This Time Of Year

Is my favorite.  I love the fall and winter and holiday season.  I love the weather getting colder and having to snuggle under 3 blankets to sleep, I love walking around in fuzzy socks at night, I love Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Seriously, this is the best time of year as far as I'm concerned and generally speaking, I'm usually in a good mood from the start of September until my birthday in February.

(My holiday schedule used to be the start of fall, then Halloween, then Austin's birthday, then Thanksgiving, then Jenny's birthday/Christmas Eve, then Christmas, then New Year, then my birthday, then Jill's birthday.  Then once Ex-Fiance and I started dating, it became the start of fall, my and Ex-Fiance's anniversary, Halloween, Austin's birthday, Thanksgiving, Jenny's birthday/Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Year, Ex-Fiance's birthday, my birthday, Jillian's birthday/Ex-Fiance's and my engagement anniversary, and Valentine's Day).

Right now, it's definitely fall.  It's getting darker earlier, and there's a chill in the air--especially at night and in the morning.  The leaves are changing and it's just so beautiful up here.  It makes me think of bell choir, and leaving the music building at 6:30 when it was already dark out, and picking up food and heading home to relax and do homework.  (Life was so different then, and something about it felt wonderful).

That was five years ago.

And now it makes me think of Ex-Fiance, of when we were first dating two years ago.  Of him bringing me home early in the morning after dates, of picking him up from student teaching, of going for walks at the pond and carving pumpkins together.

And it makes me think of Ex-Fiance a year ago, going to orchestra together and coming home to each other and sleeping next to him every night and cuddling and watching TV together.

I miss it so much.  I miss him more and more instead of less and less; instead of getting over it I want it back more and more.

Sometimes I still feel like I don't understand how I'm here instead of there.

Fuzzy Sock Weather

Yep.

It's officially fuzzy sock weather!!

Those are my newest fuzzy socks, which Jerbs bought me at Family Dollar a few nights ago.  All the rest of my fuzzy socks are back in Kingman.

Accomplished

Today I feel accomplished.

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The apartment is clean.

I finished a short story. (!!!)

I did 25 minutes on the elliptical and 15 minutes on the bike.

I've made a tentative decision about going back to school.

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So go me!

Weigh In # 1

So I know I said that my weigh ins were going to be on Fridays, since it was this past Friday that I took my before pictures and started working out and whatever.  But then I looked at my calendar and realized that I'd actually weighed myself last Tuesday.  Since I want to do weekly weigh ins that means they'll be on Tuesdays.  (Pictures and measurements will still be monthly though).

So . . . today's weight is 179, which means I lost 1 pound.  Not bad considering I didn't make any huge changes this past week.  I'm pretty proud, and my goal this week is to step it up even more: work out daily and cut out the fast food and all that.


Hopefully next Tuesday the number on the scale will be even lower!

9/11

I've never been one to get emotional about September 11th.  I understand how tragic it was and I've seen how strongly it impacted the world in which I live, but the anniversary usually just irritates me, because now it's all about politics, and both sides use it to bolster their image while cutting down the other side.  But for some reason, this year, I feel emotional about it, so I thought I'd write about it.

I was only 16 years old when the towers fell.  I had just started my junior year of high school and terrorist attacks were the last thing on my mind.  All I was thinking on September 11th, 2001 was that I had an appointment to get my belly button pierced after school, and that my first serious boyfriend, Russ, had broken up with me not long before.  When I got to school that day, all I knew was that a plane had crashed into one of the WTO towers.  I remember thinking it was an accident, that something had gone wrong with the plane or that the pilot had gotten sick or something--I had no clue then what it actually was.  There was a bomb threat that day at my school and I remember sitting in the gym with everybody else, not knowing what was going on, either at our school or in NYC.  Maybe it's because I was thousands of miles away, but I didn't feel scared or worried, just . . . confused.  That day after school, I watched CNN in the waiting room of Catch N Rayz while the piercer prepped the room for my appointment.

I don't know why it's sinking in this year.  I think that as I get older I realize, more and more, how much of an impact that day had on the world.  It truly amazes me.  It amazes me because no one--at least no one in America--woke up that morning thinking, today will be the day the world changes.  No one was thinking, after today, nothing will be the same.  The terrorists themselves probably hardly thought that, especially the ones actually involved in the hijacking.

But really, that day changed the way every American viewed the world.  It really did.  Back then I hardly knew anything about the world outside of high school and homework and Kingman, but now . . . now I see how mind blowing it all really was.

The other night when I was working out, the TV in the fitness room was on NatGeo and they were showing a documentary about 9-11.  It talked about the small details, though--interviews with the airport workers who checked in the terrorists, details about how the attack was planned, which men were on which flight.  None of it was stuff I knew before, but for whatever reason, I found myself bawling.  It's just so . . . I don't know.  I can't even begin to describe it.  The magnitude of it is just incredible.  It's incredible to hear the whole story from all perspectives, to know what happened at all ends.  Hearing those stories made it so much more real to me--that these were all real people who lived these moments that changed the world and how we view it forever.

None of those people knew.  The airport workers had no idea who they were letting through security and onto the planes.  None of the pilots woke up that morning with any clue that they'd be ambushed in their cockpits.  None of the passengers got on those planes thinking that they wouldn't land where they were supposed to; none of them ever imagined that they would be hijacked and killed.

And it's amazing from the terrorist's point of view too.  Most of the men who actually carried this out, who actually went through all the airport security and carried out the hijackings and crashed the planes, were young.  Not much older than the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines we've sent to war.  And it's kind of amazing how well thought out and well executed their plan was--that they could accomplish that is impressive, in a sick and twisted sort of way.  The thing is, I'm sure they were scared too . . . walking through the airports and boarding the planes knowing what they were about to do, knowing that they were going to die.

I can't imagine being on either side that day.  And it's incredible to me how little say we actually had in it--once those planes were in the air, once they were hijacked, once the terrorist pilots took over, there was nothing we could have done.

I can't say that I agree with how the United States responded to the attacks.  Generally speaking, I don't agree with war at all.  I think the people who did this deserved to be punished, and punished harshly, without question.  There is no doubt that Al-Queda is an enemy of this country and that the people who lost their lives that day deserve justice.  But I also feel like we answered death with death--we were angry with them for killing 3000 innocent Americans so we sent thousands more innocent Americans to die for it.  And now we've killed thousands of innocent Afghani civilians too.  It's just too much death all around.  It's a battle that ultimately, no one wins.

My heart breaks for the people who were on the planes that day, and who were in the towers that day.  They went to work and the airport thinking their life would be the same at the end of the day as it was at the beginning, and in the middle, everything changed.  Not one single person who died that day deserved that fate.  I can't imagine the fear and the panic they must have felt.  My heart breaks for the families of the pilots and passengers, for the mothers and fathers and husbands and wives and siblings and friends who got I love you and I'm about to die phone calls from their loved ones.  My heart breaks for the families of people who had business in the towers, who didn't know the fates of their loved ones, who waited days for news while rescue workers combed through the rubble at Ground Zero.  I don't think I will ever experience something that devastating in my life.

I do know that I will never be as brave as any of those people.  I wil never be as courageous as the passengers of Flight 93, who fought back.  I will never be as brave as the passengers on the other flights who realized and accepted their fate and calmly called their families to tell them goodbye.  I will never be as brave as the people in the towers who stayed behind to help their friends and colleagues.  I will never be as selfless and giving and strong as the fire fighters and rescue workers and volunteers who pulled people and bodies out of the wreckage.  To all of those people, I give my admiration and my gratitude.

I think the best thing any of us can do now, after all of this, is just put good out in the world.   I think so many of us get comfortable and complacent and start taking good things for granted.    But a big part of what September 11th taught us is that bad things can happen out of nowhere and when you least expect it, and that the bad can be tremendous and seem bigger and stronger than the good.  So do good deeds, treat each other with kindness and respect and tolerance, and hold on to whatever goodness you have in your life.  Just do whatever you can, every single day, to make the world a better place.  It's a cliche as hell thing to say, but it's true.  It's always true and it's always important, but it's expecially true and important today.

(And just so no one thinks I forgot or anything, I am grateful for the men and women in our military who have fought or are fighting the war that stemmed from 9-11.  My heart, thoughts, and prayers go out to them and their families.  But I wanted this post to focus on the day itself, not necessarily what came after).

Weird Thoughts and Stuff

Five years ago today I was moving into the studio apartment on Blackbird Roost and preparing to live by myself for the first time.  I miss that apartment.

Two years ago tomorrow Ex-Fiance and I spent the night together for the first time.  I just remember that it was Sept. 9th that he first slept over at my apartment--mostly because he was too exhausted to safely drive back to his place.  (I don't do well sharing a bed or sleeping in strange places so up until then we hadn't spent the night in the same place).

Weird anniversaries to remember.  But I do.

I did OK today.  I ate fast food (Five Guys Burgers and Fries right across the street from Hastings is a bad bad bad idea) but I also went shopping for healthy groceries so tomorrow should be better.  I had a little bit of a breakdown on the bus.  I don't really know where it came from but all I could think was, my life is nothing, and I am nothing, and I'm a loser, and I should just kill myself now.  I thought, Ex-Fiance doesn't love me anymore, and he's right for not loving me anymore, and I'm a burden to Jerbs just like I always have been, and there's no way out.  I just felt . . . so defeated.

I try very, very hard to stay positive.  I really do.  But there are days when everything just seems overwhelming and it actually feels hard to breathe--like the weight of all the things I'm dealing with and going through is actually suffocating me.  Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning it.

But I snapped out of it eventually.  I snapped out of it enough that I was able to go work out for a half an hour!  Go me!!  This is good for two reasons: one, the fact that I recovered from a breakdown to the point that I could go do a physically challenging activity, and two, the fact that I worked out at all.

This week I'm going to call the counselor I want to start seeing and find out about her prices and policies and all that.  I can't wait anymore to start this, because it's a crucial step to getting better, and just because I don't have a full time job doesn't mean I should put it off.  I have people who are willing to help me so it's time to get on it.

Before

This is what I look like today.  I'm hoping that posting this here will add to the incentive to start getting healthier.  Because seriously . . . blech.  Especially the side view . . . I can't believe my neck/chin . . . so gross.  :(

I'm also hoping that in a few months, I can take more pictures and be like whoa, that's an awesome difference.  Also, today I weigh 180 pounds.  I have all of my measurements recorded too, but I really don't have the energy to post them here.

I think I'm going to weigh myself weekly, so every Friday, and take pictures like that monthly.

I did work out today!  I walked over to the work out room across the street tonight (finally . . . I dragged Jerbs with me for moral support) and worked out on the elliptical like thingy they have.  It's not the same as the ones in Kingman so the timing was different--I did 10 minutes, but the machine said that was 2 miles.  Not too shabby.  I also think I went faster because I've been walking so much and I've progressively just started walking faster (I used to take about 8 minutes to walk to the bus stop, now it takes me 4 or 5).  I'm proud of myself.  And it felt GOOD to work out!  I'm looking forward to doing it tomorrow night.

Courage/An Anniversary

Today it's been 10 years since I got my tattoo.  It's still the only tattoo I have--a small, black Kanji symbol on my lower back that means courage.  I got it when I was 17; my mom had to go to the tattoo parlor with me and sign a permission slip so I could get it.  It cost me $30, which included the tip.

I'd wanted a tattoo for a while when I got it.  My parents had always taken the stance that they'd let me get one if I paid for it myself and it wasn't anything bad (like a swastika or something, y'know) or huge.  I liked the idea of a Kanji tattoo but could never decide what I wanted.  So I kind of gave up the idea.  Then I watched this episode of the X Files that revolves around tattoos, and at one point, one of the characters (I think it was Scully) said that tattoos should reflect on the skin what lies within the soul (or something along those lines, I'm paraphrasing a little).  And it was kind of that idea that made me decide to get a tattoo.

Initially I wanted the symbol for strength.  But the symbol for courage was a bit more complex and a little prettier, so I chose that.  And yes, my tattoo really does mean courage--it was verified by Jenny's dad, who spent like a zillion years in Japan when he was in the Navy.

The thing is, I haven't had a lot of courage the past few years.  I've been kind of a pussy in a lot of ways and I need to get over it.  So today, since it's been ten years since I made courage a permanent part of my body, I'm reminding myself that I need to be brave.  I need to decide what I want and go for it and live my life courageously.