Bringing in the New Year

There are only a couple of hours left in the old year. I'm celebrating in true Megan fashion. I'm going to bed.

I thought about taking a moment with you to  consider the past year and all I have done and become and gained. But now is not the time for such things. It is the time for celebrating. Or sleeping.

And so it is time to say goodnight to 2012 and to our 2012 selves. I'll see you all in the first good morning of 2013.

Taking Snoopy for a Ride

I got my flu shot yesterday. There were tears.

I don't do well with needles.

From where I was sitting, the pharmacist did a stellar job, though the parents did say I had him a little worried.

I do okay until they start prepping my arm. I start falling apart rather rapidly at that point. Yesterday was worse than usual. He swabbed my arm with alcohol. I put my head in my free hand and suppressed a sob. He stuck the needle in me and I dropped a few tears. He administered the vaccine and I had to close my eyes and concentrate on not throwing up in his lap. Then he put the band aid on me. I was done, and I was fine. I wiped away my tears, popped out of the chair and smiled. Another year done.

When I was a small thing my doctor had bright blue band aids with snoopy on them. I always got one when I had any short of shot done. After smoothing on the band aid the nurse would smile (probably in relief--I've never done well with needles) and remind me to take snoopy for a ride around the block. I would then obediently pump my arm back and forth and up and down in a distressed, small child's approximation of a circle. This was intended to dispel soreness and any lingering pain.

It became something more for me. It was the lull at the end of the battle, the sign that I had successfully navigated another needle. These days I take snoopy for a ride as much to pat myself on the back for being awesome as to avoid later soreness. I was taking snoopy for a ride periodically throughout the day yesterday and I got some pretty weird looks, but probably they were just jealous of my awesomeness.

Secret Fuzzy Flannel Hearts

I bought a new pair of pants. It was the cheapest pair of pants I could get away with. Consequently, there were some features I wasn't quite pleased with, like the "distressing" which really meant a couple of holes. So  I patched up the holes with fuzzy, heart-patterned flannel.

Yup, that just happened.

The best part is, no one will ever know I'm wearing secret, fuzzy, flannel hearts.

Now What

It's barely been two weeks since my oral defense. What a relief it would be to be done, I thought. Maybe for the first week it was a relief and I think maybe it still is, but I must be addicted to learning.

In the past week I've

• discovered that it will take me until 2029 to save enough money to pay for an MFA out of pocket (don't worry, student loans will be acquired before then)
• looked into local graphic design programs and thought of how I could get my current employer to help pay for some graphic design classes
• considered getting some fitness class training
• looked into PhD programs in English
• considered (very, very briefly) some sort of degree in French
• gathered the information I would need to write an email to the volunteer coordinator at OPL (I used to work with the broken books and there's so much more for me to learn about mending)

There's not a thing on that list that I haven't considered before. I don't know that there's anything you could add to a list of possible areas of learning that would be new to me. I've probably considered pursuing knowledge in just about every area. I'm cool like that.

In my mind I tell myself how nice it is to be done and to have a small break, but subconsciously I must be ready to move on to something else fun and exciting.

I find myself slightly exhausting.

I've determined that today is going to be a good day.

I made biscuits and fried potatoes with onions for breakfast. Comfort food. I struggle with breakfast. It's rare that I eat something for breakfast that I really love like I love fried potatoes and biscuits. I don't think it's possible to have a bad day when you eat biscuits and fried potatoes for breakfast.

It's been a rough week so far. A wracking sobs in the shower kind of week. I don't know how long it's been since I've done that. Years, I think.

But I'm done with that week. Today is going to be a good day.

I made my biscuits with 1/3 whole wheat flour that we ground ourselves and a couple ounces of cream cheese in place of some of the butter and plain greek yogurt mixed with skim milk instead of buttermilk. Biscuits a girl can feel good about eating. I only baked half the biscuit dough. If pillsbury can keep biscuit dough in the fridge, I ought to be able to. That's my thinking anyway. We'll see how they bake up tomorrow.

I'm also wearing a new pair of pants. It's slightly silly to be wearing a new pair of pants when I have four perfectly good, nearly new pairs of pants folded in my closet. The problem is I can't wear those pants because I started a new medication over the summer and I'm about ten pounds fatter than I used to be. I don't mind the ten pounds. I do mind needing to buy pants when I already have pants. I'm too poor for that.

To counteract the necessity of purchasing new pants, I started a fitness challenge with a friend. As part of the challenge I weigh and measure myself weekly. It's been about seven weeks. I've just danced around my original weight (never being more than two pounds away from it either up and down which really just means I'm stable), but there has been a significant change in my inches. I've lost about half an inch around my waist and gained between half an inch to an inch everywhere else (i.e., calves, thighs, hips, chest, arms). I'm officially larger in circumference than I was when I started which will not help me get into those pairs of pants that don't fit anymore. I gave in and went pants shopping yesterday. I am now the proud owner of one pair of unpatched pants, one pair of pants that has been patched once, and one pair of pants that has been patched twice. Yes, it's true, I'm a pants patcher. I'm determined to make those three pairs last until I can wear the other four pairs of nearly new pants in my closet.

Incidentally I'm about halfway through a book on happiness. I did not come across the book because I walked into the library and begged the librarians to direct me toward some happiness books. I've had the book on my to read list for months and physically on my bookshelf for about three weeks. It just so happens I'm reading it the same week that I've been really struggling. Maybe it's fate?

I think I need another biscuit.