Evolving Revolver

Waiting For New News

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 15:01:00 +0000

I saw the flock of geese again. This time they had landed in the safety of a veteran’s cemetery, hundreds of flat headstones paving the way for their webbed feet. Each goose was turned East, head up and facing the rising sun, slowly marching across the crispy, frost-covered grass. They seem to not know that the meteorologists are calling for snow this week.

Whether we will actually get snow or not is another question entirely. While they say it will come this afternoon, the clouds seem lofty and unsure. The sun peeks through in places taunting us with yesterday’s fifty degree temperatures. Will it really snow tonight? Will the geese have flown to someplace warmer by then?

Before my coffee in the mornings I find I am awash with the blues. It frustrates me because I want to be happy. I pass a kid on the side walk who is standing on one foot, his right leg folded over his left in a sort of teetering number four while he cleans something out of his shoe. I want to find this funny, because it is, but no smile comes. I hate my brain for this.

Then I have my coffee and something clicks and I start to feel normal again. I wonder if anyone has ever done a study on this – the effects of caffeine on depression.

In other news there isn’t much other news. Things feel like they are inching forward and Husband and I are standing at the sidelines screaming like crazed NASCAR fans - as if that will make things go faster. Spoiler Alert: It won’t.

The good news is it’s February and that means next month is March and so spring is really just around the corner. My appointment with the psychiatrist is next week and then Husband and I are going to spend a long, much needed weekend away in Washington, D.C. I suppose we could have waited for cherry blossom time but frankly both of us have the travel bug pretty badly. New York City is the furthest I have gone in year and it just doesn’t feel natural.

It’s days like this I wish I could just be rich already.

Oh but really - wouldn’t we all?

Brain Farts

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 20:16:00 +0000

The other day the therapist said something so poignant I thought “I should write that down, I will want to see that again later.” Then I promptly forgot it.

Similarly, while at WholePaycheck for lunch, I spent a good ten minutes agonizing over the ingredients of each item I wanted, checking it for nut content. I couldn't have the blackened tofu because there were sesame seeds, a particular sandwich had sesame oil in it somewhere (sesame for some reason falls in with the nut allergy), what used to be my favorite salad has chopped walnuts on it - I couldn't really eat anything, it felt like.

I settled on a sandwich, finally, content that my purchase would satisfy my unnamed craving. After a lengthy wait at the checkout I sat down at a table in the seating area, ready to consume. I laid my tomato, basil and pesto sandwich in front of me and then I sighed heavily in exasperation. Pesto. Pesto has nuts in it.

I ate half of it anyway, as a sort of punishment for choosing something so stupid and not nut-free as pesto.

In the spirit of admission, I have to mention that I have been walking around for most of the day with the zipper of my pants down. It would be an understatement to say I am becoming my mother.

Things In the Air

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 16:12:00 +0000

The geese are confused by the mild weather we've been having. Driving to work I saw them circling like sparrows – a flock of a hundred geese all organizing to land in someone’s back field. They didn't seem to know what direction to go so they just collected there as if holding an emergency meeting at the town hall.

Further on down the road I caught a glimpse of what I felt sure was one of these flying through the air:

I wondered if they were going to drop another flock of geese on us from above.

I have decided that this weekend’s attacks were more than just fleeting. There is definitely something amiss with my medications. I feel as though my nerves are just below the surface waiting to be attacked by any unsuspected menace that might brush up against me. The slightest provocation makes me defensive and teary; regular noises seem repetitive and loud. The sound of a person in the office next to me pulling french fries out of the box makes me cringe. Crunching one room over sounds like thunder in my ears. I feel an anxiety attack coming on.

I called the psychiatrist and asked them to move my appointment up and it bought me another week. I marvel at the fact that there isn’t some kind of fast track for those of us who know we need our meds fixed. Wouldn’t they want to keep all the bonkers people drugged up and off the streets as much as possible? But the supply of wackos verses the demanded head shrinkers isn’t a balanced ratio. I personally spend a maximum of fifteen minutes with my psychiatrist – naturally being charged for an hour – but on a good visit I am up and off of his couch in five minutes. He is a well oiled crazy-fixing machine, pumping out prescriptions like overpriced gas. We all need him to keep running.

For the time being I am laying low. Husband is being very understanding, if not cautious. He knows what could happen if this boat gets rocked too hard and he is treading lightly. A visit to the therapist helps, if only for a couple of days. I have these things to keep me afloat.

On the ride home I expected to see the geese still there, hunkered down on a wet field waiting for some meteorological message of where to go next but they had already gone. The afternoon was brilliantly blue and warmer than any day in the beginning of February should be. I drove with my windows down and the radio up. I have these things to keep me afloat.

Weekend In Review

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 15:33:00 +0000

Walking down the hall to the bathroom I found myself with the overwhelming urge to pull the fire alarm in my building. I would love to go play hooky with Husband and enjoy some of this spring-like weather we’re having. Sitting at a coffee shop with him would be the perfect cure for this Monday. Alas, I have work to do.

This weekend I had two episodes of rage - small, in comparison, but debilitating, nonetheless. One Friday and one Saturday. After going so long without having these it was scary to have those thoughts again. Why does my brain think that stabbing my wrist with a fork (which I did NOT do, rest assured) would make the anguish better? Why do I have to scream things I don’t mean at Husband? Why aren’t the pills working?

I am monitoring myself closely now, allowing only for one more of these stupid outbursts to occur before I call the psychiatrist to move my standing appointment up. Having been on pills for so long, though, I do know that this is about the time when a medication will level off and you will see what dose you really need to be at. This thing isn’t a perfect science and it takes a lot of patience, but it’s hard to have that when you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. (But not literally. We do not own a gun and never will.)

Yet, I can tell that the medication did do something because once it was over it was really over. I took a xanax and a nap and forced myself out of the apartment to go see my nephew compete in the Lego Championship. Watching a stage full of elementary school kids do the Dougie was edifying, not to mention cute as shit.

Sunday I took my nephew and nieces to the art museum. They are now all of the age where they can appreciate something as potentially boring as an art museum – even my four year old niece made it three whole hours before starting to ask that we leave “immediately”. It was really neat to share one of my passions with them. They are all little artists in one form or another at varying levels of skill and they were interested to see what works qualified as “real” art.

I proudly strolled them through the European art section, drooling over Degas and Rodin and some of the lesser known masters that I consider among my favorites. I was surprised to find them most interested by the abstract artists like Miro and Picasso (but everyone loves Picasso, really), my oldest niece claiming an interesting Jasper Johns piece as her favorite of all the things we saw. Though I hadn’t planned to take them there, we ended up in the Modern and Contemporary Art wing where they were fully submerged into the world of “Why the hell is this art?” There the youngest begged me to read the descriptions of the pieces that interested her, like the wall of mirrors with a small child and some stage lights on it and the one that captured all of us – a creepy sculpture of a pair of hairy child’s legs in wax in place of the handles of a faucet in an over sized sink.

Despite the fact that the parking garage raped my wallet (note to self, never use parking garage again) I was so happy to have been able to share that place with them. The Philadelphia Museum of Art was one of the first “real” art museums I ever went to and now it is theirs as well. I had been dreaming about that moment with them for years, biding my time until they were old enough to not get super bored by looking at pictures on the wall. Afterwards I took them all to Starbucks for little hot chocolates, rounding out doing all the things I love to do.

By the end of Sunday night – after a hearty helping of my sister’s chicken parmesan and a dance off with the nieces – I felt normal again. I felt like a part of my family, like a part of my life, which is so much better than a sad silent spectator. I hope that this means that the rages will be fleeting and not a worrisome sign of something in need of changing. I am hopeful, period, and that makes waking up on a Monday worth doing at all.

Lightening

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 21:07:00 +0000

Normally on my way up the stairs at my office there is nobody to accompany me. I like this, as it keeps me from having to explain why my breathing sounds like I've just ran a marathon by the top. It’s less embarrassing when I am alone. Today I was not.

Three stairs behind me was the pretty asian girl from the third floor, the one who parks as far out as possible every day. She is petite and stylish. As I turned a corner she caught my eye, smiling.

“Normally have you lost your breath when you get to the top?”

“Yes, I definitely do!” I replied. My smile broke into laughter. Apparently climbing the stairs is hard for other people too. This made me feel a lot less ashamed of myself.

The second social networking event was more networking than social but Husband and I were happy that we went. We both made some interesting contacts and, really, I don’t think either of us expected anything from it. Just another lesson in the benefits of lowering ones expectations, I guess.

Also, despite being a little drunk last night I actually feel pretty good today, probably because I was in bed before ten. It was pretty awesome. I slept a heavy, solid sleep dreaming of fish in various, colorful states existence. I awoke refreshed and totally happy with my early bedtime.

It appears as though the little old lady is sticking around after all.

With Age Comes Being Old

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 21:08:00 +0000

The man on the radio told me yesterday that a fancy scientist did some analysis and discovered that the most depressing day of the year was yesterday. It’s called Blue Monday. There is even an existing formula to back it up, if you believe in formulas.

According to a press release by a mental health charity,^[8] the formula is:

where weather=W, debt=d, time since Christmas=T, time since failing our new year’s resolutions=Q, low motivational levels=M and the feeling of a need to take action=N_a. 'D' is not defined in the release, nor are units.

I tended to agree with that statement, considering the heavy fog that had been hanging over the city all day. It wasn’t cold but it was dreary. When I got home I flung my rain spattered purse on the couch and sighed exasperatedly.

“J’en ai marre de cette journee!” I exclaimed. I’m so sick of this day!

Husband responded by promptly rising from the spot and doing the dishes. And the world was good again. (I think I’ll keep him.)

Lately I have been feeling remarkably old. This is silly because I’m not even thirty yet, and I also do not believe that thirty is old (or forty for that matter). I am convinced that I must be possessed by some little old lady who is trying to get another few extra years out of life. The proof:

My tights feel like sausage casing around my belly. I might be losing feeling in the lower half of my body, or else I am about to be squeezed in half.
I just referred to this as a “three cup of coffee kind of day”. This is because I am having coffee after two P.M.. I am afraid it’s going to keep me up all night.
I put on the adorable cocktail dress this morning (thought being: wear the dress to work, be ready to go as soon as I am done.) and upon realizing it’s a wee bit short in the rump area I deemed it “not work appropriate”. Twenty one year old me is so ashamed.
That third cup of coffee is needed because I went to be after eleven last night. ELEVEN, people. THAT IS SO LATE.

So I guess what I am wondering is how much does an exorcism cost these days? Or maybe I can lure the old biddy out with some nila wafers and tea? Either way I suspect that I tomorrow, after going to bed late two nights in a row, it’s going to be another three cup of coffee day.

Don’t Think So Much

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 00:51:00 +0000

As it turns out, all of my various insecurities were for naught. Our first Internations get together was delightful and I came home with a list of half a dozen emails for people that will potentially be AWSEOME FRIENDS. We hope.

After feeling a tad alienated and little bit desperate about meeting new people in Philadelphia, we were literally greeted with a smile (and metaphoric open arms) by women and men who, together, accounted for most of Central Europe and India. We talked about language, the homesickness one feels as an expat and Philadelphia in general. We had a couple of drinks. We mingled and laughed and called it quits in time to be home and in bed by ten. Oh yes, it was a terrific evening indeed.

All this potential friend making is excellent because I discovered this weekend that, on my camera, there are more pictures of my cat than anything else. It seems we have become those people whose pet is their child. This is only a small exaggeration of the truth, unfortunately.

This weekend it snowed. It was the first snow since October. In my head I had pictured that I would want to go out into the first snow and walk around, throwing snowballs and making snow angels, breathing in the fresh cold air. In reality I just wanted to make cookies. Husband on the other hand, went out twice – once to shovel the walk and once to clean off the car. He was just that excited to go be in the snow. In lieu of baking cookies I took a nap.

Today it’s raining. It’s not cold but it’s so dark, as if the sun never really came out at all. On the roof in my office I hear a great rush of water come down all at once, pausing only momentarily before continuing to erase what’s left of the snow. I am once again struck by an overwhelming urge to bake. And nap.

Tomorrow is our second networking event, but this time I am not thinking too hard about it. We had to pay for tickets and that makes me think that kind of people who might be going could be very different, but I feel remarkably “whatever” about it. I bought an adorable little navy blue pleated cocktail dress and I am going to wear it and have fun regardless of the crowd.

Because at least I won’t be at home taking pictures of the cat.

Outings and Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 19:58:00 +0000

Yesterday in the parking lot I spotted this bumper sticker. I totally loled.

I can’t be certain but I do think that this is the maximum amount of emotion felt toward New Jersey by anyone who isn’t from there.

Tonight after work Husband and I are going to our first social networking event in Philadelphia, hosted by the Philadelphia Internations group. I’m more than a little excited to get out there and socialize (if not ‘networking’, per se) because as previously mentioned we only have three friends in this area. I’ve lived here for over a year now! This is unprecedented for me, ever the social butterfly.

Tonight is kind of a hat toss, really, because the group could prove to be full of eurotrash yuppies or they could be like minded voyagers looking to connect and make friends. I went to several events in Paris that sported that kind of “I’m a world traveler and I am so much better than you” guest list and it made me gag a little. Honestly I suspect the latter case might be true tonight but one must prepare for the worst, musn’t she?

I got dressed today with the event in mind, though, darkening my eyes with my flashy liquid liner and putting on one of my power outfits – a vintage dress with blue leggings and my favorite yellow kitten heels. I wanted to be sure I dressed the part of me and not some up-classed version of me. If I really do meet any friend-worthy people there they will see me in my natural environment at some point and although I admit to becoming snobby on some subjects I am still a big mouth Colorado girl at heart. Too much fancy makes me grumpy. (But I love me some play-pretend!)

I could be thinking about it too much, actually.

I leave with this completely unrelated thought to ponder. How is it possible that Morrisey has not died of something self inflicted? With lyrics like this, he makes Elliot Smith look emotionally put together (and we all know how that ended [he stabbed himself in the heart!]).

“There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home
And you cry
And you want to die"

I mean, I actually like that song and I guess he is being ironic but that doesn’t make it less depressing. I’m just sayin’.

Blacking Out-ish

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 18:48:00 +0000

He said it best:

Some News

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 21:09:00 +0000

On Friday night we stayed home again. We were out of money until the next paycheck, but no one was inviting us out anyway. It’s not that we’re not perfectly lovely people to be around, it’s just that we only have three friends in Philadelphia and they were all doing things. Nights like that - when both of us would give our left arm to be able to socialize with someone else - we usually watch T.V.. It’s not exciting, but it fills the hours. Sometimes we don’t even talk to each other, just spending whole blocks of time glaring at the boob tube. (But honestly, I am shitty at multitasking when the T.V. is on, much to the chagrin of Husband when he wants to talk to me about anything.)

We were both feeling low. After two months of waiting we still hadn’t heard a peep about Husband’s work permit or green card. It was too soon for him to be able to ask for a temporary work permit (which is redundant anyway) but too late for us to not feel like time was eating us alive. For months now Husband has been tutoring French lessons, supplementing our income a little and keeping him busy, but the lack of “real job” was beginning to wear on both of us.

For all intents and purposes we have been on one income for well over a year now. First it was me not working and then it was him and neither of us have ever made enough of an income that didn’t make it feel tight at the end of the month whilst taking care of the both of us.We can barely imagine what it will be like when Husband has a full time, salaried job again and we won’t have say stupid things like “I have to wait until Friday to buy fruit.” Or “I think the car not starting isn't that big of a deal. It will probably make it to the spring.” Some of the things we miss are luxuries, it’s true, but right now we are longing for the luxuries. 401K, oh how I would love to open you up and add money.

So the T.V. was on and we were watching something non-memorable (because I don’t remember what it was). The dinner dishes were still laid out on the coffee table where we had left them. Two beers had been drunk. I got up to check my email, silently hopeful someone we knew would manifest an outing that we could afford. I clicked on gmail and scanned my messages.

“Oh my god - Baby!” I exclaimed, motioning for Husband to come look at my email.

After just having complained about how long this process was taking, there in my inbox was an update from the United States Citizens and Immigration Services.

“Ohmygodohmygod.” I clicked on the email, Husband just behind me on bated breath. I read it aloud.

“Your Case Status: Card/ Document Production

On January 12, 2012, we ordered production of your new card. Please allow 30 days for your card to be mailed to you.”

“You got it! You got your work permit!”

“WOOOOOOO!!!” Husband exclaimed, speechlessly, laughing.

“Woohoooo!!!!” I echoed.

Alone in the living room, we jumped up and down and hugged each other wildly as if he had just won a million dollars.

“I don’t believe it,” he said, looking at the email again.

“Me either, I can’t believe we finally got it.”

I sat down to breathe and Husband brought us both another beer from the fridge. We clinked the bottles together and let the moment sink in before the moment to follow could arrive. This week Husband would officially start looking for jobs. All the waiting was going to come to some kind of end, relatively soon. Monday, he would have a new “job” to fill up his days.

After abandoning my emails, I smooshed onto the couch with Husband, still mildly in shock. I could tell that his mind was already spinning onto the next step, how he would find a job and the million and one what-if’s behind it.

“Don’t think about it tonight,” I said to him gently. “You’ll start looking full steam on Monday. For now we can just relax.”

He agreed and we pushed closer together, sipping on our beers. It was a brief milestone, but a milestone nonetheless. Soon – though no telling how long, really – our lives will resemble that of two normal, working adults who live in the same country. The last time that happened we were still living in Paris. Now, here in Philadelphia, our new life can really, truly begin. (No more limbo!) We had made it.

For that night, though, we were happy to just be together watching T.V..

Minor Accomplishments

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 21:09:00 +0000

This week I climbed the stairs to my office every single day except Thursday. (I took them down all five days, but I don’t consider that making much of an effort.) Though I am extremely proud of myself for exceeding my goal of every other day, I am terribly embarrassed at how much I huff and puff by the top. I am out of shape.

But I am doing it for my belly. I want that son of a bitch gone.

I was weighed at the doctor’s office on Wednesday whilst checking off one of the items on my 2012 To-do list (Get tested for nut allergy, CHECK.) and even without my boots the damn scale claims I’ve only lost two pounds. TWO POUNDS. And I am hungry all the goddamned time. The whole thing makes me cranky.

On another positive note however, I succeeded in putting down 1,300 words on my book last night. I think I am over the hump of that spot I have been hung up on, but I sense my work becoming thinner. I really just want to get this first draft down so I can move onto the second. It’s going to resemble a skeleton book when I pass it around at ‘friends-are-for-reviewing’ time, but it’s going to have an end. I estimate early spring for this blessed event, unless some kind of motivational miracle happens. At least winter is forcing me indoors.

This weekend Husband and I are off to look at gyms to join. We think, for some reason, that we would like to pick up the sport of racquetball. Neither of us have ever played it. I’ll let you know how that turns out.

The ABC's of Travel

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 21:01:00 +0000

The ABC's of travel gives bloggers the opportunity to share their favorite and most memorable travel moments from A-Z! Thanks to Deidre from Decoy Betty for tagging me! I'll be tagging (approximately) 3 other bloggers at the end of this post so they can share their ABCs as well!

A: Age you went on your first international trip: My first international flight was taken when I moved to France. One would think I would have at least visited France before moving there, but that’s just not how I do things. I like to be really backward and surprise people and lead them to believe I am insane. In fact, I had never even been out of the United States of America before the day I got on a plane to Paris.

B: Best (foreign) beer you’ve had and where: I couldn’t possibly tell you the name of it but it came in a stein quite literally as big as my head while visiting my friend Amy in Munich. We were sitting in a beautiful beer garden beneath a dark three story pavilion which, at the time, was home to a band playing german oompa-papa music. The beer was so light and hoppy that I had two which is probably more than a gallon of beer. I remember also, on the way to get another beer, passing a table where someone was sitting casually beside his pet guinea pig. We found this hilarious.

C: Cuisine (favorite): I’m not entirely lying when I say French. I love me some fine French food – foie gras, a good baguette, ohmyfuckinggod the cheese, duck confit, and did I mention the wine? But I will admit I didn’t ever get too exotic in the food department during my travels. I ate minimally in Spain and Germany, well… Bavarian food is what you imagine it’s like. All I am saying is I never made it to Italy.

D: Destinations, favorite, least favorite and why: Least favorite, really? I am not sure that I ever had a least favorite destination when I was abroad. It sound clichéd, but no matter where I ended up it always felt like an adventure. Even the simple act of changing trains in Stuttgart, Germany was lovely. I am not sure that will ever change. My favorite place was definitely Paris. It lived up to all of my childhood expectations and then some. I will always have a piece of my heart attached to that city.

E: Event you experienced abroad that made you say “wow”: I had a lot of wow experiences, likely due to my open, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants nature. I said “wow” walking around Paris at three a.m. one nuit blanche with three random british men trying to find a taxi. I said “wow” when I found myself half naked in the bathroom of Palais de Tokyo. I said “wow” when ended up hitch hiking in Spain. I said “wow” every single time the Eiffel Tower sparkled. I often found myself thinking “Wow, this really ismy life.” And laughing my head off about it.

F: Favorite mode of transportation: The train. Not only is it probably the safest, it will always be the coolest in my book. Ever since my Aunt and Uncle took my sister and I to Glenwood Springs on the Amtrak, I have found it to be the most relaxing way to travel. Also? I find myself incredibly prolific on trains. I don’t know why, but it’s a fact. Three journals were filled while living in Paris, riding on trains.

G: Greatest feeling while travelling: The arrival. There is something exciting about stepping off the chosen mode of transport into a new destination. I know that I am about to discover something amazing and I might have specific plans and I might not but something wonderful is about to happen. It’s a little like Christmas morning. I also loved being an American abroad. I felt special – even if it may have been in a negative way at some points. I have to be different in life (in a ‘you say black and I will have to say white’ kind of way) and travelling like that made me one of the odd men out, in the best way possible.

H: Hottest place you’ve traveled to: Spain in July. I remember, after having particularly pleasant weather for my whole 40km hike, arriving in Barcelona and immediately starting to sweat like a pig. I don’t know what the temperature was, I just knew I wanted to be NAKED. I couldn’t get to my air conditioned hotel fast enough.

I: Incredible service you’ve experienced and where: Nothing that was memorable enough for me to add it here. I have yet to go anywhere that I have been “served”, so to speak (outside of restaurants, I suppose).

J: Journey that took the longest: Getting to Munich. I missed my flight and so I ended up taking an overnight train to get there. I was stuck in a very small room with four other people, it was hot, there was snoring and I had gas. It was a long, long night.

K: Keepsake from your travels: Spoons. I have a collection of stolen spoons (still in France) from several of the restaurants in Paris. I wish they were with me now.

L: Let-down sight, why and where: The Mona Lisa. Anyone who has seen it in person can tell you why.

M: Moment where you fell in love with travel: See the letter F. On that trip with my Aunt and Uncle, we had dinner at the Glenwood Springs hotel. There was a whole pig on a platter being served, and I remember butlers crisp suits serving us. At that age (I think I was like 5 or 6) it was the fanciest, most exciting experience I had ever had. My play pretend thereafter was colored with fancy ladies staying in fancy hotels and traveling to exotic locations. We always paid with checks for some reason.

N: Nicest hotel you’ve stayed in: Money restrictions have always put me up in simpler hotels, staying with friends or in hostels, but in Barcelona I stayed at the Catalonia, Avinyo as a treat for actually making the trek to Casterojeriz by foot. I spent an entire day on their rooftop pool.

O: Obsession—what are you obsessed with taking pictures of while traveling?: I’m a building photographer. The architecture I grew up with was so wildly uninspiring that I find just about anything remotely aging impossibly charming. I’m a sucker for old falling down things.

P: Passport stamps, how many and from where?: Just one, from France. I took trains into Spain and Germany and France repeated jipped me in the stamp department.

Q: Quirkiest attraction you’ve visited and where: It was stateside. Definitely Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo.

R: Recommended sight, event or experience: The coast of Normandy. Oh god some of the most lovely days ever spent there. The geography of those cliffs is varying and lovely. The cold wind whipping on your face makes you feel alive.

S: Splurge; something you have no problem forking over money for while traveling: FOOD. I love to try the local delicacies and snacks.

T: Touristy thing you’ve done: Gone to the top of Rockefeller Center to see the sights. I would do it again, too.

U: Unforgettable travel memory: Hiking in Spain. I have rarely felt so happy to be alive as I did on that trip. The little towns that smatter the map between Barcelona and the Western coast are like little time warps. The intense pride I had in myself in the final mile approaching Castrojeriz (my destination) was immeasurable.

V: Visas, how many and for where?: Two, both for France. One student and one working visa.

W: Wine, best glass of wine while traveling and where?: Barcelona, Spain. While eating a plate of tapas and writing in my journal at some local hangout. The wine cost 1.50 in euros.

X: eXcellent view and from where?: Etretat, from the top. I couldn’t capture that kind of green if I tried. Y: Years spent traveling?Since High School. I set out with my best friend to Las Vegas in my mom’s minivan one weekend and the mere act of being somewhere new was enough to get me start moving around and I haven’t stopped since. Husband and I have a million hypothetical trips planned so I don’t think I ever will.

Z: Zealous sports fans and where?: Oh probably Spain with their futbol but I wasn’t paying any attention to that.

Tag you're it!

Crystal Goes to Europe - She's on vacation right now, but she should do this.
Oneika the Traveler - Oneika has already done this. But her's gave me a mad travel itch. Just go read it.
Where the Bears Are - She currently lives in Saudi Arabia people! This is good stuff.

Therapy Is Good Like That

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 00:29:00 +0000

At therapy tonight I dumped. I took everything that had been building up on my brain like a residue and I let it out. It felt good to empty myself in that way. When we were done my therapist told me that she was proud of me for all the little things that I've been doing to get myself back to a truly solid emotional place.

And that is why I go to therapy. Because sometimes, even as adults, you need someone to tell you that they are proud of you.

I am proud of you, Boo Radley. So proud.

Mondays Are Like This

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 21:12:00 +0000

I know of no world in which foie gras and beer makes a proper meal, and yet that is what we ate for dinner last night. It should go without saying that I chose to take the stairs today, despite it being an “off” morning.

At the top of the fourth flight a marveled at my glorious ineptitude at climbing stairs. I am so out of shape. I was huffing and puffing and dizzy and completely embarrassed. People my age should not have this much trouble with stairs.

Last night I started a short stint as a volunteer for thisorganization. Perhaps it was exhaustion (I should have brought a snack) but it really hurt my feelings that the children laughed when I introduced myself as a secretary.

“You should have told them you are the Office Manager, that’s much more impressive,” Husband said.

“Yeah, but I was trying to teach the kids that anyone can be a writer,” I replied, defending my choice to not tell them I was a something more important than a glorified typist.

“They don’t care! They just want to be impressed.” Husband explained, Frenchly*.

I pouted and told him he was wrong and I felt butt hurt about it anyway.

Of course he was right, goddamn him. The truth is, my ego had been bruised by the cute hipster girl who was also volunteering who introduced herself as a writer. She has an MFA in creative writing and somehow this makes her a credible writer, whilst I am simply a secretary. Yes, I was wanted the spotlight on me, I am not too proud to say it.

Though I am apparently too proud to admit that I am a writer. So there is that.

Thankfully I have therapy tonight. I obviously need to talk about some things.

*Frenchly: adj. - a new word I invented to describe the act of acting particularly FRENCH.

Keepin' It Red

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 21:25:00 +0000

Whatever I had last week, it didn't last too long and for that I am grateful. I can only claim Seasonal Affective Disorder as the culprit; when the weather warmed back up I felt as good as new.

As promised, though, I did paint my fingernails bitch red. Tried and true, it worked to pick up my mood. The hot bath and dancing around to Justin Timberlake in my living room surely didn’t hurt, and I even stayed in that elevated state for most of the evening.

This week has the bones to be promising. I am putting my irons into the fire, so to speak, starting some new projects that my lead to the eventual return of my mythical sparkle. I won’t say much about what exactly because I don’t want to jinx any of that moving forward positivity. In the interest of not being too cryptic I will say that it has to do with writing and it’s not just on this blog. Let’s just say my word count is going to go UP.

Then there is the whole “losing weight” thing I mentioned. Husband and I’s conflicting schedules (and lack of disposable income after our New Years Eve spending spree) have kept us from starting up a new sport we can do together. We are leaning towards squash or racquetball or are they even different? I’m not sure. Whatever the case this leaves me NOT exercising which means also that I am NOT losing weight. I am trimming down our eating habits to be healthier, low carb and low sodium meals, but it’s that whole moving thing that needs to happen in order to drop the pounds. Or so I have been told.

So today on the ride in I decided that I would start taking the stairs every day. I work on the top floor of a four story building and I take the elevator to go up it. Mostly I blame the fact that I wear high heels to work, and while this does make stairs slightly more precarious they are not impossible. I did it Paris, didn’t I? Suck it up! I said to myself, and climbed up four flights of stairs this morning.

And I nearly died. I realized that “every day” might be a tad optimistic for me at the moment, and have since changed my resolve to “take the stairs every OTHER day.” A girls gotta stay real, you know? Or else there will be many many many days of red fingernails in the future.

Things I've Lost (That Need To Be Found)

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 19:45:00 +0000

The End.*

* click to enlarge.

Post Holiday Blues

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 02:53:00 +0000

Do any of you have them? Mine rattled in yesterday with the onset of a hard freeze and I haven’t been able to shake them today. It’s been dark – not in a snow-flurry kind of way, but rather in a ‘we’re in the throws of winter’ kind of miserableness wrapped in boohoo.

For the sake of Husband (Who has been in a relatively chipper mood - he is a cold weather person.) I am going to take myself home and pour myself a hot, hot bath. Maybe I’ll paint my nails, the jury is still out. He doesn’t deserve to have his good mood pooed on though, so I am going to make an effort to shake this feeling of general malaise.

I feel a little overwhelmed with my New Year’s To-Do list. I am trying to be full steam ahead, organizing volunteering and athletics and classes (and eating well and feeling beautiful and creative), but I think it may be time already to start breaking down lists into sub lists and giving myself realistic time frames for starts and completion. Diving in head first is making my head swim. Ha.

Once again today I thought about posting pictures for you all to see but decided against it. While I thought it might be fun to recap my New Year’s Eve with you all (for those who aren’t my facebook friends), I feel like it’s already past. I kind of want to leave it there. It’s just a pleasant memory that I don’t want futz up by reliving it over and over. That’s why pictures are nice. You can look at them, smile and then put them away and forget them. So much better than real memories in a hundred million ways. If we could turn off our brains in the same kind of way just imagine the things we could get accomplished.

I’ve decided, YES, I will paint my nails. Bitch red, I think, which always makes me feel extra feminine for some reason. I will shellac myself until my bad mood is gone. I think I will download some music, too. I know for sure that this song will improve my attitude tenfold. Listen, I think you would agree.

Another New Year’s Post

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 19:03:00 +0000

When I was thinking of doing this post, I was going to do what some of my fellow bloggers have done and give you a month by month recap. There were going to be post track-backs and all that fancy stuff. There were going to be pictures.

The truth is, though, that 2011 was a hard year for me. It began with a big change (which we all know I do so well). Transitioning myself from a glamorous city like Paris back to Philadelphia was ultimately less difficult than I had imagined it would be. I got engaged. I got a job and an apartment. Things seemed hunky dory. And they were, I guess, if you don’t count the emotional turmoil I was sinking into. There were fights. A lot of them. Tears in even greater amounts. Heartache and fear for myself and for my future. Physical pain. Dark, cobwebby places I never knew existed. These are all things that I would rather like to sweep under the rug of last year and move on. I decided not to revisit them month by month.

To ring in the New Year I partied hard. Did you know that jagermeister is terrible terrible drink? Of course you did, you are all that much smarter than I am. It was the tipping point of my evening to be sure, but despite the eventual sickness that came from that toxic substance I had an amazing time. I was in New York with two of my best friends in the whole world - Husband and K from Austin (recently moved to Brooklyn!). We met people from other countries, joined their group and laughed our heads off. We danced. I felt beautiful and alive – for the first time in a very very long time. It was worth every second I spent passed out on the Subway (still sorry for that, Husband!!).

This year is about finding me again. That brush with the lovely, exuberant version of myself made me remember that I once was that girl. Even without alcohol, I used to feel magnetic. I want to feel that way again – 25 pounds over my ideal weight or not. I have nothing less than massive expectations for 2012 and they begin right here.

I want to find my sparkle. There used to be a magic about me and in the mess of getting married and becoming a part of a couple and starting my life over I covered it up. It’s there, though, behind layers of sweaters and long hair and scarves and I am going to take it out again to let it shine. Just like some warm sun-shining day in spring, I am going to strip of the extras until nothing is left but my naked soul, glowing you out of the room. You are going to want to bask in it and I am going to draw you in. 2012 is going to bring that, so help me God.

You can’t go anywhere but up from the bottom.

In Memory of a Dead Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 20:52:00 +0000

It’s done. We’ve taken down the tree. This is not because Husband and I are giant Scrooges - so totally sick of Christmas that we couldn’t stand the sight of it for another second – it’s because it was dead.

Well, we made all kinds of mistakes with the tree. We didn’t have the man at the tree lot cut off a bit of the trunk. We added sugar to the water and, when the water went stagnant and vomit smelling and we had to siphon it out with a turkey baster, we added Clorox to the new water solution. Maybe that last part wasn’t so bad – I googled that solution and all accounts make it sound like a real thing you can do to a tree – but the first two lead to a crispy, hard, pieces-falling-off thing by Christmas Eve. We left it up until the day after, just to keep in the holiday spirit, but it was pretty pathetic looking by the time we snipped of every branch and took the bags to the curb.

So Christmas is over. It was a weird kind of long/short this year. Short in that I didn’t feel like there were enough weekends to celebrate and wished I could have jammed in a couple more holiday related activities, but long in that we had started listening to Christmas music BEFORE THANKSGIVING. It’s hard to want to sing along with White Christmas when you’ve heard it approximately nine hundred thousand times. Radio stations please learn: there is a finite amount of Christmas music. It gets worn out fast.

I can’t believe it’s already the New Year. It’s 2012, the end of the world year and all that. There are a lot of people out there starting to make resolutions and such. I don’t like to do those; I always break them. But I do have a to-do list a mile long and losing weight is on that list. In fact, it’s likely that Husband and I will be a part of the New Year’s Resolution gym crowd. I have twenty-five extra pounds hanging around like those damn Christmas cookies at the office and I would like to lose at least twenty of them. Other things on my to-do list:

Get a new pair of glasses. I am growing blinder by the day.

Go to an allergist to confirm what exactly is making my whole body itch in that skin crawling, uncontrollable kind of way. I suspect peanuts but I would like to be sure.

See a chiropractor about my fucked up back. Since we bought the new bed it’s been a million times better, but I am still ruined for standing for long periods of time. That is a silly thing for a person who is not yet thirty.

Start paying off my credit card debt. This is contingent on when Husband gets a job, of course.

Finish the first draft of my book and start getting feedback (and cleaning it up so it can be all pretty for the agents). I had a full head of steam back in November when I was doing the whole Novel Writing Month thing and then the holidays happened and guests arrived and parties were had and I’ll be damned if I squeezed in more than 2,000 words. I really do foresee finishing and publishing this book, I just have to keep the motivation behind it. Perhaps I should have a January edition of National Novel Writing Month? Possibly.

There are a ton of little things on my life’s to-do list that I would love to get time for this year such as volunteering at a local stable so I can learn how to ride horses, picking up guitar again (and actually learning how to play it this time), selling some of my odd pieces of photography, learning how to better use my digital camera and getting back into sketching. I come up with new things every single day that I wish I had the combination of time and money for - which is precisely the reason I don’t keep resolutions very well. There is always a distinct possibility that I am going to come up with something new tomorrow that will take a bigger priority in my life. While I am fully aware that this is not how goal setting works, this is just how I roll.

According to Husband, during my day here at work our living room has been completely cleaned and disinfected from Christmas. (He even dusted - I have to keep him!) It is officially over, and we can move onto the next, better part of the holidays: the end. Maybe next year we’ll be able to keep the tree alive through New Years. How’s that for a resolution?!

Guest Blog From The Land Down Under

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 15:00:00 +0000

Earlier this week I was over on her blog, and today she is here on mine! See? Blog swap. I told you it would happen.

I can’t remember who started reading whose blog first, but suffice it to say that we were fast internet-friends. I love following her adventures in Australia, her fun gluten free recipes and her blatant pimping of the Timtam. Also? Like me she is recently married to a lovely ‘foreigner’, living the life of a newlywed like a pro! Without further ado…

Look, I want to share a secret with all you Evolving Revolvers out there. But you have to promise that this isn’t going to get back to me at my blog ok?

Promise?

The reason why it’s a secret is because I’m still embarrassed about it and I’d be absolutely mortified if my in laws found out about this. So seriously, pinky swear?

Here’s the deal. When I met my husband, at 24, I was a virgin who knew two things a. I am a no baby zone b. Eggplant is gross.

To say that the sexual tension was palpable is probably an understatement.

So after we’d been dating for a bit over a month and a half, He took me home to meet his parents (oh my god, do you see where this is going? I promise I’m already blushing). And so, in his childhood bedroom I lost my virginity.

Gulp.

And yes, it does make me feel like a complete and total teenager to type that.

Afterwards, I was a bit flummoxed about what had happened, where it happened, how it happened? I didn’t have any regrets (and I still don’t), but there were some things I needed make sure He knew, Like Right Then.

So, as we walked around the town he grew up in, the places he frolicked as a child, I told him that I knew it was early in our relationship, but that I didn’t want to have kids. I just blurted it out. “So um. You know. I don’t want children” BAM.

Luckily, my incredibly smooth delivery didn’t seem to throw him, as he was like “Yeah? I’m not sure I want them either.”

And then I said, “Also, I always kind of imagined that the first guy I slept with would be the only guy I slept with. I mean, no pressure or anything.”

So kids, that’s how it’s done. That’s how you lose your virginity in your boyfriend’s parent’s house, tell your new boyfriend you don’t want kids, and basically propose.

It’s a miracle we all survived that weekend, don’t you think?

New Project and a Merry Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 00:02:00 +0000

I am officially on break for Christmas. A little Friday here and a little Monday there and it almost feels like a vacation. Even though there has been more eating than work this past week, just knowing I don't have to get up early to go for a couple of days is much appreciated.

At the M house (Husband and I are the M's) we have started a new tradition: an ornament every year to depict the special or important thing that happened in the twelve months before Christmas. I am fully aware that this could become increasingly difficult as the years progress and will probably be somehow morphed into an entirely different tradition, but I like the idea in theory. We started this year.

Another idea I am toying around with is a project in the same vein of Metro Boulot Dodo. So far it also includes a lot of photos of the airport. It has that excellent cold florescent light that I love so much.

The good news is that in America the right to take photos of people in public is much more acceptable than in France where what I was doing may or may have not been legal. The limiting factor is, naturally, that I only have one airport to hang out in for the moment. We'll see where it goes.

Now, onto bigger and better things. Like stuffing my brain with anything and everything that looks, sounds or tastes like Christmas. Oh won't you join me?

Check Me Out!

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 14:33:00 +0000

Today you can find me over at Decoybetty, where I am guest blogging. In case you haven't caught on, we did a post exchange. Look out for her post HERE later this week!

It Was, In Fact, Better

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 19:35:00 +0000

The clusterfuck of last Thursday finally ended and I awoke Friday morning refreshed. I got out of bed before the alarm clock and made it to work before my boss – a momentous occasion for me. No one walked in front of my car on the way in, traffic didn't suck, and the whole office drama from the day before seemed to have blown over.

The weekend started with the annual Christmas Party, hosted by my boss and his wife. They are both lovely people and everyone looks forward to spending an evening chex eux. It was my first year attending and both Husband and I welcomed the merry making with open arms. The door prizes, the excellent wine, the foie gras and a huge helping of delectable boeuf bourguignon lightened our spirits considerably. It helped, of course, that the people I work with a generally lovely. A party with even the best food and drink known to man is nothing without its guests.

Which is why Saturday was an equally nice evening. Husband spent all day in the kitchen so that we could have a little Christmas dinner with the small group of friends we’ve made since moving to Philly. The food was a hit (I was so proud of Husband. He pretends that he can’t cook but he can make his way around the kitchen quite nicely when the wants to.) and the games were jolly. The cat even loosened up enough to come out to play towards the end of the night, as further proof of the good spiritedness that was filling up our little apartment.

Our Sunday was spent recovering, naturally. We slept and cleaned and did a little light shopping. All this more than made up for the way last week’s planetary convergence (or whatever the hell it was) threw up on me, despite the fact that I am now fighting off a little cold that wants to throw up on my Christmas. Oh, but I won’t let it! I can’t! Because my mom is flying in tomorrow and nothing will come between me and time with my mommy figure. (Except work, ahem.)

Tonight are more preparations and onward ho! with the holiday! I can hardly believe it’s almost Christmas. I am completely done shopping as of tonight and then all that’s left to do is make a tart and do some laundry and buy some groceries and eat a ton of food and go to a party and WAIT for Santa to come. Considering how good I’ve been this year, I think I might even get something besides coal in my stocking.

**Stay tuned for more gratuitous Christmas photography and a guest post from Decoybetty! Consider this surge of content after months of nothing my Christmas gift to you! (You can thank me later.)**

Erg and Then Some

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Thu, 15 Dec 2011 21:14:00 +0000

This morning I was literally falling through the cracks. My heels just kept getting stuck in every single nook and cranny the sidewalk had to offer. In addition to rightly ruining my high heels (who’ve seen better days to begin with, thank you very much) I really thought I was going to break my ankle or spill my coffee. I don’t know which would have been worse, but I laid bets on the coffee.

Even without the falling-into-cracks issue I should have known something was wrong with today. As I drove down Main Street toward the top of the hill to get my coffee there was surprisingly little vehicle traffic, but there were people walking into the street every ten feet as if they were on kamikaze missions. As if jumping in front of my car wasn’t enough, they were hanging ass-out of their own cars with the doors wide open into the lane. I narrowly whizzed past each one, wondering what the hell was going on. It turns out I should have been more concerned.

The day started out with an argument between Husband and I, loosely based on the fact that I am fighting off a cold and backed by some kind of lunar convergence that wanted to piss on my parade. It was the first real fight we’ve had since I started my new medication. Funnily enough I had just been thinking “What happened to all the fighting? Was it really just me? Where did all that anger go? I don’t even have anything to talk to my therapist about.” Then BAM. There it was again, all fresh and new just like old times. In a way I was relieved, to know that I wasn’t turning into some kind of robot alien who didn’t ever feel anything but warm fuzzy thoughts (because how annoying are those people to hang around), but I also didn’t like being that close that particular feeling. Anger is such a scary emotion. Disappointed anger is some kind of other beast entirely. I did not want to stay there.

I was at work though, stuck in an awkward social situation. See, at work I tend to be the person who people go to when they want to vent. I have always been that person, which is what made me such a great barista and would make me a killer bartender. It's not everyone mind you, but those who like to do so in general smattered with the occasional confession, and this particular time it was two people whom I like equally who were not getting along. One would come to me venting angrily about the other and then they would swap. It was to the point where I felt awkward being around the both of them together knowing how they felt about each other. For me, the tension was palpable.

So last week at lunch I made a mistake. I put my foot in my mouth, mentioning this tension to their superior at our office outing. He did not react at all, he didn’t know about the situation and so I retracted it saying it’s none of my business, I shouldn’t have said anything, if said people have a real problem they will come to you and all manner of “forget this ever happened” that I could.

Apparently, however, it was not forgotten. I discovered this when one of the parties involved was giving me the stink eye and I called them out on it. It was here I learned that the rumor flying about was that he was going to lose his job over this.

Our office is known for its rumors. I was certainly the subject of many of them. I try to keep myself out of it the best I can, which is likely not what I was doing opening my ears to everyone’s various issues with everyone else, though I certainly hadn't realized that. To make matters worse, this astonishing rumor was coupled with one to the effect that I had told their superior that they HATE each other. I had somehow become the rumor starter.

Naturally, I was upset. I hadn't told anyone that there was hate flying about and I certainly didn’t want anyone to lose their jobs. More events ensued here that I won’t detail due to the public nature of this blog, but the end result was the finger being pointed at me as the bad guy, getting thrown under the bus for wishing, out loud, that everyone could just get along. The air was cleared but I was the one who was blamed in entirety.

All before lunch.

I left to run an errand, feeling hurt that I had opened my ears and my heart to the problems of two people I care about at work, only to have them turn their backs on me when they found themselves confronted about their own issues. Though the situation is resolved and the rumors (which were INDEED just that) have been laid to rest that nobody is getting fired, I can’t help but feel let down. I am disappointed in human behavior, that there is no solidarity amongst any group of people. I am disappointed that what gets said trickles down a grade school style telephone wire and that nothing that comes from my mouth will ever be repeated with the care and intention that it originally had. And I was disappointed and angry that someone around me had enough time to waste that they felt it necessary to propagate such an evil rumor. Why?

Maybe I am naïve, but I have always believed that, given the chance, people could change and grow and learn from their mistakes. Today, though, I believe I should have just stayed in bed.

Tomorrow will be better, of course. As long as no one dies today, tomorrow will be better.

Be Your Best Self

noreply@blogger.com (Evolutionary Revolutionary) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 21:14:00 +0000

On Sunday Decoybetty* wrote a post that, in summary, expressed how she often finds it hard for herself to just be happy, damnit for people in her life who seem to have been blessed by good luck. (It’s a bad summary of the post, admittedly, but if you want to read the original you should. For the purpose of this blog, however, we’re going to say that is what her post was about.)

It struck a chord with me and got me to thinking. I do that. I do that all the time. I make comparisons to other people’s lives and wish that mine were parallel or often times better than theirs. Why can’t I fill in the blank?? Why can’t I travel more, work for a major design label, have a family with money coming out their ears, go to Paris on a long weekend, have expensive dinners with famous people, join the expectant mom crowd, and the list goes on and on and on.

Of course as we all know I am not these people who have oodles of money, who get to travel all over the world, who get to take a jaunt to Paris for a weekend in the fall, or work for a glamorous company frequented by celebrities. I don’t get to have dinners with famous people and, frankly, I don’t even want to be a part of the expectant mom crowd. So why am I so jealous of them?

Ultimately the question is left unanswered in my head. It's any number of combinations of 'low self-esteem', 'grass is always greener', 'I'm the ninety-nine percent' and 'marxist-lenin complex'. I have all of that going on and then some. I am doing just fine but I want more. I am greedy, lusting for the things that always earmarked the 'in' crowd in my life, a group of whom I was always a vulture just on the outside, eager to pick up the left overs from the days kill. I want, therefore I am.

I want to stop.

I want to stop comparing myself to everyone else in my life - my sister, my mother, my friends, my co-workers. I want to stop trying to be who they are and be a little more of what I am.

I am not perfect, though. I am a clinically depressed woman with a mood disorder, twenty-five pounds "overweight" (or at least over my desired weight), with a foul mouth, a sale charactre (shitty attitude) as Husband puts it, and a severe lack of personal motivation. Most people, on meeting me, would not describe me as such. Au contraire. But this is not at all about how other people see me: it's about how I see myself.

After a work week particularly full of fuck-ups and minor mistakes that added up to annoyances for higher ups, I taped this phrase to my computer monitor: Be Your Best Self. I asked myself "Am I being my best self? My best, hardest working employee?" and was disappointed to find the answer was no. I realized that, no matter how many vacations I could take, no matter how many Marc Jacob hand bags I could buy, no matter how many babies I could shove out of my loins (if that was something I decided I wanted), I would never be happy with giving less than my best, work or otherwise.

I wasn't happy being depressed. I wasn't happy punching walls and curling up into a ball on the bathroom floor. I am not happy with my weight and I am not happy with my shitty attitude. I want to be more than what I am. If that never adds up to a coastal home in the south of France or a trip around the world, I don't care. If I am not the best person I expect myself to be I will never be happy.

Will that end the jealousy? That's another question unanswered. Probably no. I am human, with human desires and human faults. But as long as I am my best self, a little jealousy never hurt anyone.

Boo is always his best self, regardless of his crazy parents.

* look for a guest post from her soon!