Lord, cure me of my self-reliance, no seriously, I mean it this time!

Thank you RebeccaofSunnybrook for the wonderful early morning reads!

Now my mind is traveling to our shared history and pondering something you said.

Specifically the revelation that you almost drove yourself to the hospital while you were having a heart attack!

Dear Lord, cure me of my self-reliance.

I've taken it too far! I want to believe that people don't see my vulnerabilities. They do. Some ignore them, some take advantage of them, some acknowledge them and offer assistance, which I almost always refuse.

I am not the same person I was five or ten years ago. I cannot do all the things I did then. I should accept this and ask for help when needed.

Recently I had a minor surgery, which required me to be put under anesthesia, and I tried so hard to do it all on my own. Luckily, one friend said NO in no uncertain terms and picked me up from the hospital and took me home and checked in on me several times a day for the next few days. That was nice, and Paula, if you're reading this, thank you again for the 100th time.

My dear friend Lisa (taken at age 41 after a six year battle with breast cancer)told me that the life lesson which was hardest to learn was in asking for help and relying on others. But when you're battling for your life you have to let someone else handle the other stuff. She cautioned me to not wait to learn this lesson. I think it's beginning to sink in.

And it's sinking in over the most mundane of reasons! Because I am trying to move! I feel so silly that my life lesson in humility is learned due to a couch!

I have limited time to sort and box things, and there are boxes that haven't been opened from my move of five years ago! Actually, there are a couple of boxes that haven't been opened from my move to Chicago 10 years ago! I am downsizing from a 1 bedroom condo to a studio apartment, and so can't just move these boxes of god-knows-what again. I am overwhelmed with where to start, so I read Bec's blog entries and write in my own.

I'd like to give my furniture and assorted bric-a-brac away to family and friends, but most of them live in Iowa, so it's not as easy as saying come and take it. Moving is expensive, and my current building charges a move-out fee (every time you move anything OUT) so I can't advertise on lists and have people moving free things at differing times.

So, being self-reliant, I have requested quotes from moving and storage companies to see if they can move some things to a storage unit and others to the studio apartment. I hatch a Plan B which might or might not involve bribing some college students I know (and care about) who are strong, have limitless energies and can drive a moving van 100's of miles. I scheme a Plan C which invoves packing up the necessities and stealing away in the night...okay that one is really more like a daydream, I'd never do that.

I buy boxes and packing tape and lots of trash bags (downsizing is a perfect time to throw things out). I surround myself with a plan - today it is the bedroom including the closet. Tomorrow it is the living room and entertainment center.

Didn't I just ask to be cured of self reliance? Maybe god is telling me to get off my butt on this one and just do it. And save the asking for help for important things, like surgeries.

Hello, I am the "F" word...

Hi,
My name is Tammy and I am the "F" word. Not fuck. Fat.

I am fat; morbidly obese to be medically accurate. It doesn't matter that my blood pressure and triglycerides are well within medical limits, or that other than colds and age-related conditions (curse thee oh menopause), I tend to be pretty healthy...my weight overshadows (no pun intended) everything every one sees about me.

I'm hard to miss, even though I prefer not to be noticed. I am conservative in my dress, hairstyle and makeup. I say 'please, thank you and excuse me' like my mom taught me. I tend to have a pleasant disposition, greeting people with a cheery 'hello', not because I am the quintessential jolly fat girl, but because that's just manners. I try to stay out of people's way; I gather everything close to me in crowded elevators or buses. I walk as gracefully as possible and talk in a moderate voice. I don't want to take up anymore space than I phsycially need and I don't want to be a very visible target.

My weight could give me advantages - I could be a bully and intimidate others with my size. I could barge around and push others out of my way and take up even more space than I really need. I could talk loudly and fill up the air with a big voice to match my big body. I could demand to be seen and heard in proportion to all my fatness.

But that isn't me. My fat body isn't who I am. Granted, being overweight all my life has formed part of my personality. I think being made fun of as a child has made me a more empathetic person. Using my brain more than my body has sharpened my wit and my problem solving skills and honed my bullshit meter. Being bombarded by media messages that say I am not attractive, loveable or entitled to a sex life has made me wary of relationships that place a greater emphasis on the physical than the emotional.

I've evolved into the fat woman I am today from the chubby kid I was. I won't apologize for being fat. I don't make a new resolution every year to lose weight. I do make a concerted effort to eat healthier foods, to move more and to know my body and the signs that it isn't acting like itsfatself. I am not any of the stereotypes associated with a fat person. I am not lazy. My job is not physical, but it's work all the same. I am not poor. I am not rich, but I do okay. I do not sweat profusely unless doing strenuous exercise, which I tend to avoid. I do not smell, other than of a perfume I've worn for years. I am not stupid or ignorant or uneducated, even about the risks of being overweight and avoiding exercise. I do not eat the equivalent of a week's worth of food in one sitting. I do eat too many calories for the amount of energy I expend.

Being fat is not acceptable. Systematic discrimination of fat people is acceptable. We've all experienced it in some form or other. We've all heard about the trillion dollar diet industry and the outdated and inaccurate insurance/medical stats. We're all fairly confident that it's about money; fashion money, medical money, diet money, fast food money, chemically enhanced farm money and most recently environmentally friendly money. We're all outraged at the airlines for charging fat people more for flights, but clothing companies have charged us more for years. But, of course, everything is and always has been about money. Being fat was acceptable in different periods of history. Big, fat, roly-poly women and men were an outward sign of wealth. Wealth that allowed them to eat more richly prepared foods and hire or enslave others to do all their physical activities (other than the orgies, of course). Now research shows those on the lower end of the economic ladder are fatter, due to the limited food and activity choices. Thin is equated with wealth.

I don't expect people to feel sorry for me because of my weight. I think I have the right to expect that they will not berate me for my weight or make fun of me or judge me for my weight. But they will - my weight is what they see first. I am appalled at the people who feel free to offer me diet and exercise advice. Or to tell me that I am fat - as if I went to bed last night weighing 120 pounds and woke up this morning weighing twice as much. "What? I'm fat you say? Let me see for myself!" That just isn't good manners. But most damaging to us all are the women and men who complain of being fat to solicit compliments or reassurance that they aren't. Many who binge and starve and exercise to extreme or use drugs to build muscle, burn fat or suppress their appetites and may be more unhealthy than I am because of it. For them, they are their body. For me, my body, in all its unacceptable fatness, is what houses me.

Valentine, may I help you with your baggage?

Today has my mind traveling to love, of course.

I remember falling in love with and being in love with my ex. Now, I just love him. That seems like a contradiction, since we are divorced, but it's true. I love him in the sense that I wish good things for him; physical and mental health, to be happy, to have companionship, to be needed, wanted and loved and to be without need and want of basic things. For him to recognize and take pride in the good things he's accomplished and to forgive himself for the mistakes he's made. I hope our children don't drive him crazy with worry or pique his anger to the point of no return. I hope that he is proud of them and sees the good parts of himself in them. Does he sometimes make me angry and hurt me? Yes. Do I sometimes turn into a person I don't like in times of conflict with him? Yes. Am I a saint and all forgiving? No. But, I care for him in the way I care for myself, and that is what we should do.

I have spent a great deal of time trying to decipher love in the ten years since our separation and divorce - specifically love for an intimate partner. Especially since my ex told me that what I was looking for didn't exist, and I'm beginning to believe him. I think it's something I will never feel again. That statement isn't meant to elicit pity, I don't know if I'm capable of dealing with the good, the bad and the ugly emotions 'being in love' calls forth. I don't think I have the energy to be less self-centered and more couple-focused. In ten years I've become very accustomed to being alone and selfishly independent. I find I don't mind clothes on the floor if they are mine or eating out of can because I don't want to cook. I also have the 20+ years of loving my ex coloring all other relationships. I believe there are many things you can only do once and whether you get them right or wrong, you can't experience them ever again. Oh, you may love another, and love them just as much, but's it's not the same.

And too, I think you have to be young to bear the feelings without seeking medical attention - I remember the emotions as piercing. I was 18, but I knew I was falling in love because it hurt. My head ached just wondering what he was doing, who he was with, hoping he was thinking about me. All that thinking made me distracted. I was all jangly inside and couldn't sleep. There was physical pain too, something I imagine to be like withdrawal from a drug, craving to hear his voice and be in his presence. My chest felt full, I had heart palpitations. I've recognized these feelings in later relationships and hesitated, because although they are normal, the symptoms are remarkably like a psychological disorder I'd rather not endure.

Then there are the years I was 'in love.' I wanted to make things easier for him, I wanted to provide an oasis, a place where he could be himself and be proud of me, our home, the life we made together. I hoped I challenged him to be a better person. I believe I encouraged him to do and see things differently than either of us had experienced in the past. I placed an inordinate amount of importance on his reactions to everything I said or did. I made it all about him, and how I felt depended on how he felt, because I thought that is what you did when you were in love with someone. He didn't ask me to do any of these things, but later I resented him for accepting them anyway. I believed he had taken me (and all I'd given) for granted; that he didn't love me as much as I loved him because he didn't or couldn't express it in the same way I did. At the end of our relationship when I said "I'm not 'in love' with you anymore" what I really meant was "I am not getting what I never asked for." I haven't become any better at asking for what I need or want and I haven't met a man who could read my mind, so subsequent relationships have also failed.

I am a child of the sixties and seventies - love was the opium of the masses then. Public displays of affection were encouraged, men were supposed to get in touch with and express their feelings and women were emerging as people with their own rights. "Make Love, not War" wasn't referring to sex; love was a feeling you had for all of personkind and the world was going to be a better place for it. We are the generation that was going to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. The movies portrayed love as either all innocence or all angst. Love meant never having to say you're sorry. My parent's relationship, although enduring, wasn't very helpful to me in my own marriage. Once I called my mom to talk about a horrible fight my then husband and I had and she asked me "What did you do to cause it?" I never talked about marital conflicts again. As far as my family knew, we were perfectly happy, living the dream life, until we divorced.

I have tried to keep the lines of communication open with my children as it relates to love. We've had some frank conversations about how the divorce of their parents probably affects the way they think about relationships and love. I've tried to claim my share of blame and point out my mistakes in the marriage. My daughter, who is older, remembers the fights and the hurtful words flung about, and both my son and daughter remember the pervasive atmosphere of anger and uncertainty. I try not to be cynical and I tell them that this was their father's and my experience with love and marriage and it doesn't have to be theirs. We discuss how love is not sex and it's not just for the rich and beautiful, and it's not fleeting or disposable, and everything can't be solved in 30 minutes, as it's so often portrayed on tv and in music today.

I hope they understand that you can have conflict and still love someone, and that fighting couples don't always divorce. I hope they know that although it's cliche', they are the best part of our marriage. I wish for them to find true partners in love - people they can trust with the most vulnerable parts of themselves. I hope they can ask for what they need. I hope they know what they need. I want them to find loving partners who will build them up, encourage them to be better people and who will pick them up when they fall and never stop loving them even when they fail.

I hope they get it right the first time.

Stop calling it multitasking....

What really counts as multitasking? Wikipedia lists three types of multitasking; Computer, Media and Human. It says Human multitasking is the ability of a person to perform more than one task at the same time. It also defines task as a part of a set of actions that accomplish a job, problem or assignment. Note: it doesn't say that the performance of more than one task at the same time actually results in accomplishing a job, problem or assignment.

I'd venture that we most often claim to be multitasking when we're really doing something we have to (job, problem or assignment) and something we want to (media). Like writing a report for work while listening to our iPod or watching tv.

When you are sitting on the bus answering e-mails on your blackberry are you multitasking? You're not driving, and let's assume sitting doesn't count as a task. If you are driving any vehicle and answering e-mail on the blackberry, stop it. You're endangering others' lives, and probably misspelling words.

Can we really call it multitasking if even one of the actions we are doing doesn't assist us in accomplishing a job, problem or assignment?

From pen and paper to blogging. It was harder than I thought it would be. Maybe because I was also watching tv and playing Facebook games.

Yes, I was multitimewasting.