I hope you all had a happy Halloween! I had to work yesterday, so I went with something fairly easy to move in, and Sweet Tooth is now my favourite costume as an adult of all time. (Cousin It still takes the cake for childhood.) I tweeted Jeff Lemire, the author of this great comic, and he favourited and retweeted this photo. So I feel like Halloween was a success. Did any of you guys dress up? What were you?
I'm really lucky to have a great coworker who is highly tolerant of me and willing to make a fool of herself. S., a thirtysomething mother of two, was hired into my department (for a second time) about three months after I joined the staff there, and somehow we ended up bonding. She's quietly hilarious and walks really fast, so why not ask her to do the Color Run with me?
I've been wanting a goal for a while, just something that I could work toward, and I figured the Color Run would be a good option. It's extremely laid back as far as 5K races go--it isn't timed, and all ages are welcome, from strollers to wheelchairs. So I trained--I used the Nike+ Running app's Coach program, which I recommend--and thought I'd be ready to go. S. didn't train quite as much, but she's generally in better shape than I am.
We arrived in Charlotte on May 30th, and picked up our packets. My first pinny! My first run shirt! My first...sweatband! Woo! We lined up and off we went, with the moral support of my boyfriend, who would soon be joined by one of my best friends from college. As S. and I entered the zMax Dragway where the run took place, we started off at a jog, but it didn't take long for me to slow. We alternated jogging and walking, and jogged through every colour station. I got soaked with blue water at our first station (it's like they saw a tall person and said GET 'ER), and S. was doused with pink powder at the next. I was keeping track of everything on my Nike+ Running app, and at the halfway point of the Dragway course, I looked at my phone to see how far we'd gone, then looked at S.
We had already gone 2.5 miles.
Now, a 5k is 3.1 miles. Even at 8am, which is when we started, it was pretty hot. I mean, we live in the deep south. Of course it was hot. And it was getting hotter, and the drag strip pointed directly at the sun. So we had a long way to go.
But! We were pushed forward by the hundreds of others around us who were excited about everything that was going on, and we had so much fun. By the last station, which was half mica, half glitter, we were covered in colours and drenched in sweat, but we ran roughly the last three tenths of a mile, bolstered by the cheers of my college friend E., who was chasing us to get pictures and screaming our names. (She's the best.) Getting to the end of 4.5 miles--taking that medal, grabbing a bottle of water, air hugging my friend and boyfriend, high fiving S.--was such an awesome feeling. Even though I was a mess, both literally and figuratively, I felt so relieved to have made it. I didn't have any false hopes for how well I could have done, and I just wanted to make it to the end. And I did! And it felt awesome.
I've seen a lot of "real" runners online denounce the Color Run because it isn't a "real" 5K. And I mean DUH, of course it isn't. It isn't even timed. But think about the tens of thousands of people it's motivated to come out and run, or at least walk, and the way it's changed how people think about running. Hell, I never would have run a regular timed 5K; I would have been totally intimidated. Having such a positive first race experience--even though it was an additional 2k over what I expected--makes me so much more ready to tackle the next race. I'm not sure exactly when that will be, because I lost a week of training from an ouchy knee post-Color Run, but I'm back to exercising and confident about what comes next!
This post is hard to write.
I am, for better or worse, losing weight.
I didn't mean to do this. Hell, I'm the woman who wrote about how much she didn't want to lose weight. And to be honest, I still don't. I'm still struggling.
Before my back surgery, my blood pressure, cholesterol, pulse, weight and blood sugar were at higher levels than they ever have been. After my back surgery, I didn't eat as much, or do anything, so I thought that I would gain weight. Instead, I lost weight. (That disc in my back must've been HEAVY!) After my back healed, I was able to start exercising again for the first time in a long time, so I started walking. And then, after Thanksgiving, I joined a gym. I had plans at the end of September to run a 5K on New Year's Eve, but that went to hell when my doctor told me I needed back surgery. (You can't really go from walking a mile to running a 5K in a month.)
I had to find a new primary care physician in January after my old doctor retired, and my new doctor actually gives a shit and told me that my blood pressure was high, my bad cholesterol was high, and my blood sugar was creeping toward diabetes. The last part scared the shit out of me--type 2 diabetes runs in my family, and I don't want to mess with that. My doctor recommended metformin, but I've heard terrible things about its side effects. At this point, I weighed 250 pounds. So I decided to shake it up a bit and see what I could do for myself on my own. I wasn't that concerned about the number on the scale (and I'm still not), but I knew something hand to change.
I started cutting soda out of my diet--I went from three a day (YIKES.) to one--and went from potato chips everyday to once a week or so. I also started going to the gym in earnest. I walked, mostly, until I felt like I could jog a little. My first time on the elliptical was five minutes of sheer torture. (I can now do 60 minutes on the hill setting.) I thought I would die, but I refused to stop.
Today, four months later, I've lost almost 20 pounds. Far more important than weight is the fact that my blood pressure is close to being normal again, and my pulse rate has dropped from 78 to 68. My heart is no longer struggling as much. I haven't been to the doctor since January, when I'm currently on week three of a training program that will end with a 5K with my coworker at the end of May. If that goes well, I'll register for a timed one on July 4th. (I've heard the first time is the roughest.) I've bought two pairs of running shoes, and I go to the gym six times a week. I've convinced my boyfriend, best friend, and mom to join the gym with me, and my bff S. and I go together almost every night.
I'm at the point where I can jog for 8 minutes straight. I almost cried right there in the gym when I jogged for 5 minutes for the first time, because my body has never been capable of doing such a thing. When I was in high school, I had to walk around the track--jogging for even a tenth of a mile made me dizzy and breathless. I have muscles in places that I never knew I could have muscles--I sat down to pee one day and I suddenly had a bump on my thigh. On both thighs! I panicked for a moment, then poked them and figured out they were newly formed quadriceps. It was a shock, to say the least. My arms have begun to shrink slightly, which means that I can wear coats without cutting off my own circulation. My calves are starting to look monstrous when I flex them, and I even have something mildly resembling a bicep. (I had to stop lifting weights temporarily after I had my tubes tied, but I'll be able to return to that at the end of the week.)
Now, you may say this is all GREAT. And it is! It totally is. I feel more capable of things, and happier, and more balanced, than I have in a long time. I don't have any sort of number goal--for me to be "normal weight", according to BMI, I would have to weigh 173 pounds. That's laughable to me. That's nearly 60 pounds! What if I'm solid muscle and I weigh 200 pounds? So fucking what? Every doctor I've come across has noted that in the world of weight, BMI should be a guideline, not something to live or die by. I don't have a plan for when this ends, but I'd like to be able to run a 10k at some point.
However, I am more concerned about something that affects this blog, and that really affects my confidence: my clothes don't fit anymore.
I've been at the point where my clothes didn't fit--weight fluctuates, of course, and sometimes I'd have to pull out the stretchy clothing to compensate for weight gain. But I've never, never, NEVER had to compensate for weight loss, and I struggle on a nearly daily basis with what the fuck to wear anymore. I don't want to take my clothes in, because what if I gain the weight back? And I don't want to buy new clothes, because what if I lose more weight? My friends and coworkers have mostly been vaguely supportive and said "but you're losing weight!", but for someone who has spent so much time and money on clothing, and as someone who is instantly recognizable by the public for what she wears, this is a serious emotional strain. I look at my closet every morning and feel defeated. And to pile on, most of my shoes are either old enough that they're falling apart or are ungodly uncomfortable anymore.
I've had to make emergency orders to J.Crew and Boden (on serious sale, of course) to try to bolster my wardrobe. Part of the reason I've been posting so little recently is that everything--my pants, my tops, my skirts (MY SKIRTS)--hangs on me now. I have, quite literally, four skirts that fit anymore, and one of the skirts I bought has already accidentally been shrunk in the wash, so now I'm down to three skirts and a pair of black pants that currently fit but are even still becoming a little loose at the hips. Part of why I had such a problem with yesterday's SIA was because the skirt I planned to wear was the one that shrunk halfway through the week.
It's really hard to be proud of the accomplishments you've had if there's no way to show them off. And even my dresses are beginning to drape on me. (Belting works to an extent with the dresses, but not the skirts.) I had to change three times Thursday morning because one of my favourite skirts now hangs on my hips in a really unflattering way, and I couldn't find a top that I hadn't worn recently that would work with the one clean skirt I still have. Ultimately I said fuck it and threw the black pants and a tank top that recently vacated a J. Crew box, along with a pair of decent enough flats.
It comes down to this: although I'm happier and healthier on the inside, I don't feel like myself anymore. I feel like I've lost a part of my identity by losing weight and having to eschew my clothing for whatever is available and isn't falling off me. And while I'm pleased with the things I've done and don't plan to stop just so my clothes fit, I know that I have a long row to hoe. I need to find some books about altering your own clothing.
After my back surgery in October, I had so many plans to read books and paint. I was going to read a TON! And then my surgery came and went and I felt like doing something active but not messy, so both painting and reading were out. I found myself online looking for an outlet, and I came across Satsuma Street on Etsy. And then I bought three patterns and ordered a ton of thread online, along with fabric and needles and a frame and bobbins and everything else I needed. And I sewed.
I learned to embroider when I was a kid, but at the time, it was a passing trend because I wasn't patient enough for it. But now that I've returned to it, I feel good working on a project, and love doing something that can be clearly and visibly progressed upon. (That's why I like vacuuming.) After my surgery, I loved being able to feel like I was really doing something, even though I was sitting all day every day in a recliner in front of the television. So I've been sewing quite a bit (I've completed four patterns, including the fox), and this guy was my most recent (and biggest, by far!) project.
I've been working on Bart (full name: Bartledge P. Rutherford, because why not) since the day after Christmas, when everything arrived from the sewing store online. If I had to give a very rough estimate of the amount of time I've spent on it, I would say around 250 hours. (!) I worked on Bart nearly daily, while watching the news with my parents, or while football was on, or while by boyfriend played video games. I sometimes even took him into work with me, so I'd have something to do on my lunch break. I didn't expect Bart to be quite as big a project as he was, but I ended up majorly committed to Bart and getting him done.
I think it was worth it, don't you? I'm planning to enter Bart in the tri-county fair this fall, but I need to figure out how the hell to frame this thing. It's hard to find an 18" square frame. But damned if that is what stops Bart from getting into the fair.
I'm having my tubes tied tomorrow! Below is a Q&A responding to the most common questions I've received. Some are inquisitive, some are rude. Some are specifically about the procedure, and some are about the stigma that comes with not wanting children.
Why are you having your tubes tied? How did you decide this was the right choice for you?
I have to be honest here. I don't like children. I don't want children. I love my nephew, L., because I can give him back after a hot minute, and he's finally old enough that he has a personality. Between the stress and anxiety of missing a pill and the fact that I'm now at a point in my life where I feel that I can make a fully informed decision, this feels like the right time and right procedure for me.
There's no way to be 100% certain that you don't want children, but I'm about as sure as I can be. When it comes to health, I'm a serious researcher. There's no reason to trust your doctor blindly, and I've had more than one say that they appreciate an informed patient who knows his or her options. And since this is such a big decision* to most people, I did a lot of research. The deal was sealed for me when I read this post on the Childfree subreddit. Although I had read a lot about not having kids and felt comfortable with it, hearing from someone who had actually been convinced to have a child against his wishes really upset me and made it a lot more difficult to believe that I could ever make it okay for me to have a kid. Reading that post is like a punch in the gut to me, and that's when I really knew.
*Part of why I know this is right for me is because so many people think this is a big decision to make, but for me and my body, it's always been the one that made sense. It doesn't feel like a big decision, it just feels like another doctor's appointment. That's the biggest sign that sterilization is the right path for me to go down.
Why now? Why not wait to make sure?
I've always found it odd that women who want to have their tubes tied are looked at askew for a permanent decision such as this one, while women who decide to have children--an equally permanent decision--are hailed. Why do I have to wait to make sure but they don't? It's bizarre.
I have been considering a tubal ligation for a long, long time. While hormonal birth control has worked well for me, I am very anxious if/when I miss a pill, and then I spend all month freaking out and thinking oh god, I might be screwed. I don't want that anymore, and from day one I've felt that this has been the end result. It was just a matter of when. Especially now that I'm in a relationship, I don't want to have to be running for Plan B every month, which I've had to do more than once. I'm sick of the fear of possibly being pregnant, and I have better shit to do with my time than panic.
What did your doctor say?
I am very, very lucky to have a doctor who, unbeknownst to me when I chose her out of a phone book nine years ago, is extremely supportive, open minded, and knowledgable. She also, again unbeknownst to me, specializes in minimally invasive gynecological surgery. I went to my annual exam in December expecting serious pushback, because I've heard horror stories about doctors who refused to give a woman a tubal because she's "too young", "hasn't had children", or "might change her mind". Let me be clear that this is not the doctor's choice, and no person should be told, within reason, what one should do with his or her body, by a doctor or anyone else. So when I went to my doctor, I was armed with a list of reasons why I should have this procedure, or Essure (a form of nonsurgical permanent birth control). Turns out I didn't even need the list. She asked a few questions, we talked, and in the end, all she had to say is "you've done your research and you know what you want. Let's do it." It took a few months to get to this point, because my doctor is busy (isn't that true of all OB/GYNs though?), but my surgery was scheduled back in January. This past Monday, when I went for my pre-op appointment, her only question regarding my decision was "not considering changing your mind, are you?" Nope. Not at all.
How does the procedure work? Is it permanent?
The type of tubal ligation I'm having is laparoscopic, which means there will be two small incisions made, one in my belly button and one at the base of my stomach. My doctor will go in with a tiny laser and camera and sever each Fallopian tube, then cauterize each end to ensure nothing can get through one way or the other. I call it the "slash and burn". (My doctor thought that was pretty funny!) Because the procedure is so minimally invasive, I'll be discharged from the hospital the same day, and after a couple days of chillin, I'll be ready to return to my regular activities. I might not be able to lift a lot of weight at first, but it's not like I'm a pro weightlifter anyway.
Tubal ligations are a permanent form of birth control. In rare cases they can be reversed, but medical professionals absolutely do not recommend a tubal ligation as a temporary form of birth control. There are many other options for long term reversible birth control that do not require surgery. This is a lifelong choice, much like getting a tattoo. There are ways to take it back, as it were, but they're painful, expensive, and difficult.
How much will it cost?
Thanks to reaching my deductible and out of pocket max from my back surgery in October, the procedure will be completely free. Even if I hadn't reached my insurance plan's maximum payment, I would still pay nothing, as health insurance plans are now required to fully cover female sterilization as a version of birth control under the Affordable Care Act. Some people, including politicians, believe that this is more dangerous and costs Americans more than just the pill, but it also offers women who can't take hormonal birth control another option, and laparoscopic procedures are very safe.
What if you change your mind?
It's always insulting to ask if I might change my mind. It's quite rare for someone to ask a pregnant woman if she might change her mind about having kids, so why is it so okay to ask me if I might change my mind?
I've considered what might happen in the very slim possibility that I do change my mind--because after all, people do change. One of my core beliefs has always been in the power of adoption; I think it's so important to support the children of this world who don't have families or the love that they deserve. I haven't ruled out the possibility of adopting an older child, but even if I were able to have my own children, I would much rather adopt. So that's what would probably happen if I changed my mind. I would never blame anyone--my boyfriend, my doctor, or even myself--for changing my mind, because that shit happens.
But what about your boyfriend and his legacy?
What about my legacy? I'm always flabbergasted by this question. As though legacies can only be male. Regardless of my boyfriend's legacy (just so we're clear, my boyfriend fully supports this decision), my legacy involves some nasty diseases--PCOS, of course, but also breast cancer, heart disease, diabetes, stroke, and depression. I don't want to pass this on to anyone. The burden of disease is a heavy weight to bear, and I wouldn't share that lightly. And although I plan to be with my boyfriend for a very, very long time, what if something happens? I want to always be in full control of my own reproductive health, and this is the best way to ensure that I will always have that power. In a time when the control that women have over choices regarding their own bodies is constantly under attack, I want to protect myself whenever I can and however I can.
Why don't you want children? That seems selfish.
I have always felt extremely uncomfortable around children. Even when I was a child myself, I was precocious and preferred to be around adults rather than others my age. I am also very uncomfortable--sometimes to the point of panic--around pregnant women, although of course I can't tell them that, because what an insult. I've always feared being stuck in a situation where I was pregnant, and where I would have to make a very difficult decision to either have a child that I would not love or to have an abortion. If wanting to avoid bringing a child into a lifelong relationship with a mother that did not want to be a mother is considered selfish, then call me selfish to the end of the moon.
Not having my own children means that I'll be able to be a beneficiary for L.'s college savings plan. I'll be able to pay off my student loans and support my boyfriend and myself while he works his way through college. I will be able to buy a house someday and help care for adopted pets. I don't think of any of this as selfish--I just think I have different priorities, and that's a good thing. Someone has to do the things that other people don't, and that's true of many things, not just parenthood.
How will this affect your PCOS?
It won't, which is both good and bad. I will have to remain on birth control for the rest of my reproductive life, which is a pain, but it will be strictly used to control my symptoms and regulate my periods, which without birth control are nonexistent. I won't have to concern myself with a super specific schedule, and missing a pill won't mean a month of anxiety.
Do you have any questions that I haven't answered? Feel free to ask!
Us at the Biltmore Estate on February 23, 2015.
On February 22nd, 2014, I met a guy. And we fell in love.
My boss convinced me to let her put my information on Match. I had almost nothing to do with my profile, all the way down to the username--she put numbers in there, which I deeply dislike--except for the tagline that I could attach to my profile. My boss insisted I do that. I told her to put down "I need a drink" and left it at that. One day, about a month into being on Match, I received a message, but I couldn't see it. One of many obnoxious things about Match is that the site will tell you you have a message for free, but you have to pay to read the message. So I ignored the email, because I didn't feel like paying for a message from a guy I wouldn't be interested in.
Match kept sending emails, and finally, the company sent a warning email that my message would be deleted in 48 hours if I didn't pay up. To entice me, they sent the body of the message, which mostly said "I saw that your tagline read "I need a drink". Mine says "FREE BEER", so I thought I'd check and see if you still need that drink." I caved and forked over three months of membership to Match, because it was less than a month, so I could see who sent the message.
That's how Andrew and I met.
Our first date was to see August: Osage County, which was terrible, and I was so nervous about riding the escalator (I have a fear of them) to the movie theatre that the first thing I ever said to him was "I have to warn you that it may take me a while to get onto the escalator because I am afraid of them." He said "okay. And hi." We had drinks afterward at a bar that tragically no longer exists, but we talked while I was half distracted by the Winter Olympics were on the tv behind him. I took my glasses off so I couldn't see as well, but bobsled was on. He put up with it all, and then I knew that I probably had a winner on my hands.
Andrew is probably one of the few people in my life who puts up with me on a daily basis and never gets tired of me. Even my parents get tired of me. I am a moody, aggressive, crazy bitch sometimes, and he is very even keeled--something I desperately need in a relationship. He is by turns supportive and challenging, always at the right time, and while we don't have all the same interests (he plays Grand Theft Auto & listens to heavy metal while I read about art on Wikipedia & jam to Kesha), we share some very important core beliefs, including strongly preferring to remain childless and a lack of interest in organized religion. We also both love parks, bad movies, and the internet. He puts up with all the shitty reality tv I watch (including The Bachelor) and lets me control the radio in the car. He's supportive and smart and incredibly handsome, and sometimes I look at him and wonder what the hell he could see in me.
We've had ups and downs, just like any relationship, but Andrew hasn't wavered, not yet. I'm not sure he ever will, and if he doesn't, then I might be one of the luckiest women on earth.
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My parents have a knack for deciding to go on vacation during a time when a major weather occurrence hits. There have been huge rainstorms/tropical storms, ice storms, and snow storms while they've been gone, and it seems to happen every single time. This vacation of theirs has been no different--Monday afternoon into Tuesday morning, a storm dumped 3/8" of ice, along with a pile of sleet, over Cardiganland. Work was closed Tuesday, thankfully, because there was no way to drive on the roads with this kind of ice. I'm always fascinated by where I live when there's a layer of ice or snow on top of everything, because we all get to see it so rarely. So of course, I took a ton of pictures.
The horses are pretty pissed, and so are the cats, that the weather is like this. While most everything has melted away and dried, the ice storm's remnants have been replaced by brutal cold and searing wind, which have combined to drop the wind chill to roughly 7 degrees. I may have had 3-4 cats in my bed with me last night. MY boyfriend bought me a heating pad for Valentine's Day, and he could not have had better timing--I have actually cuddled it in my sleep. I have no shame.
So if you're wondering about the drought of outfit photos this week, it's because I've spent 90% of my days in flannel lined jeans and a fleece hoodie, even inside. It's not an attractive look--all of my barn clothes are covered in hay, clay and horse hair--but it keeps me warm. I've been in jeans and a sweater even at work, because I've been weeding at branches, a relatively physical task that involves carts and bins and hand trucks. My office looks like a bomb filled with old 98 Degrees and Ricky Martin albums went off. There are carts and boxes stuffed with old music and graphic novels that don't check out. It's a mess, and it would be more of a mess if I wore a skirt while digging through it all.
Here's hoping the weather you all are having right now is better than what we have! From what I've seen on the weather reports every night, it probably isn't, but I guess we can all be jealous of/bitter toward my parents together, right?
I'm home!
My trip to the hospital lasted from 6:00 in the morning on Tuesday to noon on Wednesday and involved a lot of awkward semi-sleeping, visits from sweet coworkers, watching bad TV with my boyfriend, many takings of my pulse, oxygen level & blood pressure, tons of drugs, and many very sweet nurses who loved having someone under the age of 60 on the floor. I apparently woke up from surgery moaning for Chapstick and putting on lotion for the first time after the surgery became one of the single most blissful feelings I've ever encountered. I painted my nails and started reading Serena by Ron Rash (my boss has challenged me to read 12 books while I'm out). I wore puffy leg wraps, which is a big upgrade from the puffy boots I had to wear last time. And now I can officially check "have a catheter placed" off my bucket list.
But most important, far more important than any of that: my surgery was a success, and my doctor is very pleased with how it went. Full recovery is highly likely, and after I have my one stitch (just one stitch!) out on November 10th, I'll start physical therapy. I was bedridden yesterday and nervous about getting up this morning, but once the physical therapist had me on my feet, I was so happy--I can sit and stand, walk and very carefully take steps if need be. I've been standing around a lot, just because it feels good. I mean...why not, right? The physical therapist thinks my biggest struggle will be remembering to take it easy; I'm moving pretty gingerly right now, but as my incision heals, I'm going to need to remind myself to take everything slow. I can't lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk right now, and I can't bend over much further than to lift the toilet lid. (At least I can make that happen.) I'm really looking forward to being able to bend over and pet my dog again.
Thank you all for your well wishes and support here and on Instagram! It was actually a lot of fun to keep up with everything via IG and show off my sweet boots and sharing the whole process was actually rather cathartic. I'll keep sharing too, I'm sure--nothing like some photos of bandages and PT to pass the time, and I can't wait to start taking outfit photos again!
And in case you were wondering, I was the best dressed patient when I was discharged--I wore this dress out of the hospital. Who says comfort has to come before style?
I'm having surgery right now, y'all! I'll post on Wednesday to let you know that I'm back home. Thank you everyone for your kind comments! You're all the best.
There's a certain beauty in bad news. There's always a story, there's always a topic of discussion surrounding it. It doesn't stand on its own laurels; there are extenuating circumstances.
On Friday, I reached an apex of pain that heretofore did not exist in my body. I was in such pain that I was sweating bullets and thought I was going to throw up. The nurse couldn't take my blood pressure because I couldn't sit, but I can tell you that if the machine had read my BP it would have been through the roof. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest.
I had already planned to be at my orthopedist's office because I had an MRI that Monday to assess the cause of on-and-off pain I'd been feeling in my butt (as I've been telling my friends, this is all a literal pain in my ass) where the hip and leg meet. It felt like it had been getting worse, so I headed into the tube. Friday was results day. Friday was my bad news day.
My L5-S1 disc, which is the very last disc in the human back, is recurrent. Which means it has herniated again, almost ten years after doing it the first time, when I was thrown off a horse. I don't know what caused the recurrence, but I have seen my fair share of lumbar MRIs (mostly my own) and when my doctor pulled up my MRI on the screen, I immediately started crying. And all I could really say was the word "fuck". Out loud and then in my head, over and over and over again.
The large black thing in the middle of this photo is my L5-S1 disc. The white crescent beneath it is my spinal cord. In a healthy back, the disc would be an oval and the spinal cord would be a circle.
There are no conservative solutions to this problem. No pills, no PT, no acupuncture is going to fix this. The only option my doctor has put forth is surgery.
While I was a strong advocate during my first injury of trying all the options, I ultimately spent a year "trying" and failing to relieve my pain. The only thing that fixed it was surgery, which took place in May 2006. And this time around, part of me is happy because I am not going to wait a year while being jerked around from office to office hoping for a miracle cure. My orthopedist is going IN. And that's all there is to it.
I did not realise how upset I'd be when faced with another surgery. But I am. It's honestly a scary proposition: someone slices open your back and removes something poking deeply into your spinal cord with a knife. One slip and I won't be able to walk ever again. But my doctor is one of the best in the area, and he's done this surgery so many times he can probably do it to himself. I'm still nailing down a date for surgery; I was originally scheduled for the end of November (by my choice), but I've decided to move it up a month because I am worried about the repercussions of waiting.
I will be out of work for a month. That's a little unnerving. I've only had a few days to process all of this, but some of the info has gone down easier that other parts of it. It's one thing to take a month of vacation, but it's another to be forced out of commission. I'm struggling with that. I'm sacrificing a lot, professionally and personally, to take the month of November off completely: multiple big programs at work, doing some very fun things (my first and probably only real Halloween party), and even voting at my poling place are all now off the table so I can be on the table. I've decided, though, to make the absolute best out of my convalescence (thanks Downton Abbey for the introduction to THAT word): I am going to paint and read graphic novels and watch documentaries and learn to poach an egg and make Julia Child's boeuf bourguignon. I'm not going to let this get me down. Work is such a big part of my life that being taken away from it for a month is daunting.
I've been really lucky: my parents, of course, will help me deal with this (it's pretty easy since I still live with them!), and the outpouring of support from my friends has been incredible. I have an amazing support system in so many levels: my boyfriend, my boss, my many coworkers who overlap as friends, and my long distance besties all have my back (insert back joke here). Knowing that these people are here during the good and the bad has made all the difference.
Blogwise, I don't think a whole lot will change--I'll probably be taking pause from outfit blogging for a bit because I won't be dressing for anything but PT, at least for part of the time. I'm going to hope that I can get up and about after a couple of weeks, which was what happened after my last surgery. Back surgery usually doesn't involve a lot of lying in bed like an invalid--the more I move the better, so maybe I'll be able to get back to outfit photos relatively soon. In the meantime, though, expect photos of books and poached eggs and cats and whatever else I do. I might even work on a very slight blog design upgrade. And I will no doubt be aggressively Instagramming every tiny bit of my convalescence as well.
So yeah. Back to our regularly scheduled blogging, starting tomorrow.
#throwingshade
It's been a very busy two weeks.
I was pet and house sitting on the opposite corner of the county from my parents/pets/house, which was...a bit of a struggle for me. I missed my dog. And my parents! And my horse, even though he's a jerk. I had my camera, tripod and remote with me the whole time, but driving to the house and taking care of the animals after spending all day at work wore me out! And to be honest, I was packing three work outfits at a time, then going home and getting three more, so my outfits were REAL basic, y'all. I'm talking dress and shoes just about every day.
And then on top of all that, I made my second trip to DragonCon, which meant very, very long days from Friday to yesterday. I slept like a BRICK last night! I was so tired. We got a lot done--I went for work, not for fun, tragically, but I still got to do some fun stuff, like asking THE Amy Acker a question about Person of Interest and taking a photo with the cast of King of the Nerds (see above). I also saw Joel Hodgson (of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 fame) in the flesh AND met the lead illustrator of Archer, which gave me a mini meltdown. He was super nice!
A. and I at the Hyatt (above) and Daft Punk cosplay (below)
DragonCon was a lot of fun, but I'm glad to be back home after so long not at home. It's good to just...watch the news. (One of the things I miss most when I'm not home, even when I visit my boyfriend.) Pet my dog. Laugh at my cats. Sleep in my own bed. Et cetera. Life on the road would not be for me, that's for sure. So it's good to be home, with my full closet at my fingertips, an with plenty of options for what to wear tomorrow!
Happy 29th birthday to the biggest asshole I know. Right after I took these pictures, Jehossee slammed his head into my ribcage and tried to run away from me.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Image via Buzzfeed's Facebook page
Happy 2014, y'all! I spent my midnight kissing my whiskey and lemonade and buying tickets to see this gal in concert. I'm not joking. I'm getting amped up for many things this year: lots of concerts, lots of fun stuff at work, whatever the hell my boss is planning by putting me on Match (I'm not joking about this), Jimmy Fallon on The Tonight Show, the OLYMPICS, lots of curling, lots of riding, and lots of outfits. Here's to all of us having the best year ever!
This Introduction Page welcomes visitors to the end-of-program portfolio. It provides and overview of the content and how to navigate the portfolio. A photograph is also a desirable part of the introduction and should be a head shot or photograph taken in a professional setting.
I have to pick a "headshot" for my portfolio for school, and this is the one I currently have picked out. I know it's old--from March--but I am struggling to find a photo that evenly balance professional with personal. I don't want to do some dumb against-a-white-background headshot, but I also don't want to do something ridiculous. What do you think? Should I do something more recent, with my hair short? I'm getting new classes next week (SO excited, you guys!), so should I wait until I get those? If you don't think this picture is right, what would you envision? My friends and coworkers think I'm overthinking this, and I should "just use whatever's on (my) blog", but this is the very first thing my advisor will see when she opens my portfolio and since this my graduation hinges on this portfolio, I want to put my very best face forward. & I know I'm not smiling, but that's kind of standard. I have other pictures where I'm smiling, but I'm not sure how professional they look comparatively.
So: thoughts?
I was at the High Museum of Art in Atlanta yesterday for a Dutch masters exhibit, which included Girl with a Pearl Earring. I found a ton of artwork that you may see as inspiration for a future SIA! But most striking (and which I will be kind and not make you use for SIA) is this delightful portrait of Floride Bonneau Calhoun, a South Carolina debutante who was married to the one and only John C. Calhoun, a congressman from my very own South Carolina and vice president to John Quincy Adams and Andrew Jackson. Yeah, I googled all that shit. Everyone who walked by this portrait stopped in their tracks, including myself. It's rather unexpected, to say the least, for a historical portrait to be so honest about the less-than-perfect qualities of one's physical attributes.
Happy football season, y'all.
My friend's husband and I, being consistently charming at two different weddings. As is customary, I am drinking in both photos.
