No Show Mo

Nor do I need them.

Speechless.

With Michael Pollan and Alicia Silverstone and Food, Inc. on Oprah today, I think it is only appropriate to highlight the issue of healthy eating from a different perspective:

I woke up with minor cold symptoms this morning.  While that is not
ideal, it is not insurmountable.  Cold-Eeze and Emergen-C can usually
knock it out, or at least minimize the impact.  The unusual part is the
100.6-degree fever that cropped up around 10:30 am.

I'm used to low-grade fevers (see, e.g., the years 2002-2008),
but over 100 is not very common.  What was even weirder was the fact
that I don't feel all that sick.  I mean, I feel like I'm in the early
stages of a cold.  Certainly not worthy of lying in the fetal position
all day with soup, juice, and boxes of tissues.  I have two rules about
working when sick, though:  1) I don't stay at the office when I am
throwing up, and 2) I don't stay at the office when I have a fever
above 100.  Seriously, there is too much going on for me to be
spreading some random virus around to all my coworkers and infecting
everyone.  I am not that crucial or important at the office.

So
here I am.  At home, at 1 pm on a Monday, during my busiest time of the
year.  Feverish, a little dizzy and a little spacey, but otherwise
fine.  Which means I am sitting here obsessing about all of the things
I'm not doing at work.  There's plenty to do at home, but I feel like
that's cheating.  If I feel well enough to clean my house, then I feel
well enough to go to work.  Except I can't, because I have to be
quarantined.  But getting things done here feels like I'm playing hooky.

Ah,
this is a familiar place.  This internal struggle where I don't
necessarily blame myself for being sick and not being at work, but I do
punish myself for it.  For years, if I stayed home from work, or left
work early, I would cancel evening dinner or other social plans (even
if I was feeling better), because if I was too sick to be at work, I
didn't deserve to go out and play at night.

Little did I know
that by denying myself any pleasure at all if I didn't do what I was
"supposed" to do, I ended up damaging my mental health, making it hard
to do anything at all.  The hours I spent criticizing myself for not
performing, worrying that I would never be able to succeed, denying
myself anything pleasurable at all -- all these did was create a
self-fulfilling prophecy that guaranteed I would be miserable and
sicker.  My sister, who is imminently wiser than I could ever hope to
be, once pointed out to me all of the self-critical statements I made
to her in a single day, and it surprised me.  Partly because I was so
critical, since I think I have a pretty healthy self-esteem, but mostly
because the things I was so critical of were things that were largely
beyond my control.  I was criticizing myself for not being superhuman.

Starting
today, I would like to end this abusive relationship with myself.  No
more beating myself up.  It is not my fault I have a fever.  It is not
a failure of mine that I am sick.  Staying home is helping me to get
better and keep it from being worse, and it is protecting my coworkers
during an important time where no one else can afford to be ill.

I
have work that I can do from here.  Also, doing some things around here
would be doing some good things for my health, too.  The best thing I
can do for my health, though?  Stop beating myself up.

How annoying is this font?  I really don't check my own site very often, but wow.  It's all teeny and squished and . . . irritating.

Is this better?

How about this?

Why haven't you guys told me this before?

This is a cut and paste job, because I am lazy.  Here is a portion of something I posted elsewhere, in response to some women who were expressing frustration with their current (married with children) lives, and wishing they'd either had more time to enjoy singlehood, or taken better advantage of the time they'd had.  Some expressed a lot of regret and a deep desire to have done things differently.  I responded as follows.

Here is why the grass isn't greener. I'm 36. Never been married. Never been close. My last relationship ended in 2002. My last date was in August. I can go for weeks without another human being touching me (and I am very touchy-feely). There's a period of about 5 years (ages 30-35) that I would say was a total waste, because my health was so bad. Friends would try to get me to do things with them and I couldn't. I'd go for days without leaving the house. Even now, it is possible for me to go an entire weekend day without speaking to another human being.

I am NOT complaining about any of this. Because these are just the negative parts of my life. There are many good parts as well. Would I rather be married? Yes, if I were in love, and I would like to fall in love someday. I would like to have kids someday. Do I think my life would be better than it is now? No, because I think it will have ups and downs just like my life now, just different ones. I LOVE my life now. I think I would love my life with someone else, if it were the right person.

You say you want a do-over and would do things differently, but you wouldn't. Know why? You wouldn't have the benefit of experience and wisdom of everything you've learned in these last however many years. You wouldn't know better.  You can't go back and undo or redo. You can only go forward.

But you CAN start today.

The grass is almost never greener.  It's just a different shade of green.

I posted last spring about my tendency to accumulate clutter.  I also promised to update you on how I eliminated the clutter from my house and life, and I have not delivered on that, yet.  I will, I promise.  I realized something this week, though, about this very issue that is one of those core fundamentals, I think.  Feel free to tell me if I'm wrong.

First, if you are not familiar, read about the Broken Window Theory.

Back in mid-December, I hosted an event at my house.  The house was virtually spotless and organized.  Downstairs AND upstairs.  This included closets.  Almost everything was completely perfect except for one thing:  my clothes.  There were a few in the spare spare bedroom that needed to be hung, and then most of my laundry (which at the time was most of my clothing) was in the basement.

Clothes are my broken windows.  I have too many clothes.

I wear them all.  If there's something I don't wear, I get rid of it.  And yet, I can go for at least a month before needing to do laundry, in any season of the year, and that's only because I run out of underwear.  This includes wearing one outfit to work and changing into something else when I get home.  For the Chili Bowl, I was told to wear the team colors of red and black.  I assembled a week's worth of outfits, including underwear, without having to buy a single item.  (I bought a pair of red socks just for the hell of it.)  The irony is that if the team colors had been green and purple, or orange and pink, or virtually any other combination, I could have done the same thing.

No one needs this many clothes.

I have a dresser in my room and a dresser in the guest room, and a closet in each room as well. Still, it's hard to get all of these clothes put away.  I think, since I've lived in this house, there has been one time when every item of clothing has been put in a place.  Even if I do have room for them all, it's such a monumental task that it never gets done.

So, when I get the house picked up and cleaned up and neat and organized, but leave a small (or not so small) pile of clothes lying around, it sits there.  And sits.  Like a broken window in a warehouse.  The house never really gets done.  Then a magazine or two might pile up.  Then maybe some things I bought at the store that I haven't had a chance to put away.  And so on.

I don't know if the clothing is the source or cause of the problem, but it is blocking the solution.  Time to purge.  W is coming this weekend, and she loves a good purge.  Perfect timing.

Crawled on my back under the Trick-a-Ma-Stick with the Toy Man between my knees.

I Can Do That!

I realize this is long overdue, but I do feel the need to give you an update on this post about someone not trusting me.  This came as the result of a conversation in which something I said was met with such a response, I was too shocked to respond properly.  So, I let it fester.  For a few days.  Then I decided it was too small to mention and make a big deal about.  So, it festered some more.

Throughout all of this, I broke one of my cardinal rules, which I first learned and absorbed and adopted from one of the books that changed my life:  The Four Agreements.  The rule I live most by is #2:  Don't take anything personally.  It's true.  Really.  If someone were to walk up to me and say "Wow.  You have the ugliest nose I have ever seen.  And what is with that hair?"  I would think to myself, "Boy, that person is having a bad day."  Don't take anything personally, because, 99% of the time, it's just not about you.

Somehow I lost that in this situation.  I made something personal that I doubt had anything to do with me.  And now, as I am looking at Don Miguel Ruiz's web site, I think I broke agreement #3 as well:  Don't make assumptions.  I assumed I knew what this person was referring to, and reacted negatively, without bothering to ask questions or find out if my instincts were correct.  This caused me a lot of angst and unhappiness, when I could have just asked.  I didn't, and I wonder if I didn't because deep down I knew I was being silly.

So, while I still haven't addressed it directly, I have gotten over it.  That's unlike me; normally I have to Talk Everything Out until the air is so clear you can see Russia from my front porch.  Maybe I didn't need to do that here, maybe I should have.  Right now, though, I feel okay.

Over the years, They have all told me I should do yoga.  For physical health, mental health, overall calmness and well-being, They say that I, in particular, need yoga.

I used to do yoga.  I did yoga a few years ago*.  There's a terrific studio here in town, and I found a class that is only an hour long (good since I haven't done it in a while), focuses on the core muscles (of which I have none), and you can pay by the class (perfect for a commitment-phobe with a tendency to no-show).

Well, I gathered up my mat in my cool mat bag and put on my yoga pants and headed to class.  Despite being nervous at first, it took all of five minutes before I was saying "WHERE HAVE I BEEN ALL THESE YEARS INSTEAD OF HERE EVERY SINGLE DAY?"

Then, halfway through the class, we went into Downward Dog, and I realized why I hadn't been in class.  I have always struggled with this pose.  Many people say it is a resting pose, but even those who do not categorize it as such do recognize it as one of the basic poses.  When I used to do it, however, I could only hold it briefly before my elbows and wrists would win out and I would have to rest.  The pain was always instant and intense, and it was just about how long I could bear it.

Not this time.  No pain in my wrists or elbows whatsoever.  After quite a long time of holding the pose, my shoulders did start to hurt, but I attribute this to being woefully out of shape.  Yoga felt good.  Really, really good.

A lot of people worry about other people in class and what people think of them if they aren't doing the poses correctly or perfectly.  I don't.  I think it's awfully arrogant to think that in a yoga class, where everyone is concentrating heavily on their form, alignment, and breathing, they are also looking at everyone else and judging their form and alignment, and making some sort of comparison.  I just don't think I'm that interesting to other people.

That said, I did attract a fair amount of attention when both feet slid out from under me in Dolphin Plank (balanced on a blanket instead of a mat), and I did a literal belly flop onto the yoga mat for the whole class to hear.  I'd like to thank the Academy . . .

Even if my body stops, my mind is always going.  Always.  Even when I sleep, my dreams are long and complicated and very intense, and I always remember them.  Yoga is the only thing -- the ONLY thing -- that limits my ability to think about anything except what I am doing in the exact moment.  Focusing on where my hips are (level horizontaly, even vertically), shoulders back and down but relaxed, staying balanced with legs outstretched and arms up -- that's a lot to concentrate on holding.  I just can't think about what I need at the grocery store while I have all of those other things to think about.  Yoga doesn't make my head empty, it just fills it completely with all of the yoga-ness that there isn't room for anything else.  Even if I got no physical benefit (which I do, oh trust me, I really, really do), just that mental clarity and focus makes it worth it.

Of course I wasn't perfect, but I was perfectly happy and content, and proud of doing something for myself and my body.  I can't wait for the next class.

*When I signed in, they still had me in the system.  The address they had for me, though, was for an apartment I left in 2002.  Guess it's been more than "a few" years since I went to yoga.  This seems to be a trend for me.  More on this later.

I'm too tired to write a post about my weekend, so here are some pictures to tide you over until I have the energy for more words.  I love to go away, but I also love to come home.

The Pupster.   Exhausted from his vacation at the kennel, but still happy to see me.

The O.C. (Orange Cat)  Not exhausted, and sorta happy to see me, but mostly because I provide the food.

My bed.  Yummy.

I'm here in Tulsa for the Chili Bowl, and I knew that healthy eating might present a challenge.  Even without the list of foods I need to avoid, the cuisine known as Festival Food (or simply "Fried") is tasty, but not the most nutritious.  I've been pretty religious lately -- devout, even -- about eating right, so I figured that "a little bit" of some of the no-nos wouldn't hurt me.  Right?

Clearly, I am incapable of comprehending the correct definition of "a little bit."  In six hours, I consumed, among other things, 1) a bunch of deli turkey, 2) a giant BBQ pork sandwich, and 3) a double hamburger (no cheese).  Did I mention I've been vegan (except for the occasional piece of fish) for the last month?

Sleep was interrupted every 2 hours or so by monstrous headaches, until early morning, when they were accompanied by nausea and uncomfortable swelling in my hands.  Yes, I drank the night before, but one drink an hour and Gatorade was my vodka mixer, so a hangover was not to blame.  It had to be the food.

Fortunately, I had a new game plan.  Long before I even knew I had food allergies, my dear, dear friend Lee (who travels constantly) gave me great advice about eating healthy while traveling:  find a grocery store, fruit is self-contained, don't be afraid to do prep work yourself.  Lucky me, despite not having a car, there is a grocery store right across from the hotel.  I had no idea what I wanted, but only about 20 minutes of wandering and I yielded quite the booty:

Hmm, let's see.  Cape Cod Robust Russet chips (because they're yummy), 2 oranges, 2 grapefruit, 4 bananas, 2 kinds of hummus, Tostitos scoops (for hummus delivery), Wheat Thins (hummus delivery or by themselves), tabbouleh salad, low-fat granola (nut-free, due to an ages-old racing superstition), Nutri-Grain bars, easy-open tuna cups, a lemon (for tuna salad, since I can't bring juice on the plane), an avocado (also for tuna salad, or to spread on crackers), super-sealing plastic containers, plastic cutlery, environmentally-friendlier ziploc bags.

It's a lot of food, I know, but I have to get through today, tonight, and all-day traveling tomorrow.  Yes, some of it is perishable, and no, the hotel room doesn't have a refrigerator.  But guess what?  All hotel rooms (even crappy one, which this isn't) have ice buckets and ice machines, and if you ask nicely they will bring you an extra bucket or two.  Free coolers, with fresh ice whenever you want.

Even if you're not allergic to food, you can still make eating healthy a priority.  All it takes is a little thought, a little planning, and a little creativity.  I feel better already.

There are so many things about this trip I want to share, and I know I don't have time to get into most of them.  Not now, anyway.  So, here are just a few things I have learned:

• Do not trust the airport economy parking lot attendant who tells you that yes, the shuttle buses to the terminal still run at 2 am.
• The airport between 2:30 am and 4:30 am is quiet, but not creepy, until a 65-year-old man takes an interest in you and decides you are his soulmate after talking to you for an hour but only allowing you to speak about 3 sentences in between.
• Continental airlines rocks.
• When Jane and I start scheming, some wonderful, sneaky, and wonderfully sneaky things happen.
• The Chili Bowl has absolutely nothing to do with chili.
• There's a lot more to auto racing than NASCAR, Indy, or Formula One, and the lesser-known types are probably the most fun.
• Yes, it really is possible to have friends who are soulmates, even if you've only seen them in person once before, and even if you originally met online.
• I need travel.  Need it, in the same way I need music, and almost as much.  Even if I don't go anywhere special or do anything spectacular, travel feeds my soul.

I'm traveling!  I'm on vacation!  Both of these are wonders, considering it's January, and I am usually grounded and homebound in the first quarter of each year due to work.

At 6 am, I'm leavin' on a jet plane.  My destination is a secret, because I'm headed more than 1,000 miles from home to spend time with one friend I love, and surprise another who has no idea I'm on my way.  I love it when a plan comes together.*

So kiss me and smile for me, and I will see you tomorrow from somewhere else.

*Not to jinx anything, but so far we've managed to keep the surprise, I'm checked in for my flights (which are on time), and I even got exit row seating.  Anything can happen, but so far so good.

Don't talk to me about it.  I have no interest in talking about it.  Talking about it does no good.  There are no policies to debate, there is little information to share at this point, and talking does nothing positive or constructive to help.

I have at least two friends who were in Haiti this week (and still are).  They were not together, and don't know each other.  Preliminary reports indicate that they are okay.

So DO something.  Here's a start.

I accomplished many things today.  Here is a sampling:

1) Completed a major document that analyzed and tackled a complicated issue, and submitted a product of which I am quite proud.

2) Made someone I care about, who has been pretty stressed out lately, laugh on a regular basis.  Regular as in, every half hour or so.

3) Broke the fastener on my pants.  Time to get back on the ball.

4) Persuaded someone in a position of authority to change something in order to provide aid and comfort to many, many underlings.

5) Went out and celebrated with a close friend the fact that she has been fired.  This is a good thing.  She didn't want to have to quit.

6) Made up my bed so I could sleep in it.  Haven't slept in my bed since Wednesday.

7) Rocked the boat.  But only a little.

Not terrible.  Just like, whoa.  Man.  Is that a break over there?  Gimme it.

It's a simple Sunday, so here's some simple stuff:

1) Laughing hysterically with my mom and sister about, well, nothing really.

2) A really good bath, at just the right temperature.

3) Office supplies.  Sigh.

4) Venting and ranting to a friend, who is able to talk me down from the ledge and keep me from venting and ranting to the WRONG person.

5) Dryel.

OK, more than one of you have notified me that when you try to comment
on my blog, it tells you you are spam.  And you people are among some
of my most frequent commenters.  So, if you are someone who comments on
blogs, and if you are someone who regularly comments here (or doesn't),
please do a test for me and see if you can post a comment.

If you are unable, please write down the entire error message (codes and everything) and email it to me at noshowmo at gmail dot com.

Regular programming will resume tomorrow.  Or Monday. 

How do you handle it when you realize that someone you care about, and who cares about you, doesn't trust you?  When you've never done a single thing to cause any distrust?  When the lack of trust is in your propensity to be honest, to have integrity?  What do you do?

It's not personal.  This person has a general lack of trust in others, and it comes from fear.  I'm not the only one in this state.  Something happened earlier this week that was a small thing, tiny really, that I would normally have overlooked.  Since then, however, other things have come to my attention, and this additional knowledge has made me realize that while I am liked, and respected, and in some ways revered . . . I am not trusted to be honest or act with integrity.  And I have never, not once, done a single thing that would cause anyone to lose trust in me that way.

The longer I sit here and think about it, the more angry I get.  This is an important relationship to me, and one that needs to be preserved.  I cannot do it alone, and I will not continue under these circumstances.  I will address it in the next few days, when I see this person again.  In the meantime, though, I'm still stewing, and getting more and more outraged.

How do I get over it?  Or at least calm down until it can be addressed?

I'm very grateful for YouTube.  I watch very little on there, but in the past 6 months or so, I have been finding videos from classic Sesame Street -- REALLY OLD Sesame Street from when ~I~ was a child -- and have been sharing them with my nephews.  Here are two of my favorites.  I don't know if it's the music, the little comments, the stop-action photography, or what, but I have always loved these, and am grateful to find them once again.

Abby.  Abbygail.  Abbykins.  Abacus.  Abacus Kinsley.  Abacus Kinseltown.  Kinsley.  Kinselytoon.  Doodlebug.

Not long after I had to put my first pet, Sam(antha), to sleep, I returned to the vet to take care of some paperwork.  They had a crate in the lobby, with two cats in it.  I sat down to wait, leaned in towards the crate, and a tiny black and white kitten put one paw out and touched my face.

That was Abby.  She chose me.  Needless to say, she came home with me that day.

5 1/2 years later, she still had all of those kitten qualities.  She loved to climb and be on top of things.

She really loved to be in the middle of everything.  Her favorite thing was a pile of clean laundry.

Abby was a real lap cat.  She loved to snuggle, especially in this cold weather.   She even loved her dog.

Tonight, the Pupster and I were sitting downstairs in the living room when we heard something fall, and then a whimper.  I ran upstairs, and searched, and found Abby lying on her side on the floor at the foot of my bed.  She was gone.

We will never know what happened (I don't believe in cat autopsies).  All I know is, she gave me great comfort, love, and laughter.  She will be greatly missed.

Abigail Samantha

December 2003 -- January 2010

Sometimes I crack myself up.  I mean, I can be truly hilarious.  Like, when I told myself that now that I was starting a new job and getting into a regular routine again, I would get back to daily posting.

BWAAAHAHAHA!  Yeah, I posted about the new job, posted again a day or two later, and then disappeared.  A lot of stuff happened -- life, death, more life.  We all go through these things.

How's the job?  It's awesome.  Completely and totally.  It's something different every hour, which keeps me on my toes but does not stress me out -- quite the opposite.  My coworkers are cool, smart, and fun, and I'm using my brain every minute that I'm working.  There's no question that this was absolutely the right move for me to make.

I AM getting into a routine, and it's a pretty good one.  More on that later.

Join National Geographic's Intelligent Travel Blog with the I Heart My City Project!

A scene from one of my favorite movies, The English Patient:

Almásy:
Let me tell you about winds. There is a, a whirlwind from southern
Morrocco, the aajej, against which the fellahin defend themselves with
knives. And there is the... the ghibli, from Tunis...

Katharine Clifton:
[giggling] The "ghibli"?

Almásy:
[smiling]
- the ghibli, which rolls and rolls and rolls and produces a... a
rather strange nervous condition. And then there is the... the
harmattan, a red wind, which mariners call the sea of darkness. And red
sand from this wind has flown as far as the south coast of England,
apparently producing... showers so dense that they were mistaken for
blood.

Katharine Clifton:
Fiction! We have a house on that coast and it has never, never rained blood.

Almásy:
No, it's all true. Herodotus, your friend. He writes about it. And he
writes about... a, a wind, the simoon, which a nation thought was so
evil they declared war on it and marched out against it. In full battle
dress. Their swords raised.

*********************************************************

As with winds, there are as many different kinds of pain.  I am now in full battle dress.  Sword raised.

For those of you unfamiliar with astrology, please read about the Saturn Return.

Mo:  I think Saturn is leaving you.  Your Saturn Return is almost over.

Jane:  EVERYONE LEAVES ME, MO.  EVEN SATURN.

Mo:  Yes, but Saturn is an ASSHOLE.  You can do much better.

Jane:  Right?  He's going to REGRET THIS.

Mo:  FUCKER.

Jane:  I was the best thing that ever happened to Saturn.

Mo:  And he will realize it, but too late.  By then, you will have moved on.

Jane:  They are going to have to build an addition to The Clubhouse to house Saturn.