I’m literally just so desperate for some form of discussion about my book. I sent the six “young” ones (the 7 of us range from 32-22) an email asking where I should buy pizza the day before my Book Birthday. I did this in part because to me, with my German upbringing, you use food to celebrate a huge occasion, or anything, or to express affection…or emotion. I bought REALLY fancy cupcakes from one of those cupcake only bakeries to grad school the last class I had before getting married….and ONE PERSON took one. I was miffed all to hell. I honestly have wanted to bring in food for my coworkers on more than one occasion, but it’s always cheaper to NOT do it. Well my book matters this much to me, and how better to announce it without actually douchily announcing it? As if I haven’t thought about it a lot.
I always think about it. With the sort of person I am, my best moments take place largely in my head. Which sounds sad, I guess, until one considers that that means there are people whose thoughts and minds are their own worst enemies…and is that not much worse? Maybe I’m just on my side of things. I often always am. But I’m trying to get better at seeing when I’m being a fucking angry twat and need to be nice. I try to be nice, like my mom, but then also NOT like her because it was all a fucking act and boy was she different in the evenings at home. Not to say she was the bad parent. She wasn’t. Not. Even. Close. But she saved her frustrations and bad moods from ALL day for at home…that was certain. And it’s not like she had a remotely respectable or even decent husband and helper, as she should have, as one who remains through such trials as my mother deserves. Or maybe she doesn’t. I can’t figure it out, what it is that keeps her there. I mean, I stay at a stagnant, pointless job in an industry I don’t like, but that’s not fitting some pattern of abuse from my childhood, that’s literal and complete laziness. Do you realize how much work job hunting is? I find little else more demoralizing than the time and effort involved in such a process. And I have a really good work and school history. I do not understand how other people make it.
But I’m almost out of time re: no book free time. I received an email today stating my proofs would be ready soon, and it was my responsibility to read the entire thing through and get back to them in this VERY exacting manner. They send you a PDF to a fucking manual. You’d think I was designing rocket ships at NASA or some shit. So, soon enough I’ll be doing what I’ve done like 895 other times. I am excited to see what this designer has made of the $500 and one garbled paragraph I gave them to make a cover. IDK what a $500 book cover looks like but it better not scream self-published. Not to be a cunt or anything, but you can tell…sometimes.
I realized I am incapable of writing a day in the life snapshot about my life as it is right now. Not that it isn’t ordinary. But I’m not capable of talking about the mundanity of a day without delving into some ridiculous detail about my life, with a length and thoroughness antithetical to my actions in life. Here, let me try.
Most Tuesdays begin in the same way. A struggle with hitting snooze once more and weighing the necessity for spare time because my laziness the evening prior extended to leaving my lunch to be packed the morning of, as I so did not prefer. I’ve gotten my clothes out the night before, before any day that contained work or school, since I was a young child. Days off are entirely different, of course, because I’m not using an alarm to wake up and get somewhere at a specific time. I need to not have to think upon first waking. I need to be able to end my snooze war with grabbing whatever ensemble I pieced together the night before and hustling into the bathroom where the comfort of a hot shower awaits. I lure myself with rewards throughout my day, every day. It’s literally how I’ve lived my entire life. First the shower, then being warm with my clothes on, then putting my jewelry and make up and perfume on. I am aware many people do not relish these things as rewards, but frankly, I’m not among them. I don’t know why I’m so materialistic, when I’m also pretty obsessed with hating on the rich, and it’s in it’s own unique way (I’d like to think) but i know i love things. Like shoes and boots and make up and perfume and jewelry and dresses and skirts and accessories everyone compliments and skin everyone compliments and being noticed as some sort of tall, sexy Amazon gazelle everywhere you go at least by a few people. And if you think that isn’t true, you’re wrong. I KNOW, no one can say things like this without sounding like the most annoying full of themselves piece of shit on the planet, I GET IT, I would hate these words coming out of another mouth, I know I know I know. But like, I can’t help I think highly of myself. I just fucking do. That’s my parents and grandma’s fault. If there was ONE thing that trio united over, it was how great I was. Of course my father still had his moments of…lets just call it psychoses….but like…he WASN’T one of those fathers who held back their approval or praise or admiration for things well done, mostly grades. Like he actually wasn’t withholding. Not with me. I know he told me once when I was pretty young that he’d always love me no matter what. I’m SURE his own father NEVER said anything of the sort, or even thought it, about his three children. I mean, I’m sure my father thinks that’s true of himself. I think he thinks he’s great, because if he doesn’t think that, if he’s aware of just how awful and miserable and disgusting his existence has become….that’s really, really sad. It doesn’t make me feel bad, not the way it should, but I’m aware of what the mentally unwell cannot help but do, time and time again.
SEE, SEE WHAT I MEAN? What the sweet fuck was I even talking about? I haven’t gotten past getting ready in the morning. Jesus Lord. Okay lets go on.
So, my second big reward of the day beyond getting ready? I also like getting dressed because I like clothing, and fun outfits, and dressing in a noticeable way. I’m 5’9″ and I strut about in heels most days that typically clock me in around 6′. I’m not the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen….but I have an ASTONISHING mixture of lovely facial bone structure (YOU SHOULD HAVE my cheekbones and nose, my chin is great, my forehead IS too big, and my lips are EH, the shape of the mouth is fine but THIN LIPPED is a definite true description of me, great teeth now that I’m post braces, though I do drink so much coffee I could never have those too-white bleached teeth that are so popular) and soft, soft skin, and REALLY nice natural D tits, and a REALLY nice full ass. Like I can’t help that these things are true and I notice and enjoy them. I AM AWARE I didn’t do anything to earn them. Well ass one can argue that is earned, a bit. But IDK, musculature is genetic, it seems. I’ve had the line down the stomach ab muscle situation since I was a child. I’m 5’9″ like I’m obsessed with mentioning, and it’s EVENLY distributed. I don’t have overly gangly long legs or a long ass torso, but a good mix of both. I don’t need long pants, I need curvy ones, don’t get me wrong, but longs end up dragging. But, I literally never wear pants aside from sweatpants at home. I wear a dress or skirt every day, again because I like them. I enjoy it. I completely understand not wanting to do such things. I’m sure MANY people comment to each other than I go bare-legged in the dead of winter but like…EH whatever. You’re going to be fucking cold no matter what, wear what you fucking want. That’s how I feel. And pants make me feel fat. Dresses don’t. AND dresses and skirts stay with you through a tremendous level of weight gain or loss.
AND AGAIN. I cannot control myself. I mean obviously. Please don’t tell me I struck you as someone with self control. Only the anger descends and wins, and that trumps the desires. Nothing else. But doesn’t anger always win? They say it’s the short-lived emotion that burns you up…but….you must first examine it’s source before you assert such things.
A major reward of the morning is the pre work smoke. I know I shouldn’t admit these things…but who read this far, really? Long ago, when I was a wee early twenties college student, I would use the idea of smoking a cigarette and buying a fountain diet Coke on my way to work as a means of getting going, but I gave up all that shit long ago. Now, it’s the pre work weed. I give myself 15-20 minutes to get there. I spend the first hour pleasantly stoned. I’ve been doing this for over four years. I suppose one can argue it’s illegal to drive stoned…but….idk. It’s like I need it.
Of course, that IS one thing to consider when one is trying to get pregnant. The day before this Tuesday I was frustrated with a doctor who had claimed to call in a prescription on Friday but when we visited the pharmacy they had nothing new for me. It was a simple misunderstanding, but because it happened on a Friday, had to entail two more days of waiting in a process that has been years of waiting.
But when I get pregnant…I can’t have caffeine or weed or booze….DO YOU REALIZE how much of those I consume on the reg? OH GOD. I will probably become obsessed with fancy decaf lattes and milkshakes and sleeping and massages, like literally anything indulgent pregnant women can do, I’ll freaking find it out. FUCK YOU, 23 pounds I’ve lost since the 1st of the year….I guess…..
I already told my husband I would probably get to my goal weight then get pregnant, so I have like a week or so at my last peak. I was at my adult thinnest my freshman and sophomore years in college. But I was very poor then, and opted to eat Taco Bell once a day rather than anything more responsible or healthy. This is also when I picked up my “omg just take out a student loan” habit. I AM like my father in that regard…I guess. Not that I’m dying to point those similarities out….But they’re there. For better or worse (it was worse) he WAS present in my upbringing….on what planet would I have not picked up some of his traits? At some point its unavoidable. Not to the extent of my brother, but to me, maybe.
It’s always dark when I drive to work. I drive through the same part of Warren, surrounded by people just like me on their way to and from work.
My job falls into the “all right” category. It has it’s HUGE bonuses. I don’t wait on people, there are no rude customers. I get to sit at my own desk all day, there’s an hour for lunch that REALLY helps dwindle the ol’ TBR pile. Most of my work is SIMPLE ASS computer shit, and I get $20.50/hour.
I use black coffee to get through the morning. I DO savor the thought of it. That is actually another way I resemble him, TONS of coffee, nothing added, as the day is long. I mean, it’s healthier that way. Teeth staining is superficial.
There’s a 15 minutes break at 10, I usually use it to email my mother so lunch is solely spent reading. 60 minutes is awhile, but when you count having to use the bathroom and 15 minutes on an email before you eat…suddenly you’re reading like 2 pages a day. My current read is 533 pages. It’s SO GOOD. It’s not a new book: The Poisonwood Bible by Kingsolver, I heard about it from a fellow student back in grad school, she mentioned it in class because she was reading it during her leisure time that semester. I also read my own for fun books during grad school so I was impressed and glad to see it in another. YOU would be SHOCKED to find how many of those fellow students don’t do that. It’s like Ryan was bitter against reading along with everything else, which left more room for feeling sorry for himself. With N, IDK, I knew him a great deal less (ha) and for MUCH less time. It was only ever going to be that one walk back to his car in the cold October rain. I remember thinking that, that even then, something was off. I was too pleasantly drunk to dwell, though. AND ALSO, I at one point wistfully ruminated on the idea that the last time I would ever see Ryan was graduation night that chilly May evening in 2015……BEFORE any of the, you now, illicit affair, occurred. Illicit in the sense I knew it was wrong, not that i was lying or cheating or my husband wasn’t entirely aware the entire time….but I still knew the damage I was doing. I just didn’t care as much.
See how I reward people for listening? More than likely, I WILL talk about them. Grad school was surely an interesting time in my life.
At work, I get 12-1 off, then another 15 at 3pm. I leave at 4. I use all of these facts as means to get through those long, hungry mornings. I’m finally losing weight I’m not about to add fucking breakfast back in and ruin things. I always eat a protein/vegetable lunch (usually turkey cold cuts and sliced cucumbers, both with dijon) and something close for dinner. ALL RIGHT, tonight I’ve had 4 beers for dinner so far. Its self defeating because the drunker you get the less inclined you are to cook. I will literally go to bed without eating some days, but only because of drunkenness, otherwise I at least eat some almonds and cheese and salami. All right I feel like I’m starting to sound eating disordery. I’m not making light, a close friend almost died in high school because of anorexia. But I feel like I AM getting obsessed with dieting. Thing is, cutting out carbs and sugar makes you REALLY lessen your emotional tie with food, because at least in our cases, those are based in sugar/carbs, like cookies and donuts. This diet makes you realize you eat out of habit, or time of day. It makes you look at food at fuel, nothing more, certainly not a source of gratification. That’s a strangely valuable mindset. Granted, I cheat a decent amount. The day I published my book we got sushi and I got fried ice cream (different restaurants). We went to a Korean BBQ place with my in-laws last month. We had risotto and linguine at our fancy dinner the waterpark weekend at the beginning of this month. On Valentine’s Day we had a shit ton of dumplings and then a personal Bundt cake each and then half a large pizza each later on….not to mention beer all along the way. SO YEAH. It’s not like we’ve been pure as the driven snow with this stuff…but….I’m still losing a lot of weight….
Another thing I’m going to cheat for?
The pizza that I mentioned in the subject of this blog!
Lo and behold, I remembered my train of thought..
But I mean I have no one else to discuss my book with…yet……….
All right. It’s 8:15. I either have to go to bed or feed myself…. …. ….