Overheard, part 2.

Today's installment, while Mike does dishes.

Mike: Well, I would love to be at your beck and call, Pocket, but I have something else that I'm doing that takes a little bit more attention. 

Pocket: Mwraar.

Mike: I don't care if you could do it with your eyes closed. 

A conversation I just overheard from the kitchen...

Pocket: Meoowr.

Mike: I love you too.

Pocket: Merrrw.

Mike: Well, that's very nice of you to say.

Pocket: Mrwwwowr.

Mike: I too am glad that swine flu did not overtake America.

Sicky.

Today marks my second day home sick this week. 

I thought it was just allergies at first. After all, I'd done four hours of yard work, AND my animals are all in the midst of shedding season. My sinuses filled, my head ached. I didn't want to wake up Sunday morning, so I spent most of it in bed, sniffling. I downed my allergy medicine and waited for it work it's magic. It didn't. 

I went about the rest of my day, convincing myself that all I needed was to get moving. My head started aching terribly. Just dehydration, I said, drinking large glasses of water, which only served to make my throat start itching. 

So here I am, under the covers. I slept most of yesterday away, spending the rest of it reading and playing Animal Crossing. Maggie slept with me, which means that when it was actually nighttime and time for sleep, she was as restless as anything. I threw some toys for her while I slept on the couch (the better to not contaminate Mike). I actually fell asleep with a toy in my hand. 

At least I was productive last week so I had homemade chicken stock for soup. I've downed a bunch of Emergen-C as well, and Nyquil, and goddammit, something has to start working. I'm running out of sick time until September. I need to get back to work.

Weight Watchers, or Self-Disappointment

The other day Mike and I met up with some friends at an Ypsi bar. We hadn't seen a few of them in a while, and one of them, the wife of my coworker, looked great--half the size she'd been before, it seemed. She went on to explain that she'd lost 30 lbs on Weight Watchers. All present extolled the virtues of Weight Watchers (as they'd heard from those who had completed it). I, however, slunk back into my chair.

Why? I too had once lost 30 lbs on Weight Watchers. I'd been ecstatic. I'd sworn I'd be one to keep it off. And here I was, having gained almost all of it back. 

Every few months I look at myself in the mirror, or check my weight on the scale and say, "OK, enough's enough--it's time to get back on Weight Watchers." I mean, I've kept my online membership for two years now; it's kind of like I've never actually been OFF of it. But I start tracking points again, begin feeling guilty about the food I'm eating, find myself unable to actually give up the food I want to eat, start tracking less--until I'm not longer tracking at all. And the weight, she keeps on rising. 

I wish I was a naturally active person to counteract this food love I have an ongoing problem with, but I'm not. 

So I'm stuck in this same cycle, and the people I love make veiled comments to me like, "maybe you shouldn't eat that," or "you snack an awful lot," or "how can you still be hungry? you just ate," or even, "you should exercise, then it would balance out how much you eat," and I get angry and resentful and--guess what?--eat more. 

I know Weight Watchers works, because I've done it. I know it's not that painful. But it is an awful lot of thinking constantly about your food, which I already do enough of. I am food obsessed. 

I suppose I should either admit that I've failed Weight Watchers and cancel the membership ($16.95 a month!) or I should get back on the horse. 

I just don't want to make that decision. 

A pretty noteworthy day...

In it's ordinariness. 

We woke up early, thanks to some animales who were dancing for food and walks. Got back in bed though, for another lazy hour or so. Jean stopped by to drop off the wee table we were buying from her (for a whopping $3). Pocket fell in love with the table. 

We dressed and began unpacking boxes and folding clothes. Things suddenly began falling into place. We took a break and ran downtown for some bibimbap (my new love, with tofu and brown rice) and twigim (fried veggies) at Kosmo, then a walk through the farmer's market. Most stands didn't have harvested crops yet, so we bought some seedlings. We picked up some broccoli, green leaf lettuce, sage, basil, thyme, onions, and anaheim peppers. The seedlings have now taken up residence on the front stoop, where they wait to be planted.

We finished unpacking most things (even if most things aren't in their proper location just yet) and moved the rest of the unpacked items to one room, in the basement, which makes the house feel oh-so-much-homier. Mike's parents dropped in then with the traditional Jewish housewarming gift of bread (so you never go hungry), salt (for the sweat of your labor? I think), and something sweet (two-bite brownies, yum). 

After we gave them a tour of the house (which they loved), we took them to Zingerman's Roadhouse for the first time. Was that a huge hit! We shared an artisanal cheese plate as an appetizer, then each got a different entree. Well, Mike and his mom both got fried chicken, which I stole a bite of--heavenly. Perfectly cooked. I went for the vegetarian option of Carolina Grits with veggies and a cider dressing, or some such. It was topped with 2-year-aged vermont cheddar. It was amazing, and exactly what I was looking for. 

After they left, Mike and I were supposed to head into Detroit for some karaoking. Our day of productivity had left us exhausted, unfortunately, so we bowed out of those plans in favor of what turned out to be a God-awful movie--Blindness. We made it 48 minutes in (with 1 hr and 12 minutes remaining). We had some debate about which timer was which, as Mike couldn't believe we'd only watched 48 minutes of that dreck. So depressing. Watch only if you like watching dirty naked people stepping in feces. Dirty, naked, sad, depressed, blind people, that is. I'd forgotten already about the trend of making movies wherein the authority figures are nothing but torturers, essentially, against innocents and with no good reason at all. Oh, the legacy of Guantanamo. 

Now I am showered and pajamaed and ready for some bedtime reading of Helter Skelter (our book club selection this month). My house is beginning to feel like my home. Yay.

Also, a dream.

Two nights ago, I had a dream that I was sitting with a friend outside of a building when a limo drove up. Out got the one, the only, Mr. David Bowie. Only he wasn't mature, self-possessed, married-to-Iman David Bowie--he was Labyrinthian David Bowie. He approached us, shook our hands. When he got to me, I marveled at how soft and delicate his hands were. 

"You have the softest skin I've ever felt," I said to him, as he held his hand as if to proffer it to me for a kiss. "What do you use?"

"Oh," he said nonchalantly. "I have a guy. A lotionierre."

I nodded and released his hand, contemplating the tasks a lotionierre might undertake. David Bowie continued on. My friend called after him, "Say hi for us!"

He stopped and turned around. "Say hi to whom?"

"Henry," I said, as in my head, my friend's baby Henry suddenly became David Bowie's newborn Grandson Henry. David Bowie laughed. I woke up. 

Unpacking (and the desire for normalcy)

We've been in the house since Sunday. By Wednesday, I felt like I was going to explode. 

There are boxes everywhere still; I get dressed by digging through crates and finding the first clean and presentable items I can put together. 

The basement is still leaking, after reconstruction on the chimney and regrading the ground and extending the downspout further from the house. The B-Dri guy is looking into it now. 

I finally have a kitchen, but the only thing I've cooked in it is Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. I'm hoping to make a big pot of hungarian potato soup this weekend--while also unpacking everything and cleaning the old apartment so we can finally be out of it. It's also supposed to be 80 degrees; is it too much to ask that I might get to work on my yard some?

Mike's parents come to visit Saturday; Erin's coming over Sunday. Jean is stopping by Saturday morning to drop off a wee table for us. How am I supposed to fit in all this work and socializing in two days without waking up Monday feeling like I need a vacation?