:-)

Text messages not initiated by me have been on the rise in recent days. It brings a smile to my face when my friends are making efforts to let me know I am on their mind. A simple, "I hope you are having a nice day," has made my day on more than one occasion this week.

This shit is bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S!!

The adventures of Lindsey and Joanna. As seen through Lindsey's eyes.

Freedom Ride

There were several things to celebrate last week. The end of the semester. Warm weather accompanied by bright sunshine. Extra babysitting jobs. And 2 weeks of silence.

The celebrating began Wednesday at noon; lunch with Leah at Rock Bottom, a stroll around the loop, a trip to Borders on State St, a quick visit with my Dad at his office and a lazy couple of hours at Millennium Park with my ipod, my book and my journal.

Then Michael, Michael Motorcycle picked me up. Lower Wacker Driver. 290. Little Italy. Greek Town. Old Town. Clark St. D.O.C. Wine Bar. Home.

The trust, the silence and the scenery involved in being a passenger on a motorcycle have become a favorite pastime of mine. There is no better way to celebrate the start my summer.

TMA (Total Music Appreciation)

Lindsey took this picture on Easter Sunday. It was intended to give us a family picture with the "new and improved" (skinnier) Dad. My Dad does look much better than he did in the family picture taken on Thanksgiving, but my jaw dropped when I saw this picture. I'm skinner too!!! When I look at myself in the mirror that is not the girl I see. I certainly hope when I'm walking down the street, drinking in the bar or sitting in class that is the girl everyone else sees.

My Dad's "new and improved" lifestyle has yielded another decision. He is selling some of his record albums (LPs) at our next garage sale. My Mom told me the news on Sunday and fighting back tears I asked, "How many is he getting rid of?" My Dad has 4 bookcases full of albums with numbers reaching over 4,000. According to Mom, he was going to get rid of any album he now has on CD or if he ended up with a "best of" album for a band he would get rid of all their other albums. I envisioned the 4,000 albums dwindling to practically nothing. These bookcases have lined one wall of every family room in every house we've ever lived in for my entire life. They've been in the family longer than I have. I was devastated.

As I drove home today to take a picture (yes, a picture) of the albums before they were so senselessly plucked from my life I was informed that it was too late! Luckily, hearing my reaction made my Mother re-think her feelings about the situation. Jimmy's reaction was apparently similar to mine. So, Mom worked her magic and changed my Dad's mind. He still downsized (significantly; he opened up 4 whole shelves) but it wasn't nearly the massacre I was fearing. However, there is no picture to document what the collection had once looked like.

My Dad prides himself on having raised Jimmy and I to have TMA (Total Music Appreciation). So here is some music playing a part in my life right now.





Personalized internet radio. For those days when the shuffle on your itunes it just not landing on anything you are interested in listening to.

August 22, 2008: Going to the Maroon 5, Counting Crows, Sara Bareilles show with Megan.

I was a good girl all weekend

Friday consisted of two babysitting jobs. And my eventual decision to go to bed instead of joining my comrades (ode to George Orwell's 1984) at Duffy's.

Saturday was spent cleaning my room, IMing Alyssa, studying for ethics and again, a babysitting job. My bed was calling my name at the end of the night, prompting me to turn down Megan's invitation to join her and her new roomies in Chinatown for some karaoke. The stories I heard this morning have since made me regret that decision.

Today was solely devoted to studying for ethics. When the words began blurring and I could feel my eyes crossing, I decided to take a rest and enjoy 20 minutes of solitude in the tanning bed. During my meditative state in the tanning bed, I realized I had reached an important milestone.

Yesterday marked one week since we ("poison" and I) exchanged in our last set of text messages and it was one week ago today that I sent my final e-mail. One week.

My reward to myself was a $20 bottle of Syrah. I was a good girl all weekend; making decisions based on my financial and academic needs. CBT supports rewards and although I don't ascribe to that theoretical orientation, I'm not above using it's ideas when it serves me.

The wine is delicious. And with every sip I am thankful for my strength.

One week will soon turn into two. What shall I reward myself with then?

Bruised

As a psychodynamically oriented person, I strongly believe in psychological symptoms converting into physical ones. Conversion or Somatization.

My physical bruise is a reflection of my emotional one.

I fell on the stairs (an obstacle I've had a love/hate relationship with my entire life) on Friday. The bruise that resulted is insanely painful and I do not believe that the pictures do justice to how absolutely disgusting it looks. I think that unconsciously I fell and caused physical harm to (at least temporarily) bring my attention towards something other than the boy.

Unfortunately, the pain that ensues while I'm sitting has not only caused me to momentarily forget about the boy, it is also making it incredibly difficult to focus while studying for my ethics final.

My mom says the reason the bruise resulted at all was because I've lost weight and subsequently have lost some of my "cushioning." Thanks Mom.

My mantra

"I did it once. I can do it again." My recent mantra. I tell myself this in the mirror in the morning, right before I slip into a dream state at night, and anytime in between when I think about making contact with the person who has now been dubbed "poison" in my life. In early December, my "posion" situation was playing out exactly as it is now. I managed to cease all contact back then, and even met a new guy (Safety-net; whom I ended up dating for about a month and a half), but "poison" crept back into my life. I opened the door for him, thinking it would end differently this time. Nothing has changed (other than my ability to have "relationship talks"). So it's time to cease all communications with "poison" once again. His phone number has been deleted and the last (unresponded to) e-mail was sent on Sunday. I stopped talking once before. I can stop talking again.

"Poison" will find me though. On the "L" platform." On the 22 bus. At the same Cubs games. This city is huge! And he seems to be everywhere in it. Sitting (unnoticed) right in front of him on the bus, frozen with fear, I internally repeated over and over again, "I did it once. I can do it again." I reached my destination without contact. I walked into D.O.C. and told my wine companion about the "encounter," but then proceeded with the rest of the night as though nothing unusual had happened. No urge to send him a text inquiring, "Were you on the 22 at 8:30?" No late night call placed in a wine drinking fog. Just one journal entry.

I did it once. I can do it again.

This morning, as I went about my (new) morning routine of a 30 minute walk and a 20 minute tanning session, it occurred to me that this mantra represents so much more than my ability to leave "poison" behind. Summer of 2006, I joined weight watchers and lost 17 pounds. I did it once. I can do it again. Junior year of college, I was regularly waking up at 5 to go to a 6 am spinning class before I started my day. I did it once. I can do it again. I found a picture of myself as a freshmen in high school and I had (what I consider) long hair! For years now, I had convinced myself that my hair did not grow long and that I was destined to have the same (face-fattening) hairstyle for the rest of my life. Apparently, I did it once. I can do it again.

Timing

It has been 3 weeks since I swallowed the hot bitter substance better known as coffee or felt the bubbles of pop tickle my throat. However yesterday I folded on the pork thing. I was at the Cubs game and starving for lunch, when the hot dog man magically appeared in my aisle. I ate one hot dog, which is actually not a food I ever really enjoy, but I guess desperate times call of desperate measures. Saturday night at a fabulously delicious dinner I managed to order my bacon wrapped steak without the bacon, but there I go the very next day eating a ball park frank at the ball park. So, I fell off the horse, but I will get right back up and no more pork for me.

Timing is everything!

Psychologically and physically, 3 weeks ago may not have been the best time to embark on this journey. I am uncomfortable making excuses, hence the avoidance of writing a blog in several weeks. However, I still find them rolling off my tongue despite myself.

In the movie, Clueless, Cher shares with her teacher that her tardy the previous week was because, "I was surfing the crimson wave." For me the "crimson wave" appeared during week 2 of the "diet," reeking havoc on my body and causing my weight to fluctuate in ways that would have encouraged anyone to believe that the changes they were making were, in essence, not helping. I still have not added exercise into my daily routine, basically because I'm lazy. So as of right now. the lowest weight I have reached in these past 3+ weeks is 167.7.

Psychologically, I have realized how important food and alcohol are in my ability to comfort myself when I'm upset. While trying to give up alcohol for a month, I learned from a best buddy some news that made me unjustly mad at several people. I came home that day and shared with the roommate that all I wanted was some wine. Something wrong with that picture? Well I had given up alcohol and (although I later broke that promise too) I was determined to stick to it at that point. So I sat down and came up with a different plan. I knew I was mad at these people for my own reasons, really nothing having to do with them. These poor people were all in a no win situation. Thanks to my awareness I made the decision to just stay away from those people until I had processed my problems with the situation and had gotten over being mad at them (for basically no reason whatsoever). I did all this without taking a sip of alcohol. I have since been in the presence of all those people and no anger surfaced at all.

The alcohol quickly returned to my life. My decision when it comes to giving that up (even if it only is for 30 days) is that I'm just not ready to let it go. The first sip occurred while out with "the boy." It wasn't his fault, it was mine. I will, however, blame him for some of the other times, since that fateful night, that I have consumed copious amounts of alcohol. He isn't doing everything "right" and when my feelings get hurt I decide to numb the pain (unsuccessfully; the tears still inevitably come) with beer or wine. I am, however, starting to realize that my definition of "right" is still my own issue. So, it's time, again, to sit down and come up with a solution to the anger and hurt that includes something other than alcohol.

Also, I want to share with you:
The books I'm reading to motivate and inspire my life changes.
And my thanks to special friends; Michael, Alyssa, Cindy Fey and Lindsey