This crazy life

I’ve been tracking my steps diligently (pending replacement of my failed @Fitbit device notwithstanding). 

There are those who might say I obsess about it a bit, and I really can’t say I’m in a position to argue. But that’s not the crazy part (I don’t think).

On a lot of days, weather and schedule permitting, I round out my daily steps with a walk. Three+ round trip miles to and from my parents’ place (the “plus” depending on whether/which/how many little side streets I wander down en route). 3.2 if I loop around the other way, again depending on side streets. I have a short playlist of tunes for walking, steady beats to keep me on pace. Or I listen to podcasts…

Among them I’ve been listening to This American Life. I enjoy them; thought provoking, but also often touching. One weekend I listened on the way over to my folks’ to a chapter on last words, and I found myself tearing up – cue the waterworks – so much that I arrived slightly tearstreaked. 

Last night I listened to the episode entitled “The Perils of Intimacy” and I enjoyed it, thoughtful as always, each chapter touching on a different aspect, each worth a listen in their own right…

On my way home it got to be third chapter and the comedienne relaying her story got to the culmination of the story and oh Lord I laughed. Even while I cringed with her (that so totally could be me, and oh God, I’d want to die) I laughed. I laughed long and hard and out loud, in public. On the street. Like a crazy person. 

Totally worth it. 

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Mental block: Spanish

In seventh grade, we had the option to take a language: French or German.

Spanish, which would have been more useful, was not offered until 8th grade. Opportunity missed.

What teen girl, given the choice, wants to learn German when French is an option? (Actually some did, but cmon.) plus we lived in New England where the proximity to Canada made it almost sort of seem potentially useful. 

I don’t live in New England any more. My first job was at a company that was owned by Cuban exiles and more than half the company, by the time we were acquired by the larger firm, spoke Spanish.

By that time, I had picked up a little Spanish… mostly greetings and food.

I wanted to learn Spanish. By that time, there was the boy and though his English was fantastic it seemed problematic that I couldn’t say anything of substance to him in his native language, his heart language.

I tried Rocket Spanish. (Puedo sacar su foto?) 

I tried Rosetta Stone (it was very precise about getting the accent right, so much so that the boy, sitting next to me, would tell me, “You’re saying that perfectly,” while RS would insist I had it wrong and make me repeat it. Again. And again. Ad nauseum.)

But always I would get just so far and hit a wall. I have some kind of mental block, it seems.

Now, Duolingo doesn’t care how bad my accent is. And 26 days into it, I’m mostly enjoying it and occasionally amused and/or troubled by the sentences it tries to teach me.  Read more of this post

A knock at the door?

The dream ends abruptly.  The knock is clear, crisp. It doesn’t repeat though I am still, listening. 

The dream is gone. Work? Something else? Nope, nothing, gone. Only the knock. 

Still listening. Was it real? Could I have dreamed it? 

It didn’t signal arrival, but it was perfectly incorporated. That’s all I can recall now. 

Straining, no unfamiliar sounds inside or out. 

4am. I get up. No signs of life out front. It seemed too loud, too close for that door, on second thought, though I couldn’t not have checked it. I ponder the other doors, and the sound. It was crisp. Knuckles on glass? I don’t want to check the other doors. No broken glass sounds followed, certainly. On wood I decide, an indoor sound. 

A dream, then? Who would break in and then knock?

Unsettled. Too early for sunrise. Yesterday’s was unendingly beautiful, accompanied by a nearly full moon still high in the sky, dancing with the clouds.

And with that thought, I think I’ll retry sleep. 

Revisited: at 6:30am there was also not really someone ringing the doorbell. 

Critter

My neighbors two doors to my right may be moving, if the sudden clearance of their property is an indication.  Meanwhile, the neighbors between us need to mow or something. 

To my left, it’s a jungle in desperate need of clearing. I am uncharacteristicly peering out my window, noticing the differences, when movement in the overgrowth next door catches my eye. A long, naked tail… attached to…

Oh my God, if that’s a rat it’s enormous

I am staring in horror, hoping it’s, please, please, please…

It lifts its face up out of the greenery. White pointy face… yesopossum. Not rat. 

Well that’s a huge relief. Still, it disappears into the underbrush… I know they’re generally docile unless cornered but I don’t like the idea of coming face to face with that….

I might never go outside again

Fitness Flotsam (@Fitbit)

Some random observations…

  • I really like the Fitbit adventures and challenges. They definitely encourage me to move. Getting notices that light up my phone at midnight to tell me the Challenge is starting (etc), however, is discouraging good sleep. #tradeoffs
  • Setting an alarm to make sure I get my hourly activity in, is working well for me. The other thing that is working well, at least during the day, is that my house is so flipping cold. Moving around warms me up. It’s kind of sad though that in between I’m wearing gloves in the house. But there you have it, being cold all the time is not all bad. Apparently
  • I know I’ve become a little bit crazy about this hourly activity goal thing, because yesterday I had a meeting that ran through the entire 11 AM hour, and I was irked because it made me miss my steps for that hour (which was the only hour I missed, after making 14/14 hours for the prior 7 days). And now I’m looking at the itinerary for a Retreat I’m attending (and looking forward to) this weekend, and noticing that the sessions start on the hour and end into the next hour. There is clearly something wrong with me, when I want to tell them that if they started sessions on the half hours, the sessions could take the same amount of time and leave people a window on each side to get in their hourly Fitbit steps. Which, I’m pretty sure, is not where one’s attention should be, as one goes into a Retreat.

I managed to do this 7/7 days in a row. I doubt I will ever be able to do it again

    Afraid of my shadow

    That’s not me trying to be clever. I actually just jumped back from movement in the dark, and it was my shadow that had scared me. 

    Yup. Sometimes I’m that silly. 

    Heart rate almost back down to normal… ha. 

    ###

    I just reached Taft Point with 25,100 steps on the Pohono Trail #FitbitAdventure @Fitbit

    Random observations

    • Everyone’s rush same-day requests come on Fridays. And everyone who wants a meeting needs it to be on Mondays. What is with that? (How about we just switch the weekends up, and take Tuesdays thru Thursdays off, in that case?)
    • If companies would broadcast some kind of dance music over the loudspeakers for the last 5 minutes of every hour, no one need ever miss their 250-step activity goal for that hour. Read more of this post

    Mild misophonia

    The vent overhead in the office makes an uneven rattle and high pitched metallic grinding/squeak sound.

    It makes my teeth ache and my eyes twitch and it’s distracting as all get out at times.

    But it’s not something one of my colleagues is doing, so there’s no one to direct irrational misophonic rage at over it.

    Which is good, as these things go.

    And it’s not incessant sniffling, so that’s a win. For everyone. 

    I wonder if’n that could get fixed somehow….

    I need a roof for my cubicle

    Twice a week (on paper: holidays, vacation, bad weather and other business travel notwithstanding) I sit in the Wilmington office. It’s a quiet work environment (relative to other offices, not compared to working at home). There are 2 people who sit near me and if the ventilation system didn’t rattle and make that metallic squeak overhead (makes my teeth ache a bit) it would be kind of nice here…No snifflers! No slurpy-crunchers of apples! No chewers of mints or nibblers of sunflower seeds in shells. 

    My misophonia is not killing me here, and I’m so glad. So. Glad 

    Oh, but the lights. I am not used to these lights!

    You’d think these nice bright lights would be great because low light is that much harder on my aging eyes. 

    But no, not so much. 

    Too bright. Too fluorescent. Too much. 

    All I need is a dimmer. Or prescription reading sunglasses. Or a roof for my cubicle!

    At least I remembered my reading glasses, because it’s always a bad eye day in Wilmington. 

    But there’s no sniffler. Win. 

    Happy blank new year

    So we’re well into January and I haven’t even posted an obligatory “this year I’m going to blog” blog.

    Mostly that’s because there are so many things I want to say lately — uncharacteristically political things, or frustrations with social injustice things, or musings on life and love and loss — but none of that wants to crystallize at present.

    Too much to say becomes nothing to say, if I can’t articulate it even for myself.

    So I could blog, I suppose, about more traditionally flotsam-y topics: hopes to see the friends I miss, the joys of time spent with my family and impending fun with my nieces (who cannot possibly be growing up this fast); the progress in my much-needed workout program, the trips planned and hoped for this year…

    These things will probably come sooner than later. But not today.

    Today I’m feeling a little too.. blank inside https://youtu.be/CPeyfTPxfaE