Are any of you watching Girls? That show makes me cringe and laugh and worried for my teenage nieces when they hit their 20s.
Lots of activity around these parts over the last week or so:
- I had a little TREAT YOSELF day last Friday. Thanks to generous gift cards I was able to indulge in a massage and facial, which felt so very decadent and different than most of my “laundry and errands” Fridays. I decided to get a pedicure because a.) why the hell should I stop the Pretty Princess Day at a paltry two spa treatments and b.) I wanted to wear open-toed shoes for our Valentine’s Day dinner Saturday. Roughly halfway through the pedi I started to feel hot and my chest tightened up. Within seconds the telltale signs that I was going to pass out were there. Namely: everything went white and I could barely hold my head up. My poor nail tech, Lisa, freaked out but luckily the owners of a tanning salon next door had her get me some orange juice and candy to boost my blood sugar. Basically, I got to reenact that scene in Steel Magnolias where Shelby’s diabetes gets crazy but unlike her I complied and drank the juice and somewhere in there had the presence of mind to get someone to call Ed, although I have zero recollection of that. When I started to come around I was informed that my husband was on his way, and then I booked it to the bathroom because I thought I was going to barf. (No, there is so surprise pregnancy announcement coming. Promise.) Ed showed up around the time I emerged from the restroom, terrified that I would hurl in public. My toes and skin look great, but any relaxation I should have been feeling was shot straight to hell.
- After rescuing my dumb, consciousness-losing ass, Ed had to call my stepdad to give him a ride back to the nail salon so he could pick up his truck and head back to work. Dave obliged, but tragedy struck when he arrived home after helping us: one of our cats, Boda, got under the car and, well, she’s in kitty heaven now. I’ve been wracked with guilt since it was my fault he was even in the car and basically: I killed one of the family cats and this is why I cannot have nice things.
- On Sunday we bought a new car: a convertible Mustang and good Lord is that thing fun to drive. I am pretty indifferent to cars; as long as I get where I need to go and am reasonably comfortable doing so, I’m good. Ed’s truck isn’t the most reliable, my car is new-ish and good for hauling friends and family around so we figured why the hell not get something fun? It’s Ed’s primary car now, and he looks awesome in it. Can’t wait for some consistently good weather so we can take it out on the road with the top down.
- After our car buying excursion we stopped by the hospital to see my dad, who is recovering beautifully, but slowly, from his surgery. Thanks for all the good wishes; he’s doing great but still bored being stuck inside. Baseball season looms as incentive for him to recover and get back to work.
- I have only been home two weekends this entire year. I love seeing so much of both of our families but holy hell am I tired. My lofty goal for next weekend is to be home. I’ll probably venture out at some point, but frankly that sounds exhausting. I know: cry me a river. But if there’s one thing that I know about myself is that – as is consistent with introverts – I need downtime and quiet to recharge my battery or I am headed straight for an illness or freak out. I read an interesting quote recently about how self-care (not the dirty kind, sicko) is important not just because, you know, it’s good to get rest, but because you are a source of happiness to others rather than a stressed-out drain. This is so true and so obvious, but oh man, am I a master of running my ass into the ground, losing my shit, being totally useless, and then finally recovering only to do it all over again (see: last week’s episode in the pedicure chair). Need to cool it with this unhealthy cycle.
Wow, so, uh, I maybe could have broken this up into separate posts but here you go. Wishing you all a wonderful weekend, Interweb. Take some time for yourself. You’ve earned it.