Losing My Mind

I know alcohol kills brain cells, but this is ridiculous.

I think I'm truly losing my mind.

Exhibit 1: Last night, I went to the store. I wanted to get Mr. Zips some sleepy-time tea. But I NEEDED to get toilet paper. (We go through a lot of toilet paper in my house. If FuzzyKitty would learn to pee in the litterbox instead of over the litterbox, we'd go through much less toilet paper. But I digress.) So, I went to the store. I bought tea. I bought bath salts. I bought apple juice. I did not buy toilet paper. I have to go back to the store tonight.

Exhibit B: I was getting dressed this a.m. I am so excited by the warming weather that I was going to go all out and wear a skirt. I sat down on my bed and started putting on my pantyhose. Mr. Zips asks me, "Um, aren't you going to wear underwear?" Oh, right, underwear. Forgot that.

Exhibit III: I went out to grab the daily soup from the dreaded ABP. (I try to get there early because from about 11:50 until 2 p.m., it's absolute insanity in there and you're taking your own life in your hands even trying to ladle out lunch. ) I got to the store. I left the store. Because I had no wallet.

I can only imagine what the gym is going to be like tonight. When you see someone go flying off the treadmill because she's still wearing her high heels, that will be me.

Why Am I Not Surprised?

Well, the tradeshow and Florida trip is over and went well by all accounts. I did nothing silly or stupid (although I did witness someone throwing his career away - or, more accurately, into the pool) and I managed to actually come to care a smidge about what it is I do. And now it's over and except for throbbing, swollen feet, I'm not really the worse for the wear.

Except, I am.

For some reason, I'm massively wound up, sad, angry, depressed, whatever. Probably because I was reading my alumni magazine today and found that there's all sorts of kids who graduated years after I did doing amazing things with their lives. And I'm still balancing my checkbook wondering when I'm actually going to be able to pay off my credit cards and/or afford a pair of curtains I desperately want.

In short, I'm feeling old and unaccomplished.

I know this is not really true, as I've actually had some amazing experiences, done some pretty cool things, and have a decent life to show for it. But still...

Garrison Keillor calls it the spring blues. Because the world, life, and everyone around us is telling us we should be happy and be enjoying every moment. And that's a lot of pressure to put on someone.

So I've got the spring blues. And I do the stupidest thing possible - I call my mother.

When am I going to learn?

Instead of listening to me or supporting me or anything helpful, she basically shut me down. Got off the phone faster than you could say Boo.

I listen to her whenever she needs it. I hear her tales of woe and misery and I do everything in my power I can to help. And she hangs up on me.

This helps me not at all.

To top it off, Mr. Zips is on his way over here and he's being very sweet and supportive and, you know what? I just feel like Marsha Mason in The Goodbye Girl.

I'm angry. And I don't want to lose it.

I Like Intelligent Conversation

Scott Rodriguez is suing Scott Chemicals.

Scott fired Scott because during his employemnt drug testing, he tested positive for nicotine. Turns out that Scott has a policy that they will no longer hire/employ smokers because the costs are too high for the health insurance. And this is perfectly legal in Ohio, where Scott is headquartered.

So, I'm listening to the story on NPR this weekend and my first gut reaction is that this is a frivolous lawsuit. Scott legally set the policy not to hire smokers. Scott R. knew this and applied anyway.

But then, listening to Scott R's lawyer, I thought better about my reaction. Maybe it is a slippery slope -- if a company can fire you because you smoke, what about if you have a genetic defect or all the men in your family died early of heart disease? Smacks of Gattica.

The problem, of course, is that companies are the ones responsible for the vast majority of American's health insurance.

I've had insurance and I've been uninsured. And the former is definitely preferable. But I'm also 1) friends with the woman responsible for benefits at my company and 2) work in an industry where we closely examine the costs and profits of health insurance. I know precisely how much it costs for companies to offer these benefits and how knowing and/or avoiding those risks can affect premiums, deductibles, settlements.

And so there's this part of me that thinks, sure, employers have every right to mitigate their risks. And then there's part of me that went through Democracy School and thinks that creating an even more uneven playing field -- for corporations (or the insurance industry) v. the little guy -- is really a bad idea.

So, I'm not exactly sure what the solution is. But I don't think it's clearcut or simple.

And, in lookng into this, I found a very interesting blog. I don't agree with the majority of posts on the site. But what I really like is that the comments, both in support of and against the original posting, were intelligent, articulate and - get this! - courteous. No flame wars here. So, without further ado: Reason Hit and Run.

May intelligent discourse commence.

Sleepy

Mr. Zips is very tired. This is not surprising. I mean, the boy has been burning the candle at both ends for about six weeks now, working basically 70 hours/week. With nary a day off in between. And I remember when I was working those kinds of hours. You get so tired you get dumb.

It's making me feel really sad and really helpless. Because I see it in his face and can hear it in his voice when he talks. But what am I gonna do? You can't sleep for someone else.

Of course, the obnoxious holier than thou part of me wants to point out that perhaps, on Saturday night, instead of going to his buddy's house, he could have stayed home and gotten some R&R, like I did. (OK, well, I took heavy drugs, but I've got to get back on my feet before this durned tradeshow. So I was massively doped up, but all for the theoretical greater good. But I digress.) Or, perhaps, last night instead of insisting that we stay up to watch Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny (NSFW!) (which, by the way, no matter what the critics say, is hilarious) he could have gone to bed early, when I suggested it.

But none of that really matters now. What matters is that he's so tired and my heart breaks seeing him like this. Because I know the pain and I know how it feels to be so at the end of your rope and you can barely function. And, as a woman, I could get a way with breaking down and crying, but what can he do?

I can only hope that while I'm gone and he's holding down the fort he can actually get some rest.

Opening a Window

I am sad. My Sunday morning routine has been messed with. Normally on a Sunday, I wake up, turn on NPR, eat breakfast and generally putz around, then it's off to yoga. Sunday is a bona fide Anusara class. Not that my other weekly class isn't enjoyable, it's just not the same.

But this Sunday, I sit here, basking in the wonderful sun, knowing that it's not off to yoga I go. Yesterday's marathon mall walking really did me in and my foot is about three sizes too big. It woke me up constantly through the night. Heck, last nite I even broke down and took one of the "crazy pills" to keep the pounding at bay.

So, elevated, iced, and wrapped, it's up on a chair. No yoga for me.

I'm trying to see this as a chance to balance my checkbook, work on my latest story, finish the trashy novel I'm reading, or whatever. But I'm still kind of sad.

I wonder if, being on my feet for so many hours this week at the tradeshow means I can take some workers' comp time.... Hey, we're in the insurance biz, right?