I feel good. 'nuff said.
:)
Me
Friday, March 13, 2009
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Oh Jesus. Now this?
Are you a Workoholic?
Do you get more excited about your work than about family or anything else?
Are there times when you can charge through your work and other times when you can't?
Do you take work with you to bed? On weekends? On vacation?
Is work the activity you like to do best and talk about most?
Do you work more than 40 hours a week?
Do you turn your hobbies into money-making ventures?
Do you take complete responsibility for the outcome of your work efforts?
Have your family or friends given up expecting you on time?
Do you take on extra work because you are concerned that it won't otherwise get done?
Do you underestimate how long a project will take and then rush to complete it?
Do you believe that it is okay to work long hours if you love what you are doing?
Do you get impatient with people who have other priorities besides work?
Are you afraid that if you don't work hard you will lose your job or be a failure?
Is the future a constant worry for you even when things are going very well?
Do you do things energetically and competitively including play?
Do you get irritated when people ask you to stop doing your work in order to do something else?
Have your long hours hurt your family or other relationships?
Do you think about your work while driving, falling asleep or when others are talking?
Do you work or read during meals?
Do you believe that more money will solve the other problems in your life?
I answered fuck yes to all of the above. Now what?
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Ingenue in Wonderland.
Listen, I have something to admit, and I really would rather sit here blowing smoke up your (and mine) collective asses. In fact, so deep is my denial to the reality of the last few weeks that I've already mentally written this blog posts a few times with my fantasies intact. But alas, there's only one truth and that truth is, I have been renamed the Bacon Egg and Cheese Bandit.
My planned detox was going swimmingly. I was all about the spinach smoothies, watermelon, giant salads, and cooked food whenever I saw fit (as long as I didn't imbibe dairy or gluten). I FELT AWESOME. I had five toxic pounds melt off me and I wasn't stressed about my food. Big opportunities started chasing me down and, for a minute, it looked like all my dreams were on the verge of coming true.
Then my life happened.
I had already been putting in 10to 12 hour days on my site (normal for me) when three things happened in quick secession:
1. My co-worker announced he was taking an impromptu vacation during the most crucial part of our construction schedule.
2. A design got approved for a section of my project that requires MAJOR STRUCTURAL work and excrucitatingly long shifts to execute it.
3. It was decided by the heavens above that I would be covering the balance of the hours (basically day and night).
Hello 17 hour work day! You want to laugh? 15 hours is now a day off for me. 19 hours happened last Friday, and more often than not I'm dragging myself off this incredibly needy jobsite WISHING I could convince men to build for me just one more hour, because I don't know how this is going to get done otherwise.
But there are labor laws to prevent that sort of thing and that's really just me talking crazy anyways. I'm up every morning at 5 am, on the job by 7, and rarely hitting my bed before 11pm. FUCKING BRUTAL. At first, I was almost catching a bit of a buzz of the long hours (it's all too easy to become addicted to your work. Trust.) but now, I'm tired. Really, really tired. I'm balls deep in heavy construction mayhem and I can't see my way out anymore.
Basically, the month of March will consist of Ingenue building like her ass is on fire and little fucking else. Good thing I love my work. I got alot of it.
But that's not all! Adding insult to injury, my Arch Enemy Roommate has decided to rent out my room underneath me, effective April 1st. Meaning, I am also trying to find a new apartment right now and dealing with the emotional shitstorm this injustice has brewed up in me.
I stayed with my detox for the first few days and (with a slightly larger cooked food ratio) and then before I knew it: I ate. I mean, I ATE. It started with the first BE&C Bagel which tasted so amazing that I promptly chased it with another one. That day for lunch, I had a ginormous burrito dripping with sour cream. I had three Americanos for dinner and two california rolls for a midnight snack. I felt sooooo much better. I felt heavy and weighed down which can feel surprisingly grounding when your life seems to be speeding on without your consent. I slept like the dead that night. No strangely psychic dreams (a frequent occurence when I'm high raw), just a mild case of indigestion and a sore lower back.
And it went on and on. I haven't put on any weight, but that's solely due to stress and running around for 17 hrs a day. I feel like poo, but for the life of me, I really don't know what to do. Change that, I do know what to do. From here on out, I'll take it day by day. The thing is, I'm getting really good at taking care of myself. Seriously I am! But it takes time to be self-nourishing and that is the one thing I do not have these days. Also, I feel like all of my habits these days are reactive instead of proactive. Every morning I'm popping digestive enzymes and amino acids in a desperate bid to repair myself from yesterday's work abuse, so I can do it again. And again. And again. Eating well and exercising to try and keep your body in top physical condition is something else entirely. That feels so far away from me right now.
Those are the sins of yesterday. Today I write this with a coconut water and a bucket of cantaloupe next to me. All I can do is get up and try again, right? Construction will always be construction and Ingenue will always be the one and only In-gen-wheeee. I WILL learn how to do what I do and eat what my body needs at the same time.
No victims here, baby. And I'm done volunteering for ill health and untapped potential.
Mucho besos,
I xoxoxo
My planned detox was going swimmingly. I was all about the spinach smoothies, watermelon, giant salads, and cooked food whenever I saw fit (as long as I didn't imbibe dairy or gluten). I FELT AWESOME. I had five toxic pounds melt off me and I wasn't stressed about my food. Big opportunities started chasing me down and, for a minute, it looked like all my dreams were on the verge of coming true.
Then my life happened.
I had already been putting in 10to 12 hour days on my site (normal for me) when three things happened in quick secession:
1. My co-worker announced he was taking an impromptu vacation during the most crucial part of our construction schedule.
2. A design got approved for a section of my project that requires MAJOR STRUCTURAL work and excrucitatingly long shifts to execute it.
3. It was decided by the heavens above that I would be covering the balance of the hours (basically day and night).
Hello 17 hour work day! You want to laugh? 15 hours is now a day off for me. 19 hours happened last Friday, and more often than not I'm dragging myself off this incredibly needy jobsite WISHING I could convince men to build for me just one more hour, because I don't know how this is going to get done otherwise.
But there are labor laws to prevent that sort of thing and that's really just me talking crazy anyways. I'm up every morning at 5 am, on the job by 7, and rarely hitting my bed before 11pm. FUCKING BRUTAL. At first, I was almost catching a bit of a buzz of the long hours (it's all too easy to become addicted to your work. Trust.) but now, I'm tired. Really, really tired. I'm balls deep in heavy construction mayhem and I can't see my way out anymore.
Basically, the month of March will consist of Ingenue building like her ass is on fire and little fucking else. Good thing I love my work. I got alot of it.
But that's not all! Adding insult to injury, my Arch Enemy Roommate has decided to rent out my room underneath me, effective April 1st. Meaning, I am also trying to find a new apartment right now and dealing with the emotional shitstorm this injustice has brewed up in me.
I stayed with my detox for the first few days and (with a slightly larger cooked food ratio) and then before I knew it: I ate. I mean, I ATE. It started with the first BE&C Bagel which tasted so amazing that I promptly chased it with another one. That day for lunch, I had a ginormous burrito dripping with sour cream. I had three Americanos for dinner and two california rolls for a midnight snack. I felt sooooo much better. I felt heavy and weighed down which can feel surprisingly grounding when your life seems to be speeding on without your consent. I slept like the dead that night. No strangely psychic dreams (a frequent occurence when I'm high raw), just a mild case of indigestion and a sore lower back.
And it went on and on. I haven't put on any weight, but that's solely due to stress and running around for 17 hrs a day. I feel like poo, but for the life of me, I really don't know what to do. Change that, I do know what to do. From here on out, I'll take it day by day. The thing is, I'm getting really good at taking care of myself. Seriously I am! But it takes time to be self-nourishing and that is the one thing I do not have these days. Also, I feel like all of my habits these days are reactive instead of proactive. Every morning I'm popping digestive enzymes and amino acids in a desperate bid to repair myself from yesterday's work abuse, so I can do it again. And again. And again. Eating well and exercising to try and keep your body in top physical condition is something else entirely. That feels so far away from me right now.
Those are the sins of yesterday. Today I write this with a coconut water and a bucket of cantaloupe next to me. All I can do is get up and try again, right? Construction will always be construction and Ingenue will always be the one and only In-gen-wheeee. I WILL learn how to do what I do and eat what my body needs at the same time.
No victims here, baby. And I'm done volunteering for ill health and untapped potential.
Mucho besos,
I xoxoxo
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
This is more like it!
Aha! It was just as I suspected, last night's funk was little more than an emotional detox. OK, so maybe I had no idea what was going on between my ears yesterday, but I feel worlds better this morning. I mean really stellar. Thank heaven's I didn't do anything rash. I would have missed out on the most fantastic morning, I've had in a month of Sundays. TODAY TOTALLY KICKS ASS AND CALLS IT SALLY.
Or something like that.
My favorite lucky breakfast is canteloupe, watermelon, and grapes. But I've been too busy to make a trip to Whole Foods, so I've been relying on the deli across 42nd for my supplies. Sometimes they have watermelon, sometimes they have grapes. Occasionally they will have canteloupe AND grapes. Today? All freaking three. Angel choirs sang when I gazed upon that fruit salad bar this morning. Golden Jesus Beams radiated from the heavens.
Yesterday my job site was a pile of tears, heartbreak, and failure to me. Today? We're shouting it out and it's getting done. I love constructive shouting. This is not arbitrary, abusive, ass-reaming. This is two parties with equally valid points squaring off and raising their voices to the fucking skies until the matters resolved. And then you crack a joke or two, break some balls to signal the end of the dispute and everybody walks away content. It's deeply cathartic and a shitload of fun. (Unless you're on the losing end of the conflict, which I NEVER am). Ha.
What freaking happened to me last night while I was sleeping? Was I Jedi Mind Tricked and I didn't know it? Did the On Demand episode of Rome I was watching hypnotize me into a positive headspace? I'm not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I'll just take this fabulous morning where I look completely adorable, and run with it. It's pretty staggering how much an attitude change can alter your reality. Like, whoa.
And to all those beloved souls who reached out and held me together through my dark night of the soul, it made all the difference in the world. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
xo
Ing-ee-nue
Or something like that.
My favorite lucky breakfast is canteloupe, watermelon, and grapes. But I've been too busy to make a trip to Whole Foods, so I've been relying on the deli across 42nd for my supplies. Sometimes they have watermelon, sometimes they have grapes. Occasionally they will have canteloupe AND grapes. Today? All freaking three. Angel choirs sang when I gazed upon that fruit salad bar this morning. Golden Jesus Beams radiated from the heavens.
Yesterday my job site was a pile of tears, heartbreak, and failure to me. Today? We're shouting it out and it's getting done. I love constructive shouting. This is not arbitrary, abusive, ass-reaming. This is two parties with equally valid points squaring off and raising their voices to the fucking skies until the matters resolved. And then you crack a joke or two, break some balls to signal the end of the dispute and everybody walks away content. It's deeply cathartic and a shitload of fun. (Unless you're on the losing end of the conflict, which I NEVER am). Ha.
What freaking happened to me last night while I was sleeping? Was I Jedi Mind Tricked and I didn't know it? Did the On Demand episode of Rome I was watching hypnotize me into a positive headspace? I'm not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I'll just take this fabulous morning where I look completely adorable, and run with it. It's pretty staggering how much an attitude change can alter your reality. Like, whoa.
And to all those beloved souls who reached out and held me together through my dark night of the soul, it made all the difference in the world. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU.
xo
Ing-ee-nue
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Wow. I REALLY hate being an Alcoholic today.
Alright, I know I'm a drunk. My body doesn't respond to alcohol the same way a "normal drinker's" would, and because of that I CANNOT DRINK SAFELY. Horrible, wiley, petulant things just happen to me when I'm drinking, and so I cannot. Can't be done. Tried that, didn't work. So why, why, oh sweet jesus, why am I STILL longing to be able to stuff my face with shots at Happy Hour with my Bosses?
Because I am a freaking Alcoholic and part of that is craving something I can never imbibe again. Although last night, I seriously considered cashing in my 1 year and some month chips for a one day coin that I could collect with my shiny happy hangover at a later date.
I DID go out with some workfolk last night and while the night in itself was unremarkable, the spiritual hangover I have this morning is threatening to derail the little bit of sober sanity I've put together. I usually bristle at meetings when oldtime AA's decribe our sort as "crazy" or "insane" but today, I know exactly what they mean. Only a truly batshit crazy woman would come out of the kind of alcoholic wreckage that I have and consider going back for any reason. And the reasons I want to go back are ill advised at best.
I miss drama. I miss self destructive flings that hurt more than they please. I miss hotel rooms with crisp white sheets and married men between them. I miss fuck me heels and smeared mascara. I miss whiskey breath. I miss beer tears. I miss the miserable and cocky little girl that I was, and I'm afraid of the women I'm growing into. I am freaking grieving for my drunkeness like I've just lost a parent. Probably more since neither of my parents are really that stellar about showing up when their needed. But you know who has ALWAYS been there for me? Jamesons! And now I've divorced him and I can't help but wonder if it wasn't a horrible, horrible mistake.
You know transformation is such a terribly long and tricky process that it's no wonder I'm feeling lost in the shuffle right about now. Some years back I lost 60 pounds. I think it took two years when all was said and done. But there would frequently come times when after a 3 pound weight loss that I HAD FOUGHT FOR, I'd look at my new body and think, "What the hell good has that done me?" My knockers were limp, my stomach gathered in these weird ruffles above my brazillian. It wasn't a linear process, is what I'm saying, and I spent more time in between sizes, swimming in ill fitting clothes than I did prancing around in tiny bikini's.
But now, years later when I've been an enviable size and shape for quite some time, I hardly ever think back to that long, protracted era of EXTREME PHYSICAL DISCOMFORT. I only reap the benefits. I feel like this is what's going on in my sobriety right now. I'm too far into my transformation to turn around, and I'm not far enough to see the light at the end of this fucking birth canal.
So, uhh, yeah, day 8 of the detox is clearly bringing some repressed emotions front and center. *grins sheepishly*
It's all good. I'm off to catch a meeting and share my little irish ass off. Good luck and God speed friends.
-I
Because I am a freaking Alcoholic and part of that is craving something I can never imbibe again. Although last night, I seriously considered cashing in my 1 year and some month chips for a one day coin that I could collect with my shiny happy hangover at a later date.
I DID go out with some workfolk last night and while the night in itself was unremarkable, the spiritual hangover I have this morning is threatening to derail the little bit of sober sanity I've put together. I usually bristle at meetings when oldtime AA's decribe our sort as "crazy" or "insane" but today, I know exactly what they mean. Only a truly batshit crazy woman would come out of the kind of alcoholic wreckage that I have and consider going back for any reason. And the reasons I want to go back are ill advised at best.
I miss drama. I miss self destructive flings that hurt more than they please. I miss hotel rooms with crisp white sheets and married men between them. I miss fuck me heels and smeared mascara. I miss whiskey breath. I miss beer tears. I miss the miserable and cocky little girl that I was, and I'm afraid of the women I'm growing into. I am freaking grieving for my drunkeness like I've just lost a parent. Probably more since neither of my parents are really that stellar about showing up when their needed. But you know who has ALWAYS been there for me? Jamesons! And now I've divorced him and I can't help but wonder if it wasn't a horrible, horrible mistake.
You know transformation is such a terribly long and tricky process that it's no wonder I'm feeling lost in the shuffle right about now. Some years back I lost 60 pounds. I think it took two years when all was said and done. But there would frequently come times when after a 3 pound weight loss that I HAD FOUGHT FOR, I'd look at my new body and think, "What the hell good has that done me?" My knockers were limp, my stomach gathered in these weird ruffles above my brazillian. It wasn't a linear process, is what I'm saying, and I spent more time in between sizes, swimming in ill fitting clothes than I did prancing around in tiny bikini's.
But now, years later when I've been an enviable size and shape for quite some time, I hardly ever think back to that long, protracted era of EXTREME PHYSICAL DISCOMFORT. I only reap the benefits. I feel like this is what's going on in my sobriety right now. I'm too far into my transformation to turn around, and I'm not far enough to see the light at the end of this fucking birth canal.
So, uhh, yeah, day 8 of the detox is clearly bringing some repressed emotions front and center. *grins sheepishly*
It's all good. I'm off to catch a meeting and share my little irish ass off. Good luck and God speed friends.
-I
Monday, February 23, 2009
Well, well, well....
I am WITHOUT blackberry today. This is, in equal measure, both liberating and terrifying. I clearly have access to my laptop, or I would not be able to blog about my terror now. So there is that. For what it's worth.
I'm actually feeling sort of Xena Warrior Princess today. The morning was a bit rushed and rocky, but once I started digging into the day's conflicts I found my hidden backbone. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Anyone can maintain spiritual equilbriam during happy times. It's how you ride the rocky road that shows you where your faith is REALLY at.
Last night was a snoozy, ignoring my obligations, detoxing, self-indulgent, sort of extravaganza. I napped until 8 pm, woke up and started sampling an assortment of Larabars, watched HBO movies until 2 in the morning and then slept until 5 am. I'm not saying that's an ideal night of REM cycles, but it was kind of fun and I felt fine this morning for it.
Until I walked into ALL HELL BREAKING LOOSE on the job at 7:30 this morning. For a moment, I was regretting my secret of night of tv viewing, but I had no choice but to dive in to the center of the mayhem. The water was surprisingly warm....
My mind is far more clear than it has been, my anxiety levels are way low for such a nasty day, and I'm extremely present in all of my activities. I'm noticeably more productive and organized and sarcastic comments aren't sticking to me like they normally would. To me, this is truly Raw Food in the Real World. This is Principles and Programs in action, and baby, it's fucking sweet.
Earlier in my sobriety I frequently bemoaned the fact that maintaining a spiritual existence on a construction site was a magic trick on par with curing cancer. "How the f'ing hell am I supposed to manage that?" I'd weep. I refused to take responsibility for my chosen line of work and I really expected to be given some sort of crown after any day I'd managed to work 12 hours without a tantrum. But as I've grown up, I've had to admit the truth. It was no accident that I ended up in a male dominated industry, scrambling after a postion of power. There's something I want to prove to myself here, and the world isn't about to stop spinning while I get on with it.
It helps me to get clear about this sort of thing when I'm upping the work I put into my program, or cleansing, for that matter. Because I can tell everyone else whatever I fucking please, but if I don't know where my own motives are...well....I'm sunk. Bliss and Nirvana are lovely and all that, but I'm a brick and mortar, results oriented sort of girl. I want to know which parts of my psyche work and which ones don't. I want to maximize every single hour available to me. I want to build like my ass is on fire and love like it's the last day on earth. Sobriety hasn't cured me of my alcoholic extremism and I sort of hope it never does. :)
Life is short, very short, and I need to know what makes it sweet for me. Day 5 of cleansing has left me with my mostly core self, and not to brag, I'm kind of perfect.
Thought you should know.
Ingenue
I'm actually feeling sort of Xena Warrior Princess today. The morning was a bit rushed and rocky, but once I started digging into the day's conflicts I found my hidden backbone. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Anyone can maintain spiritual equilbriam during happy times. It's how you ride the rocky road that shows you where your faith is REALLY at.
Last night was a snoozy, ignoring my obligations, detoxing, self-indulgent, sort of extravaganza. I napped until 8 pm, woke up and started sampling an assortment of Larabars, watched HBO movies until 2 in the morning and then slept until 5 am. I'm not saying that's an ideal night of REM cycles, but it was kind of fun and I felt fine this morning for it.
Until I walked into ALL HELL BREAKING LOOSE on the job at 7:30 this morning. For a moment, I was regretting my secret of night of tv viewing, but I had no choice but to dive in to the center of the mayhem. The water was surprisingly warm....
My mind is far more clear than it has been, my anxiety levels are way low for such a nasty day, and I'm extremely present in all of my activities. I'm noticeably more productive and organized and sarcastic comments aren't sticking to me like they normally would. To me, this is truly Raw Food in the Real World. This is Principles and Programs in action, and baby, it's fucking sweet.
Earlier in my sobriety I frequently bemoaned the fact that maintaining a spiritual existence on a construction site was a magic trick on par with curing cancer. "How the f'ing hell am I supposed to manage that?" I'd weep. I refused to take responsibility for my chosen line of work and I really expected to be given some sort of crown after any day I'd managed to work 12 hours without a tantrum. But as I've grown up, I've had to admit the truth. It was no accident that I ended up in a male dominated industry, scrambling after a postion of power. There's something I want to prove to myself here, and the world isn't about to stop spinning while I get on with it.
It helps me to get clear about this sort of thing when I'm upping the work I put into my program, or cleansing, for that matter. Because I can tell everyone else whatever I fucking please, but if I don't know where my own motives are...well....I'm sunk. Bliss and Nirvana are lovely and all that, but I'm a brick and mortar, results oriented sort of girl. I want to know which parts of my psyche work and which ones don't. I want to maximize every single hour available to me. I want to build like my ass is on fire and love like it's the last day on earth. Sobriety hasn't cured me of my alcoholic extremism and I sort of hope it never does. :)
Life is short, very short, and I need to know what makes it sweet for me. Day 5 of cleansing has left me with my mostly core self, and not to brag, I'm kind of perfect.
Thought you should know.
Ingenue
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Big Love, baby.
Today was a good day. It wasn't the day I had planned out for myself, but it was good. I have a new sponsor (yes, another one) and we had a tasty little chat after That Big Meeting today.
I came home afterwards, and I MEANT to workout and study, but instead I napped for 5 hours. 5 HOURS. It was soooo nice.
I woke up and strolled down to the organic bodega around the corner and armed myself with Lara Bars for a Big Love viewing session. Lara Bars have new flava and they are flipping scrumdidliumptious. Coconut Cream and Pistachio make my nipples hard. Equally.
So, where does that leave me? I end day 4 with some mild detox symptoms, achy knees, and a lethargic dreamy countenance. I am excited about upcoming endeavors, but not my usually ambitious self.
Right now, I'm still working through something R told me over brunch.
"We're Sober now Ma. There are no more victims here. There's only volunteers."
I came home afterwards, and I MEANT to workout and study, but instead I napped for 5 hours. 5 HOURS. It was soooo nice.
I woke up and strolled down to the organic bodega around the corner and armed myself with Lara Bars for a Big Love viewing session. Lara Bars have new flava and they are flipping scrumdidliumptious. Coconut Cream and Pistachio make my nipples hard. Equally.
So, where does that leave me? I end day 4 with some mild detox symptoms, achy knees, and a lethargic dreamy countenance. I am excited about upcoming endeavors, but not my usually ambitious self.
Right now, I'm still working through something R told me over brunch.
"We're Sober now Ma. There are no more victims here. There's only volunteers."
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