My dad was in town last night. Whenever we're in the same room, I usually get filled with this anxiety because my apartment is a mess, or my car, or I've not done some things I should've or I've done things that I shouldn't. This time was a little different.
He lost his job a few weeks ago, and it's been really hard on him, esp since this came only a week after my grandmother (his mom) passed away. Today he was traveling to Montgomery to take some tests, and it was just easier for him to leave from my place in Birmingham. When he arrived, we chatted for a bit and then decided to head to dinner—IHOP, his favorite.
We had some nice conversations, and it's times like this that I think, "Wow, when did I become grown-up enough to have adult conversations with my dad?" We talked about work and life in general, and my anxieties about getting up and facing the day. I'm having a lot of trouble doing that. I've gotten into this mentality that my life is a giant hourglass, and the grains of sand are passing through much too quickly, while meanwhile, I'm just drowning in them. I feel like I've got nothing to be proud of it, like things are just happening around me and time is moving way too fast. Like I'm going to die soon, and it'll all just be over. Why can't we live forever?
Anyway, moving past my existential crisis…we came home from dinner (after stopping to get a gas station cappuccino, another of my dad's favorite treats) and strapped on our tennis shoes to squeeze in a quick walk around my neighborhood. My dad told me that he had been terrified to turn 30. When I asked him why, he said simply, "Because I wasn't ready to let go…of my 20s, of being young." At that point in his life, my dad was married, had one kid, and was making a pretty decent living at the steel mill in Gadsden. But he still felt that way. That gives me some comfort.
After getting back to the apartment, we sat and talked some more on the balcony, looking out onto the glittering city. He told me that he knows that I love where I live, but that he couldn't stand it. As he put it, he was "born in the sticks, made to stay in the sticks." We talked some more about how I was freaked to turn 24, how I felt like I only had about 50 good years before I bit it (I know this is totally irrational and ridiculous, but I just feel this way). I told him that I'm tired of not being able to enjoy the day, of being scared of the way the weeks are flying by, and feeling like I'm in a slump. I told him about how I wondered if it gets easier when you get older, if you get a peace about "The End," and this coming to a close. My mom told me once that she still feels that way. My dad? "It's a gradual thing," he said, looking down into his water glass (which was essentially a plastic Red Lobster cup—another example of my feelings of failure: I can't have anything nice). "I know that this isn't the best life, and there are things I wish I could change, but it's got to get better than this. There's got to be something better."
I'd like to say that knowing that my parents have felt the same way that I do makes me feel better, but it doesn't, really. It makes me scared that this will never go away, that I'll always be living my life trying to keep the sun from rising on a new day. And I don't want to feel like that. I want to look forward to things. I <i>do</i> have things to look forward to. I just get so overwhelmed. For everything I should be happy about, I find ten more reasons to shut those feelings down. Right now, I'm back to my list-making. Sometimes I think if I can just get all out on paper, it'll be in front of me, and I can just cross those things off the list and out of my mind, one, two, three. If only life worked that way…
Friday, July 24, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
foodography...and 100th post!
So…I have a habit of sometimes taking pictures of the foods I’m eating. Then I never do anything with them. I’ve decided it’s time to take advantage of my food photos in a blog. (Sadly, I also realized this is my 100th post...I say "sadly" because I wish it was of slightly more substance!)
I made a soup a few nights ago, with the aid of a few recipes but mostly what was in my head. I need a little guidance on how to prepare everything. What resulted was a spicy black bean soup. It’s probably going to need some tweaking, mainly in the spice department, and it’s probably going to need to be thinned out with some broth or water (if you’re cheap, like me). It was pretty delicious, and I ended up freezing the leftovers in half-cup portions. I'll list the recipe at the bottom, if anyone is interested. The stats are pretty decent, esp considering I added no fat or anything, other than the 2 tbsp of veggie oil to sauté with. And that’s divided amongst 5.5 cups.
Here, I sautéed the bell pepper, onion, and garlic.
This was followed by the addition of Rotel, corn, and black beans. Then there's an inset shot.
And voila! The finished product, topped with 2% cheese, reduced-fat sour cream and some green onion. (Pssst…there’s brown rice under there, too.)
I had this with a grilled cheese, made with reduced-calorie wheat bread and fat-free cheese. It was YUMMY.
Ingredients
2 tbsp vegetable or olive oil
1 bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1 red onion, peeled and chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 can no-salt-added corn, drained
2 cans black beans
1 can Rotel
2 tbsp cumin (or to taste)
2 tsp chili powder (or to taste)
optional: sour cream, cheese, green onion
Directions
Using a large pot or dutch oven, saute bell pepper, onion, and garlic in vegetable oil until tender, about 5 minutes. Add corn (drained), Rotel and black beans. Season with chili powder and cumin, to taste. Bring to a boil, then bring temp back down to low to simmer and let flavors blend, about 15 minutes. In small batches (about three cups each), puree soup in blender (or use an immersion blender in pot). Serve hot, topped with sour cream, cheese, and green onions if you like (not in nutrition). My recipe made 5.5 cups of soup, it may vary. The info is for a 1/2 c serving. I didn't use any broth or water to thin it out during cooking, though, and you might want to do that. I've been adding a little water after cooking to stretch out the amount; it does very little to the flavor.
Number of Servings: 11
Nutrition Data
I made a soup a few nights ago, with the aid of a few recipes but mostly what was in my head. I need a little guidance on how to prepare everything. What resulted was a spicy black bean soup. It’s probably going to need some tweaking, mainly in the spice department, and it’s probably going to need to be thinned out with some broth or water (if you’re cheap, like me). It was pretty delicious, and I ended up freezing the leftovers in half-cup portions. I'll list the recipe at the bottom, if anyone is interested. The stats are pretty decent, esp considering I added no fat or anything, other than the 2 tbsp of veggie oil to sauté with. And that’s divided amongst 5.5 cups.
Here, I sautéed the bell pepper, onion, and garlic.
This was followed by the addition of Rotel, corn, and black beans. Then there's an inset shot.
And voila! The finished product, topped with 2% cheese, reduced-fat sour cream and some green onion. (Pssst…there’s brown rice under there, too.)
I had this with a grilled cheese, made with reduced-calorie wheat bread and fat-free cheese. It was YUMMY.
Ingredients
2 tbsp vegetable or olive oil
1 bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1 red onion, peeled and chopped
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 can no-salt-added corn, drained
2 cans black beans
1 can Rotel
2 tbsp cumin (or to taste)
2 tsp chili powder (or to taste)
optional: sour cream, cheese, green onion
Directions
Using a large pot or dutch oven, saute bell pepper, onion, and garlic in vegetable oil until tender, about 5 minutes. Add corn (drained), Rotel and black beans. Season with chili powder and cumin, to taste. Bring to a boil, then bring temp back down to low to simmer and let flavors blend, about 15 minutes. In small batches (about three cups each), puree soup in blender (or use an immersion blender in pot). Serve hot, topped with sour cream, cheese, and green onions if you like (not in nutrition). My recipe made 5.5 cups of soup, it may vary. The info is for a 1/2 c serving. I didn't use any broth or water to thin it out during cooking, though, and you might want to do that. I've been adding a little water after cooking to stretch out the amount; it does very little to the flavor.
Number of Servings: 11
Nutrition Data
Thursday, June 18, 2009
My Big Blueberry Blunder
I love Publix. I often go there when I’m feeling down and low. Something about how nice the people are, how great the store is and how fantastic of a selection they have makes me feel all warm inside.
Speaking of the sales, I noticed they were having a particularly surprising markdown on blueberries, which can get rather expensive—a pint for just $3. Not believing my good luck, I grabbed one of the last containers and headed on my way about the produce section.
There was also a special going on with cherries. They were absolutely beautiful, all shiny and red with healthy green stems. I’ve never had a cherry like that, just maraschino cherries, really. Someone had opened a bag, and they were strewn about the cherry produce section like so many gleaming red baubles. I thought of how people will taste grapes, and I was tempted to take one just to see what I thought about them. I picked one up, but instantly I was worried about what I would do if I bit into this monstrous cherry and it didn’t like how it tasted. I couldn’t just spit it out. I decided to just hold on to it. Not wanting to look suspicious, I maintained the fruit in my hand, casual slipping it into my jean jacket pocket later. Remember this little sequence. I believe it had everything to do with what happened next.
I strolled over the cereal aisle, and then on to the canned fruit section. I was browsing my sale paper to see what great deals were going on through the store, and at some point during my adjustment of the blueberries, the paper, and my purse, it happened: I shifted something the wrong way, and the pint of blueberries tumbled to the floor.
My eyes widened. My mouth formed an “o” of astonishment. The escaped blueberries rolled about like misplaced marbles. I then did the only thing I could do: I shoved the plastic container behind something in the aisle and proceeded to try and kick them away from the center of the aisle. One thing about blueberries I realized: They are round. And they roll. It was like some sort of effed-up pinball game. Lucky for me, not a soul was on the aisle, nor were there any store patrons lurking about at either end. I walked away, quickly, with an incredulous expression on my face. As people began to turn down the aisle, I mumbled “What the heck happened over here? Who would just leave this here?”
I went back into the produce section and found a charming young fellow stacking bags of carrot chips. “Sir,” I interjected. “Someone appears to have dropped blueberries on the floor over in one of the aisles.”
“What? Where?” he responded.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “It might’ve been…Aisle three, canned fruits and vegetables?” I had the location of my transgression memorized. I led him over, and he said “Thanks” and muttered a sigh of disgust.
I quickly walked away, anxious to distance myself from the Great Spill. As I browsed the next few aisles over, I heard the intercom crackle to life.
“MIKE: CLEANUP ON AISLE THREE.”
The mention of “aisle three” made my face flush with fruit-fumbling embarrassment. I stepped quickly, making my way to the opposite end of the store. I heard the request again:
“MIKE: REPEAT, CLEANUP ON AISLE THREE. SOME IDIOT MADE A MESS WITH THE BLUEBERRIES.”
That last part may have been an exaggeration, but I honestly felt like everyone in the store could see me, knew what I did. I was staring off into space at the pasta/sauces section, when I heard someone say, “You doing alright today, m’am?”
I broke out of my daze, suddenly aware that it probably looked like I was staring at this gentleman who’d just spoken to me. I nodded, and it was then that I realized that this fella pushing a garbage can and various cleaning utensils was Mike, heading off to tame the wild blueberries rolling around aisle three. I felt as if his smile was matching with eyes that said, “Yeah, bitch. I know what you did.” I hurried away.
It was about this time while I was visiting the chips/rice cakes/salty snacks section of Publix that I reached into my pocket, and I remember the cherry. I whole-heartedly think that this was the cause of the previous events. The fruit gods were punishing me for trying to get a freebie. I thrust the cherry behind the caramel rice cakes and hoofed it to the checkout.
I’ve not eaten so much as a grape in a grocery store since. It’s too traumatic.
Speaking of the sales, I noticed they were having a particularly surprising markdown on blueberries, which can get rather expensive—a pint for just $3. Not believing my good luck, I grabbed one of the last containers and headed on my way about the produce section.
There was also a special going on with cherries. They were absolutely beautiful, all shiny and red with healthy green stems. I’ve never had a cherry like that, just maraschino cherries, really. Someone had opened a bag, and they were strewn about the cherry produce section like so many gleaming red baubles. I thought of how people will taste grapes, and I was tempted to take one just to see what I thought about them. I picked one up, but instantly I was worried about what I would do if I bit into this monstrous cherry and it didn’t like how it tasted. I couldn’t just spit it out. I decided to just hold on to it. Not wanting to look suspicious, I maintained the fruit in my hand, casual slipping it into my jean jacket pocket later. Remember this little sequence. I believe it had everything to do with what happened next.
I strolled over the cereal aisle, and then on to the canned fruit section. I was browsing my sale paper to see what great deals were going on through the store, and at some point during my adjustment of the blueberries, the paper, and my purse, it happened: I shifted something the wrong way, and the pint of blueberries tumbled to the floor.
My eyes widened. My mouth formed an “o” of astonishment. The escaped blueberries rolled about like misplaced marbles. I then did the only thing I could do: I shoved the plastic container behind something in the aisle and proceeded to try and kick them away from the center of the aisle. One thing about blueberries I realized: They are round. And they roll. It was like some sort of effed-up pinball game. Lucky for me, not a soul was on the aisle, nor were there any store patrons lurking about at either end. I walked away, quickly, with an incredulous expression on my face. As people began to turn down the aisle, I mumbled “What the heck happened over here? Who would just leave this here?”
I went back into the produce section and found a charming young fellow stacking bags of carrot chips. “Sir,” I interjected. “Someone appears to have dropped blueberries on the floor over in one of the aisles.”
“What? Where?” he responded.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “It might’ve been…Aisle three, canned fruits and vegetables?” I had the location of my transgression memorized. I led him over, and he said “Thanks” and muttered a sigh of disgust.
I quickly walked away, anxious to distance myself from the Great Spill. As I browsed the next few aisles over, I heard the intercom crackle to life.
“MIKE: CLEANUP ON AISLE THREE.”
The mention of “aisle three” made my face flush with fruit-fumbling embarrassment. I stepped quickly, making my way to the opposite end of the store. I heard the request again:
“MIKE: REPEAT, CLEANUP ON AISLE THREE. SOME IDIOT MADE A MESS WITH THE BLUEBERRIES.”
That last part may have been an exaggeration, but I honestly felt like everyone in the store could see me, knew what I did. I was staring off into space at the pasta/sauces section, when I heard someone say, “You doing alright today, m’am?”
I broke out of my daze, suddenly aware that it probably looked like I was staring at this gentleman who’d just spoken to me. I nodded, and it was then that I realized that this fella pushing a garbage can and various cleaning utensils was Mike, heading off to tame the wild blueberries rolling around aisle three. I felt as if his smile was matching with eyes that said, “Yeah, bitch. I know what you did.” I hurried away.
It was about this time while I was visiting the chips/rice cakes/salty snacks section of Publix that I reached into my pocket, and I remember the cherry. I whole-heartedly think that this was the cause of the previous events. The fruit gods were punishing me for trying to get a freebie. I thrust the cherry behind the caramel rice cakes and hoofed it to the checkout.
I’ve not eaten so much as a grape in a grocery store since. It’s too traumatic.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
...can you ever just be "whelmed"?
Well, I'm slowly but surely getting more settled into my new apartment. At times I feel like it'll be just like that last place: never unpacked, never finished, never home. But I really want it to be different. I spent about 3 or 4 hours yesterday after work trying to get some stuff done. I organized the bathroom, put away clothes, hung up my sheers in my bedroom...definitely made some headway.
I've developed this unwanted feeling over the years, however, that always settles in whenever I move. I think: Don't get too comfortable; you won't be here forever. I know I won't be here forever, but who's to say I won't be here for a few years, at least? I mean, I like Birmingham. A lot. I think that while I was in college, that was a definite thing—I knew where I would be and what I'd be doing for about 4-5 years. And I've never renewed a lease on an apartment because something always happens and I have to move anyway, which is why I think I always feel so temporary.
I'm really trying to work on myself this year and my whole outlook. I always seem to get so overwhelmed by things because I either try to take on too many things at once, or I have so much in my head that I get bogged down thinking about all the things I'll never be able to do or flat-out won't do. I forget so many things, too...I need to focus more on the right here and right now and not think too far ahead and enjoy what's going on currently.
For example...I keep thinking about fixing my apartment. Then I think about how I want things on the walls. Then I think about putting pictures up. Then I start thinking about all the pictures I want to print out and frame. Then I think "I'd better get those together." Then I tell myself to keep reminding myself to do it, but then I say, "No, there are so many other more important things." Then I see something I want somewhere, and I think I don't have any money to waste on those things; maybe another day. Then I go in someone else's nice apartment and think that my place will never look as good as theirs, so why bother...it's enough to give someone a really big headache.
There are always just so, so many thoughts racing around in my head. Lately I've been just trying to narrow it down to the most important ones. Set things out in tasks, and then just complete them as I can, in an orderly fashion. I worry a lot about work, too...I know what's going on with the economy and the world (somewhat), but—sad as it sounds—I'm trying not to think about it. I want to feel protected in my little Summer bubble, and not think about it because I know if I do, I'll get really depressed and won't be able to think about anything else.
I've developed this unwanted feeling over the years, however, that always settles in whenever I move. I think: Don't get too comfortable; you won't be here forever. I know I won't be here forever, but who's to say I won't be here for a few years, at least? I mean, I like Birmingham. A lot. I think that while I was in college, that was a definite thing—I knew where I would be and what I'd be doing for about 4-5 years. And I've never renewed a lease on an apartment because something always happens and I have to move anyway, which is why I think I always feel so temporary.
I'm really trying to work on myself this year and my whole outlook. I always seem to get so overwhelmed by things because I either try to take on too many things at once, or I have so much in my head that I get bogged down thinking about all the things I'll never be able to do or flat-out won't do. I forget so many things, too...I need to focus more on the right here and right now and not think too far ahead and enjoy what's going on currently.
For example...I keep thinking about fixing my apartment. Then I think about how I want things on the walls. Then I think about putting pictures up. Then I start thinking about all the pictures I want to print out and frame. Then I think "I'd better get those together." Then I tell myself to keep reminding myself to do it, but then I say, "No, there are so many other more important things." Then I see something I want somewhere, and I think I don't have any money to waste on those things; maybe another day. Then I go in someone else's nice apartment and think that my place will never look as good as theirs, so why bother...it's enough to give someone a really big headache.
There are always just so, so many thoughts racing around in my head. Lately I've been just trying to narrow it down to the most important ones. Set things out in tasks, and then just complete them as I can, in an orderly fashion. I worry a lot about work, too...I know what's going on with the economy and the world (somewhat), but—sad as it sounds—I'm trying not to think about it. I want to feel protected in my little Summer bubble, and not think about it because I know if I do, I'll get really depressed and won't be able to think about anything else.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Four eyes
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Monday, March 2, 2009
pack it up, pack it in, let me begin...
...actually, it's pretty much the opposite of that right now: I have a massive amount of unpacking to do right now. And as much as it sucks to have an apartment full of boxes, it's also kind of fun. I like being able to go through every single thing I own...I find lost items (the top to my grandmother's tea kettle!), throw things away (stacks of old magazines), and basically just take inventory of all the crap I consider to be so important that I've brought over to my new place. I'm trying at the moment to go from room to room, unpacking boxes and decided what goes where. I'm just ready to make it a home, like put stuff on the walls and make it feel like it's mine. The last place I was in, I hardly did that at all, and I never quite felt comfortable there. This place just feels more inviting.
But it’s been a tough weekend. Let me just recap a little…
My dad took a half-day from work on Friday to drive up and help me with a few things. He was going to take my washer and dryer back home that evening (I have no hook-ups in the new place) so we wouldn’t have to worry about it on Saturday. It just so happens that we practically had a monsoon. My dad called me the night before to tell me there was a 100% chance of rain. Excellent. At least we were prepared. He came up anyway, and we went to lunch and to sign my lease.
As I said, it rained and poured. But after about 45 minutes of signing and reading and listening, the ink was dry on my new lease, and the keys to my new apartment were in my hand. My father and I braved the rain to go check it out. He’d been pretty skeptical, but when he saw it, his face said it all: He loved it. Feeling a bit of relief, we trudged back out to the car to head back to my old place. We decided in the end it would just be best to get the washer and dryer the next afternoon, when he and my sister would be heading up to help me out.
He dropped me off, and I began the laborious task of finishing my packing. It was fortunate that I’d started early, but it seems you never start early enough. J came over, and we continued to box things up, emptying drawers and gingerly wrapping up knickknacks. Sometime after nine, we began loading boxes into the car, hoping to do a little preemptive moving. Trying to be respectful of my neighbors, we stepped lightly and began working in a sort of assembly line manner. I soon realized how incredibly out of shape I am. Huffing and puffing, I carried box after box down the stairs to the front door, where J was traversing back and forth from the car to the apartment. When we could hold no more, we headed over, stopping at the Waffle House for some dinner.
Of course, it started pouring pretty much right after we put the last box in the car. Smiling at my good luck, I put the key in the ignition and prepared to leave. Then I remembered—the new apartment keys were still inside. Cursing myself and my slippery mind, I put my hood up on my jacket and sprinted back up the stairs (three small flights) to get the forgotten keys.
After dinner, we unloaded the cars in the new apartment and headed back for more. We made two trips and decided to call it a night. It was almost 3am.
My dad and sister arrived sometime around 10am the next day. We had some light, drizzly rain and a chilly wind, but it wasn’t so bad. We broke for lunch and pressed onward as the rain grew heavier. When my family left, it was freezing outside, and there was still much to do inside. I was determined, though, to leave that place for good and not have to come back at all. It was almost 4am when we got back to my new apartment…and I still had to return to the old one for my vacuum and a bag of clothes that needed to go to the Goodwill.
As if the weather hadn’t spit in my eye already, Mother Nature decided to deliver a curve ball that seldom occurs down south, here in Alabama—snow. Yes, it frickin snowed the first night I was in my apartment, while there still boxes of my stuff that needed to come up. It was everywhere. And while we Southerners are usually in a bit of awe at the sight of a winter-white wonderland, I was just pissed. Not to mention, every single muscle in my body like it had been tied in a knot, and my head was pounding. Muscles I didn’t even know I had screamed at every step, threatening to take me down if I refusing to give them rest.
A view of snowy Birmingham from my balcony.
I didn’t even get out of bed until about 2pm, and by the afternoon, most of the snow had turned to slush. J and I bundled up to go grab some dinner and run some errands, including rescuing my beloved vacuum from the old apartment. We returned home, still exhausted and sore, and began trying to make some sense of the mess. I finally fell into bed around 1am.
While this weekend presented me with many problems, several out of my control, I still feel the same way—I’d do it again in a heartbeat, even in worse conditions. I love my new place! It’s so much better than my old apartment. I don’t quite feel like it’s mine yet. I told J that I feel like I’m in a hotel or something. I took some pictures, but please don’t judge the fact that it’s teeming with clutter or that my stuff is strewn about the rooms.
This is the kitchen. It's kind of small, but there are a million cabinets with tons of storage, and the counter space is incredible. I love it. It looks better than this now; I've put away most of those things that are on the counter now.
Here's the bathroom. The sink and mirror are separated from the shower and toilet, which is nice. The lighting is really cool (embedded in the ceiling), and if you look in the mirror, you can see the best part: There's a little counter on top of some cabinets, with two more cabinets above! The shower part of the bathroom has lots of cabinet space, too.
Of course, this is the shower. It's a pretty big tub (bigger than my last one, by far), and I love the stone-like tile on the walls.
Here's the bedroom. It looks so sad right now! There's one big window, which I plan on hanging my sheers over very soon, and there are two closets off to the left (that you can't see). I plan on moving my TV and dresser in front of the bed. Off to the right, there bookshelves made into the wall. It's about the same size as my old room.
This is the view from the hallway leading into the den. Again, it's so super messy.
Here's the den, overcrowded with my shit. You can see the vertical blinds that cover up the sliding glass door that leads to...the balcony! (I love sitting outdoors.)
And this is the gorgeous view of the city from my apartment. It's so nice right at sunset...sigh. I can't wait for warm weather.
I love the bar pass through window in the kitchen. Now I won't feel so closed off from anyone sitting in the den while I'm working in the kitchen. Not to mention I can watch TV while I cook!
The view from the walkway outside my front door.
But it’s been a tough weekend. Let me just recap a little…
My dad took a half-day from work on Friday to drive up and help me with a few things. He was going to take my washer and dryer back home that evening (I have no hook-ups in the new place) so we wouldn’t have to worry about it on Saturday. It just so happens that we practically had a monsoon. My dad called me the night before to tell me there was a 100% chance of rain. Excellent. At least we were prepared. He came up anyway, and we went to lunch and to sign my lease.
As I said, it rained and poured. But after about 45 minutes of signing and reading and listening, the ink was dry on my new lease, and the keys to my new apartment were in my hand. My father and I braved the rain to go check it out. He’d been pretty skeptical, but when he saw it, his face said it all: He loved it. Feeling a bit of relief, we trudged back out to the car to head back to my old place. We decided in the end it would just be best to get the washer and dryer the next afternoon, when he and my sister would be heading up to help me out.
He dropped me off, and I began the laborious task of finishing my packing. It was fortunate that I’d started early, but it seems you never start early enough. J came over, and we continued to box things up, emptying drawers and gingerly wrapping up knickknacks. Sometime after nine, we began loading boxes into the car, hoping to do a little preemptive moving. Trying to be respectful of my neighbors, we stepped lightly and began working in a sort of assembly line manner. I soon realized how incredibly out of shape I am. Huffing and puffing, I carried box after box down the stairs to the front door, where J was traversing back and forth from the car to the apartment. When we could hold no more, we headed over, stopping at the Waffle House for some dinner.
Of course, it started pouring pretty much right after we put the last box in the car. Smiling at my good luck, I put the key in the ignition and prepared to leave. Then I remembered—the new apartment keys were still inside. Cursing myself and my slippery mind, I put my hood up on my jacket and sprinted back up the stairs (three small flights) to get the forgotten keys.
After dinner, we unloaded the cars in the new apartment and headed back for more. We made two trips and decided to call it a night. It was almost 3am.
My dad and sister arrived sometime around 10am the next day. We had some light, drizzly rain and a chilly wind, but it wasn’t so bad. We broke for lunch and pressed onward as the rain grew heavier. When my family left, it was freezing outside, and there was still much to do inside. I was determined, though, to leave that place for good and not have to come back at all. It was almost 4am when we got back to my new apartment…and I still had to return to the old one for my vacuum and a bag of clothes that needed to go to the Goodwill.
As if the weather hadn’t spit in my eye already, Mother Nature decided to deliver a curve ball that seldom occurs down south, here in Alabama—snow. Yes, it frickin snowed the first night I was in my apartment, while there still boxes of my stuff that needed to come up. It was everywhere. And while we Southerners are usually in a bit of awe at the sight of a winter-white wonderland, I was just pissed. Not to mention, every single muscle in my body like it had been tied in a knot, and my head was pounding. Muscles I didn’t even know I had screamed at every step, threatening to take me down if I refusing to give them rest.
I didn’t even get out of bed until about 2pm, and by the afternoon, most of the snow had turned to slush. J and I bundled up to go grab some dinner and run some errands, including rescuing my beloved vacuum from the old apartment. We returned home, still exhausted and sore, and began trying to make some sense of the mess. I finally fell into bed around 1am.
While this weekend presented me with many problems, several out of my control, I still feel the same way—I’d do it again in a heartbeat, even in worse conditions. I love my new place! It’s so much better than my old apartment. I don’t quite feel like it’s mine yet. I told J that I feel like I’m in a hotel or something. I took some pictures, but please don’t judge the fact that it’s teeming with clutter or that my stuff is strewn about the rooms.
what you see is what you get
I moved this weekend. ALL weekend. It took for-freakin-ever. My muscles feel as if they've been twisted and rung out like wet washcloths. Muscles I didn't even know I had are crying out with each step I take. I haven't had hardly any sleep...but more on the move later.
My point is, I'm tired. This morning I got up knowing full well I was going to be later for work. I contacted my boss, hit the snooze, and got a little more sleep. When I did finally get up to get ready, I dashed out the door without any makeup on. Before I went in, I put on a few quick swipes of mascara, slicked on some tinted lip gloss, and puffed on some pressed powder. I checked my reelection and felt okay with the way I looked. "I'll just put on some foundation later," I thought.
When I got to my desk, I pulled out my compact. I didn't think I looked too bad for someone with no makeup (really) on. Little did I know.
I went to someone's office to chat for a sec, and she took one look at me and said, "Whoa, you got some sun! Goodness, your face is so red!"
"Um, yeah...that's it," I responded.
I went to the kitchen to snag a cup of coffee. A co-worker doing the same took one look at me and said, "Ooh, long weekend? You look really tired."
A bit perturbed, I said, "Yeah, moving weekend...busy time."
Walking up the stairs, I was met by yet another co-worker, who stopped me by the arm. "Hey! ...oh, you don't feel too good either? Everyone's been sick...you look like you don't feel too well."
Good gravy! I just ignored this last person and dismissed them with a shoulder shrugged as I trudged up the stairs to my office.
I'm looking for my makeup sponge as we speak.
I didn't think I looked that bad...
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
My point is, I'm tired. This morning I got up knowing full well I was going to be later for work. I contacted my boss, hit the snooze, and got a little more sleep. When I did finally get up to get ready, I dashed out the door without any makeup on. Before I went in, I put on a few quick swipes of mascara, slicked on some tinted lip gloss, and puffed on some pressed powder. I checked my reelection and felt okay with the way I looked. "I'll just put on some foundation later," I thought.
When I got to my desk, I pulled out my compact. I didn't think I looked too bad for someone with no makeup (really) on. Little did I know.
I went to someone's office to chat for a sec, and she took one look at me and said, "Whoa, you got some sun! Goodness, your face is so red!"
"Um, yeah...that's it," I responded.
I went to the kitchen to snag a cup of coffee. A co-worker doing the same took one look at me and said, "Ooh, long weekend? You look really tired."
A bit perturbed, I said, "Yeah, moving weekend...busy time."
Walking up the stairs, I was met by yet another co-worker, who stopped me by the arm. "Hey! ...oh, you don't feel too good either? Everyone's been sick...you look like you don't feel too well."
Good gravy! I just ignored this last person and dismissed them with a shoulder shrugged as I trudged up the stairs to my office.
I'm looking for my makeup sponge as we speak.
I didn't think I looked that bad...
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
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