Lent Day 11: A Lesson in Love and Humility

Without giving too many details, I will just say I have learned a lesson in humility and love this weekend at AWP. To make a long story short, my insomnia didn’t, in fact, go away. It only got slightly less ferocious, allowing me five hours of of sleep for one night instead of three. When I don’t sleep, I get mean, curt, short-tongued. I have been all of those things this week, which led to quite a large eruption of misunderstandings last night between a friend and myself. The quarrel led to me moving down to the lobby of the hotel for quite some time, so I could recompose myself and not put my fist through the mirror in our room. See I told you I have some anger management issues, and I felt as if I could beat my way with small, tight fists through the thickest, heaviest punching bag on the market. I didn’t.

Instead, for a change, I left the room to recompose myself elsewhere. By this morning, after a conversation with my beautiful and sensible wife, some coffee, a session on queer YA fiction, and some prayer, walking, and meditation, I was able to calmly and rationally initiate a discussion of the events of last night. And, of course, we came out on the other side with love and grace, because I am learning that’s how things work out when you practice humility and love.

Here is the photographic chronology of my day:

Walking North on Michigan Avenue

A Coffee Shop I've Always Wanted to Try and Finally Did

A Little Morning Reading and a Mexican Mocha

Buildings Dating from the Mid-1800s

Do You Need Some Art Supplies?

Capitalism Block on State Street

I decided to go to church tonight, but I wasn’t sure where to go, so I literally typed the address of the Palmer House in the first blank of the “Get Directions” feature in Google Maps, followed by the word Methodist in the second blank. I figured I couldn’t lose since I live four hours away, and I’d never see any of the people again. I mean, it’s always a crap shoot when you’re a lady-boy lesbian and looking for a church in a different city. Each time I risk rejection from the body to which I’ve belonged since the age of four when I “gave my life to Jesus,” a form of rejection that breaks my heart again and again.

I walked to Temple Church (a.k.a. First United Methodist of Chicago) with low expectations and hoping that I wasn’t dressed too shabbily. I can never accurately anticipate the dress code at a “First United Methodist,” because they are usually the big, old churches that are trying to stand guard and keep from dying out. But that guard-standing usually comes outfitted in whatever is the latest fashion.  I always assume that the dress code is on the upper end of the spectrum, not jeans and the sweater I was wearing. But, as I mentioned, I’d never see any of these people again, so I pressed on.

Temple Church's History in Stained Glass

Destroyed by the Great Chicago Fire

As I walked past the beautiful arts garden, pictured above, I looked to my right and got a glimpse of the Chicago Picasso. I could feel that this hour of my life was going to be an adventure. Electric Jesus was in the air. I strolled through the revolving door and up to the security guard. Yes, you read correctly, I walked confidently over to the security guard, and said, “Can you please tell me where the church service is meeting tonight?” She pointed me up the stairs and through some double doors.

I was a bit disoriented as I walked through the thick wooden doors, because I was released into a space that looked like a storage closet, only without anything in it, too big to be a closet, too small to be a respectable hallway. The space was a hallway nonetheless, and I began to search for what I was sure would be a large stone chapel or sanctuary. Instead I found the small, intimate chapel pictured here. In fact, I had to ask the lovely man in the picture if I was in the right place.

A Tiny Church Service in a Huge Church's Small Chapel

By the time the service started with a greeting and then a hymn that none of us really knew, I realized I was experiencing the Body of Christ in a very real way. The mix of people was diverse: various ethnicities, social classes, sexual orientations, gender identities, and abilities. There were people there with children of varying ages, and older people who were there alone. The bulletin specifically spelled out that we were all welcome.

The service followed the liturgy while still being personal: we confessed as a group and then offered silent meditations of our own. When it came time for the prayer requests, the congregants shared intimately and without reservation, and then we prayed for those concerns. We passed the peace! Finally, we collected tithes and offerings and shared the Eucharist together. We stood together around the communion table and celebrated the Great Thanksgiving as we looked each other in the eyes. I could feel the Holy Spirit hovering there in our midst, like the soft breeze that blows off Lake Michigan in the summertime, and as refreshing.

Jesus’ body was broken, His blood was shed, and we were redeemed yet again. A glorious miracle.

Several times the intimacy and the beauty of it all overwhelmed me to the point of tears. Here, four hours away, is the type of community I long for each Sunday. Here, in a church I assumed would be too uppity for my jeans and sweater, I met my Jesus in the realest way I have experienced in years. Here.

Today was a beautiful mess. Peace.

Lent Day 10: More AWP

I am still at AWP: writing is exactly spirituality. We are born to create, to go forth and multiply, and by taking a little liberty with what that command might mean, I find that writing or making art is doing just that. Through creation of text or visual media, we multiply all that is good and right and beautiful in the world. We cause people to think through the less appealing parts of the world in order to see the more appealing ones. We can take the worst situations, the most horrible events, and create through them healing, help, peace, and grace with our words and images.

Part of today’s daily prayer from Common Prayer reads: “Sometimes we don’t realize the intensity of the things for which we pray, Lord. Keep us courageously mindful that your way is laden with tears on the way to resurrection. Amen.” Keep us courageously mindful that the way to creativity is laden with tears on the way to resurrection. Keep us courageously mindful that your way is laden with tears on the way to creativity and rebirth. Keep us mindful.

*

I went for a run this morning after sleeping for five whole hours last night.

The Reason I Slept So Well

Wacker and Wabash in Chicago

Chicago River "Private" Walkway

I'm Lovin' the Ferris Wheel

One Lighthouse

Super Yellow Beanie and Cityscape

Another Lighthouse

Lake Michigan

Ferris Wheel in B & W

Marilyn Monroe on Michigan Avenue: Fidelity

The Giant Bean and Some Tourists

Don't Let the Pigeon . . .

Peace.

Three Things Which Bring Me Joy and One Which Does Not

Paleo Eating

Grilled Grass-fed Ribeye and Broccoli

I started eating Paleo/Primal in November, just before the holidays. Dumb move, I know. I stopped eating this way from Christmas through New Year’s Day and then hopped right back on it. Here are few things I know from the nearly three months I’ve been eating no grains or soy, no sugar, no manufactured food, and very little dairy:

1. I have lots of energy to exercise. I am exercising in several different ways pretty much every day of the week. And, I get sore, which is to be expected when exercising, but I don’t drag through my day like I did when I was exercising this much and eating a vegan diet. And, the soreness goes away and doesn’t inhibit my workout.
2. I get lots of sleep. When I am finished with my day, I go to bed. There isn’t any dragging myself through my day, only to end up lying in bed tossing and turning until I finally fall asleep. I go to bed. I go to sleep. I sleep through the night. And, I wake up, rested, without using an alarm clock around 5 or so, which doesn’t mean I get up then, choosing instead to lounge around in the bed until 6ish.
3. I can be much more inventive with my cooking. This week’s menu includes fish stir fry, a dish I never would’ve even considered before trying the paleo lifestyle (even when I ate meat before, I wouldn’t have considered it). We will also be eating a beef stroganoff served over spaghetti squash. I find myself wanting to experiment with food in ways I didn’t before, not that I was a bad vegan chef, because I wasn’t, but this is better!
4. I don’t spend a good portion of every day in the bathroom. Not to be gross, but when I was vegan I pooped at least three times every day. Now I go once, and I happen to believe it’s because my body is using what I am feeding it rather than simply passing it on through.
5. I am not bloated or gassy. For the last three years, while I’ve been vegetarian or vegan, I have had incredible gas. It’s been pretty disgusting at times. Now, I am not saying that I don’t have some gas, but it’s not ridiculous and it smells less horrible. I don’t belch loudly, for a long time, after every single meal. I also don’t eat to the point where I am so full and bloated that I feel like complete crap, because I am paying more attention to the full feeling I get when I eat meat. I know when to stop.
6. I am losing weight—s-l-o-w-l-y—but I feel amazing. My original hope was that the weight would just come peeling off of me, like it does for some people who go low-carb, paleo, or whatever, but then I realized that I want to still be able to do long races and swim miles in the mornings, so I need to have some potatoes or yams in my diet. I am consistently losing two pounds a week, so I think that’s fair. In a year, that’s 100 pounds. Ha! I wish.
7. My mental state is level and even somewhat joyful. I’ve blogged before about using niacin and Vitamin C to even out my moods. It works. I don’t have the pendulumesque, out of control mood swings I’ve had all my life when I take a little of those vitamins. I don’t even have to take large doses to help me out, just a bit works fine. However, since I’ve been eating paleo, I feel so much better in my mind (mental clarity, memory, and mood) that I am going to experiment with leaving even those vitamin supplements behind. I am going to ween myself of of all additives, except my multivitamin. Right now I have pretty expensive pee.

Barefoot Running

Soft Little Barefoot Running Feet

I have been sneaking in some barefoot running at Ball Gym. I feel rebellious, like I said in my last post, but more importantly my feet are getting so much stronger and my calves are raging! I ran for about an hour the other day, and while my calves—well, really my whole leg musculature—got sore, my feet felt great. I think there’s something to this cavewoman lifestyle I’ve submitted myself to! I just feel so primal and free when I run with no shoes, like there is nothing I can’t do. (I know. Double negative. Shut up.) I feel like I could just keep running and running and never stop, but I know that’s not true, no matter how much joy running brings me.

Swimming

This is actually a high school conference meet, but I swim here sometimes.

I’ve come home. To my first love. I’ve been swimming (if you can call it that) since I was about a month old in the big-ass bath tub at our original little hovel in the big HC. Sometimes I think I can remember what that first feeling of weightlessness felt like, but I know it’s impossible. I love swimming because it’s one sport where being a fat girl doesn’t matter, and, in fact, probably works to my advantage.

At any rate, swimming soothes me, stimulates me, and feeds my mind like no other sport. Maybe because I have been doing it for so long, I don’t have to think at all about it. When I run, I still have to think about my form; though I have to think less about it when I run barefoot. When I swim, the strokes come naturally, gracefully. I’ve been swimming three times a week for the past two weeks, and I feel full. At peace. Calm. Like I can do anything in the water. Swimming is grace. Swimming is joy.

Beer

At Savage's Ale House in Muncie, IN

You aren’t really supposed to drink any alcohol when you go paleo/primal, but I really love beer. Recently, I haven’t been able to drink beer much because of my allergies. I think I am really allergic to wheat, because I feel 100% better and my allergies have all but gone by the wayside since I stopped eating wheat. In case you missed it the first time I said it, I really love beer. So I occasionally have a beer. Like once a week.

Last night was “Festive Friday.” A bunch of colleagues and I go out and have a couple of beers to celebrate the end of the week and look for a better week to come, which is really a way of celebrating life if you ask me. I had a Bell’s Porter, one of my top ten all time beers, and my face swelled up like a little bright red, hot to the touch, strawberry. I had one beer, three glasses of water, a double bacon burger, and some fries, and my face swelled up with hives. It was ridiculous. I still love beer. There is no joy in being allergic to beer.

Here are my top ten, in no particular order because I just can’t decide, but the top five are the top five, in order:

1. Hacker-Pschorr Dark, Hacker-Pschorr Brewery
2. Bad Elmer’s Porter, Upland Brewery
3. Riggwelter, Black Sheep Brewery
4. Bell’s Porter, Bell’s Brewery
5. Taddy Porter, Samuel Smith Brewery
6. Dogfish Head 90-minute IPA, Dogfishhead Brewery
7. Edmund Fitzgerald Porter, Great Lakes Brewery
8. St. Peter’s English Ale, St. Peter’s Brewery
9. La Fin Du Monde, Unibroue
10. Levitation Ale, Stone Brewery

Sad day that I can’t drink one of each…

Hurt: Johnny and Trent

Johnny Cash

Nine Inch Nails

Same song. Different performers. Trent Reznor (NIN) wrote it.

I feel a bit like this lately, and it’s the longest funk I have been in to date. I am seriously considering seeking professional help. It isn’t as if I haven’t considered it before because I am proud or because I think people who see psychiatrists are somehow weak. And it isn’t as if I am afraid. I don’t go to the shrink because I have an extremely low opinion of most of them. From what I have seen my many mentally ill friends go through with their medications, their counseling, and their general states of well-being, I just don’t trust the “professionals” who offer their psychiatric services. I also think, in a mostly irrational way, that if I can articulate my pain/disillusionment and think critically about it, then I must not have a problem. Somehow I have come to believe that to need a psychiatrist means that you can’t cognitively decipher your own messed-up thoughts, feelings, desires.

Don’t think I am harmful or dangerous to myself or others. I am not. I am simply sad. I simply feel trapped and like I am unable to see a happy ending to my life. I can rationally say that this feeling probably stems from mental exhaustion or from getting close to the end of my PhD program, but in less rational moments, I have nightmares, anxiety, insomnia, and, as a result, I can be quite thin-skinned and moody.

TIME PASSES: THE NEXT MORNING

See the thing is I think I feel guilty for feeling this way because I really have nothing to be sad about. Well, at least there is nothing happening right now for me to be sad about. I think there are many things from my past that I still haven’t completely processed, that I need to process. But still those things pale in comparison to those other things that are going on around me: people who have lost children, countries devastated by hurricanes, people losing their jobs after many years, and people who are in unfulfilling relationships. My life compares well to others, but to me it feels as if I am simultaneously grateful for this life of mine and ungrateful for the opportunities that cause so much stress. However, this morning I feel more hopeful than I did last night.

Just when I thought I wouldn’t come out of the funk, I feel a little better today.  With the exception of my dissertation proposal revision, I have accomplished everything I needed to this week. I have a lifeguarding class all weekend this weekend (6-10 tonight, 8-2 on Saturday and Sunday), but I feel confident that I will have time to finish me proposal and get it to Debbie by Sunday night. We meet again on Wednesday morning. Luckily, I have everything planned for the next couple of weeks for both my Burris students and my BSU students.

Today is a better day. Abs and I play racquetball this afternoon, so it can’t be bad, right?

*

I am thankful for meaningful moments in whatever shape they come.

Food: banana, juice, poptart, 3 donut holes, seven layer burrito, nachos, Puerto Vegetarian C, chips and salsa, 1/2 of a Negro Modelo, decaf tall soy latte

Exercise: ran 5 miles, walked the dogs 1 mile

Another Spring Break is Gone

One of these years, I am going to actually take a Spring Break, one where I go somewhere and do something different than what I have been doing for the other 51 weeks of the year. If BSU’s spring break came a little later, I’d go on a motorcycle trip, but I am afraid I will leave and then it will snow. Then I wouldn’t be able to come home, because I am not riding in the snow. As it is, I never accomplish everything I wish to accomplish in the week anyway, so why don’t I learn to take a break. This year, for example, I had a list a mile long, but I did not complete the most important thing on that list. Because I had been putting off grading and my teaching related concerns to put out other little forest fires, I spent the entire break grading and planning for the rest of the school year and not working on my dissertation proposal.

I had every good intention of sitting down for a long spell with the thing and really hashing through it. That will have to happen in the evenings of this week. I have to get this thing finished and turned in as soon as possible. I am tired of looking at it. The part that sucks about having to do it this week is that Bec is leaving for Minnesota on Saturday, so I won’t be able to spend any quality time with her before she goes. I hate that. At least she’ll be back on Wednesday (?), and I should have everything finished by then.

However, I will have my lifeguarding class all weekend next weekend, so I won’t get to spend any time with her then either. When I say all weekend, I am not exaggerating. It meets on Friday from 6pm to 10pm and Saturday and Sunday from 8am to 2pm. I guess I will be running in the evenings for the next two weekends. And, they are long runs, too. Eight and nine miles for the next two Saturdays.

Yesterday I ran seven miles at a 12:30 to 12:45 minute per mile pace, but I still had difficulty sleeping last night. I think it was a combination of all the life-stress I am experiencing right now, the stupid daylight savings time change, and the fact that I drank a tall regular bold coffee. I haven’t had that much caffeine in a long while. At least I didn’t get heart palpitations this time. I did it because Starbucks is doing a bold coffee promotion in which you get a little card that has all their bold coffees listed. If you drink a tall of all eight of them, you get your choice of a free pound of bold coffee. In the end, you pay as much for the eight tall coffees as you would for the pound of coffee, but since you end up with both in your belly, it sounds like a deal to me.

*

I am thankful for time well-spent and weird Lily Tomlin movies.

Food:
Breakfast: banana, juice, pop tart, chocolate milk
Running: shortbread
Lunch: almonds, Pure bar, coffee with honey and soy milk
Dinner: onion rings, Scotty’s French Quarter Quesadilla, 23 oz. Guinness
Snack: small bag of Cadbury eggs

Exercise: walked the dogs two miles, ran 7 miles

A Mixed Bag

1) It’s no secret that I greatly dislike snow. This morning my hatred for it was slightly alleviated because while I was outside, Bec made me some tea and I drank it with a nice bowl of oatmeal after I shoveled for about an hour in order to get the car out to go grocery shopping. I needed things like juice and milk that couldn’t wait until next week when the snow thaws. I am not stupid enough to think that my shoveling for an hour, possibly moving a half-ton of snow, is anything nearly as traumatic as other people all over Appalachia losing power. I have been in a situation with no power before. It wasn’t pretty. We cooked and heated with our fireplace which we were lucky enough to have. In the house we live in now, we would just starve and freeze. Or walk, if the car was snowed in, over to Ed and Abbie’s and starve and freeze with them. Snow is so pretty when you don’t have to be out in it, and it’s a great blessing when your power isn’t out because of it. This is our street.2) For this second point, I am going to do something tricky. I am going to combine my failure at running my four-mile endurance run with my success at going to the nasty gym. I am sure some of you remember from last winter how much I despise the gym. I don’t like to sweat in the middle of winter like it’s summer. I sweat enough when I run outside in the cold air; I don’t want to be chained to a conglomeration of metal and plastic sweating like a whore in church. Besides all that, those machines make you repeat unnatural motions. I tried an arc trainer today, thinking that it would be more like running. Wrong! It was more like going up steps while falling backward off a ledge on a tall building like bad guys do when they’re being chased by cops in the movies. I kept thinking I might seriously fall off the damn machine, so I switched to an exercise bike. Just one time I would like for someone to invent an exercise bike that positions the rider in the same position as a regular bike positions the rider. Instead, you get to sit like someone has shoved a pole up from your tuchas through the top of your head, and better yet, you are sitting on a padded stool instead of a bicycle seat. My hips/legs are sorer from this worthless gym workout (1 mile on the arc and 6 miles on the bike) than they would have been from running the four miles I was supposed to run. And, I would have felt like I had accomplished something. As it is, I ache and feel like I should have just walked to and from school to do my work. Walking in eight to ten inches of snow would have been a good workout. This is the horrible machine I had to ride for 15 minutes before I just couldn’t take it anymore.

3) I am giving up most of my vow. I am breaking down and having a couple of beers, and since I already cut my hair, there isn’t much left to hold onto except the vegetarian thing, which is still in full force. I don’t take this decision lightly, but I think I need the stabilizing force of beer in my life. I am not saying this to be trite or funny, but beer is a depressant and it seems to help me sleep (which I haven’t been doing well lately). It has also been proven in several studies to fend off the symptoms of dementia and Alzheimer’s, and it seems to make me be able to focus more on a specific task. I haven’t been doing so well with focus. Two different people from two totally different walks of life, in two different conversations at two different locations and times, have suggested to me that I am much more spastic and not nearly as jovial or easy to get along with when I don’t have my beer. One of them told me that in the past six months, I have not appeared to be myself and that I always seem distracted. I have read that beer helps people who have problems focusing to focus. So, I think I am returning to the land of the beer-drinkers. At least I have six beers sitting in the fridge at home waiting to be consumed. This is the beer I am going to drink when I get home.4) I was just thinking about our trip to the liquor store today. I got carded and since I didn’t have my ID, Bec had to buy the beer while I waited in the car. Magic. I’m 35 and still can’t buy. This is me at 35.

*

I am thankful for flexibility in life. I am also thankful that I was able to free my bicycle from her snowy abode in the bike rack.

Food: juice, chocolate milk, oatmeal, tea, burrito, chips and salsa, ginger ale, peanut butter granola bar, porter, veggie burger, broccoli

Exercise: shoveling snow, dog walking, arc trainer, stationary bike

Sleep Schedules Can Mess You Up

Today was supposed to be a day of getting lots of work finished. In fact, I was supposed to finish my dissertation proposal revision today. Instead, I worked on my stuff for teaching because I was incredibly groggy all day and didn’t think I needed to concentrate as intently on reading a bad textbook about children’s literature as I would need to concentrate on my dissertation proposal.

I think I should write a review of this book and submit to some education journal. Because it is so poorly organized and schizophrenic, it is difficult for me to follow what the authors are saying sometimes. I wish they would have simply put all the information about each genre together in separate sections, maybe include a section about fantasy, one about contemporary realistic fiction, and so on, and then break it down into grade levels. But, no, the authors decide it is way better to break it down by age level and then by genre, so the reader of the textbook never gets a complete definition of, or feel for, what the author means by science fiction, or informational text. Their focus is on developmental stages and literature, which I dig, but it’s like wading through the poo-canal at McCullough Park in flip-flops searching for your disc golf disc in the middle of winter.

Sometimes my sleep schedules get all messed up, and for the past week I haven’t slept well. I even had a few nightmares, which always sucks. When I wasn’t wasn’t having horrible dreams, I would wake up at 2 or so and be awake until 4ish when I would finally fall back to sleep. I haven’t gone to bed before 11 any night this week and have been up by 730 in the morning at the latest. If you know me, you know I need at least 8 hours of decent sleep to function.

Since I have only been getting about 6 hours, which haven’t been of the best quality, I have fallen asleep twice in the middle of the day. I already wrote about playing Rip Van Winkle in the library, but I had the amazing opportunity (note the sarcasm) to play him again today. I really didn’t have time for a nap, but as I already said was a bit groggy, so foolishly I thought I would take a Jack-nap—a short rejuvenating nap—to get myself going for the afternoon study session. Well, when 6:09 rolled around and I woke up in time to make dinner, I realized that I need to figure out how to get this sleeping thing under control. Any suggestions?

Both of my grandmothers now have Alzheimer’s. My Grams will soon have to be placed in a nursing home that has a special Alzheimer’s unit, and my mom and Aunt Zoe are looking for a decent one that still takes Medicaid/Medicare. My grandma has been in Warren Home in a locked-down Alzheimer’s unit for so long, I don’t really even remember what she looks like. I don’t want to discuss this matter for two reasons: (1) It makes me incredibly sad that two such amazing god-fearing women have to suffer in this manner, and (2) I am already starting to forget things. I am 35, too young to forget as much as I do, and Alzheimer’s is hereditary. It scares me.. This is the extent to which I wish to discuss this matter.

*

I am thankful for being able to make conscientious decisions.

Exercise: walked the dogs, ran 3 miles

Food: banana, juice, pure bar, chocolate milk, salad, left over pizza, Lorna Doones, Ginger Ale, Spicy Basil pasta with tofu, mushrooms, and pinenuts, bread