about the crews working on the slide area in the dark with the wind and rain pounding them.  I thought about the victims, wondering if there would be a miracle for anyone.  I prayed to God that there would be a miracle.  Just one, I asked.  Just one.  Please let one family have that one miracle.

And so, here I find myself, so many emotions.  So sad, so unsure, so unable to find humor in many things.  Feeling like I shouldn't see humor in anything, like I shouldn't post anything to FB that is carefree or silly.  Definitely not anything about how my ass hurts from working out, or complaining about my fat  belly.  That stuff isn't important.  How can I even think anything in my life is as significant as what is happening in all those people's lives that are living in a state of shock and grief.  How can I be normal? Do I deserve to be?  When something like this hits so close to home, I think maybe it is normal to feel this way?  I don't know.  I don't want to make this "all about me," because it sure isn't.  I'm so insignificant in this whole thing. 

Maybe there is a lesson to be learned for me.  Maybe it's a chance for me to grow and realize I am not in control.  I don't know. Maybe  bad stuff just happens to good people.  Maybe it doesn't "mean" anything.  It doesn't mean anything except that  life is too short to spend it miserable and all that time spent worrying is wasted. It  also doesn't mean I shouldn't go to the gym and and that I should eat ice cream because life is so short, but rather, I should keep on trying to accomplish that dream, because maybe, just maybe I might live to see it happen.  How great would that be?  I cannot live my life in fear, because that isn't living.  Nonetheless, I think it may take me a little longer to shake this feeling off.  A little longer to grieve with the families impacted by this horrible event. And,  I think that is okay, too.

I'm a Mushroom

So, earlier this year I mentioned it is the Year of Angry Pony.  To that end, I have been doing my part, as best as I can, to make my little black dress day a reality, come December 2014.  I've had a few minor set backs, but mostly, I have been diligent.  The doctors have put me on a medication that they hope will get me over my weight loss stall and suppress my appetite.  They have asked me to work out six days a week.  I've been doing my part.  I didn't even have any pizza on pizza day when it was sitting right next to my desk for hours.  I've been good.  As a result, a few more pounds have come off and I think I may be converting some fat to muscle, because people say I am looking a little different.  I don't really see it too much, personally, but that is normal, I think.  I've spent a lifetime looking at a fat girl.  It will take a while to reprogram that.  I suspect making that change is part of my journey that has yet to come.

I have noticed, however, as I am working out and looking into the mirror at the gym, things are getting jiggly.  My legs are starting to melt a little.  I could give you a round of applause if I jogged in place.  I've also noticed I have these little dents just under my boobs on the top part of my stomach.  I have affectionately named them my "Baby Abs."  Someday my stomach might be a six pack wearing a skirt of skin.  At any rate, I decided that I needed new workout pants.  Something with structure.  Something with spandex and some sort of cellulite containing miracle mesh.  I found some pants on-line that say they smooth your legs and lift your butt.  Well, sign me up!  My butt has been dragging for a while now.  I also ordered a sports bra.  The one I use at the gym is pretty loose.  I picked out a cute pink one that I thought would be about the right size.  I was giddy with excitement when the package arrived yesterday.  I was on my way to work-out bunny.

I ran upstairs and pulled out the pants.  Workout pants that didn't have a 1X, 2X or 3X on the label.  They were just XL.  I felt good about that.  I put them on.  Had to do a little shimmy as the belly band wanted to stop on my "ab skirt," but I got them up there.  They felt magical.  I could feel my butt lifted. It felt round.  Baby just got back! Yes, these would work. Shark Bait confirmed, my butt was looking good.  He may have been lying, but it was the right thing to say.  I then turned to my new pink sports bra.  I was going to look so cute!  I started to put it on and realized that it might be a little too small for me yet.  No, dammit, it's going on.  I got it over my head and started to pull it over my boobs, but it was stuck.  My boobs were pushed down and sticking out the bottom.  It wasn't supposed to go like this.  Your boobs aren't supposed to not bounce because they have been stretched to your belly button.  Sonofabitch.  I started to wonder if I should abort the mission.  NO.  I must go on.  There is no turning back.  I pulled and grunted and grunted some more.  I finally got it down and in place, my boobs securely under the material...just like the picture shows on the package.  I looked down and realized my boobs were gone.  They were not just "compressed,"  they were absent.  I don't know where they were.  I checked my armpits, assuming they had found a safe place without compression.  Nope, they weren't there. I leaned down to see if they were below the bra, on my belly, nope.  Where the hell are my boobs?  My God, this bra vaporized my breasts! I ran over to the mirror and what I saw horrified me.  Clearly the gym bunny image I had in my head was not going to play out here.  Not yet, it was too soon.

I looked in the mirror and what was staring back at me, at my best guess, was a 12 year old Barbie mushroom.  The bra made me look 12 years old.  Everything about it screamed "training bra."  I was completely flat, possibly inverted.  My eyes traveled lower and there it was, all that gut that was no longer riding like a high basketball, but rather morphed into what could only be described as the top of a mushroom cloud.  My new "control" pants were pushing it up, the bra was pushing it down.  It had no where to go.  It looked like lava coming off a volcano.  It was this blob.  Without compression, it lays fairly flat, but now, with no where to descend to, it was everywhere.  Ab explosion.  I was a mushroom cloud.  I can't go to the gym like this.  I'm going to need a compression garment for the mid-section too.  Dang.

Okay, in this picture, it looks like they are there, but they aren't, it's an illusion!

I walked down the stairs, hunched my shoulders a little to accentuate the cloud and said, "Hey, Shark Bait, come check me out."  He came over and said, "Wow."  I grabbed a big 'ol gut o lard and said, "I'm turning you on right now, aren't I?"  He just laughed.  "How would you like to get it on with a 12 year old mushroom?"  He took the only safe way out, he laughed, turned and went back to what he was doing.  I guess it is too soon to play "Gym Bunny and Body Builder."  For now, we'll have to settle for "Socks and Sandals Guy hunts for Mushrooms."

Anyway, that is the progress that is being made.  I'm pretty sure Ass Kicker tried to kill me today.  At one point, I was face down in the carpet which wreaked of sweat and gym shoes and considered just staying down. Sweat pouring off my face, my abs screaming 911, chest burning, arms burning, legs burning.  I was as close to the "Biggest Loser" puke as I have ever been.  Ass Kicker says to me, "Good work today, this workout was actually pretty advanced. I'm impressed."  I looked up at him from the floor and said, "Really? No shit."  I staggered into the locker room and just sat there, exhausted.  I guess, If I am ever going to evolve from Mushroom to Thick Gym Bunny, I'm gonna have to endure this.  I just hope I can walk tomorrow. 

Pizza Day. I hate you.

When I started taking my new meds, one of the side-effects is that I could have uncontrollable hostility.  I think it is safe to say that this is the exact side-effect I am having.  Without the influence of PMS, I have successfully reached full on fury today.

Today was a day I knew would be hell.  It was a day that I needed to make sure everyone within the walls of Fantasia, aka the Glass Palace, had pizza.  It always makes me crazy.  Why?  Well, let me tell you why.  First, you can never get the right pizza.  You can never appease everyone.  Not everyone wants pizza.  Some people want a salad.  Well, friends, bring your own salad like I did.  I didn't say it was an open freaking buffet with all of your favorites that were also gluten free and not made out of God's creatures or any of aforementioned creatures bi-products by people that may or may not have been wearing leather, with make-up and perfume on that was tested on baby bunnies or that don't shower because it is consuming our natural resources.  I didn't say that, did I?  I recall saying "pizza."  I didn't say, "pizza and a beverage."  I didn't say, "pizza, a beverage and dessert."  No, I said, "pizza."  I can see how that could be misleading.  I didn't say that every mother-trucking pizza known to man would be served.  So, when you come up and say, "Oh, there is no anchovies on this pepperoni pizza, I can't eat it,"  I say, are you freaking kidding me?  I didn't promise you a rose garden, pal.  I promised you some pizza.  I didn't say it was gourmet pizza.  I didn't say it was the best pizza you ever had.  I specifically remember saying it was going to be Pizza Hut.  You don't work at some freaking hoity-toity, moist towelette in the bathroom with a butler in there to wipe your ass kind of place.  You work here where people shit on the floor and walls.  As magical as that would be to have a bathroom butler, I don't think anyone would sign up for that fucking job wiping the asses of the Glass Palace.  But.  I.  Digress.

I'm trying to shake it off....breathe.,  And, yes, there are rules around the pizza.  Rules like, come on your assigned lunch time, because if you don't then I won't have enough pizza at EVERYONE's lunch time.  I don't know if you people consider how I order pizza.  I don't just call up the joint one hour  before the lunches start and say, "hey, can you bring us some pizza."  No.  I have to look into logistics, how many people have lunch at each scheduled time, how many lunch shifts are there, where is the best place to put the pizza, etc.  I don't just wing it, people.  So, when you bring your testosterone filled, cocky ass, male fucking metabolism over to the table on your break so you can pork out an then you want to come back on your lunch and do the same, I don't just hate you because of your metabolism and selfishness, I hate you because...wait, no that was it... that was the reason. I stand corrected.  And then when you mock me about the aforementioned rules, I want to say, you know what, you little piss ant, you plan this lunch.  But you know what, they would suck at it because they wouldn't care.  And then next thing you know, some random person is all crying in their top ramen because there was no pizza for them on their lunch.  I have lived through this nightmare, I know the drill.  I've seen the carnage and the fall-out, the hissy fits, the anger, the resentment, hunger in their bellies, fury in their eyes demanding that you make this right...right fucking now.  I've lived through combat.  You people don't know.  You will never know the pain of pizza day.  NEVER!!!

I had a small glimmer of hope today as some of the newer people approached the table like Bambi coming out of the woods after a fire.  Slinking up to the table and asking, "do you need my employee ID before I take any pizza?"  These people...these people were scared.  These people wanted pizza, but wanted to follow the rules.  They could smell it, they were hungry, but they would not take it.  Like a dog with a biscuit on the nose waiting to be told, "okay."  They were obedient.  I felt a sense of satisfaction, but then also a little guilt as they seemed scared.  Pizza shouldn't be scary, but the snarky admin on the other side of the  table, that is another story.

Look, ultimately, I don't give a shit who does or does not get pizza.  My main incentive is to not hear anyone bitch about not getting any.  Because those people will haunt you.  They will bring it up every time a luncheon comes up.  That one time in the winter of 1996 when they didn't get any pizza.  That one time they went hungry.  That one time they didn't even have time to go to McDonalds because they had planned their whole day around getting that pizza.  And when they went to the table, it wasn't there.  And they were angry.  They say they have moved on, but they haven't.  They never will.  Forever, a void in their life.  You can't fix that.  You can't undo that.  You don't know.  You haven't seen what I've seen.  The horror.

When I left today, there was a buttload of pizza left.  Those working the late shift will be snacking into the night.  And why?  Because I rationed them when it mattered and now the feast will be their reward for patience.  The only people I have disappointed are those that wanted a salad today or something gluten free.  To them, I say, refer to the paragraph above where I outlined what would be served today.  Pizza.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'm exhausted.  I need some rest.  With any luck, tomorrow will be uneventful. Maybe tomorrow Four Feet of Fury will stop calling me Miss Snarky Pants.  I guess I'll have to stop being snarky to make that happen.  One battle at a time, people.  Pizza battle over, for now.

Email debacle, Dr. Lite & Cookie Whores

Yesterday I started the day posting on Facebook that I was happy it was Friday and was glad it was payday and furthermore, I was thankful for my job.  This much positive energy, first thing in the morning, it's not a good idea.  It threw my whole day off.  I will not make that mistake again.  Nothing good can come from that type of behavior.

The first part of my day seemed to go off innocently enough.  I made it to the gym on my lunch and worked out with Ass Kicker.  He showed me a new exercise and then said, "do that over and over until you hate me."  I got to the second rep and declared, "I'm there!"  He says we took the workout "up a notch."  I agreed as my abs screamed at me.  I returned to my desk feeling a little wore out.  I realized I had forgotten to make arrangements for next week's workouts, do I wrote him an email telling him my plan.  Clicked "Send."  That's when all hell broke loose.  You see Ass Kicker's email address is GlassPalaceFitness@gmail.com (yes, I have changed the first part of that email address to protect the innocent).  The distribution list email for everyone in the building at the Glass Palace is GlassPalace@GP.com.  You know how when you go to type in an email address and it auto-populates and you just hit "enter?"  Well, that is what I did, not double checking before sending.  Yes, I had just sent my workout request to approximately 500 people.  Within seconds, I had people at my desk, I had the instant messaging app going ape-shit crazy, emails were coming in, "did you mean to send that to everyone?"  "You sent that to the whole building."  "Hey, good for you getting to the gym."  "Just so you know, you sent that to ALL."  Then my cell phone starts going off, people are texting me.  Sweet mother of God.  People are standing up laughing in all the rows around me, Four Feet of Fury is standing next to me doubled-over laughing.  Mother. Trucker.  I am frantically trying to remember how to recall a message.  My boss can't remember, no one can remember.  As each moment goes by, another person sends me an email telling me of my error.  I sent out another email, "Okay, I know! Woops! At least you know where I am next week."  That didn't help, they kept sending messages and appearing at my desk to mock me.  All I can say is, thank God it was not a personal email, like where I talk about my sore ass and not being able to sit down on the toilet.  Finally, we remembered how to recall the email, but really, the damage was done.  I left my desk to go to the bathroom and I pass Tooth-in-Hinder and he smiles knowingly.  I said, "Well, I didn't get an email from anyone in your group, when is it coming?"  He laughed and said that his team had discussed my little faux pas and had collectively agreed to let me have this one.  Finally, someone cut me a break.

It was now time for me to go to a couple of doctor appointments. On my way out, I get a phone call from the dude that handles insurance at the place I got my surgery done and have all my follow-up appointments.  I had sent them my new insurance information, since my company is changing us effective March 1st, and asked if I was still covered.  Insurance Dude informs me that my new insurance company doesn't support obesity treatment, so likely they would not be able to cover me.  I would now be a cash customer and doctor visits and nutrition visits would be $100 each.  I just stood there.  It fucking figures, just my luck. This probably means the new medication Dr. B has put me on is not going to be covered either.  "Pissed" hardly covers how I felt. Maybe I could have them classify the appointments as psychiatric help...I mean, I am nuts. So, really, nothing else to say about that situation, not a damn thing I can do about it.  I head off  to my first appointment with the ear, nose and throat doctor about the reflux that has been plaguing me since the surgery.   The appointment went off with no problems.  I'm doing fine, going to keep doing what we are doing.  Now, time for follow-up with Doctor Lite about my "happy pills."   Not looking forward to this.

Dr. Lite walks in and she has someone who must be an intern or in training, or something.  She's like a little puppy, but I'll call her Dr. Zero because she is less that Dr. Lite.  Dr. Lite asks me how I'm doing. "Fine," I tell her. She asks me if I feel better. I tell her, "I think a little."  She then informs me I should be feeling a lot better, not a little.  She asks me if I think the dosage is okay.  I thought that is what she was supposed to tell me.  I told her I guessed it was fine.  I mean, since I started taking it, no one died, I didn't crap my pants, I haven't thought about killing myself or anyone else violently or peacefully.  She then informs me that she thinks I need to double the dose because I weigh a lot more than the average patient and the pills are based on body weight.  I sat there and blinked at her.  She then starts the interrogation, "How long have you had a weight problem?"  I tell her since birth. She says, "Are you gaining weight?"  I told her no, I hadn't gained, just currently stuck.  She asks, "Well, how much do you eat?" I tell her between 900-1200 calories a day, depending on if I am behaving or not. She says, "well, that certainly should cause you to lose weight. Do you eat fat?"  I looked at her kind of weird and said, "Well, yes, I eat things with fat in it, yogurt, cheese, some of the meat I eat has fat in it...so...yeah..."  I was feeling defensive, where exactly is she going with this?  She says, "have you seen a nutritionist?"  I responded, "yes, I have been all along since the surgery."  Dr. Lite says, "well, what does she say?"  I'm completely irritated now.  "She and the doctor have put me on some additional medication to help me and I'm going to keep focused." She nods.  I continued, "I don't know how much I will be able to follow-up with her or take the meds as I don't know if my new insurance will cover it."  Dr. Lite then felt it was necessary to turn to Dr. Zero and fully discuss how obesity is such a problem and it is a travesty that more insurance companies don't get involved and we have an epidemic on our hands and that she was totally bummed because they had an obesity workshop today, but she couldn't go.  Hey, that's all fascinating but can we get back to me?  I mean, it's really too bad she didn't make the workshop, because she may have had some more life changing advice for me like last time and the 30-day plan thing.  Anyway, I was finally released with instruction to call her in a week and let her know how things are going.  Right.

I'm now on the way home, but I needed to stop by the grocery store.  Guess who was there?  Those little cookie whores...the Girl Scouts. Girl Scouts with their mother-trucking-fat-girl-seducing-ass-enlarging-crack-whore-addictive cookies.  I hate their guts.  I thought to myself, "you could just buy one box of thin mints...."  No, I had to shut Fat Pony up.  I left without cookies.  A success!  But I know they are going to be as thick as fleas on a dogs back for the next month.  Everywhere you go, there they will be.  I must be militant about this.  NO COOKIES.  You hear me, Shark Bait?  You bring cookies into this house and I will insert a thin mint into one of your holes that doesn't have teeth.  You hear me?  You buy them, then you can eat them shamefully in the privacy of your own truck, alone and guilty, like all other fat people before you.  The standard has been set.  Follow it accordingly.  And, don't come loving up on me with thin mint breath,either.  I mean it.  I will not be seduced by those cookies.  I will not. I'm serious. I'm pretty sure.  Almost 99.9% that I will not cave.

Anyway, that was my Friday.  In closing, I'd like to offer some helpful tips:

• Do not start your day with a positive attitude, play it by ear, then at the end of the day, you can say, "Hey, today didn't totally suck!" 
• Always double-check who your emails are addressed to BEFORE sending.
• Get yourself a good job with good insurance if you can, or don't get fat or unhealthy.
• If your doctor tells you that you need double the meds because you are double one human, find a new doctor.
• And finally, when you know many of your friends have kids that sell Girl Scout cookies, you probably shouldn't call their daughters "cookie whores" but that is how I roll and you know it is said with love...with underlying hatred for seductive calories.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to go think about getting that yoga DVD out.  I'm not sure it's going to happen, but I'm going to commit to thinking about it.  Baby steps, people.