Buoyant

I've discovered a new, surefire way to gauge how much weight I've gained: my buoyancy in the pool.

I used to swim a lot. I even got brave enough to do the the swim part of a triathlon a ways back. A pool workout, to me, was no big thing.

But I took a break--a loooong break. And when I got back in the pool today for the first time in almost a year and a half, well, I felt like I was FLOATING a whole lot more.

When I did a turn on the wall for the breaststroke, instead of lingering several feet below the surface for a few minutes, my body just rose right up on top of the water. What used to feel like cutting through the water felt more like bearing down on it.

Granted, I can write some of that off as being completely out of shape. But the extra buoyancy? My assumption is that the fat conent in my body has risen to the point that I would no longer need a floatation device, should I find myself stranded in the middle of the ocean. My body will do it for me.

Who knew! I think it's time to get back into shape. For REAL.

Scolded

You know it's a bad day when you've been scolded twice in one day before 11 a.m.--for two things that weren't even your fault.

Scold #1:
Casey and I headed out for a walk. It was sunny, so I was feeling good. Instead of steering her toward home near the end of our typically 20-minute trek, I decided to let her go over and sniff around the park near my house--where several of my neighbors let their dogs run free and play.

Almost as soon as we had walked up, a standard poodle jumped on Casey and started attacking her. Since she was leashed, she couldn't get away. Then a doberman came over and pinned her. Casey was crying pitifully, and I was trying to shoo the dogs away. Finally their owners called them off and Casey was left standing there, cowering and crying. My heart nearly broke as she whimpered, and I tried to readjust her lead.

A large shadow loomed over me, and as I inspected Casey's fur for puncture wounds, his gruff voice filtered down to me: "It would be better if you would let her off leash."

"I can't," I said, annoyed.

"Oh," he said, "It's just that my dog gets scared by leashes." I was so worried about Casey that at the time, it didn't even register in my head that this asshole was actually trying to blame ME for the fact that HIS (illegally off-leash) dog attacked mine for simply walking onto the perimeter of a public park.

I looked up at him. "Your dog wasn't scared," I said, "she just jumped on mine and attacked her." Walking away, as I realized that he hadn't even asked if Casey was OK, I had the urge to turn around and give him a piece of my mind. But I didn't; I figured it would be better for both the dog and me to just go home. (Casey got a couple of extra cookies out of the deal.)

Scold #2:
I decided to run some errands before class this morning. I found a parking spot uptown, and after purchasing some books, I decided to go grab a chai and a muffin at Starbucks. I ordered my drink and headed for the tables by the window looking out onto the street. As I turned around, there was a little boy underfoot, probably around 2 or so. I smiled at him, and walked over to an open table along the wall and near to the window.

As soon as I set my stuff down, the little boy began screaming. His mother tried to shush him. I looked up to see what the commotion was about, and he was pointing at ME and screaming, walking toward me at rapid toddler speed.

His mother was trying to redirect him, saying "It's ok, we'll sit here, this table is fine, it's OK..."

I realized that I had sat down at the table he intended to sit at. I looked up at the woman and immediately gathered my stuff. After spending a few days with my nephew (who is about the same age), I've learned that you just can't reason with a person who doesn't even come up to your knees.

"I'll move, it's OK," I said, as I headed over to the next table over.

She was able to get the little boy (who was still screaming) to take the table. As he climbed up in the chair and sipped his juice box, he was still sobbing. Finally, after a few minutes, the crying died down. I looked over at him, and he glared at me, bottom lip protuding poutily. Juice box in one hand, he pointed his finger at the comfy chair next to him.

"I wanted to sit there," he said grumpily.

I shrugged at him and gave him my most sympathetic look possible; he continued to glare.

So dogs and babies, things I'm usually pretty good at entertaining, and I've already gotten into two tangles in one day. What a way to start a new quarter!

A six-month's reflection

It's so nice to relax.

Seriously, the last few days of my spring break have been as relaxing as I could have imagined, even if I were on a warm and sunny beach instead of in moderately chilly DC. To me, having the luxury of being bored is a blessing, even if I know it will only last this one, short week before the craziness of the spring quarter begins.

It's been more than six months since I left DC. I've successfully navigated the cross-country move, two quarters of graduate work and a complete upheaval in my social life. And I'm still chugging away, which I count as a victory.

On the other hand, I feel as though this experience has so transformed my life; I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that.

Before I left DC, I felt as though I knew exactly who I was, who I wanted to be, how I was going to get there AND what it would all look like when I was done. Now I feel more like a child than ever, sitting on the floor with a jigsaw puzzle in front of me in which none of the pieces really seem to fit. And I'm so concerned with getting the edges together that the whole image in the center looks as though it may never emerge.

The truly scary thing is that maybe it's always been that way--that we're always a work in progress, no matter how confident we are about what the finished product may look like.

A wise friend of mine once told me that beauty emerges from struggle. I can only hope that he is right, and that the struggle of dealing with stress, of trying to build new friendships, of trying to be your very best each and every day, of trying to stay close with those you love who are far away, are really all things that will make me even stronger.

And I do feel stronger. I'm halfway through the academic portion, and I know now I can make it through. I feel good about what I'm doing, what I'm learning.

I guess I just have to keep in mind that I don't have to have all the answers. Sometimes it's better to let life happen and then just go with it, instead of plotting and planning and then setting unrealistic expectations that no one could ever live up to.

Heading into spring quarter, I've already set at least one resolution to spend more time taking care of Sarah. I've mapped out a schedule--including exercise time to help keep me a little more balanced. I feel like putting it in writing makes it harder to avoid or ignore.

My other promise to myself is to be more patient. You know how they say life is what happens when you're busy making plans? Not that I want to stop making plans, but I definitely want to do more enjoying of the here and now.

And of course, nothing beats being able to just relax!

I'll Try Not to Take It Personally

Time Magazine's website allows you to look up to magazine cover from the week you were born. Mine isn't flattering...

Taking the Redeye

I didn't even notice it the first time my eyelids swelled up. The only symptom I noticed was that one day in December, the lids got all dry and peely. Like any good obsessive girl, I flaked the dead skin off and slathered the makeup on to cover up my peeling eyes.

But then New Year's came. We went out and I, as usual, applied a significant amount of eye goop--mascara, shadow, liner--and went out on the town. When we got home late that night, I managed in my inebriated state to wash the makeup off my face, but it seemed to hurt more than usual. When I woke the next morning to eyes that looked as though I had been in a prizefight the night before, I assumed I had simply scrubbed too hard in my drunken state.

The next week, my eyes were dry and peely again. A few days, when proper moisture levels had returned, I put on my face again, only to have my eyes swell up the same way.

At this point, I was beginning to suspect I had developed some kind of an allergy to my makeup. Unsure what the trigger was, I decided to take a month-long vacation from all things eye.

Finally, last week, I was ready to start reintroducing elements. I started with mascara. Then I added shadow--and voila! Instant George Foreman imitation.

What really pisses me off about the whole situation is that I LOVE makeup. I used to spend hours as a little girl at my mother's makeup counter, trying out her cosmetics. I let the older girl down the street slather my face with so much makeup that you needed a knife to scrape it off. I've always loved color and particularly playing up my eyes. Now, due to the red puffiness, instead of hearing remarks about my long, family-inherited lashes, I get questions like, "Are you all right? You look really tired today."

*Sigh.* Anyone know any good, hypo-allergenic brands?