Obsessions of a Pinkaholic

I feel like my days have no purpose. I don’t like my job. No… that’s not true. I don’t care about my job. My heart isn’t in it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the income. So grateful. And I do want to do the best that I can at this job, because there’s absolutely no point in coming if I’m not at least going to do that.

But I dread coming. I don’t like being here. I count the hours until I can go home. And then my time at home is unfulfilling because I know I just have to do it all over again.

I feel like I don’t have purpose down here. I mean, of course I do… I know that my working at this job is serving a much larger, grander purpose of supporting my husband through school so that we can live the life that we are passionate about… a few years down the road. I do see the bigger picture. But the daily picture? Is bleak. It makes me cry. It makes me feel despondent. It makes me angry. It’s frustrating. It feels hopeless. I want to support Dorian through school… and in the beginning, my mentality was that I’d do whatever it took to do just that. But I’m struggling with that now. When does ‘doing what it takes’ turn in to a soul sucking mission that is just not worth it?

I’ve got so many friends who are teachers now. I see their status updates on Facebook and feel such envy and sadness. I long to be able to be such an integral part of someone’s life. I’d love to know that the time in my days is being positively invested in the betterment of something. I’d love to know that the work I am doing means something. I kick myself for not sticking with my teaching degree. I changed majors when I realized that a teaching degree would keep me in school for an extra year. Because all I could see were dollar signs. I frantically arranged my schedule my final year of school to make sure that I could get everything accounted for in order to graduate, because I was desperate not to add another student loan.

I’d give anything to go back and add that loan.

I cannot stand how short-sighted my goals were. Get out of school. Start paying for school. The end. NO! What was wrong with me?!

So now, even though I know the future plan is worth the struggle, it’s feeling all very meaningless. It’s a sick, vicious cycle. I worked a job in Michigan that made me cry at least once a week. But I did it because I knew that we needed the income and I knew that change was coming and it made sense to stick it out. I’m at another job that I didn’t think would turn in to the same thing… but it has. But I no longer know how much worth I see in sticking it out. I do see worth in it. I’m not stupid. But I go back and forth. Are the tears really worth it this time?

My heart  hurts. I want more. But I can’t have more right now. And that’s fine. Well, it doesn’t feel fine. But I need to choose for it to be fine.

I know I just need to adjust my attitude. I know it. I know I need to surrender these selfish thoughts to the Lord.

But sitting right here right now? I just needed to indulge for a minute. Because I’m crying. And I want to go home.

In the past two months, the beatings I have subjected my body to through running have taken quite a toll. My patella tendinitis has flared up to the point of swelling that looked like a large grape was popping out below my knee cap (when my leg was bent), I have had four black and blue toe nails and lost two of them, I have had blisters and callouses (too many to count), I’ve run in such a way (compensating for pain in other areas, no doubt) that has caused the pain in my collar/shoulder/upper-back area to act up again, I’ve gone dizzy and experienced tunnel vision, I’ve become dehydrated and I’ve expelled more sweat than I’d ever thought was possible.

And can I just tell you? I have loved every minute of it! I have never felt more accomplished or proud of myself. And I’m not even half-way into my training! – Well, I was… but due to the patella tendinitis, Dr. Dorian forced me to take a couple weeks off, so now I am back at the very beginning (“…A very good place to start!”). And I’m honestly so glad that I had the luxury of time to start my training over. I have been able to complete my runs, so far, in a time and manner that I was much happier with. I ran my long run on Sunday without stopping. Not once. I ran the entire time. And then I cried at the end because ohmyword, I just ran that entire thing even though I wanted to walk so many times throughout. Dorian made the comment that if I was that worked up over 8 miles, then what is going to happen when I finish 26.2?!

Answer? I AM GOING TO CRY. And then when I’m smiling and laughing, my smiles and laughter won’t be expressing enough. They won’t be BIG enough. So I will simultaneously have tears running down my face. Tears will be inevitable.

I am getting so excited about the marathon! Excited and nervous and overwhelmed and sick to my stomach and intimidated and, and… EXCITED! My breath catches in my throat and my heart jumps every time I think about crossing that finish line. I can hardly wrap my mind around what I will be feeling and I am so ready to experience it all! Well, ready to experience all the excitement. I’m not getting impatient for time to pass more quickly. No, no. I’m very, very happy with the amount of time that I have left for training. I want to be as ready as possible for that run, and Heaven knows, I’m not that ready yet.

Oh my word, I’m going to run a marathon. Excuse me, I have to go pass out now.

Le Husband and I are on a diet.

Now, before you go all, “You don’t need to diet…”, “Diets are just fads…”, “You need to consume more calories because you’re training…”, etc., I’m just going to ahead and give you my justification and logic:

1. I’ve carefully researched this diet and one of the main reasons I chose it was because it is largely nothing more than a controlled variety of the things we already eat.
2. I am not happy with the fact that I work out all the time and I do not see a dent in my body. I know for a fact that portion control is the number one contributor there and I wanted to get a handle on that.
3. We found out that Dorian’s blood pressure is less than stellar and there’s no way I’m making that poor man go on a diet by himself. Not fair. I do not mind in the least restricting what I eat in order to make it easier for him to watch what he eats. Also? I like him. Quite a bit, actually. And anything I can do to keep him around for the next, I don’t know, 60 years is high on my priority list.

So! We are on a diet. And ohmyword, it’s hard! I’m having such a hard time knowing how to balance the difference between the fact that restricting calories is inevitably going to make me feel hungry and the question of, “How hungry is too hungry?”. Because, can I just tell you? I am always hungry. I have been perpetually hungry, for the past three days. And do you want to know the part that kills me? I’m eating more than the allotted amounts and I’m still hungry. So I’m not even sticking strictly to the diet. Ultimate Fail, anyone?

It will get better, though. The first four days are called the “Jump Start” and they are far more strict than the rest of the diet. But you know how being hungry can make a person quite cranky? Guess what time of the month this is coinciding with. Yep, that’s right. Dorian hasn’t seen me smile in three days and I’m pretty sure he’s about ready to force-feed me cupcakes.

I’ve got about ten unfinished blog-posts in the queue. I have a feeling they’ll most likely remain unfinished and unpublished. And, up until this point, they were putting quite a massive damper on my will to write anything new. Every time I thought to create a post out of something, those suckers would hang tauntingly in my mind’s eye declaring loudly that it was pointless to even begin. Because obviously it would not be finished. Or posted. Le sigh.

But then today, I was reading one of my favorite blogger’s pages and she was talking about the things she’s learned about blogging. The things that stood out to me were to be myself in my writing and to blog often. I think one of the main reasons I’ve got all of those posts languishing unpublished is that I am trying too hard with them. I’m not necessarily not being myself with them… I’m just… pushing. Trying. Forcing. And everyone knows, allowing your personality free reign typically doesn’t involve a lot of effort.

Anyways, I’m losing my train of thought and I’m also finding myself sitting here trying to make more of a ‘publishable’ story out of those two paragraphs. You know, trying too hard. So I am just going to publish this and hope that it is a catalyst for more regular stories… even if it means they’ll only be a couple paragraphs. With no concise ending. They’ll be the kind of stories that just kind of leave you hanging. Like I just stopped talking in the middle of a sentence like Dwight does in that episode of The Office where he gets a concussion when he goes to pick Michael up at home because Michael cooked his…

An Open Letter to the disgusting classless homeless? ladies women men? Cave-People who use the Ladies Bathroom on the First Floor:

If you are in a hurry: It is no excuse to leave the water running and paper towels laying around the sink, floor and trash-bin. It is people like you and waste like that that have plunged this world into the environmental crisis it is currently experiencing. Also? There is no hurry–no hurry whatsoever–that could excuse leaving a wadded up roll of USED toilet paper sitting on the seat. I do not respect you. I could care less about your rushed schedule. And I think you are a lazy, disgusting pig.

If you are a germophobe: Figure out a way to turn off the faucet. Yes, I know you just washed your hands and there are germs on the handle. Ask me how much I care. I don’t. TURN OFF THE WATER. Again: Environmental crisis. Your fault. Etc.

If you feel the need to squat (even though there are handy-dandy seat covers): For the love of all things good and holy, make sure you’re aiming! Simply posing in the appropriate squatting position while located anywhere in the stall does not ensure that a.) you’re avoiding germs or b.) YOU’RE EXCRETIONS ARE ENDING UP WHERE THEY BELONG. It is unspeakably disgusting to walk into a stall in the women’s bathroom to find a PUDDLE of urine on the floor. It makes me want to vomit. But I can’t. Because I can’t get to the toilet without coming into contact WITH YOUR URINE. If it was an accident and you just… couldn’t… make it? Maybe? Fine. But go tell the security guard so those in maintenance can address the issue right away. Otherwise? You’re gross and you need to just sit all the way down using the flipping seat cover.

If you’ve had a bowel movement (any movement, really… but especially bowel): FLUSH! Flush, flush, flush. Can you do that? Please? Just flush the toilet. Have you ever heard that big, watery whooshing noise that happens before the other people walk out of their stalls? That’s called flushing. It’s a convenient mechanism that washes all of your waste (AND ODORS) blissfully out of sight and out of mind. For yourself AND FOR OTHERS.

If you are experiencing an unfortunately heavy cycle: Pay attention to what lands where. Look, I’m a woman who, in an attempt to avoid too much detail, will just say that I understand what can happen. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and messy and I get it, okay? But the apparent difference between you and me? I realize that the woman who uses the stall after me DOESN’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH. Clean UP after yourself. Give the stall and the toilet a quick once over once you’ve completed your business and attend to any… situations. Because good Lord, it’s the only right thing to do!

If you are on the phone: No phone call could be so important that you couldn’t say something along the lines of, “Hey, I’m going to have to call you back in five minutes. We will continue our conversation then…” Now, I fully admit to the fact that there are three people I’m comfortable talking on the phone to while I’m using the restroom (to pee! Because anything more… just, no.), but I will only do that when I am alone in the bathroom. Not when there are five other strangers attempting to use the bathroom at the same time. Oh? and the woman who was on an INTERVIEW while going to the bathroom? I hope you didn’t get the job. Could you possibly value that opportunity any less? I don’t think so.

If you are feeling talkative: Save it. Save it! Lady, I am in the bathroom. I have no longing to carry on a conversation when a.) I am not wearing any pants! Or covered in any way from the waist down! and b.) I don’t know you! oh, and c.)? When you’re trying to sell me something! Holy cow, leave me alone. The only thing saving you from a steely glare upon my immerging from the stall? I don’t wish to taint your day like you’ve just tainted mine.

They are my Long Run Days, because well… you see…

I’m finally training for a marathon. I say ‘finally’ because I’ve only been entertaining this idea for two years. No! More than two years. Since January of 2008 when Dorian ran the Disney Marathon with his dad and Shane, I’ve been fiddling around with a growing interest in whether or not I could do that too. Would I have what it takes to run a marathon. Twenty six point two miles. On foot. On purpose! Was it something that I actually even wanted to do?! I didn’t know. So fiddle with the idea, I did.

Alisa said to me once (when I was having one of my many freak outs about what it would be like to actually kiss my best friend–one of the sole reasons it took me so long to declare my relationship with Dorian official… because Heaven knows there’s no WAY I’m kissing without committment–which led me to freak out about ‘why-in-the-world-is-the-idea-of-kissing-someone-I-care-so-much-about-so-SCARY’), that if I wasn’t freaking out about something or examining the possible outcomes from every angle or having doubts in general that she knew it was not something that I really, truly cared about. She said that in the time she’d known me, I’d been incapable of making any kind of decision without spending an obnoxiously careful amount of time weighing the options. She said, “Kristen, you can’t even switch shampoo without getting five different opinions.”

And so it has been with the decision of whether or not to run a marathon. Would it be something that I was even capable of doing? Would the training be something that I was willing to commit to? I knew that if I was going to do this, I was going to do it 100%, refusing to hold anything back. I knew that I would want to be able to reach the finish line knowing that I’d given everything I could. And I knew that ‘giving everything I could’ involved so much more than the actual day of the marathon.

At one point, we questioned if me running a marathon would require sacrificing the long-term health of my knees. The jury is still out on that point, honestly. But what it came down to was that that is a bridget that we will cross if we ever get there. Ultimately, the pros far outweighed the cons. The major con is that possibly, one day down the road, my knees will be worse for the wear and may require surgery. But who’s to say that the marathon would be the number one cause of that? Will it add to it? I wouldn’t doubt it, yes. But so will many other choices that I’ve made when it comes to our fitness endeavors. And is fitness something that I’m willing to negotiate? Absolutely not.

But the pros? Ohhhh, the pros! The pros of diligently spending the next 6 months training, of dedicating my focus to running when I would have been working out anyways, of striving for something that is so overwhelming it almost doesn’t seem possible… The pros of that? Would be to crush the self doubt and loathing that I allow to set up camp in my daily thought processes. The pros would be to drown those thoughts with a rushing current of adrenaline and sense of completion. The pros will be to look back on all these months of blood, sweat and tears wondering all along if I’d be able to make it and know that, yes. YES I CAN.

And those pros? Those pros make every blister, every callous, every black & blue nail and every drop of sweat (which, incidentally? Could probably fill Lake Michigan by this point) absolutely, 100% WORTH IT.

We found out in October, that my company had been purchased by Sprint–on vacation, no less. We gave momentary consideration to the fact that we could consider different schools (and different states) for Dorian now, since my transfer was no longer guaranteed, but  ultimately decided that we’d stick it out with Iowa since Dorian had been accepted to Palmer. We absorbed the shock, decided to ignore the news and enjoy the rest of our trip, and were assured upon returning to work the following week that I had every reason to believe that my job transfer would be secure. 

Even though the events that followed at work didn’t seem to support that confirmation, we moved forward with researching the area and looking for apartments. We decided to visit in the beginning of November.

The market for apartment homes in Iowa was atrocious. Completely disheartening. The affordable monthly payments were for apartments that were trashed and poorly located. The other affordable payments were for glamorous apartments located perfectly… but only available to those with lower incomes. We missed the income-bracket by $2,000. The decent apartments that were located in somewhat decent areas had monster price tags attached. And then, of course, the wonderful apartments in perfect locations were the owners of monthly payments that dwarfed the other “monster” payments.

The visit to the Palmer campus left Dorian with an anxious knot in his stomach and clammy hands rather than the butterflied, nervous anticipation he had expected. The one-and-only church we could locate was of the ultra-mega-located-in-a-mall, variety. We were willing to give it a shot, but it left us feeling unsettled that there were no other churches to be found in the area. We Googled the crime-rate. It’s Red level was astronomical.

The first two hours of our drive home were blanketed in a heavy silence. We couldn’t bring ourselves to give a voice to our concerns. When we did talk, we put on a happy face.

It wasn’t until a week later–when Dorian caught me Googling apartments in Georgia… because, what if? What if we threw all comfort and all caution to the wind? What if we actually considered a different university, rather than going with a school just because my job could transfer to the same city? What if we stopped allowing fear of the unknown rule all of our decisions?–that we actually talked about what we’d experienced in Iowa. We realized that we were both in the very same, Knot In the Pit of Our Stomach, place. And we realized that maybe the “safe” decision wasn’t worth that kind of ache.

We started researching Life University and apartments in Georgia in true earnest. We decided that we needed to talk to our Pastor about this decision because we were wary of finding Georgia so appealing simply because Iowa had been such a disappointment. We didn’t want to turn our backs on what had seemed to be so obviously God’s direction toward Iowa; but we also did not want to be blind to His leading away from it. After our talk with Pastor, we decided to fast for a month. We both fasted from all internet aside from what was required of us for work… and Diet Coke. (Yes, Diet Coke. I wasn’t even going to mention it because of the responses that I’m sure were instantaneous. But please, no comments. I still don’t agree with you). (But since we’re talking about it now, I’m just going to have to say that it was not difficult to give up, at all.  I didn’t even miss it. The End).

Fasting was one of the most incredible experiences of my life. To be constantly aware of the need for prayer and submission to the Lord’s will is an experience I will never trade and one that I will now pursue regularly. Our God answers prayer and He absolutely answered ours. The answers were not obvious or easy. They did not come loudly or with any kind of pomp. They came slowly and softly. They came like a peaceful breeze that gently shifted each piece of our logic to stand squarely in the Lord’s path. And one day, Dorian and I looked each other in the eye and just knew…

Georgia. He wants us in Georgia.

And now we’re here.

Well, hello…

Have I mentioned that we moved to Georgia? No? Well, we’ve moved to Georgia.

I pretend to hear a collective gasp of, “Georgia?!”

Yes, it was quite a shock to me, too. Well, a shock that was nearly four months in the making, which has led to about a month and a half of being unofficial Georgia residents. So, I suppose it doesn’t quite still measure on the Shock-o-Meter. But for the sake of assuming that someone reading this doesn’t already know… YES, Georgia! We live here now. It’s quite fabulous, let me tell you.

I mean, there are distinctly UN-fabulous things (including behemoth creatures that make their way into our apartment for the sole purpose of terrorizing me to my very core), and there have been distinct anti-fabulous scenarios of tears (dominantly surrounding a difficult job search and missing our friends and family, terribly)… But the overriding truth to these many unfortunate occurrences is simply this: God has led us to this point and to this place and He has been blessing every second since the decision to make the move has been made.

Every time I get to the point where I find myself telling the Lord, “Okay God… I believe you’re doing something, and I do trust you… but you’ve got to throw me a bone here…” He goes ahead and throws me twenty (bones, that is). Every time I start to feel a little lonely, He sends Dorian into the room performing one of his usual antics that warm my heart, lift my spirits  and remind me that He sent my best friend on the trip, right along with me. Every time I felt discouraged and overwhelmed by the job search, He’d send one more lead to my inbox, and often, He’d throw another interview in my path. And then that one time I asked Dorian how our bank account was and his answer made me lose my breath, the Lord went ahead and gave me a job with incredible benefits that offered to pay the top of my asking price.

So yes, to sum up: God is amazing and I am so glad that it’s His direction that we’ve chosen to listen to. Oh and yes, we live in Georgia.

Oh… and I was hoping you’d be willing to overlook my what? Five months? No? Nearly six months of absence. It all boils down to the fact that for so long, there were so many things up in the air about our lives that I was hesitant to give any kind of documentation to anything since, for all I knew, the story would be different in a matter of hours. I mean, as clearly evidenced by the fact that the last time I posted, we were officially, absolutely and no-questions-asked-ly moving to Iowa.

And I’ve got to say that I, for one? Am unspeakably glad that that location evolved to Georgia. Because, hello? Georgia instead of Iowa?! I now live barely thirty minutes from Hotlanta–not that we’ve actually taken advantage of that yet… nor will we be able to afford to any time in our forseeable future… but still, it’s cool to say–and everybody knows that Atlanta is where it’s at. Although, I’m not really sure I understand what “it” is. But so far, the things I would assume that “it” could be, would be as follows: Traffic. Humidity. Gorgeous, gorgeous mountains. Coca-Cola. HUGE bugs. History. Culture. And tan lines in March.

While I’m figuring it out though, I promise I will be far more diligent about posting. I’ve got stories to tell now! Stories that can’t really change anymore because hey, they’ve already happened.