Lemoning

Despite my enthusiasm for my brand new toy, I chose to use the down time on my vacation to do really important things, like this:
 
And this:

Seriously, though, I always hate when people complain about needing a vacation from their vacation. It makes me want to give them a lecture on how fortunate they are to have a job from which to take a vacation, let alone be in a financial position to do so.

But this time, I sort of understand how they feel.

For the past two months, I just haven't felt right. Thoughts swirl around in my brain on an endless loop, combing over a laundry list of things I'd like to do. Things I want to do. Things I have to do. Laundry itself is climbing damn near the top of the latter, but I just can't find the time to do it. I'm waking up in the middle of the night to the alarming sound of blood rushing through my ears. The creepy chest pain that was popping up earlier this year is back, which is apparently normal for whatever fancy-pants name they applied to "benign chest wall pain" in my chart. I'm sluggish, snappy, and annoyed by everything and almost everyone. It certainly doesn't appear to have gone unnoticed, either, as most people are making it a point to ask if everything is ok, which I actually do appreciate. Then there are the jackasses who throw out the ever-inspiring, "you don't look so great, are you getting sick?" on the three days I've actually put an effort into my beauty routine. To which I nonchalantly reply, "Go screw."

The fact that this latest bout of "whatever" dovetails perfectly with my ankle injury has not escaped my attention. Elle Woods was really on to something with the whole, "Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy! And happy people just don't shoot their husbands!" thing. When I was training for the half, I was one endorphin way from channeling Kenneth on 30 Rock. People were going out of their way to comment on my good mood which is, for me, unheard of. And then, with the crack of an ankle, I began a slow journey to crankyville. I Lemoned.


I can't even begin to describe how much I needed last week off, just to get out of the city, my apartment, my work and, to some degree, my own head. I had big plans to lay on a beach, read a few books, drink a few beers and finally make like Stella and get after my groove. I was truly exhausted, both mentally and physically.

And despite my best efforts to rejuvenate my spirits through a week of rest and, well, spirits, I would be lying if I said that I was feeling much better than I did before I left.
Some of that, of course, is just post-vacation blues talking. I get that. But I still can’t shake the feeling that I am somehow spiraling out of control, even though I can’t pinpoint exactly why. It reminds me of how I felt in college, when I ended up so anxious that I couldn’t leave my dorm room without having a legitimate panic attack. That’s unnerving.
With that in mind, I have decided to start really pushing myself to actively participate in my own life, rather than just sit around and let my anxiety run amok. It’s a technique that I learned while going through cognitive behavioral therapy, and I’ve found that re-focusing my nervous energy and channeling it towards positive goals seems to really help my stress level. Running and exercise did that for awhile, but since that isn’t an option at the moment, it’s time to set new goals. 

And on that note, I’m off to scale a veritable mountain of laundry.

Friday Confessional: Tic, Tic, BOOM!

Holla, Party People!

I've been spending my Friday inhaling coffee by the bucketful and crossing things off of my work-related To Do list like a crazy person. It's cute; I imagine I look like a chihuahua on speed as I whip my rolly chair around  and knock over all of the pink/green/yellow accessories with which I've spent the past two weeks painstakingly decorating my desk area. Seriously, I even got the go-ahead from my boss to purchase these babies:

[Source]

I do realize that pink rhinestone scissors are totally obnoxious, and I love it. I'd like to see the vagabonds I work with try to steal THOSE without me noticing.

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 I feel like I've been on a bit of a "write what I feel" kick lately, and while that seems to be working out for the best, I feel like it's been FOR-EV-ER since I did a proper Friday Confessional.

There are some bigger confessions that I have planned, both of the entertaining and the more serious variety, but I started to work on some of them and then realized that I'm not in the right mindset at the moment to really give them the attention they deserve. I find that happening a lot with my posts lately; I'll know exactly what subject I want to write about, but just don't have the time or energy to give the topic my full attention. I could totally half-ass some of those posts, but I feel like that wouldn't just be shortchanging my readers (holla!), but also myself. Because I like writing about that stuff, and I like the feeling of putting out quality posts more than I care about hitting some arbitrary "schedule" or "deadline" I've set.

Thankfully, I have some mini-confessions to make today, which require neither a ton of attention nor a ton of time. And so, I do hereby confess:

- I LOATHE having bolded, unread emails in my inbox. It makes me feel all squirmy inside and I have to either read them or delete them in order to feel "right" again. Before I switched to Office 2007, I would literally comb my Outlook account for the sole, unread email blemishing my inbox for more time than I care to admit.

- At least six times a week, I inadvertently look at the clock and it will read 9:11. Some people would take this as a bad omen, but for me, it's always a source of comfort. My beloved Gramma passed away on 9/11/06, and every single time I see it on the clock, I make sure to say "Hi!" and thank her for checking in on me.

- Andrew and I make up names for people in our neighborhood all the time, usually because we find out their names after we've been consuming adult beverages and then forget what they are. "Ann-Marie" is our favorite waitress at our local watering hole, even though her name is Sarah. Likewise, "Not Chris" is the door man at said establishment. He totally LOOKS like a Chris, but we have no idea what his actual name is despite asking him on several occasions. Sometimes, this little quirk gets us in trouble. I once made the mistake of referring to one of the brothers who own the packie across the street as "Mike Sullivan" to his face.... even though his name is neither Mike nor Sullivan. He looked at me like I was crazy, but still sold me my wine. No harm, no foul.

- In addition to the "unread email" quirk I mentioned above, there are a few other scenarios that legitimately induce a nervous tic in me from time to time. For starters, I get physically uncomfortable if my bed isn't made, and will 100% make it even if I get in to it 30 seconds later. I also feel compelled to straighten things that are askew, which leaves me straightening the damn frames at work every single day. Lastly, I can't just crumple up a paper wrapper for anything -- I have to fold it into a little triangle or I feel "off."

Now that I sound like a raving lunatic, that's enough of that.

Do you have any weird neuroses that drive you absolutely bonkers?  I love learning about other people's odd quirks; it makes me feel better about my own!

Have a great weekend!