So, I haven't written in days. No, I'm not tiring of my blog, but I have been slowly recovering from the arm ouch (arthritis flares suck), and I've been buried in research and graphics for the class reunion I have no intention of attending. I've been tracking down class members, and also gathering information on folks who've died. I'm trying to make up nice, pretty memorials for a table or a Powerpoint presentation.
Does that seem odd?
It plays into my three top compulsive behaviors (well, aside from eating). See, I love making lists. I do, I can make lists 'til the cows come home. It's not a mindless thing, I don't make lists for no reason, but face me with, say, a cross-country move? Lists out the wazoo. I also love doing research. I am a "let me hunt this information down, let me deduce this and extrapolate that" maniac. And on top of those things? I have this knee-jerk "lemme help you with that!" thing going on.
But more than that, I have a deep fear of being forgotten. You know, you die, you rot, you're gone, and in twenty years, no one remembers you. I'm not doing this so folks will remember ME. No, I'm doing this so that folks from my class who have died will be remembered. It's important to me.
My sister asked why on earth I allowed myself to get roped into this. Well, all those things above, plus this--I refuse to allow another reunion to go by with only the popular kids and their butt-kissers having a place (with the few strays who managed to elbow in). I wasn't invited at ten years, at fifteen, or at 20. It wasn't that they couldn't find me--my family is, quite literally, the only one in the phone book. My address was the same for years. These people saw me in the store, they saw me on the college campus, they knew exactly where I was.
And they didn't invite me.
Now, they invited me at 25, but they were cornered into by a friend of mine who managed to get involved in the planning.
I've tried not to hold a grudge, but it turns out most of those amazingly cliquish, sneering, popularity whores of high school are, in fact, pretty much the same today. The Buffys, the Candys, the Bobbys--I made the effort as an adult because, hey, we were kids, right? Kids grow up, they change, they mature. Sadly, most of them turned out to be not just as bad today, but worse. Worse because being that stupid, insular and snarky when you're sixteen is almost understandable. Having failed to develop even an ounce since?
Sinful.
No, I'm not trying to screw up the reunion. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm trying to make it the CLASS reunion, not the "classist" reunion it's been.
I want everyone there, but my heart is with the marginalized, the outsiders, the kids like me on the fringe, and the kids even more ostracized than me. I want the kids whose names and faces I don't remember (and probably never knew). I want the "nobodies" to be "somebody" with the "somebodies." Because it's time.
My main reason here? I know that, when I have my doctor's appointment in June, that careless woman is going to try to throw me on Lipitor or some other crappy medication for my cholesterol. No, it's not sky-high--in fact, were I not "pre-diabetic/diabetic" (depends on who's talking), it would be within normal range. My HDL is low, but Lipitor doesn't help with that. Anyway, they're going to try to throw me on some crappy drug because my LDL isn't as low as they say it should be for a diabetic. And I'm going to refuse. And then we're going to tangle because they're going to want me to come in every three months and I won't do that--that's bull, it's just a way to rake in the copays. I'm a once-a-year kinda girl. If cornered, I might agree to once every six months. But you see, they're holding my heart medication hostage. No, it's not wowser cardiac-hell, it's a bit of an arrhythmia that requires no more than 25 mg of Metoprolol ER a day. But they can hold that medication over my head, refusing to refill it unless I bend over for their over-scheduling. I figure if I can get my cholesterol closer to where they want it, they'll be less likely to go the extortion route.
Does that seem odd?
It plays into my three top compulsive behaviors (well, aside from eating). See, I love making lists. I do, I can make lists 'til the cows come home. It's not a mindless thing, I don't make lists for no reason, but face me with, say, a cross-country move? Lists out the wazoo. I also love doing research. I am a "let me hunt this information down, let me deduce this and extrapolate that" maniac. And on top of those things? I have this knee-jerk "lemme help you with that!" thing going on.
But more than that, I have a deep fear of being forgotten. You know, you die, you rot, you're gone, and in twenty years, no one remembers you. I'm not doing this so folks will remember ME. No, I'm doing this so that folks from my class who have died will be remembered. It's important to me.
My sister asked why on earth I allowed myself to get roped into this. Well, all those things above, plus this--I refuse to allow another reunion to go by with only the popular kids and their butt-kissers having a place (with the few strays who managed to elbow in). I wasn't invited at ten years, at fifteen, or at 20. It wasn't that they couldn't find me--my family is, quite literally, the only one in the phone book. My address was the same for years. These people saw me in the store, they saw me on the college campus, they knew exactly where I was.
And they didn't invite me.
Now, they invited me at 25, but they were cornered into by a friend of mine who managed to get involved in the planning.
I've tried not to hold a grudge, but it turns out most of those amazingly cliquish, sneering, popularity whores of high school are, in fact, pretty much the same today. The Buffys, the Candys, the Bobbys--I made the effort as an adult because, hey, we were kids, right? Kids grow up, they change, they mature. Sadly, most of them turned out to be not just as bad today, but worse. Worse because being that stupid, insular and snarky when you're sixteen is almost understandable. Having failed to develop even an ounce since?
Sinful.
No, I'm not trying to screw up the reunion. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm trying to make it the CLASS reunion, not the "classist" reunion it's been.
I want everyone there, but my heart is with the marginalized, the outsiders, the kids like me on the fringe, and the kids even more ostracized than me. I want the kids whose names and faces I don't remember (and probably never knew). I want the "nobodies" to be "somebody" with the "somebodies." Because it's time.
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Speaking of the class reunion, it's a sad surprise how my research is turning up a surprising number of mugshots. Not sure how to phrase that in my "trying to find these people" Excel spreadsheet. "Don't have an address, but I'll bet the Sheriff's Office does?" Most for drug and alcohol offenses. Because, for some folks, the party really never did end. On a sad but funny side note? Sally, you look positively RADIANT in your most recent mugshot!
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Just got home from shopping. I think I mentioned watching, "Sick, Fat, and Nearly Dead" the other day. While the "woo" factor (resets? Cleansing?) is pretty high in spots, there's no arguing with this--if I ate more fruits, more vegetables, and less meat, fat, and salt, I'd almost certainly be healthier. We always buy enough veggies and fruits for the checkers to comment, but this time we bought more, a broader variety, and we bought no meat.
That's right, no meat. Which is not to say we're going vegetarian--we're not. But we figure fish once a week, tuna once a week, and chicken breast once a week (probably seared and in with the pasta), with the rest being non-meat. Also looking to cut down the sodium, which is much harder for me to keep in check than carbs, calories, or fat.
We're also looking at getting a good juicer/extractor. No, not looking to do any "juice resets" or "full cleanses," but rather thinking that it would be a lot easier to get our son to eat veggies if we could make them palatable in juice. It would also be a lot easier to get ME to eat KALE, which everyone touts and I think tastes like nasty crap. Maybe disguised in juice, I could handle it.
Not sure what kind. Considering the Omega shown above (that's an advert, btw), or the Cuisinart, or one of the mid-range Breville's. Sadly, we cannot afford the nearly 700 dollar machine used in the show, and that's probably fine. We're not going to be doing three meals a day, seven days a week of juice.
My main reason here? I know that, when I have my doctor's appointment in June, that careless woman is going to try to throw me on Lipitor or some other crappy medication for my cholesterol. No, it's not sky-high--in fact, were I not "pre-diabetic/diabetic" (depends on who's talking), it would be within normal range. My HDL is low, but Lipitor doesn't help with that. Anyway, they're going to try to throw me on some crappy drug because my LDL isn't as low as they say it should be for a diabetic. And I'm going to refuse. And then we're going to tangle because they're going to want me to come in every three months and I won't do that--that's bull, it's just a way to rake in the copays. I'm a once-a-year kinda girl. If cornered, I might agree to once every six months. But you see, they're holding my heart medication hostage. No, it's not wowser cardiac-hell, it's a bit of an arrhythmia that requires no more than 25 mg of Metoprolol ER a day. But they can hold that medication over my head, refusing to refill it unless I bend over for their over-scheduling. I figure if I can get my cholesterol closer to where they want it, they'll be less likely to go the extortion route.
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And hey, here's an ugly something. Because nothing pulls it all together like awful!
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