These Boots (or Asics) were Made for Jogging

Too bad it's extremely hard to do from the house.

The weather this week, in combo with a surge in motivation to regain control of my life, is perfect for daily exercise. There's plenty of fresh country air to breathe and abundant neighbors to wave at.

I really miss the days of living in any of my Northern VA apartments, but particularly the Arlington ones where a paved trail was right outside my door, waiting to take me for a scenic stroll along the Potomac or by the monuments.

My street now would be the perfect jogging trail if I could magically cease motor traffic. But, alas, that is beyond my power. Instead, I went out for a jog on our street which is too narrow for the county to legally paint a center line for two lane traffic. Few spots have level grass on the shoulder to ditch out on when a car is coming. The entire time I was out there, I was praying that each of those cars coming along our 45 mph rural road about to pass me contained alert drivers that had their eyes on the road (and me), and not on their iPods or latest text.

Fault or Frustration?

I'd like your opinion - I'm genuinely confused on whether this is a fault of mine or a legitimate gripe.

I have a hard time asking for help. I tend to run myself into the ground rather than ask for help. (I know this part is a fault)

BUT - It seems in the last few months, there have been several times I've tried to take a few folks up on offers for help, and they are either too busy or don't follow through. This leaves me feeling validated in not asking for help. I am but one person in the throng that is their life, and, at the end of the day, they have too much on their plate.

Now, a couple of these times I might consider my fault because I waited too long and then asked on too short of a notice. Understandable. But for a couple others, it's been over a month, and my need hasn't been met.

I don't think it's fair to anyone I ask for help to explain that I only ask if my very livlihood depends on it. It seems too much pressure to put on someone. BUT - let it be known, that I don't ask for help... nearly ever. And, if I am, it's because I REALLY need it. I'm probably a lot more stressed, worried and drowning than I let on.

So, readership, (however small you may be since I've been lax in posting) is this my fault or a legitimate frustration? How do you handle asking for help, and are you successful?

In Tune

I can think of no way to say this other than for the first time in a LONG time, I feel like the universe and I are in sync. I've had my share of career adventures and variety. I don't regret any. But, now that I've made steps to follow what my heart was telling me in November - nursing - the confirmation is stronger by the moment. This is the right path.

Orientation for the CNA program was this afternoon. I've never been so excited to meet my textbook. Classes start Monday, and it's a condensed 3 week program. I've done the homework for Monday already and will work on Tues. and Wed. tomorrow. I don't plan to made CNA my career. It's a step on the ladder. As I read through the text and think about the patients and residents ahead, it becomes a more calming, warm and fuzzy step by the minute.

Today

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life"

You've heard it before, right? Not like I just did.

When Dad was admitted into the VA hospital in early January to finally get his surgery done, he was so upbeat. He was estatic to have a date set and an end to his hemotoma, Ralph (we had named him) in sight.

On the spartan industrial walls of unit 2F (surgical wing) that he was in awaiting surgery there were white dry erase boards with permanent marker sketching out:

Room #:

Today is:

Your RN is:

Your CNA is:

Anticipated discharge date:

I believe these are called Patient Communications Boards in the private sector. Heck, they could have been called that at the VA as well, except for the little fact that no one ever wrote anything on them. Day after day would go by with no updates. Zero communication.

I never saw any patients question it, but I always felt that if it were me sitting in one of those hospital beds, I would feel an ever greater sense of loss of time and normality to have it continually in front of my face.... blank date, blank discharge date, etc.

One day before Dad's surgery, he lept out of his bed with agility and energy we hadn't seen from him in a few months. He walked over to the blank board on his half of the room and filled in:

Today is: "the first day of the rest of your life."

Days and weeks after Dad had left that room, the words remained. I guess since no one thought to write on them, no one thought to erase them either. I would see them from the hallway, though, as I would walk past heading to or from another of his rooms. In fact, the one day I got to get him out in a wheelchair for a bit, I wheeled him past it on the way back, so he could see it again.

Until tonight, I had totally forgotten about that. Much of the last month, for me, has been reliving in my mind the hard parts of the hospital visit. The sad times. The pitfalls. Even more annoying than having them play over and over, is that I'm generally an optimist and Dad gave me 33 whole years of good stuff to think about. I really, really, don't want to dwell on the last few weeks. On top of those flashes, real life has been hitting pretty hard too. Not working, debt, moving - it's been nearly more than I can bear. Diems have been Carpe-ing me instead of the other way around.

During my drive to Richmond on Saturday, though, I had little thoughts running through my head of little ways to progress, small things I could do to begin digging out from this hole, prayers being answered. Now that it's a few days past that, and I've acted on them, I actually feel pretty good.

A few moments ago, I began preparing for bed. As the thoughts of what I had done today and what was ahead tomorrow passed, I could almost hear Dad's voice clearly say, "Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

Thanks, Pa.

A Give Away! - To Celebrate 1 Week of Cereal

I've got a Give Away on my Cereal Blog - Visit to enter.

http://30daysofcereal.blogspot.com/2010/02/give-away-to-celebrate-1-week-of-cereal.html

Cry Me a River

I just brought in his coat and boots from my car. The orange plastic bag with assorted pills, books and picture that stayed in his hand or at this bedside came in too.

My dad's been gone nearly a month, and I only touched them again just now because of necessity in bringing back a load from the Richmond apt. I would have happily driven them around with me forever. I would have happily driven HIM around with me forever.

It snowed so much right after he left. I knew it was the earth helping to slow the pace of life for our family. Today is drizzly, and feel like the heavens are sobbing along side me. All of the emotions at the surface are as fresh as the morning it happened.

I've wanted to write for so long to help process my thoughts. But no words will come. I'm not in denial, but I can't even bear the thought of sitting down to begin something because it makes it even more real.

While in my sweats and under the electric blanket last week, at a time long past when the productive population left their homes for work, I caught the episode of West Wing when Leo dies on Bravo. CJ's quote summed up my feelings perfectly. "Everyone keeps thinking I have something to say, and I really don't."

For Crying Out Loud!

Can married men please wear wedding rings?


Men, please understand that this request in no way implies I believe that you are unable to keep your marital vows without a band of gold on your left hand. I trust you. I trust your wife.

The shtick I have is being a single woman who respects and values marriage. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is for me to meet one of you who is mildly attractive, easy to talk to and in possession of a bare left hand? I might think to myself, "Eh? Not bad. We should talk more often," or maybe even, "I think I'd like to try a dinner with this guy." You probably have no clue those thoughts ever flittered through my mind due to my horrid flirting skills, but they're there.

And then I find out though some other means that you are married, and I feel like the "pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum". I would never have thought those things about someone who is married. Even if it's Tiger Woods. I don't tread on the sanctity of marriage. But, in my mind... I just did. If you had been wearing a ring, you would have spared me this guilt.

Put it on. If you don't do it for your wife or for yourself, please... do it for me.