Monday, January 26, 2009

Late

This morning I woke up feeling surprisingly rested considering I went to bed at midnight. My bed was warm, Otis, my stuffed dog was near, the sun was shi...wait a minute. The sun is never up when I wake up at 6am. What time is it?

8:10am. It was 8:10 in the freaking morning. I usually wake up at 6am for yoga, breakfast, and to cram for the days classes that start at 7:30. But no, this morning I was jolted out of bed by my fear of the wrath of, you guessed it, Y.J. Moses, or Dr. Moses, my education professor.

Indeed I spent several hours yesterday finishing up the six assignments due in just one of his classes, Intro to Teaching, and by the looks of it I was going to miss getting it in on time. But no, I worked too long and hard to enjoy the wonder of breakfast or changing out of my pajamas.

So by 8:18am, 2 minutes before class ended, I slapped the stack of papers, amounting to my livelihood and said, "These are on time." I didn't ask. I told. He might've noticed my lateness, maybe, and must've understood. "Ok."

So was my morning, a bit bumpy but ok. Some read and think, Ok, no big deal, she made it on time and continued with her day. And to you I say, "No it was a big deal."

Being that I am a recovering perfectionist, a sickness that has led me down many roads I never want to go again, this is a big deal. So, my day didn't start how I wanted it to, it's gonna be alright. So, I didn't do my yoga, it's gonnna be alright. So, I didn't take the 24 vitamins and nasty multi-vitamin tonic, it's definitely gonna be alright.

I forgave myself and moved on. I sat and chatted with a friend. I stopped long enough to eat lunch with a friend I haven't seen in awhile.

I went back to my room for 3 hours and buried my nose in books and a 10-page Philosophy of Education paper, oh YJ Moses, you taunt me so! Sitting at my desk, surrounded by pictures of my kids, I miss them. What a difference a few months makes. I think about them, how they're doing, what they're doing. I didn't love, love everything about Cambodia, but I enjoyed knowing I was doing something important. Spending 2 hours formatting a 10-page paper into APA style using correct bibliographies, page numbers, and centered titles, just doesn't equate "purpose" for me. I'll let ya know when it does.

I looked up "hippy" in the dictionary, out of curiousity. Correction: I typed "define hippy" into Google. Interesting: hippie= someone who rejects the established culture; advocates extreme liberalism in politics and lifestyle.

That defines a lot of people I know. I wonder if they realize they are "hippies" and I hope they're ok with it, because I am. "Rejecting the established culture" could easily be me theme song, that is assuming our culture is pretty happy the way it is.

I went to the gym to exercise. Lately I've been more conscious of my body, the tension, the cold, the heat, the flexibility, whatever. I realized last week that each and every time I step outside into the frigid Nebraska air, I tense my shoulders towards my ears, furrow my eye brows, slightly clench my fists, and hunch in my lower back. Noticing my eyes also squinting to the brightness of the sun, I let it all go. Ahhh! That's better.

I purposefully work out as often as I can at 4pm, because that is when Oprah is on. I gotta get my quality time in ya know, she won't be around forever.

The show was on 16 overweight teenagers and addressing the real reasons they are overweight. This generation of youth is the first that are beginning to be outlived by their parents. The problem is, it has very little to do with junk food. They are not hiding under fat, they are hiding under sexual abuse, divorce, abortion, violence, and their parents drug abuse. Many of them talked about contemplating suicide. I could relate SO strongly to what they were saying.

Granted my struggles have been mostly NOT eating to hide pain, but it's the same core struggles that keep popping up in my friends and family. I'm seeing it now, and alot of people don't. They keep trying to fix the symptom, instead of treating the illness.

The Oprah show, way to go, arranged an intervention with counselors to help the families understand what was really going. This kind of stuff is what makes me want to get into counseling.

It was a good day. I'm doing well. I'm happy. I'm doing what I need to take care of myself. A typical day for me has much more room for accidents, detours, and open-mindedness than it used to.

Rarely do I just blog about my day, but more so what I learned. But I don't feel like wrapping this up with a bow, it just was.

And that's ok.

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