Confidence OR How I Chose to Ignore the Tag and Love My Shape

30 01 2009

A while ago, in a publication I can’t recall, there was an article that kind of hit home. It was about a woman who wasn’t happy with her weight/image and decided that she would “reward” herself for reaching milestones. It then occurred to her when she hit a wall, that she would probably not ever reach her “ultimate” goal. This resulted in her accepting who she was and being happy.  I always felt a bit envious of her.

Now, does this mean that I have given up on my non-resolution? Nay.
It does however mean that I realized that I am (much to my poutingness) not a size 4, am not svelte, am not ripped, etc.  and that PERHAPS, I should embrace my um, transition, phase AND STOP LYING TO MYSELF.

Intending to just go to Barnes and Noble to deplete a gift card, I found myself at Macy’s with an exchange card that Steve would never use (his words, not mine) with $20 on it.
Scouring the racks, I found a top that is patterned (gasp!), bright (gasp!) and as the gasping alludes, Very UnStephanieLike.
Figuring that I should also look for pants/jeans as the top only took up 1/4 of my card (who’s a power shopper?  I am…) I picked a pair of jeans off the rack in the “realistic” size and not the “denial” size.
In the dressing room, a ray of light came down (probably from the halogens in the ceiling, but whatever) and as I turned to face myself, I did a double take.
Is, is, is that, me?  me in clothes that fit?  Clothes that make me look like an adult? No tugging?  No lumping? An outfit to be proud of?
And at that point, I let the size tag blur.
Gliding to the counter, my retail $88 ensemble came in at at modest $28, with $8 actually coming out of my pocket.
Sure, I care about my size (as much as I try not to) but I also know that I am taking active steps to become a size where I will not have to pretend that the tag doesn’t say what it says it says. And today, I am more confident that I’ve been in a loooonnngg time.





New Job Excitement: What if I’m Wrong?

9 09 2008

Pretty much since my first job, each time I’ve left an employer I’ve played the “Well, can’t get much worse.” card.
And almost every time, it has.

When I worked at The Hospital, I was union (which irked me beyond reason) and I was unhappy with union structure; particularly the fact that my co-worker did 25% of the work and got 75% more pay.

Then I temped.  Nine bucks an hour to stuff envelopes with canceled checked.  Can do.

Temping landed me on Titanic (as coined by Melissa).  Things on Titanic were pretty good for a few years; they were very accommodating to my indecisiveness regarding what to do with my career.  Then, The Iceberg hit and Titanic sunk.  We were commanded to dress “professionally” and our PTO and Vacations were reduced.  Lucky me got to spend two weeks in pre-Katrina New Orleans, training nutria to answer phones and enter work orders.  Then The Iceberg fired everyone in Buffalo.  In front of me.  I left because I was pretty sure that I was going to get fired.  Plus, The Iceberg was interested in everything except running the company and I certainly wasn’t willing to get a head, if you pick up what I’m putting down.

Jumping ship, I ended up at The Institute.
Even less time-off, even worse co-workers (including one who referred to bodily functions as “releasing the demons”.  True story.) and a boss who told me what I couldn’t do rather than giving me the chance to prove them wrong.  So I figure, “How much worse can it get?”

Next, I end up thisclose to being institutionalized, working with the most physoitic woman I have ever met.  Delusional doesn’t even come close.  Thanks to some riotous mismanaging, that company went down in a hot hot mess and landed me here (though a merger).  I thought to myself that things were on the up-and-up, but here I have sat for over a year.  Without a raise.  Without a decent conversation with a boss who seems annoyed by my mere presence.

I think this could be the most frustrated I could be.   At least on Titanic, they kept me busy.  At The Institute, I kept myself busy.  Now, I have reached the ends of the internets and spend my days thinking of all the things I could do if I wasn’t here typing away, looking “busy”.

How much worse can it get?
I have the unquietable voice that says I am making too much of a big deal out of this.  How will I feel when my basket is full of eggs and I trip over the invisible lump under the carpet?  I am afraid of disappointing myself… thinking that maybe The New Job is THE JOB… and I end up even more in the fire than when I started.  I am trying to be optimistic, thinking back to how I totally nailed the interview and how I thought I that I could work with these people.
Sure, the first couple of days (maybe even weeks) are going to be painful, but maybe I’ll be able to sleep at night.  Maybe it will help me take better care of myself.  Maybe I will finally be content.

maybe.





Trying to Pinpoint the Problem

18 06 2008

I’m fidgity.
Not just on the outside, but on the inside.

Is it because I’m used to wearing many “hats” and now I have like, half a hat?
Is it the pace?
Maybe the fact that despite having a conversation, I still don’t feel as though I’m trusted?
Is it how when my co-worker isn’t here, my responsibilities don’t really change and I’m basically told that whatever is needed “It can wait until she gets back”?
Could it be my hormones raging?
Or the feeling of inadequacy when people are seemingly disappointed when my co-worker is out?

I’m getting frustrated because I feel like a black sheep who is around because I’m useful.

Sigh.

Who’s got ice cream?





The Din of Emotion

27 12 2007

We went to visit my family this year for Christmas.
For those of you who didn’t follow me over from Myspace, my Grandpa is in the end-stages of stage four lung cancer and we’re not really expecting him to make it until next Christmas. 
Now that Christmas is done, I’m filled with a number of emotions.
* Happy that he’s lead such an awesome life.
* Sad that this is the way it’s going to go down.
* Relieved that he’s getting treatment to improve his quality of life.
* Nervous about losing him.
* Grateful that he’s been such a great grandfather.
* Sorrowed by the thought that he may not pass easily.
* Touched that he and Grandma seem even more in love.
* Anticipatory that the next trip will be awful.
* Glad that he will be with Aunt Cheryl.
* Greedy because he’s always been invincible.
* Upset that he doesn’t want to follow his treatment plan by saying he doesn’t want things like x-rays.
* Relieved that when we hugged, it was the best hug I ever got from him; unlike any other he’s ever given me.

I’m to the point where I am very in limbo.  Do I throw caution to the wind and celebrate life or do I err on the side of caution so that I can be there for my grandkids?  Do I dwell upon the wonder and beauty of life or ponder the purpose of love when it only seems to hurt?

Egad, I’m a mess.





The Past is the Present

19 12 2007

It has been an odd couple of weeks.  It seems as though things/ideas from the past are making more appearances.  Perhaps I just never paid attention to them or there really is a flourish of “I used to…”
I certainly hope this isn’t one of those Christmas Carol things were I get shown the past, present and future.  If my dream last night is an indication, then I’m going someplace warm and leave Bailey in the car (she was okay, don’t worry).

Last week I had a conversation with my friend about concerts.  I had done a pollstar search to see who’s coming to town.  There are a few shows coming up that I was excited to see (Sick of it All, VAST…) but they came with a set of concerns.  1) I don’t want to go alone and no one I know is into the bands I would go see.  2) I don’t have anything to wear to the type of show I would go see.  Petty, I know.  3) An 8 o’clock start with a couple opening bands puts me back home really late on a work night.
So this conversation evolved into the people that we used to be.  We could/would stay out until all hours, we’d go see shows all the time, we dyed our hair very unnatural colors…. you get the gist.
“But aren’t you happier, at least a little, with who you are now?”
Yes, though we wonder what kind of sacrifices we made to be the people we are now.  I know that Stephanie from 10 years ago would probably definitely sneer at Stephanie Now. 

Last night, I was at a party and I FINALLY got to talk to one of the other girls from ballet class.  We talked about how we grew up in the city (that would be Buffalo, not New York).  And now we look at our lives now and wonder what happened.  She didn’t think she would get married, she didn’t think she would have a kid and she didn’t think she’d be living where we are.  I totally relate.   For a long time, I didn’t think I was marriage material (be it the moodswings…), I was hellbent on not having kids (ever) and I’ll be damned if I live in the suburbs and drive an SUV.
She told me that she still runs into her first passionate love and while she still wonders what life would have been like, she knows that things are SO much better now.  “And seeing him [the first love] made me fall all the more in love with my husband.”
There’s only a two people I can think of off the top of my head that if I were to run into I’d probably be floored, but I would go home and hold Steve tighter then usual.
Sure, like everyone else, I wonder what it would be like if things had gone otherwise, but I think about the reasons that things didn’t work out and I realize that this is the way it was meant to be.

The other reminiscent thing is that I’m pulling out some of my old CDs and putting them on my iPod.
Some songs alone conjure up so many memories- specific memories- about times, places and people.
Funny, isn’t it, how a chord can take you back fifteen years?
I’ve decided, that like everyone else, I am going to start posting Musical Memories… Songs and Albums that make me think another time, another place.

So, whoever’s reading this, have you noticed an influx in the past making appearances in the present?