Maintaining Equlibrium or, Why the Word "Balance" Makes Me Want to Scream

Now is probably a good time to get all of the perfunctory holiday greetings that I so kindly skipped out of the way. Happy New Year and whatever religious-associated winter holiday you chose (or did not choose) to celebrate! I hope they were all glorious. I happen to be a Christmas celebrator myself, but that didn't limit me to accepting good will from whomever felt inclined to bestow it upon me. I wrote a whole post about that, actually, but then couldn't find just the right time to publish it. I also penned an essay entitled, "Why Rudolph is Ruining Our Children," but I never got it quite up to the standard to which I hold anything I put out on the interwebz. Then there are the  random thoughts clinging to my dashboard like half-dead bugs on a highway bumper -- for the moment, they are stuck, but I like to think that someday they'll fly again. 

Notice a trend here?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how I was really going to buckle down and focus on getting back to a steady routine of making healthy choices. I feel like a lot of people out here in blog-land spout the same philosophy when it comes to this; if I have to read, "it's really all about balance!" one more time, I'm going to stab my eyes out with a raw kale stem.

Of course, all stupid sayings come from a kernel of truth. Healthy living is all about balance, but for most of us, that includes balancing not only the basics (food, water and nutrients) but also the social norms of our society (family, friends and happy hour) with the rigors of everyday life (work, exercise and a healthy dose of sloth). Helen Fielding knew her stuff; it really does seem that as soon as one part of your life starts going ok, another falls spectacularly to pieces. It's enough to drive one crazy, and by "one", I obviously mean, "me".

So it's a work in progress, this whole "balance" thing. I will say that, as cliche as it might sound, I was happy to wipe 2011 off the metaphorical books and have a good start to 2012. Over the past few years, I've noticed that how I spend my New Year's Eve tends to mirror the overall tone of the subsequent year. On Dec. 31st, 2007, I spent the night in downtown Boston in a sequined top. 2008 was, in a word, ridiculous. Last year, we spent NYE witnessing one of my bff's nuptials in upstate VT, sequestered from the rest of the world and ringing in 2011 with a handful of close friends and a bunch of virtual strangers. Last year, I kept my good friends close, but didn't go out of my way to make new friends or keep in touch with some of the ones I already have. This year, I want to be better at that. Starting with making more of an effort to keep up with all of my blog friends!

So consider this one of the first steps toward that goal -- hello to the oldies, welcome to the newbies, and here's hoping that in 2012, we all find that elusive equilibrium: balance!

Blog ADD

I know I've mentioned this once or twice a few many times before, but I have a serious problem with blog post ADD. The way it usually happens is that I'll get all hopped up on an idea: "OMG! I HAVE to write about that! It will be such a great, thought-provoking/expressive/hilarious topic and I just can't wait! It will be the post that launches me into the orbit of the greater interwebz, and then I will be able to quit my job, sell a book, grant the rights to the screenplay and remind my readers every day via Twitter about how I'm livin' the dream!".

Of course, these bursts of inspiration always come at the worst times, like in the shower, on the bus or submerged in the Atlantic Ocean, tickling my toes with seaweed. Basically, if there's no computer around, I'm sure to come up with the perfect plotline for the Great American Novel.

So, I do what most people do and whip out my trusty little notebook (which I've been carrying in my purse for years now; it predates the whole blog thing by a LOT... apparently, when friends play the, "oh shit! I forgot Caitlin's birthday!" game, miniature notebooks come to mind? Awkward.).

I love me some technology and all, but there's just something about a brand-new, totally blank notebook that's somehow....refreshing. All those empty pages, waiting to be filled up with whatever my little heart desires. Lists? Sure. Story ideas? Why not? The blog post that lets me quit my day job? Sign me up! Putting pen to paper just feels so authentic and real -- a feeling that just can't be replicated by the clickety-clack on a keyboard.

Unfortunately, my little pink notebook is currently filling up with ideas, but when it comes time for me to actually sit down and write about them, nothing happens.

Blinking cursor, white screen. No words.

I admit I've been under a fair amount of stress lately, which I would normally be blogging about but since most of it is family or work-related, it doesn't really have a place out here on the interwebz. Because while I have no problem airing my dirty personal laundry for the world to see, I'm not so sure that my employer or, ya know, my family, would appreciate that same courtesy.  

Although it would be nice to finally say, "Well, mom, you always DID ride me about doing the laundry... so I aired yours, too!"

With the new school year upon us, it is entirely possible that Andrew and I will finally, grudgingly, give part of our paychecks up to Comcast and find ourselves with cable and internet at home. Homeslice has to do his homework, after all. I'm hoping that once that happens (or even if I just get a new laptop so that can record my random musings WITHOUT an old, rickety desk chair digging into my coccyx), quality posting on a regular schedule shall commence.

In the meantime, thanks for bearing with me. I know how irritating it is to have that, "...and THEN what happened?" feeling, and I'm probably losing a lot of readers with the constant question of whether or not I'll be in the posting mood on any given week, day or hour.

So thank you!! You guys are awesome.

Freddie Mercury Would Have Been Proud

I purposely didn't mention that I was going on vacation last week for safety reasons (it's a small island, and it's local, and I have a pretty bad habit of picking up creep-stalkers, you understand). I DID, however, have the intention of blogging while I was away -- but my vacation became a bit of a Hellcation, and I barely had time to breathe, let alone blog. You know how it is. Rather than write one long, glossy-over post about the trials and tribulations of my week, I thought I'd break it up a bit. Starting... now.

I left work on Friday the 17th with big plans to relax, write, read and rest for the next glorious nine days. After, of course, I continued to party like a rock star with one of my besties, Leah, and Andrew as we celebrated the Boston Bruins' domination of the 2011 Stanley Cup.

Weeeee are the Championssss

We braved the massive crowds to partake in the fun. I went to the Red Sox Championship Parade in 2004 back when I was in college, but I missed out on all three of the Patriots, the Sox 2007 and the Celtics parades, so I was excited to get in on the action!

Despite all of these people, a riot did NOT ensue. 

Having gone to a school that had a bit of an issue with rioting after sporting events (if you want a hint as to where, we like iced fish and our unofficial motto was, "Stay Classy, Not U-Massy"), my heart really went out to all of the good people of Vancouver whose names were besmirched by a couple of tactless idiots following the Cup Final. Seriously, people? IT'S HOCKEY. No one should have to worry about being STABBED over a game. Unless, of course, that game is Crazy Eights, in which case, Iwillcutyou.

That being said, I was very impressed with the crowds here in Boston both after the win and during the parade. Yes, there were a lot of hammered people wandering the streets, but they were throwing high-fives instead of molatov cocktails and starting USA chants in-between verses of Queen. On Parade Day, there were over a million people jammed into the equivalent of a 5k course, and I saw nary a fight (though the chest hair was bountiful). Leah and I took this opportunity to enjoy some totally sober ice-cold lemonade:

Hello, creepy man!

As the parade drew near, we were getting pretty amped about seeing some of our favorites. And by we, I mean me and Andrew, because Leah had no idea that hockey wasn't played on a field or in a skirt (I know you're reading, bf, and I love you anyway). Upon seeing the following, she was pretty impressed that the caliber of hotness far exceeded that of our grimy high school hockey team, and was marginally better than the crew found in the brothel known as the Hockey House in our little college town:

Exhibit A: Shawn "My Biceps Are the Size of Your Thighs" Thornton

Exhibit B: Brad "Little Ball of Hate" Marchand

Exhibit C: Marc "Concussed But Still Hot" Savard

As you can see, the hits just kept on coming. It's amazing how they really DON'T all look like clones, once those helmets come off!

It took about 2.5 hours in the blazing hot sun for the parade to finally make its way to us, pass us, and inevitably leave us. By that time, we were parched, starving and had sunscreen literally melting off of our faces, so we followed the massive crowd down Comm Ave to Kenmore, where I indulged in the biggest steak burrito I've ever seen. Boca Grande may not be Chipotle, but it was there, it was air conditioned and, most importantly, it had a place to pee.

So that was good.

We hopped the T back to our place, where Leah bid us adieu and I commenced to cram as many material items as possible into an overnight roly-duffle suitcase and beach bag, much to Andrew's amusement. Let's just say that I won't be posting any "How To Pack For A Six-Day Vacation" guides anytime in the near future.

And with that, we were off!

To Be Continued....

Do the Slumpty-Slump!

It's not really a secret: I've been in a bit of a funk for the past few months. I have my good days, of course; overall, though, I've been dealing with the kind of "mopiness" that only comes when you have no idea what's wrong, but you're threatening to burst into tears at inopportune moments.

Like during commercials at a sports bar.

And in the middle of Church.

And during meetings with the boss.

Yikes.

It's not that I'm particularly moved by the Charmin bears and their desire for ass cleanliness (after growing up with dogs my whole life, ain't no amount of double-ply that can withstand fur). Or that I get really emotional about transubstantiation (although mildly creepy, it is pretty rad). Since this all started over a week ago, I'm pretty sure that PMS can only be blamed for the Mt. Rushmore-sized mound of chocolate I hoarded at my desk on Monday.

I'm still not sure what it is that's causing me this mental anguish, but I'm sick of it!

Thankfully, I woke up Sunday morning, flicked open my cell phone and instead of checking Facebook, my fingers typed in OSG before I knew what they were up to. Due to the no-internet-at-home thing, I usually don't read blogs much on the weekends (it's also why I don't post; Blogger and my cheap-shit Droid Eris are in an ongoing war with one another), and rely on my GReader to catch me up on my Monday coffee break. But for whatever reason, my brain knew that Angela was going to say something I desperately needed to hear.

As usual, she didn't fail to deliver:

We all hit slumps.

Yes, mine has been a bit long-going (since last June), but that doesn't mean that I am a failure. It doesn't mean that I haven't been trying my damndest to get out of it, or that I have to spend the rest of forever feeling like there's a giant raincloud suspended over my head and a flotation device strapped around my waist.

I mean, look at the bright side: if the raincloud drowns me, the inner tube will keep me afloat! (Do with that what you will, Geneen Roth. Or Freud.). And if that fails, now that I'm all "official" and all, Noah can let me on the ark!

In all seriousness, though, I know that I've been stuck in a bit of a body-image-depression cycle: I'll get down on myself, make a list of the things I love about myself, truly be happy with the way I am for a little while, let some little issue in another area of my life snowball, turn it back on myself, start thinking about how if my blood pressure gets any higher it's going to come out my eyeballs, and then the floodgates open and I find myself on a kitchen floor littered with empty Kraft boxes and Subway wrappers, Cheetos falling like lonely tears around me.

And as much as I love cheese dust, Chester Cheetah is really effin creepy. Just sayin'.

[Source]

So, taking Angela's advice, I decided to make a little chart about what my "Blahs" have been, and how I'm going to tackle them. I hope, over the next few days, to post a bit more in detail about each of them, hopefully to give you (and, to a larger degree, myself) some insight into where I'm at, where I've been and where I'm hoping going to go.

For as Polonius said, "To thine own self be true" -- and, contrary to popular belief, that famous line doesn't REALLY mean, "Follow your heart." In context, what it means is:

 Put yourself first, MothaLova!

 

And so I shall.