Ah, Caffeine.

I "gave up" caffeine two weeks ago as a part of the 2013 Cleanse.  I didn't plan on giving it up for good, but caffeine was a major reason for why I did the cleanse.  Pre-cleanse I was back up to drinking 5-6 cans of Diet Coke a day (I know, it's disgusting).  And I paid for it with a 3 day long headache during the cleanse.  Post-cleanse, I just didn't really know what to do with the caffeine.  I love how I feel without any caffeine in my system...I've been sleeping better, waking up better, not as tired during the day...it's been lovely.  But, I like Diet Coke.  And, I like Captain Morgan.  I love the two of them together.  And, I don't care what anyone says, drinking caffeine-free Diet Coke is an even bigger waste of money than soda to begin with.

Quandary.

So, then I got to thinking...I drink alcohol. It's not good for me.  If I drank 5-6 drinks a day every day, that would be highly unhealthy.  Drinking A drink, or a few drinks once in awhile, is a "treat."  When I drink alcohol, it affects my sleep, and it makes my waking up a little more irritating.  Because drinking a LOT of alcohol is bad for me--probably akin to drinking 5-6 cans of caffeinated beverage a day.  So...

Is this just a lot of justification to give myself permission to drink a Diet Coke right now? Maybe.  Probably.  Bottom line is, I went two weeks without a drop of caffeine, which is pretty impressive in my book.  And, I've never been of the mind that depriving myself of something I want is a good thing.  In fact, depriving myself of something I want always seems to make me crave it more.  I can eat chocolate, Asian noodles, pasta, olives, tater tots....lots of things that aren't necessarily all that good for me--in moderation.  So, I'm drinking a Diet Coke.  I will not be drinking 5-6 Diet Cokes.  And, lest I fall into that pattern, may I humbly express right here:

KELLY! You do NOT want another headache of THREE DAYS.  Drink water once in awhile.  Drink your Diet Coke like you drink your booze, in moderation, and all will be right in the universe.

Am I alone here? What's your food/drink vice?

How do you stop choking?

So, it all came to a head today with bad news part deux...less than a year after the Carina the Chiropractor debacle, I showed up at my chiropractor/physical therapy appointment to the following conversation:

Jana (receptionist): Oh, and I should tell you, Jannel isn't here.
Me: Oh, okay. (Thinking she must be sick, sadness!)
Jana: Like, not here at all, like she's gone. She doesn't work here anymore.

And then I got this weird feeling in my stomach and in my jaw and in, like, the bottom part of my head where my dreams come from. And for a moment I really did think I was dreaming--because it couldn't POSSIBLY happen exactly the same way twice, right? I couldn't lose two kind of important people in my life from the same clinic in the same way, with them both being there one day and gone the next? Could it?

But yes, it could, and I cried the rest of the day.

So, I head to yogi training a little, shall we say...raw. I took a yoga class from one of my favorite teachers before it started, and cried during that. Then we set up yogi training and I managed to hold it together for most of the time.

Until I figured out the choking. I've been unhappy for a few weeks. Not, like, clinically depressed or anything, but not too far from there. Mostly my concern was that I couldn't pinpoint what was making me feel so awful all the time. But, I think that what I've done is started to choke. I did yoga teacher training from Feb-April. From May-June I did the yoga extensions program. From July-August I interned at the yoga studio and started teaching at the Hotel Ivy Spa. Now, still August, I'm in yogi training until the middle of September. And I think what I've done is crammed all of this yoga, yoga, yoga into my throat and, well, I'm starting to choke on it.

Choking explains why it's been so hard for me to put anything into words lately. I've been just stymied by explaining the simplest things. And forget about writing. Yeah, this little published author can't put pen to paper for shit. But, it makes some sense if I'm choking--nothing can get out! No air, no breath, no words. I've got my hands around my own throat and I'm making it worse, not better.

So I need to clear my throat. Or Heimlich myself. The question is, how to do that? And, with my supportive Jannel gone, at least for me, it's harder, I'm not going to lie. I depend so much on other people--probably more than I should. And because of that, I'm almost always disappointed. If I waited for someone else to Heimlich me, I'd probably choke to death. So, I need to take care of it myself. Like usual. Because who can I depend on besides myself?

And a part of me wants to stay awake all night, because a part of me wants to sleep and wake up to find out Jannel leaving is a bad dream. But the reality is that it wasn't a dream and I'm a little afraid of how I'll be tomorrow when I wake up and don't even have the possibilities of a dream to cling to.

Sometimes silence speaks the loudest of all

I've been trying to blog, I really have. The trouble is, everything that's going on in my head and in my life isn't the business of the general public. And I try to write about it in "code"--telling only what I need, but it's not working out very well. There's a lot of stuff going on right now, and most of it isn't that great, and I don't really want to dwell on that because there's a lot going on that's pretty awesome too. So I try to start and it all turns into an entry that I really can't post.

So, I'm still here, still trying to write, still making it through this life just like all of you fine folk are. Forgive my silence--I promise I'll be back soon and then I'll talk your ears off.

And then I lost my mood ring.

Let me say... with a friend whose mom just had a heart attack, and unspeakable horrors going on all over the world, and the basically perfect life I have, I feel a little bad. But, I'm not going to lie: today was a wretched day.

My chiropractor left on Friday and is not, apparently, coming back. Just done. Not "just" done...she's known she was going to be done for quite awhile. But last Thursday when I said "see you Tuesday" and she said "yep!" apparently she'd forgotten that that was her second-to-last day of work. And that I won't see her again. And I feel just a little betrayed and a little lied to and a lot, a fucking lot, of sad. I really, really liked her. I trusted her. I looked forward to seeing her every Tuesday and Thursday. And now, I won't see her again. She's gone. Not leaving, not "giving notice"--she's just gone.

And then I lost my mood ring. Sometime between 4pm and 7:30pm, somewhere between Savage and Bloomington, it fell off my finger. It's in the Normandale parking lot, or on the floor of my classroom, or somewhere inbetween. Or somewhere else. And it made me sad, because it was a token of friendship, it was a symbol of some very good memories of this summer's camping trip, and my hand feels kind of naked without it. Lighter....but not in a good way.

But I ordered a new one. Actually, I think I accidentally ordered two. Which is okay, because apparently a back up isn't a bad thing for me. Too bad I can't get a back up favorite chiropractor.

Things I'm sorta wondering about

1. Is it possible to be addicted to analgesic heat rubs?

2. Wtf is with the new MN license plates? Shouldn't we have been consulted about this? Did I miss a meeting?

3. Is it possible to be addicted to analgesic heat rubs?

4. How many C2 Corepower Yoga classes can I do in a single week?

5. Is it Friday yet?

Why I need yoga

Let me say right off the bat that I have never bought a pint of ice cream. Ever. Not through the countless breakups, cheatings, pregnancy scares, best friend blowouts, grade angst, finals hells, general malaise, world tragedy or crazed pms-ing. Never have I ever bought a pint of ice cream with or without the express intent to consume it in one fell swoop with a spoon straight out of the container.

Tonight, after climbing the walls for an hour, I went out and bought a pint of chocolate Hagan-Daas. And I'm going to eat it tonight. Right out of the container. With a spoon until I can't spoon it anymore and then I'll take my fingers to it.

In addition to the ice cream planned consumption, I have also put the following into my body today:

1. Breakfast bar
2. Bag of Uncle Ben's brown rice, microwaved in bag
3. Nachos (chips/cheese only)
4. Buttered popcorn
5. Two, TWO cheesecake snack bars

Gee...that sounds just great, doesn't it? I start doing yoga and drop 27 lbs. I stop yoga and will, apparently, gain it back possibly today. Because the other thing I wanted to do tonight, in place of yoga, was go for a run. Thought "dude, I should go running." Until I remembered that the reason for no yoga is another good reason for no running. A girl needs her tendons in good working order for the running.

So here I sit, with Stephanie Meyer, smokes, some captain/diet, hagan-daas, and a Helena Bonham Carter movie. Really, it sounds all lovely and kind of like a perfect night. Except for no yoga. I could do it all guilt-free if I'd been able to do the yoga.

That's all I'm sayin'.

My inner alien

I've named her Betsy. Little Betsy Tropwood, from David Copperfield. I don't know why. I should name it Sigourney.

My inner alien is a tap tap tapping that is coming from just behind my ribs. It isn't a stomachache, it isn't gas, and it isn't a fetus (or if it is you can call me Mary II). It's a spot right behind my right ribs, and it just.....taps. Against my ribs. In a tapping movement. If I put my fingers to my ribs I can feel it.

I won't be freaked out unless it continues for another week or so. Or a fetal alien comes bursting out of my chest. That would also be cause for freaking.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Well, not a lot to update except:

1. I've made myself far too busy than I can handle.

2. As a result of #1:

--> Insomnia has completely slowed me down. Like I think my heart is actually beating slower. I'm walking slower, talking slower, and, inevitably, thinking slower.

--> Nutrition and exercise have gone completely out of the picture.

--> Because of the insomnia, the nutrition, the exercise, my back and knees and neck have reached new levels of pain.

--> Because of the new levels of pain, my emotions are positively depressed (now there's an oxymoron for you). I'm like a vortex of depression--draining the energy of everyone around me. I got asked so many times today "what's wrong?" I think I may make a tshirt. Frankly, I'm too tired to explain it all.

3. This making myself more busy than I can handle is my own fault. And my attempt to keep adding fuel to the fire--adding more tasks--is only going to result in my shorting out and very possibly losing what I've been working really hard for.

4. Because I know myself, I know it's only a matter of time before my health is compromised. From the sounds of it, that's taking place as we speak.

5. I have a test in Death and Dying tomorrow. I'm really hoping that I don't fail it. Seriously. For the amount of time i spent studying for this test compared to the last one, failure is a very real possibility. Here's hoping the gods of test taking are with me tomorrow.

I think that's it. Oh, I referred to "12" and "midnight" as two separate hours today when telling someone that I'm awake into the night. As in, "I'm wide awake around 11, 12, midnight, 1, 2..." Yeah, I should take a test.

The long and short of it

This was the longest short week in school teaching history. At least my school teaching history. Between Gatsby's slipped disc (yeah, my dog is walking like a 90 year old man....when he can walk at all) and tomorrow's math placement test, a potential poetry workshop and balancing work/theater/conferences, well, I'm plum tuckered out. Yeah, I said that, you read it right.

Gatsby spent a very miserable day at home but now is on drugs and bed rest. Apparently dogs can slip discs. While it's painful for him and a hassle for me, I'm so glad that he's okay. The vet today and poetry class tonight prevented me from studying for my math test tomorrow (all part of Operation: DBH, beans to be spilled in an upcoming post) but I think I'll be okay. I need to keep my head on my shoulders, remember formulas, and remember that I totally schooled the GRE and this test will be (should be!) cake compared to that.

That's all I got...OH, except I signed up for Yoga. Yep, sure did.

Old and injured

At some point earlier this week, I did something to my knee. I don't remember doing anything specific, except maybe I kicked the shit out of someone in my sleep. Either way, now I can't straighten my left knee.

So, since I'm single, I hobbled to Walgreens (well, I drove to Walgreens; I hobbled inside) and bought a knee brace. Hopefully this will do some good. I could go to the doctor, but who wants to do that?

Donating Blood

In response to the collapse of the 35W bridge, I decided to donate blood. I haven't donated for about ten years, but before that I had earned my gallon pin. I have always held the belief that any pain that I might go through (the needle stick, being dizzy, occasionally fainting) is absolutely nothing in comparison to the pain of those who are getting my blood. That's why I donate.

Some people can't. Jodi got a tattoo within the last year. Another friend of mine is anemic. Still other people can't donate out of fear. This is just as reasonable, to me, as any other illness or preventive reason. If someone told me I should get on a plane every eight weeks because it would help people, I'm not sure I could do it. Giving blood is a totally personal choice, and while I think everyone who CAN should donate, I also don't think anyone should be judged for NOT donating.

That being said, here's the process. Hopefully the explanation will take the mystery out of the process of blood donation and encourage people to give if they can.

I arrived at the Red Cross at 8:20, almost a half hour before my official appointment. I was greeted and thanked for donating by the receptionist and given a booklet of materials to read. The booklet gives all sorts of warnings and reasons why a person might not be able to give blood. When one of the "blood people" (are they nurses? Probably.) came to get me, she brought me into a room and took my temperature, pricked my finger (to test my iron), and took my blood pressure. The nurse then thanked me for donating (2) and left the room while I answered a series of questions on the computer. By clicking "yes" or "no" I let them know if I had been to Africa, had had sex with a man who had had sex with another man since 1977, if I had been exposed to a variety of illnesses, if I took any of a list of specified medications, etc.

Then, another nurse came in and confirmed my information. He asked some follow up questions because I had been to Belize in 2005. He then handed me my bags and my folder and directed me to a waiting area in the vicinity of the other donors. He thanked me (3), and I waited to be called.

When I was called to give, the nurse poked at both of my elbows to see which had better veins (my right arm) and invited me to lay down. He asked me a bunch of questions about what I did for a living, what I like to do for fun, etc. while he entered in my info and my bar codes on my blood bags. He then pumped the blood pressure cuff and asked me to squeeze the little plastic squeeze thing in my hand. This plumps up the vein so that it's easier to put the needle into the right spot. I informed him that I was not a fan of needles and that he better do a good job. He laughed and said that he promised he'd be gentle. He rubbed my elbow with iodine and then told me to squeeze the plastic thing again, and then he put the needle in. My arm felt really hot for a moment, and then a small cramping. He said "Got it!" and I congratulated him on hitting the vein the first time. They usually do, but once in awhile people with itty-bitty veins have trouble. He told me to play with the plastic thing because it helps the blood move faster.

While the blood was pumping out, I read City Pages and tried to catch the eye of Lars, an attractive nurse that seemed to be looking at me quite a bit. It's important to note that while I was giving blood I did not have to look at the needle at any time. I've seen it before, because I used to look. But it's easy to turn away when the nurse puts the needle in, and then he put a piece of gauze over my elbow so I couldn't see it if I didn't want to.

Ten minutes later, I was done. This particular time I felt woozy. I took deep breaths and one of the nurses reclined my bed and another brought me a coke. The first nurse talked to me and put a bag over my mouth so I could breathe into it, which helped instantly. A few minutes later a nurse brought me over to the snack area, thanked me (4) for donating and went back to work. I ate shortbread cookies, fruit bites, and had some water. I talked to the volunteer for a bit and also talked to a man who had been donating platelets that morning. The volunteer thanked me (5) for donating and I filled out an evaluation of my experience and got ready to leave. The volunteer thanked me (6) for donating and wished me well. On my way out, the receptionist thanked me (7) and told me that I was awesome. I grabbed a bottle of water (donated by someone to help during the bridge collapse, thank you!) and hit the road. The total time I was there was just over an hour.

Even though I had a bit of trouble, there was no time when I felt uncomfortable or overly unwell. I was thanked a total of seven times by several different people for donating, every one of them genuine as can be.

As I said earlier, I think that everyone who CAN donate blood should do so. You're the only person who can judge whether or not you can. The Red Cross doesn't bully people into donating; they only want people there of their own accord. But, when you're there, they treat you like gold.

All in all, it was a great experience. I'm home now, sucking on a diet coke and enjoying The Soup and the rain.

"I choose not to race!"

I made a difficult decision while I was out running tonight. I am not going to run the half marathon this weekend.

Here's why:

I proved with the Belize jump my ability to put myself into life-threatening situations that I am not physically or mentally prepared for. I was fortunate enough to have someone there to (literally) hold my hand. No one will be able to carry me across the finish line but me.

More importantly, I have run nearly 60 miles so far this summer, and over 100 since January, even with time out for a foot injury. I should be extremely proud of that. Before I made running a half my goal, I was proud of every single mile I ran. When I ran my first mile without stopping to walk, I celebrated. When I hit 3 miles, I celebrated. When I ran 6 miles, I celebrated a LOT. Since I started training for the half, though, every mile I've run has turned into a disappointment. Not good enough. I did not start running to be a racer. I didn't even have a marathon in my mind. I wanted to run to be healthy. I have achieved that, have turned running into a lifestyle, and that's something that I should feel good about when I think of it, not feel like I'm not doing a good enough job.

I don't feel like a failure in this, though some people may see it that way. I will run a half marathon at some point in the future, but I don't want to hurt myself or take away from my enjoyment of running by rushing into something that should be taken extremely seriously.

Back on track

Well, it's day four of the detox and things are going fairly well. I totally cheated on the night of day two (there was a pizza in the freezer...couldn't help it) but since then I've been totally focused. No caffeine, no alcohol, just the foods listed in the Fat Smash Diet courtesy of Dr. Ian. I know that if I'm careful and don't blow my wad on Friday at the party my eating habits can stay changed. But, if I eat like a pig then Saturday will be like the detox week never happened.

The half-marathon is August 4th and I start training next week. My foot has been feeling better on a more consistent basis and I'm confident that I can start my training without doing further damage. It took so long to heal. The half marathon I was first supposed to do is this weekend...I can only run about 2.5 miles right now. Youch.

But, I'm really glad that things are coming back to center for me in terms of food and exercise. Now I want Friday to get here so I can eat a hamburger.

If it ain't broke.....

I finally went to see Hottie Doctor today about my foot to see if I was nursing a break or a fracture or what. I tried to work out for the first time yesterday in nearly a week, with somewhat catastrophic results. I ran at about half my normal speed for two-tenths of a mile and then had to stop because I was twisting my feet so much to avoid pain I was worried about falling off the treadmill. So, I went to the elliptical and managed a mile on that, but my heart rate stayed so high (in the 170s when my fat burning range is 122-125) that I knew my body wasn't liking it. I finally ended up biking for about 45 minutes and then lifting weights with Joe. The last time we worked out together was before last weeks snow days, so it was nice to get caught up with him.

At any rate, I'm not broken, sprained, fractured, or otherwise injured in such a way that I shoudn't be back to running in another week or two. Dr. Hot recommended that I cross train so I stay in shape and he said I should still be in fine shape to run the half in May. WHEW.

So, I've readjusted my workout regime and Dr. Hot gave me a boot/cast thing that should help me prevent further injury from favoring my foot so much. It's already working wonders and I'm hoping that I'll be able to get my first run in late next week.

The bummer is I know I lost ground. I can already feel my abs and leg muscles starting to loosen. Good news is, though, the weight loss is starting to kick in, and my blood pressure is 117 over 72. That's after the most stressful week of the school year yet this far, so I'm pretty damn excited.

*Sigh* Genetics forcing New Year's Resolutions

I went to the doctor today for a check up on my current meds, and we spent some time studying my blood pressure. I told him that it had been steadily rising over the last nine months or so. I keep an eye on my bp for a few reasons: 1) it's amusing to me to watch it rise and fall with the starting and ending of school; 2) countless relatives on my mom's side of the family have high blood pressure and hypertension, including my mom. It also contributed substantially to my grandma's death.

Doc Goodwin checked and, sure enough, while once upon a time my blood pressure was so low people wondered how I could stand upright, now I'm officially pre-hypertension. He doesn't want to put me on medication because apparently it's quite icky, and there are several "lifestyle" changes that need to be made first.

I do so love lifestyle changes.

He was happy that I had quit smoking, and now I really need to stay "quitted." Like for real. He also recommended I lose at least ten pounds, but no more than twenty-five. I could lose twenty-five and still be okay BMI wise, but I can't imagine me minus twenty-five pounds. Ten I can see, so I'm going to shoot for twenty.

So, look at me. Turn thirty and suddenly I've got high blood pressure, I've got to diet, and I can't even smoke about it. Thrilling.

Small slices of insanity

On Wednesday night I had nightmares all night. I remember waking up several times and, while I didn't remember any of the dreams specifically, I recalled that they covered a wide variety of subject matter. They kept switching all the time, rather than being just one solid long dream. At lunch with Erica on Thursday I tried to recall any part of the night and I couldn't.

This morning when I was taking a shower a small part of one of the dreams came back to me, and caused a small panic attack. I couldn't breathe, my vision started to get spotty, and my stomach started to hurt like I was going to throw up. But when I calmed down, I couldn't remember the part of the dream that had come back to me.

It happened again less than an hour later. Standing in the kitchen, I looked at my counter at a necklace and some Target coupons, and I remembered part of the dream, which caused another panic. I had to sit down and put my head down on the dining room table, and when it passed I was sweaty and exhausted. Again, I couldn't remember the part of the dream that had inspired the panic. I moved the necklace and the Target coupons to two different locations.

My only thought is that these were true nightmares, the kind that can really fuck with your brain, and my brain is doing its best to protect me from them. The fact that I remember things for a second or two but not long enough to lock it into memory suggests that my brain knows something about them that I don't know.

I'm hoping to make it through the day without losing my mind. I don't understand why this has happened twice this morning already--and it's only 10am. Part of me wants to remember the dreams so that I can tell myself that they were dreams, things impossible to happen. But I've never needed to put my head down on my dining room table and remind myself that I was awake and that everything was okay, that I was not dreaming, before. Apparently these are some high powered dreams.