I've been debating about weighing in on this Rush Limbaugh/Sandra Fluke thing, but now I just have to get my thoughts out there so I can stop fretting about them. This whole event is disturbing on so many levels. I have always been extremely sensitive to the fact that birth control pills are prescribed for lots of reasons that have nothing to do with birth control. When I was in college, I had many friends who were on them, not because they were having sex, but because they had uterine fibroids. Now that I have been diagnosed with endometriosis, I could take birth control pills to control the growth of the condition. But I've had a bad experience with them before, so I'm going to have a hysterectomy and ablation instead. But imagine if I was 20. Or wanted children. The calculus of these decisions is somewhat different then.
Which brings me to Sandra Fluke. She asked to testify to the GOP committee, and they would not allow it. So then she spoke to the Dem. committee. It took me one click on an Internet link to get to a transcript of her testimony. She spoke rationally and thoughtfully about her friend who was on the pill to control her uterine fibroids. When she could no longer afford it, she went off the pill, her fibroids have grown, and she is now a candidate for major surgery and is likely infertile.
So this is the person that Rush and any number of others have chosen to vilify. So fine, whatever, we all know he's a shock-jock who is just trying to get people riled up. It's his job. The thing that upsets me is that it's working. I have yet to find anyone in commentary who has bothered to click through and find out what she actually said. I suspect that if they did, they'd be on her side. Uterine fibroids and endometriosis are among the leading causes of infertility for women. So why would conservatives (who seem to feel a vested interest in the state of women's wombs), deny this medication to women with these conditions? It's illogical and inconsistent, and I don't understand it. (And of course, the reason a woman is on the pill should remain a confidential matter between her and her physician. Do they really want to open the Pandora's box of requiring that the owner of a company, or a pastor or a legislator needs to approve medical decisions? No, I thought not.)
The attitude of conservatives feels threatening and hostile to me. It informs my decision to have surgery rather than go on the pill for my own condition. If I can not be sure that that the drug option will be there for me tomorrow, I will not choose it. Many years ago, this fear also played into a decision to opt for a surgery that made me effectively infertile, because I was not certain that I would always have control over my own reproduction, especially here, in the most conservative state in the union. At the time, I thought I was probably being paranoid. As time goes by, and I watch what's happening on the right, which dominates what happens where I live, I become more and more certain that the only way that I can exercise my will and make my own decisions is to take drastic steps to be sure the decisions are irrevocable. I am not certain that I will be free tomorrow.
I am filled with fear for my sister, coming of age in this environment, when hatred and oppression of women is being so readily expressed and enacted into law in so many states across the country. I can not imagine how different her world is than mine was when I was her age. Many in the right make noise about Sharia law coming to the U.S. Take a look around at laws pertaining to women that are being passed in Georgia, Alabama, Utah, Arizona, and proposed in Federal Congress. Then take a deep think about the distance left to go before what we wear, read or do is as circumscribed as the medicines we are allowed to take.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Slow Cooker Porridge
This is a new favorite breakfast recipe, and it makes an enormous amount that can just be heated up in the microwave during the week. I usually add a poached egg on top, especially now, when we are getting between 8 and 11 eggs every day! If you are not up on your fiber, ease into this---just a word to the wise... This probably has a full day's ration in one serving. Can be halved if your slow cooker is smaller than mine.
Slow Cooker Porridge:
1 1/2 cups mixed whole grains (I commonly use 1/2 cup hard white wheat, 1/2 cup brown rice, 1/2 cup barley, but I've also used rye, wild rice, hard red wheat, whatever is in the cupboard)
1/2 cup dried fruit
1 t vanilla extract
1 t lemon juice
8 cups water
Put it all in the slow cooker, cook on high until the water starts to steam, then on low for 12 hours.
That's it! I find it plenty sweet just like that, but you could add maple syrup when serving. It's dynamite with a couple of poached eggs on top, and there's something about a big bowl of grains that makes my belly happy all the way through to lunch time.
Slow Cooker Porridge:
1 1/2 cups mixed whole grains (I commonly use 1/2 cup hard white wheat, 1/2 cup brown rice, 1/2 cup barley, but I've also used rye, wild rice, hard red wheat, whatever is in the cupboard)
1/2 cup dried fruit
1 t vanilla extract
1 t lemon juice
8 cups water
Put it all in the slow cooker, cook on high until the water starts to steam, then on low for 12 hours.
That's it! I find it plenty sweet just like that, but you could add maple syrup when serving. It's dynamite with a couple of poached eggs on top, and there's something about a big bowl of grains that makes my belly happy all the way through to lunch time.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Danni update...
It's been a while, so here's an update on the gorgeous girl!
She's running up to three years old now, and so her winter has been full of changes. She grew another inch (at least!), all in the legs, it looks like. She spent several weeks being higher behind than in front (oh no!) and then several weeks higher in front than behind (hooray!) and then too high in the back end again (oh no!)... But I'm quite certain that when she's doen growing, she'll be built uphill, like a proper dressage horse!
Along about the end of November, she started losing her baby teeth, and spent most of December and half of January on the near side of completely cranky, because the caps were tearing up her mouth a little as they worked loose. Yet another reason to give her most of the winter off!
About two weeks ago, she started sleeping through the night. Until then, she'd wake up at least once, maybe twice, and start banging at her stall: "I'm awake and I'm bored! Someone come entertain me!" only slightly maddening to the humans in the house, because horses are big and strong and stalls are big and echo-ey, and so it was all loud enough to hear in the house!
Of late, the weather has been quite bad---wet and rainy and muddy. For a bit, it was so muddy that we couldn't turn the horses out in their paddocks. So they had to go out in the arena (probably the best engineered piece of flattish ground on the planet!). Danni had all kinds of excuses to be bad, and she did not take them.
She's been much better about her feet in general, although she still prefers to have all four on the ground, rather than me holding one up... But she improves, and today, even though the grooming stall was muddy and slick with creeping damp, she eventually let me pick out her feet.
I've been doing a bit of ground work with her when I can, and she is gradually learning the three most fundamental lessons a horse can learn:
1) kicking and rearing are COMPLETELY unacceptable around people (young horses always think you are a horse, and that they can't really hurt you). Today, she actually kicked herself, by mistake, so I bet that has come to an end...
2) all those noises and gestures and nudges have information in them that leads to treats, pets, and praise, if she can figure out what they mean.
3) pressure means "move away", not toward. This is a surprisingly hard concept for them. If you rub on a horse, they will lean into you, because it feels good! But if you press on them, you mean for them to move away. It's counter-intuitive for them. But eventually, they figure out the difference between an "aid" and a rub.
Meanwhile, she grows more beautiful by the day, with her snip becoming more prominent, and her body and head becoming more like a grownup horse. In a couple more weeks, I'll put her back to work, and her grownup life will begin. By the end of March, I will have her in regular work under saddle, and we'll see if we can learn to dance together. Between the introduction to riding that she had in the fall, and the intermittent work we've been doing on the ground, the foundation is there, and I can't wait to see how she comes along in the spring!
She's running up to three years old now, and so her winter has been full of changes. She grew another inch (at least!), all in the legs, it looks like. She spent several weeks being higher behind than in front (oh no!) and then several weeks higher in front than behind (hooray!) and then too high in the back end again (oh no!)... But I'm quite certain that when she's doen growing, she'll be built uphill, like a proper dressage horse!
Along about the end of November, she started losing her baby teeth, and spent most of December and half of January on the near side of completely cranky, because the caps were tearing up her mouth a little as they worked loose. Yet another reason to give her most of the winter off!
About two weeks ago, she started sleeping through the night. Until then, she'd wake up at least once, maybe twice, and start banging at her stall: "I'm awake and I'm bored! Someone come entertain me!" only slightly maddening to the humans in the house, because horses are big and strong and stalls are big and echo-ey, and so it was all loud enough to hear in the house!
Of late, the weather has been quite bad---wet and rainy and muddy. For a bit, it was so muddy that we couldn't turn the horses out in their paddocks. So they had to go out in the arena (probably the best engineered piece of flattish ground on the planet!). Danni had all kinds of excuses to be bad, and she did not take them.
She's been much better about her feet in general, although she still prefers to have all four on the ground, rather than me holding one up... But she improves, and today, even though the grooming stall was muddy and slick with creeping damp, she eventually let me pick out her feet.
I've been doing a bit of ground work with her when I can, and she is gradually learning the three most fundamental lessons a horse can learn:
1) kicking and rearing are COMPLETELY unacceptable around people (young horses always think you are a horse, and that they can't really hurt you). Today, she actually kicked herself, by mistake, so I bet that has come to an end...
2) all those noises and gestures and nudges have information in them that leads to treats, pets, and praise, if she can figure out what they mean.
3) pressure means "move away", not toward. This is a surprisingly hard concept for them. If you rub on a horse, they will lean into you, because it feels good! But if you press on them, you mean for them to move away. It's counter-intuitive for them. But eventually, they figure out the difference between an "aid" and a rub.
Meanwhile, she grows more beautiful by the day, with her snip becoming more prominent, and her body and head becoming more like a grownup horse. In a couple more weeks, I'll put her back to work, and her grownup life will begin. By the end of March, I will have her in regular work under saddle, and we'll see if we can learn to dance together. Between the introduction to riding that she had in the fall, and the intermittent work we've been doing on the ground, the foundation is there, and I can't wait to see how she comes along in the spring!
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
The Smash and Grab Job
So, not such a good day. Yesterday began the recurrence of my recurrent health problems, which brought me home from work for a day and a half, mostly to curl up in a tiny ball on the bed and just TRY to breathe slowly. I had charted this out, and it should have started tomorrow. Well, never mind. Next week I get to see an another specialist, who actually specializes in this kind of pain, and we'll see what she can do.
BUT. In the meantime, I have turned 40. Which means I had a mammogram scheduled for today. I got to crawl out of bed, put actual clothes on (ow, because my abdomen is so swollen that even my undewear hurts it) and go across town to the radiology clinic, where they have a cheery, welcoming sign that reads:
Some people are like slinkies.
They are essentially useless,
But they still make you laugh
When you push them down the stairs.
So I check in, and get my piece of paper to fill out, and they send me to the changing rooms. I sit down to start filling out the paperwork, and I'm not even 1/3 of the way down the page, when the radiologist comes to get me. So I say, "but I'm not even done with my paperwork yet!". And she says "just get changed. You can fill that out afterwards."
So I pull the curtain over, and it doesn't close all the way, but the person is waiting, so I just turn my back, and get into ye olde hospital gown (which for the first time in my life is supposed to go with the ties in front. This may seem obvious in retrospect, but I've been well trained that the ties go in the back, where you can't reach them!)
And I grab up all my stuff, because the last time I was here, I had to take all my stuff. And she says, "No. Leave it. Just bring your purse.". I'm juggling my purse and my clipboard and my pen, and trying to drop my clothes back onto the bench. Finally, I get that accomplished (was I only imagining the foot tapping and the heavy sighs?), and go across the hall.
The radiologist takes my clipboard, glances over it, draws a line through everything I haven't filled out yet, and says "you don't need to do that part anyway". Then she asks if I've had all my mammograms there. To which I reply "this is my first one", which was on the part of the paper I DID fill out, so she should have known that.
I get straightened out on my incorrect dressing, the fact that I should not have been wearing deodorant today, and away we go to the machine.
After lots of pushing and shoving and having to stand very awkwardly with my head tilted back to one side, one hip dropped down to the left, and my toes pointed to one side, the plastic plate drops, and is surprisingly painful, cold and uncomfortable. "Don't breathe." she says. There are some clicks and whines, and the plastic plate slides up. There is silence for a long moment, while I try to figure out if I'm allowed to breathe or move, and then she says "ok. We have a problem." which nearly causes me heart failure. But apparently I just have very...dense...breasts. Sigh. So there is extra smashing and grabbing. Just for me.
Finally, after several more episodes of holding my breath, flinching, and trying to figure out who engineered this particularly stupid invention, which does not allow for the fact that you will actually have a person, with a HEAD and FEET attached to the tissues in question, she leaves me standing there for a very long interval before she says, "good. Ok. You are done. You can go now."
So I pull my hospital gown back together, and ask, "so my doctor should have the results when?" and she tells me to call my doctor in a couple of days, but they'll send me a letter in the mail in a few weeks anyway. So off I go, back to collect my clothes, definitely feeling like the victim of a smash and grab job. And more than usually ticked off to be a woman in society today. Because for certain, if it was a testicu-ography, there would be no uncomfortable smashing. And someone would have taken into account that other parts of the body also stick off the front, and good engineering would make a place for those. Oh, and you betcha, the little plastic plates would be all toasty warm too.
BUT. In the meantime, I have turned 40. Which means I had a mammogram scheduled for today. I got to crawl out of bed, put actual clothes on (ow, because my abdomen is so swollen that even my undewear hurts it) and go across town to the radiology clinic, where they have a cheery, welcoming sign that reads:
Some people are like slinkies.
They are essentially useless,
But they still make you laugh
When you push them down the stairs.
So I check in, and get my piece of paper to fill out, and they send me to the changing rooms. I sit down to start filling out the paperwork, and I'm not even 1/3 of the way down the page, when the radiologist comes to get me. So I say, "but I'm not even done with my paperwork yet!". And she says "just get changed. You can fill that out afterwards."
So I pull the curtain over, and it doesn't close all the way, but the person is waiting, so I just turn my back, and get into ye olde hospital gown (which for the first time in my life is supposed to go with the ties in front. This may seem obvious in retrospect, but I've been well trained that the ties go in the back, where you can't reach them!)
And I grab up all my stuff, because the last time I was here, I had to take all my stuff. And she says, "No. Leave it. Just bring your purse.". I'm juggling my purse and my clipboard and my pen, and trying to drop my clothes back onto the bench. Finally, I get that accomplished (was I only imagining the foot tapping and the heavy sighs?), and go across the hall.
The radiologist takes my clipboard, glances over it, draws a line through everything I haven't filled out yet, and says "you don't need to do that part anyway". Then she asks if I've had all my mammograms there. To which I reply "this is my first one", which was on the part of the paper I DID fill out, so she should have known that.
I get straightened out on my incorrect dressing, the fact that I should not have been wearing deodorant today, and away we go to the machine.
After lots of pushing and shoving and having to stand very awkwardly with my head tilted back to one side, one hip dropped down to the left, and my toes pointed to one side, the plastic plate drops, and is surprisingly painful, cold and uncomfortable. "Don't breathe." she says. There are some clicks and whines, and the plastic plate slides up. There is silence for a long moment, while I try to figure out if I'm allowed to breathe or move, and then she says "ok. We have a problem." which nearly causes me heart failure. But apparently I just have very...dense...breasts. Sigh. So there is extra smashing and grabbing. Just for me.
Finally, after several more episodes of holding my breath, flinching, and trying to figure out who engineered this particularly stupid invention, which does not allow for the fact that you will actually have a person, with a HEAD and FEET attached to the tissues in question, she leaves me standing there for a very long interval before she says, "good. Ok. You are done. You can go now."
So I pull my hospital gown back together, and ask, "so my doctor should have the results when?" and she tells me to call my doctor in a couple of days, but they'll send me a letter in the mail in a few weeks anyway. So off I go, back to collect my clothes, definitely feeling like the victim of a smash and grab job. And more than usually ticked off to be a woman in society today. Because for certain, if it was a testicu-ography, there would be no uncomfortable smashing. And someone would have taken into account that other parts of the body also stick off the front, and good engineering would make a place for those. Oh, and you betcha, the little plastic plates would be all toasty warm too.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Sunny Sunday
It's been raining here, onto frozen ground, which means mud, mud, mud. Then last night, we got about 4 inches of snow on top of all that slick mud.
The paddocks are unusable, and yesterday, the horses each got only about half an hour of turnout in the arena. They are used to being out roughly sunrise to sunset. All are holding themselves in, but they struggle with the self-control required.
So I started turning horses out in the arena at a bit before nine this morning, while I cleaned their stalls. It occurred to me to absolutely as inefficient as possible, so they could each have more time. Trinket and Music Man went out together, and I managed to drag out cleaning their stalls, doing water buckets, etc. for forty minutes. Then Danni went out, and I did her stall, fed chickens, raked up the hay barn, did a few other little things. But that only took twenty minutes! So I went inside, and got Dressage Today and brought it out to sit in a chair in the sunshine in my Carrharts to read about Piaffe and getting the most out of a clinic. Time to change them around again---Danni in, Harley out. I mucked that last stall, and went back to my chair. John brought me a beer, and we sat watching the light on the snow on the mountains, watching Harley kick up his heels, listening to the others moving around in their stalls, laughing hysterically about how glad I was this morning to hear Russell crow. (Russell Crowe! Hahahahahha! I guess you had to be there...)
This afternoon, it thawed enough to use the new pump to get some of the water out of the paddocks---John is a hero, going to get that pump last week! So we all stood around leaning on the shovel, or with hands in pockets, to watch the minor miracle of modern technology. Danni was back out in the arena again, completely unfazed by gas-powered pumps and 150-foot hoses. And I felt so satisfied, to have thought so far ahead as to put in a GOOD arena, so that even when the weather is soup, ponies can get out. And SUCH wonderful ponies as we have here! And to be able to buy what's needful, when we need it (like dirty water pumps and hoses from the House of Hose). And to have bright sunshine and the luxury to take some time to be out in it with people I love. And to have warm clothes. And hot water for a shower at the end of the day.
The paddocks are unusable, and yesterday, the horses each got only about half an hour of turnout in the arena. They are used to being out roughly sunrise to sunset. All are holding themselves in, but they struggle with the self-control required.
So I started turning horses out in the arena at a bit before nine this morning, while I cleaned their stalls. It occurred to me to absolutely as inefficient as possible, so they could each have more time. Trinket and Music Man went out together, and I managed to drag out cleaning their stalls, doing water buckets, etc. for forty minutes. Then Danni went out, and I did her stall, fed chickens, raked up the hay barn, did a few other little things. But that only took twenty minutes! So I went inside, and got Dressage Today and brought it out to sit in a chair in the sunshine in my Carrharts to read about Piaffe and getting the most out of a clinic. Time to change them around again---Danni in, Harley out. I mucked that last stall, and went back to my chair. John brought me a beer, and we sat watching the light on the snow on the mountains, watching Harley kick up his heels, listening to the others moving around in their stalls, laughing hysterically about how glad I was this morning to hear Russell crow. (Russell Crowe! Hahahahahha! I guess you had to be there...)
This afternoon, it thawed enough to use the new pump to get some of the water out of the paddocks---John is a hero, going to get that pump last week! So we all stood around leaning on the shovel, or with hands in pockets, to watch the minor miracle of modern technology. Danni was back out in the arena again, completely unfazed by gas-powered pumps and 150-foot hoses. And I felt so satisfied, to have thought so far ahead as to put in a GOOD arena, so that even when the weather is soup, ponies can get out. And SUCH wonderful ponies as we have here! And to be able to buy what's needful, when we need it (like dirty water pumps and hoses from the House of Hose). And to have bright sunshine and the luxury to take some time to be out in it with people I love. And to have warm clothes. And hot water for a shower at the end of the day.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Grading
Today I gave AND graded two exams. All my University friends will be gaping in awe. But I found new motivators. As part of my Happiness Project, I'm trying to improve my work life. One part of that is "biscuits"---small rewards that help me keep moving on the things that are monotonous. It used to be that one big biscuit at the end of the day---like getting to leave early to go ride my horse---was good enough. But it's been years now since I have been able to work that out to coordinate with heavy monotony days, like exams and accounting.
So today, I decided to try a new strategy.
I allways grade exams by question. All of question one, then all of question two, and so on. There are lots of good efficiency and fairness reasons to do it this way, but it also breaks the grading into manageable chunks. So I put my headphones on, hit shuffle on my "favorites" playlist, and got started. I decided that when my very favorite song-of-the-moment ("Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam) came on, I would immediately stop, close the door and stare out the window for a few minutes until it was done. So that was a way to build in a break for stretching and breathing.
And then I decided that every time I finished grading a problem, I would take a few minutes to do something that someone ELSE would like. So after problem one, I wrote a note to a colleague who I recently found out has breast cancer, to tell her how much I have always admired her. After problem two, I sent a note to let a staff member know I was thinking of her, as she is bereaved as of yesterday. After the third problem, I really got going, and sent a nominal gift certificate with a funny note to someone who is struggling with her workload, just to let her know it won't always be this way---someday, the project will be done, and there will be time for reading and toys again. I, personally, sometimes struggle to find this person likeable, so i was so pleased to be able to think of something to do to acknowledge her burdens. After the fourth problem, I got to send some wonderful television (Lark Rise to Candleford) to someone who will love it. After the fifth problem, I wrote a card (I clearly had better buy more cards to keep around, if this is going to go on!) to hide for someone who will love discovering it. And when I was done, I went to lunch with a friend who really needed to unload about some of the stresses he's under. I wasn't looking forward to it, exactly, but knew he really needed to talk, and then we ran into some others, and just had a lot of fun instead. Which was even better.
So I finished grading the first exam, and felt just AWESOME! It was so fun to have little five minute breaks every 40 minutes or so, in which I completely changed where I was living in my head. And I felt I was doing something really important and valuable for my community---reaching out to the people I love, honor and value, and those who are struggling. For a moment, I felt guilty about that---isn't it just selfish to do things that you think will make other people happy, if it makes you happy too? And then I decided THAT was sick and wrong, and who put THAT idea in my head?! (Wow! Happiness is so...complicated!)
Which circles back around to Pearl Jam:
"I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands,
The ones I love.
Some folks, they've got none.
Others, they've got one."
There's something about telling other people how wonderful they are that reminds you how very lucky you are to have them in your life.
So today, I decided to try a new strategy.
I allways grade exams by question. All of question one, then all of question two, and so on. There are lots of good efficiency and fairness reasons to do it this way, but it also breaks the grading into manageable chunks. So I put my headphones on, hit shuffle on my "favorites" playlist, and got started. I decided that when my very favorite song-of-the-moment ("Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam) came on, I would immediately stop, close the door and stare out the window for a few minutes until it was done. So that was a way to build in a break for stretching and breathing.
And then I decided that every time I finished grading a problem, I would take a few minutes to do something that someone ELSE would like. So after problem one, I wrote a note to a colleague who I recently found out has breast cancer, to tell her how much I have always admired her. After problem two, I sent a note to let a staff member know I was thinking of her, as she is bereaved as of yesterday. After the third problem, I really got going, and sent a nominal gift certificate with a funny note to someone who is struggling with her workload, just to let her know it won't always be this way---someday, the project will be done, and there will be time for reading and toys again. I, personally, sometimes struggle to find this person likeable, so i was so pleased to be able to think of something to do to acknowledge her burdens. After the fourth problem, I got to send some wonderful television (Lark Rise to Candleford) to someone who will love it. After the fifth problem, I wrote a card (I clearly had better buy more cards to keep around, if this is going to go on!) to hide for someone who will love discovering it. And when I was done, I went to lunch with a friend who really needed to unload about some of the stresses he's under. I wasn't looking forward to it, exactly, but knew he really needed to talk, and then we ran into some others, and just had a lot of fun instead. Which was even better.
So I finished grading the first exam, and felt just AWESOME! It was so fun to have little five minute breaks every 40 minutes or so, in which I completely changed where I was living in my head. And I felt I was doing something really important and valuable for my community---reaching out to the people I love, honor and value, and those who are struggling. For a moment, I felt guilty about that---isn't it just selfish to do things that you think will make other people happy, if it makes you happy too? And then I decided THAT was sick and wrong, and who put THAT idea in my head?! (Wow! Happiness is so...complicated!)
Which circles back around to Pearl Jam:
"I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands,
The ones I love.
Some folks, they've got none.
Others, they've got one."
There's something about telling other people how wonderful they are that reminds you how very lucky you are to have them in your life.
Monday, January 16, 2012
True Confessions...
While on book tour to Austin, TX to the AAS meeting (completely fun, and a huge boost to my morale!), I picked up a book in the airport called 'The Happiness Project'. It was on the NYT bestseller list for 44 weeks, and I can see why. It's not preachy. It's not annoying. It's not about finding your spiritual blah-de-blah-blah. It's chock-full of interesting observations about what makes people happy, what makes people unhappy, and what it's like to spend a year dedicated to trying to do more of the former and less of the latter. (And also why it's completely NOT selfish to do that! Hooray!)
This comes at a particularly good moment for me, because as you know, I am trying to figure out how to whittle down my work responsibilities. It's helpful to have some signposts to direct me about which things are urgent, which are important, which make me happier and which detract from my happiness.
At any rate. One of the resolutions the author makes is to 'Tackle a Nagging Task'. This afternoon, it occurred to me that I have a nagging task that has been hanging around for THIRTEEN, yes THIRTEEN, years. It took me half an hour to do. And now it's done!
I confronted this task at least three times each day, and sometimes four or five. Every day when I woke up. Every day when I went to sleep. Every day when I made the bed or every time I took the sheets off to wash them, or put them on again. Every time I pulled the covers tight, or smoothed them down.
In order to understand this, you must understand that I have a weird relationship to money. Really, really weird---a little bit crazy, actually. And I often behave completely irrationally about it (this, by the way, is the source of much of my difficulties with accounting---if money is involved, it's super-easy to make me cry. And our accounting staff make even non-crazy people cry...imagine what they can do to me!) Purchasing even small things is a huge deal for me. Shopping for...anything...for myself is accompanied by lengthy internal monologues from "The Troll" in my head about what I "deserve", have "earned", can be trusted to "take proper care of", what I am "worthy of", whether or not I really "need it". It will sometimes take me multiple trips to the Department store to finally buy a six-pack of socks for $6.99. Sigh.
Thirteen years ago, for Christmas, we got a gift certificate to Eddie Bauer that enabled us to purchase a down comforter (not the nicest, fluffiest one, because of The Troll), and a duvet cover. They didn't have the cover in the size that fit the comforter, but only in the next larger size. I bought the duvet cover anyway, because I knew that if I didn't buy it right then, when my courage was up, I would never, ever get it, and then I would be stuck with this raw, white down comforter, which is even more impractical than a duvet cover that doesn't really fit. Besides, I rationalized, I can always just sew a seam down the long side, and then it will fit. Right? Right. And also, a duvet cover in the wrong size kind of fit in with what The Troll was telling me about luxurious down comforters. Serves me right.
There I was. Year after year, waking up every morning, fidgeting with the down comforter so that it lay in the middle of the duvet cover. Going to bed each night, tugging on the duvet cover so that it was centered over the comforter. Making the bed, washing the sheets, taking the cover off and putting it on, and each and every time thinking, "I need to fix this." That's approximately 13*365*3=14,000 times I had that thought. 14,000 times I felt a little bad that I hadn't gotten to it yet. 14,000 times I mentally shied away from thinking about it, and moved on to something else. It's ridiculous.
I was thinking today about the Happiness Project, and I suddenly wondered why I had never fixed that stupid thing. And I realized (hold on, because this is really disturbing) that I had never fixed it because I was afraid that if I tried to fix it, I would mess it up worse than it was. And that was REALLY bad, because a) I didn't really deserve it in the first place and b) clearly I couldn't be trusted to take good care of my things. Double-sigh. So then I thought f*!@K that. I'm going to try to fix it. And if I mess it up, I hereby give myself permission to buy a new one. So there. And I put all my courage together, and I annoyed John by starting a project when he just wanted to relax on the sofa, and I annoyed the dogs by putting this lovely comforter on the floor and not letting them lay on it. But I got started. And then I kept going.
Half an hour later, a nagging task that had been bothering me for more than 1/4 of my life was completed. And it's marvelous. It fits perfectly. It looks great. It's fixed. A big sticking out of my tongue to The Troll, and a new mental image I'm working on about defeating The Troll.
This feels great! What else can I do? I'm sure I have more nagging tasks around here somewhere!
(P.S. This gives me a good direction for my own Happiness Project. Clearly I need to do something about The Troll and that creepy, disturbing money relationship. "Money---it's a good servant, but a bad master." More about that in a future post, but not so far in the future that it becomes a nagging task!)
This comes at a particularly good moment for me, because as you know, I am trying to figure out how to whittle down my work responsibilities. It's helpful to have some signposts to direct me about which things are urgent, which are important, which make me happier and which detract from my happiness.
At any rate. One of the resolutions the author makes is to 'Tackle a Nagging Task'. This afternoon, it occurred to me that I have a nagging task that has been hanging around for THIRTEEN, yes THIRTEEN, years. It took me half an hour to do. And now it's done!
I confronted this task at least three times each day, and sometimes four or five. Every day when I woke up. Every day when I went to sleep. Every day when I made the bed or every time I took the sheets off to wash them, or put them on again. Every time I pulled the covers tight, or smoothed them down.
In order to understand this, you must understand that I have a weird relationship to money. Really, really weird---a little bit crazy, actually. And I often behave completely irrationally about it (this, by the way, is the source of much of my difficulties with accounting---if money is involved, it's super-easy to make me cry. And our accounting staff make even non-crazy people cry...imagine what they can do to me!) Purchasing even small things is a huge deal for me. Shopping for...anything...for myself is accompanied by lengthy internal monologues from "The Troll" in my head about what I "deserve", have "earned", can be trusted to "take proper care of", what I am "worthy of", whether or not I really "need it". It will sometimes take me multiple trips to the Department store to finally buy a six-pack of socks for $6.99. Sigh.
Thirteen years ago, for Christmas, we got a gift certificate to Eddie Bauer that enabled us to purchase a down comforter (not the nicest, fluffiest one, because of The Troll), and a duvet cover. They didn't have the cover in the size that fit the comforter, but only in the next larger size. I bought the duvet cover anyway, because I knew that if I didn't buy it right then, when my courage was up, I would never, ever get it, and then I would be stuck with this raw, white down comforter, which is even more impractical than a duvet cover that doesn't really fit. Besides, I rationalized, I can always just sew a seam down the long side, and then it will fit. Right? Right. And also, a duvet cover in the wrong size kind of fit in with what The Troll was telling me about luxurious down comforters. Serves me right.
There I was. Year after year, waking up every morning, fidgeting with the down comforter so that it lay in the middle of the duvet cover. Going to bed each night, tugging on the duvet cover so that it was centered over the comforter. Making the bed, washing the sheets, taking the cover off and putting it on, and each and every time thinking, "I need to fix this." That's approximately 13*365*3=14,000 times I had that thought. 14,000 times I felt a little bad that I hadn't gotten to it yet. 14,000 times I mentally shied away from thinking about it, and moved on to something else. It's ridiculous.
I was thinking today about the Happiness Project, and I suddenly wondered why I had never fixed that stupid thing. And I realized (hold on, because this is really disturbing) that I had never fixed it because I was afraid that if I tried to fix it, I would mess it up worse than it was. And that was REALLY bad, because a) I didn't really deserve it in the first place and b) clearly I couldn't be trusted to take good care of my things. Double-sigh. So then I thought f*!@K that. I'm going to try to fix it. And if I mess it up, I hereby give myself permission to buy a new one. So there. And I put all my courage together, and I annoyed John by starting a project when he just wanted to relax on the sofa, and I annoyed the dogs by putting this lovely comforter on the floor and not letting them lay on it. But I got started. And then I kept going.
Half an hour later, a nagging task that had been bothering me for more than 1/4 of my life was completed. And it's marvelous. It fits perfectly. It looks great. It's fixed. A big sticking out of my tongue to The Troll, and a new mental image I'm working on about defeating The Troll.
This feels great! What else can I do? I'm sure I have more nagging tasks around here somewhere!
(P.S. This gives me a good direction for my own Happiness Project. Clearly I need to do something about The Troll and that creepy, disturbing money relationship. "Money---it's a good servant, but a bad master." More about that in a future post, but not so far in the future that it becomes a nagging task!)
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