rip away the tears; drink away the happy years

My brother passed away today. 

As much as we have always been bracing for this, it took us by surprise in the way a sheet of ice on a sunny day can melt just enough to waft down from a high skyscraper window and slice a pedestrian in half. 

My mother was alone with him in a hotel room in Nashville, where he had come to have a consult about a heart and lung transplant. It was a couple of tests and 31 vials of blood. Not a procedure. Not a surgery. Just as it had been for the last few months, no matter the position he simply could not get comfortable in the hotel room. She’d stand next to his bed and rub his back till he was snoring on her shoulder, then lay him down and go to her bed to try and get some rest. But then he’d suddenly be sitting up, again saying he was uncomfortable. She repeated the process, but this time the small voice inside of her that has never guided her wrong suggested she lie down next to him. She stroked his hair and laid her hand on his chest. And then it stopped moving all together. He struck out his limbs as if he’d had a shock and wouldn’t respond. She had to pull him to the floor and start CPR.

My mother managed to maintain his weak carotid pulse until the front desk attendant ran in to help with compressions and the ambulance arrived. The EMT patted her on the back and said “you did a very good job.” They let her ride in the ambulance, but in the front, helplessly watching their attempts at resuscitation from the little window. She called me on speaker at 12:15am and I heard it all; including the call of time: 12:34 am. It felt like I was in a movie about a made-up character, not a person without whom I feel I have no identity. 

She said it was the most agonizing thing she’d ever done in all her 72 years. It’s remarkable—many mothers give birth to their children, “but how many can say they had the honor of giving their child his last breath, too?” 

All I could do was look up into the air and thank all the good things of the world that after all of the agony and the suffering, the loneliness of being misunderstood and underestimated, my brother passed on from this world connected to the person who loved him the most. He didn’t have to face the journey alone. 

We are not okay.

#NaBloPoMo

“What Would You Say?” Dave Matthews Band 

day off

I have a general rule not to talk about work on here, but I will share this: I've hit a cracking point.

Two straight years of too many demands, too few resources and little concern for our time from the people making the demands. A ten-hour day is a short one, and the system went live last April. There are other teams in our organization where people can eat their lunches in the break room for an hour and leave at 5 p.m., but that is not the case for our group. I have been trying not to log on during weekends any more. My boss is lobbying for new hires and bargaining with them to attempt to push dates back. But yesterday, after people started paging/calling coworkers to get me to respond while my phone was off the hook, I had enough.

I needed a day to recharge. So for the first time in my life, I am taking a mental health day, all for me. To start it off, I woke up at 3:17 a.m. and could not fall back asleep. So, for another first time in my life, I got out of bed and went to the gym.

No kidding, you guys, there are SO MANY PEOPLE at the gym at five a.m! It's like there is a whole different world in the morning, that I had never seen before. There was even a rousing game of pickup basketball at that hour!

I had a great yoga class and feel so much better on four hours' sleep than I usually do on six or seven. And by the time class was over, my sleep inertia (that confused, groggy feeling when you first wake up, which lingers extra long for me) is gone. Perhaps this is going to have to become a habit.

So on this day for me I am going to:

• Write a bunch of posts (backdated for accuracy)[didn't happen that day]
• I got my car stuck in the snow and sat in a police car
• My second Stitchfix box 
• My ring featured at On the Same Page blog
• Research icemelt for the roof--the ice dams on our roof deserve their own post(s)[sold out EVERYWHERE! Jon had to get it way out in the boonies.]
• Go to the bank
• Get my eyebrows done
• Watch my telenovela, which--SPOILER ALERT--has been hitting close to home with a very sad pre-term labor/baby death.
• Knit the second sock for my Godmother's mom that I have been working on since the fall [worked on it, realized I forgot a crucial step and opened everything I had done up again.]
• Probably fall asleep early. Who am I kidding, I do have to go back to work tomorrow and work on Saturday. [still went to bed late and did not go to work early the next day. But I did get there early on Saturday!]

this is Sparta

Last week, Jon ran the Super Spartan race somewhere in the middle of Illinois. No training. Just sheer will. I was convinced he was going to break a bone, or worse, and spent the day worrying.

However, during the 8plus-mile course, he completed every endurance task--climbing walls, dragging cement blocks, crawling through mud, scaling a wall and ringing a bell--except the one where he had to pull a rope tied to a weight nearly as heavy as he is and lift it 30 feet. All while covered in a thick layer of mud. And he emerged with little more than a bruise and a couple scratches to show for it. Jon was disappointed; he'd been hoping to show off more legitimate battle wounds.

The next day he threw all the fancy wick-away-moisture clothes (including underwear and socks), his commemorative shirt and a towel he's had since college into the wash in our apartment building's community laundry room. It wasn't even half a load. He forgot about it.

Later that night, when we came back from our near-nightly walk, he remembered his gear and went to grab it, expecting it to be on the table or even the floor. It wasn't there at all.

He was so sad. I immediately got angry and started stomping around. We've lived here three years, and while some people around this complex look a bit shady, they're all probably decent people. I started imagining the pain in the butt it would be to do laundry at my parents' house and planned to amp up our house hunting so we didn't have to live in a place where someone would take your (albeit clean) underwear. Then I remembered there was a family doing tons of laundry when I came home from work that day, so I decided to believe Jon's stuff got collected with theirs and it was all just an oversight.

So I taped this sign to the laundry room door:

 I forgot to add the headband with his race number on it. 

We spent the day shaking our heads, sad that someone in our little community would take his clothes, and bummed that neither of us really got a look at the congratulatory Super Spartan Race tshirt he'd gotten at the finish line. At least he still had his medal.

But then!

He got back everything but the headband (not pictured, underoos and socks).

Madelyn found the stuff but the headband on the folding table two days later. All is right in Sparta.

Today Jon is running the Super Spartan race with the menfolk connected to some of my college buddies.

His facebook post about it has a link to the eight-plus-mile obstacle race, which may include mud pits, electrified wire and running up hills with buckets of rocks, with the sentence, "This promises to be the dumbest thing I do all year."

To which one of the other guys responded, "You underestimate yourself... You'll do plenty of other dumb stuff. I'm more likely to be hospital bound than you on this one."

It's so flipping hot I can't help but worry someone really might end up needing medical attention. Especially because in the last two months, Jon hasn't been to the gym, and only ran ONCE for three miles. 

But he looks really happy in the picture, so there's that. 

I am on call all weekend, so I figure I may as well go into work and try to catch up on all the crap I did that got erased this past week because of a system upgrade that wiped our test environments. And yet I am still sitting on the couch reading blogs.

***

Yesterday I met up with pp and had a lovely brunch/haircut date. This concept is genius because:

a) I get to hang with pp
b) I get a really sweet haircut
c) I get to try new places to eat in the city
d) The stylist starts the color on pp, does my trim while her hair is "processing," and the whole time we're all shooting the breeze like the do at the salons in movies.
e) My hair looks way more amazing when I leave than anytime I try to do it myself.

Of course, it's not ideal when I'm on call and my phone rings while the stylist is washing my hair. But it was fine.

pp seems to think that because she was a little hung over she wasn't a great date. She doesn't realize that just being in the company of someone who wanted to murder you for hitting snooze for almost five years and manages to loves you ANYWAY is a gift in and of itself. I was in a similar state, having been numbed up at the dentist and failing at chewing. Still a good time.

***

Last night we went to ri and c's house for pizza and booze. Jon was hydrating and carbo-loading--hell, it's the absolute least he could do to prepare for the race today. Highcon facetimed us. They ordered a pizza. C and I proceeded to split like three bottles of wine and we watched their little angel, Ari, toddle around like a champ. Then ri went up to put the baby to bed and accidentally fell asleep. And then I lay down on the couch and accidentally fell asleep. C and Jon talked about electronics and mortgage rates. We never got to the gelato that Jon and I brought. Nobody was mad about all the falling asleep because we've known each other for a quarter of a century and it's all good.

***

I started writing this post thinking everyone is annoyed with me being Debbie Downer the last several posts and trying to post something light and more "normal." But then I read this. If she hadn't turned off comments, I would have told her I feel the same way.

Yes, I think about my daughter minimum 20 times a day and will probably do so for a really really long time. I will probably mention it from time to time. But that doesn't mean I'm not happy for the girl in the office and want to go to her baby shower. Or have a really fun time chasing Ari around the dining room table. People don't have to feel weird. It's ok to talk about. Or not. The more important thing is to spend time together. Even if it entails chomping on the side of your cheek trying not to drool Hollandaise sauce or falling asleep in the middle of a conversation about speaker wire. 

I sincerely hope I will take the time to reach out when someone I care about is sad.

my yoga instructor is a mind reader

My yoga instructor looks a lot to me like my brother-in-law Joe, who is married to Sister-in-law M (not to be confused with Madelyn). Mostly because of the features on his face and the way he moves his mouth and tilts his head when he's thinking about what he's going to say next and the color of his hair and the way he gestures with his hands. Granted, people often do not agree with me when I say a person looks like somebody else, but it doesn't matter because that is how I see it. And that is why, in my head, I call him "Faux-Joe" even though I know his name is Paul.

Anyway, Faux-Joe has this creepy way of saying things that mirror my thoughts--in real time--such as "Even if you have an itch, try your best to stay still" just as I was contemplating scratching my neck, or "don't get distracted by adjusting your clothing. That is not important" as I'm about to pull down the back of my shirt before everyone behind me gets a look at the waistband of my undies. One time I was in final relaxation (where you lie on your back and are not supposed to move at all), but I was absolutely fuming about something from earlier. Everyone was silent, and I know I wasn't making any noise except screaming in my head what I *should* have said to the person who made me mad. Faux-Joe comes to stand over me, picks up one arm at a time, shakes it around, replaces it on the floor, then adjusts my neck and pushes on my shoulders, leans down and whispers kind of sternly, "RELAX!"

That freaked me out a bit.

See, I have this thing where sometimes I'm in a crowded elevator or a train having a judge-y or nasty thought about someone and think to myself, "Self, just watch, that is the one person in the world who can read your mind, and she just heard you think she has the ugliest haircut you've ever seen. Don't you feel bad?" Maybe it's some kind of self-policing to keep my thoughts in check.

So of course I've decided Faux-Joe can hear what I'm thinking. I've been in his class for almost a year now, and I am used to his routine, so I don't have to concentrate as hard to keep up with what's next. But he still calls me out on mind-wandering and hair fixing. You know, generally, to the whole class. This is going to sound bizarre, but sometimes I think things like, "Faux-Joe, what is wrong with you? You have been losing a lot of weight. You are disappearing. I hope you don't have a serious illness." Or "Faux-Joe, where were you last week? That replacement lady was way too New-Agey and she wore a headset."

Faux-Joe never lets on that he can read my thoughts. He is that good. But sending telepathic messages helps distract me from calculating how little a cushion my yoga mat will be when I fall down on my face if we don't come out of this pose soon.

As you can see, poses I can pull off. It's the quieting of the mind that has always been tricky.

speaking of instructors,
more than conjugation
In which I learned more than just grammar from my continuing education Spanish teacher.

my hair is down to my waist and i don't own a hair dryer

So I'm considering doing this again:

shorn
In which I chopped off 21 inches so someone could enjoy a sometimes frizzy, sometimes pretty wig. In "Mexican Girl" brown (according to my friend Jackie, who is a Mexican girl).

Is it bad that the only thing holding me back from making the cut is the worry that I won't be able to keep my hair wrangled at the gym?

Whole30: Day 18

I'm getting older. And I sure am feeling it.

I don't bounce back easily anymore. I have to prop my head up with a stapler every day at 2:30 p.m. One minute of jumping rope makes me feel like falling down.  My real-people clothes (read: not scrubs) are too snug* to be sitting in them all day. Also? I have a hard time falling asleep and an excruciating time getting out of bed in the morning. My monthly ladyfriend brings the pain and at least one pimple. And I don't even want to think about what would happen if I tried to pull an all-nighter. All of those were getting me down.

So when I heard about the Whole30, I thought I'd give it a whirl. See if at the very least I could stop that vomitous, lightheaded feeling while jumping up and down for 60 seconds (for awhile I was convinced I was going to drop dead of a heart attack).

There's a ton of stuff on the Interwebs about this, so I'll just say the very basics:

1. No grains
2. No added sugar (fruit is ok)
3. No dairy. Not even a pat of butter
4. No legumes or beans
5. No soy
6. No peanuts 
7. No peas
8. No potatoes
9. No alcohol

Way harsh, Tai, right?

Shockingly, it's been going pretty well. Despite his distaste for (so) many vegetables, Jon is doing it with me for solidarity. I have not cheated (except for when I realized the splash of Coconut milk I was putting in my tea has some cane sugar in it). As far as I know, he hasn't cheated, either. And now that we have made it 18 days, there's no reason not to go all the way to 30.

This is what I've noticed so far:

1. I fall asleep within 10 minutes, max. 
2. I don't feel nauseated or lightheaded during or after working out. 
3. Jon says my skin looks better (didn't get a pimple this month). 
4. Ladyfriend was kinder and had a shorter stay!
5. Still hard to wake up, but that's been a problem since I was like 8. 
6. I actually like eating more fruit (even the occasional banana**) 
7. No 2:30 p.m. slump!
8. Waistband is a bit loose on some of the pants (haven't tried Ring Of Fire yet).
9. And the biggie: I have ZERO problem sitting next to my coworkers as they eat McDonald's french fries, chocolate cake or other treats that would normally make me want some. This was unfathomable to me when I started it. Passing the bakery or noodle shop is a whole different story.

Jon and I have been cooking everything from scratch, using fresh vegetables and trying to find the healthiest meats we can afford (we are completely broke this month).  Everything has been delicious so far and my coworkers are curious to see what I bring in every day. We just had dinner of pork marinara over julienned zucchini (I know how pretentious that sounds, but it was really tasty). 

I am terrified about what is going to happen as we reintroduce the banned stuff at the end of the month (which coincides with Jon's birthday). I've heard there are headaches and tummyaches and internal plumbing issues. But it's a great way to figure out what a person's body is truly sensitive to-- bring back stuff one at a time--and see where the tiredness is coming from. For me, I have a feeling it's from hormones in dairy and meat. Not sure what Jon is going to find out. We will see.

One thing is clear: I don't think we can live this way all the time. Jon not baking is just depriving the world of heaven in a cupcake wrapper. And this diet leaves zero room for grabbing something quick and easy. Even steaming up some green beans takes prep and planning. But we have no-prep stuff like boiled eggs in the fridge for a quick snack. It's been a lot of meat, though, which made me realize I was pretty much eating vegetarian before. Also, going out to eat with friends can be a little awkward and make friends feel bad. That I can most certainly live without. Not to mention all the additional dishes to wash.

Above all that, I don't want to live in a world where pizza makes me sick. Let's hope that doesn't happen. Only 11 more days until I find out.


*PP has a friend who calls looking at your belly at the end of the day and being able to see the imprint of the inside button on your office pants "the ring of fire." So apt.

**Anyone who has known me for ten minutes will be shocked because I don't eat bananas. My mom made me eat them every day when I was a kid and I was so over it. But they're not terrible. Don't tell my mother.

nope, that's just where I put away all that string cheese and doughnuts

Yesterday, my coworkers and I walked a 5K for charity. Before the race, three women from my old department told me there is a rumor circulating that I am pregnant.

Naturally, I blame my mother.

Last week one of her friends called her at work to say she was saving baby stuff for me--whenever I got around to it. Even the staplers have ears in that department, so by today everyone had already started placing bets on due dates.

Another factor could be the extra girth I've acquired since I started the new job. I've put on about two newborn babies' (or roughly one and a half non-Indian babies) worth of weight since transitioning from running around the hospital 40 hours a week to sitting in a cubicle for 50 then coming home and sitting around some more. If I have to go up another pant size I think I may kick someone.

However, along with the job I have also transitioned my exercising: I went from halfheartedly doing a yoga DVD at home to sweating down to my scalp at a yoga class that is probably too advanced for me and having my behind handed to me at boot camp four days a week. Sure, I've put on some muscle, but unfortunately my clothes are not fitting better.

This is probably because I come home and eat everything in sight when I exercise--mostly stuff like pasta and rice. I will finish a perfectly good meal and still feel like "my mouth is still hungry; maybe I'll have some string cheese and crackers. Or a bag of chips. Or a sleeve of Oreos. It's totally okay because I just held a 'Bird of Paradise' pose without falling on my head." Hmmm. Also? I'm tired ALL the time, no matter how early I get to bed. Or I lie down and cannot actually sleep until two hours before the alarm. I have a hard time concentrating at work, and all I want to do when I'm not there or at the gym is lounge on the couch and watch tv (ok, that's a lifestyle habit I'm not sure I'm ready to give up). I don't even have the energy for knitting!

A few days ago, while trolling around twitter, I saw that Shalini of Reading and Chickens described herself as eating like a fratboy and then said she wasn't going to do Whole30 because she doesn't like meat. I eat like a fratboy! I've never met a cheeseburger I didn't like! So I got to googling: Basically you can't eat dairy, grains, sugar or much of the other stuff that I seem to be unable to live without. It especially targets stuff with hormones in it--and without going into detail, my body does not react well to non-Cadiz-produced hormones--so maybe there's something to this? I'm going to try it this month. Jon is too, for solidarity. We will see what happens.

I'm hoping to feel better, and maybe drop the weight of at least one infant. I just hope I don't pass out in yoga. Because everyone knows I get my strength from Oreos.

teetering around like a drunken flamingo

I find that it is a good idea to shave my legs immediately after a rigorous workout. Trying to do it the next day--when I can hardly move--is just a disaster.

Exercise delinquent

I have probably missed two yoga classes since January. So of course, as soon as I went and bragged to the Internets about my dedication to working out, I skipped the gym Monday and yesterday (had to work late and thought the boot camp instructor wouldn't appreciate regurgitated egg curry and birthday cake all over his gym). I will probably have to skip yoga again today because of the dry Margaritaville party. But at least I will be dressed for the festivities.

Don't look too close at the hasty and crooked rouching. Also, let's not talk about the fact that I some seams are 1/4 inch and some are 3 inches. You can't see those from the outside anyway.

anniversary(ish) dinner

One thing is for sure: While I may go months without posting, I will never give up this blog. It's like that restaurant where you and your husband had your favorite date--maybe you don't often have the energy to get gussied up and drive all the way out there for a night out, but you get there eventually. Because you'll never stop loving it.

So here I am. In two days I'll be 34. Which is crazy. When did it become August? When did it become 2012? Seems like just a few months ago I was sitting in the dungeon clicking "Next Blog" and trying to come up with witty emails so Jon would maybe fall in love with me, move here and let me come up with beautiful Indian names for his future children. But that was seven years, four jobs, three residences and one wedding ago. DANG.

***

Ri and C just closed on a house across the street from our subdivision. They're moving in with their four-month-old next weekend. I knew the crooked claw of suburbia would beckon them back sooner or later.

My brother moved to St. Louis. I pray that is not a permanent situation, because even though I didn't see him often when he lived here (he travels for work) I worry that I will see him even less. I can't describe to you how it feels when the planets align and the whole family is sitting down to a meal together at the old kitchen table and then a rousing game of poorly performed Rock Band. I nearly passed out from contentment. Do regular people have these thoughts? Probably not.

***

My job* is challenging in a wonderful way. But all this "strategizing," "discovering," "figuring out," "designing," "planning," "compromising" all day can really take a lot out of a person. Every night I come home with broke brain (a term I have been trying to get into the lexicon for years). Sometimes I miss being able to walk around and make smalltalk with others without feeling like I'm neglecting my spreadsheets. Then I remember how invigorating it is to be screamed at by three different unhappy people all at once, and I thank my lucky clouds for the silent and colorful comfort of spreadsheets.

I spend most of my evenings watching recorded television and making baby presents because MANY people I know are producing babies. I cannot get enough of the babies, and I am absorbing as many tips as I can for the time when I will have one of our very own (don't get any ideas, that is out on the horizon somewhere).

***

I started exercising in earnest. Granted, it's only been a week, but when all the workout gear you own gets into the hamper in fewer than six days, that is something.

Yoga on Monday and Wednesday, Tuesday and Thursday is "boot camp" (circuit training that goes by so fast you don't realize how hard you're working until you get to the car and have to take a minute before getting in because you don't want to have to clean vomit off the floormats). Friday, Saturday and Sunday are for lying on the couch and whining about how you never realized triceps were necessary for mundane tasks such as the tying of shoelaces.  

Jon is doing bootcamp, too, but he's insane and replaces the yoga with running (yuck to running).

***

In the midst of the craziness of work, I found myself on the department's party-planning committee. The powers that be want to have a "Margaritaville" party and we are supposed to get people to wear Hawaiian gear, do the limbo and a hula hooping contest--in the middle of a week when deadlines are dropping from the sky--oh and there's no alcohol allowed. I told you, it's a challenging job. I am in charge of the Hawaiianwear judging and I have no Hawaiianwear that will zip up the back anymore. So I am trying to sew a dress. Today. Even though I'm too big for this pattern from 2003 and have to figure out how to make it work. I'm nothing if not ambitious, Tim Gunn.

***

One day when my head was spinning from spreadsheets, I took a peek back at the archives of this blog. Here is a snippet from what I wrote on August 14, 2005, the year I started this blog. It was the tail end of a very rough slew of disappointments for me, and if you had told me then what I'm up to now, I never would have believed it (warning, this is back when I refused to capitalize letters while still adhering to all the other grammar rules. I know, I was living on the edge back then).

* it's possible to be in paradise and yet be completely miserable.

* always remember to eat. even if you feel like you're going to puke with every bite.

* you can only soak up so many boxes of kleenex before the pity party gets played out.

* no one but you can tell you what to feel. or think, for that matter.

* everyone has their own crap to take care of. you landed on this earth alone, you're going to leave it alone, so why not learn how to fly solo in between? think of your copilots as bonuses.

* nothing puts your troubles in perspective faster than someone you can't live without going under the knife.

* free alcohol is the most expensive drink. ever. (i saw that at postsecret.blogspot.com)

* no matter what you do to try and straighten it, at the end of the day a pig's tail is always going to be curly (okay, i stole that from my mother).

* there is a grave difference between what you want and what you need.

* your true peeps will somehow be there for you. maybe not right away, maybe not how you'd want them to, but they will stand up when you need them. and sometimes, who they end up being will surprise you.

* anything worth anything is going to be hella hard.

* once-in-a-lifetime opportunities will nearly ALWAYS come up at the worst possible moment. it is a test of your merit and you will either thank your lucky stars or have to shoulder that regret till you're 83.

* sometimes you have to suck it up and do something you're afraid of because you don't know what'll happen. and what may happen may just be what you needed after all. but chickensh*ts would never have found out.

* and most importantly, ALWAYS listen to the little duende in your gut that starts pulling on your intestines like a shirt sleeve at the first sign of trouble. that little goblin will never steer you wrong, but if your ego/heart/logic is yapping too loudly, you’ll never hear what it has to say.

*I work in healthcare. Previously, I was a "fixer," making sure things were running smoothly. Now I've been put on a team that is helping technically and theoretically re-engineer the entire system, hopefully for the better.