Today, dammit

So it’s been a week since I had my first therapy appointment and 5 days since I started on Prozac. I’m not really noticing a lot of difference, but I don’t really expect to. I have fairly consistently been getting more exercise since Friday as well. I haven’t done a ten minute plus stint on the Gazelle today… yet. But I’m definitely getting up and moving a bit more. It’s nice to see my stats rise on Fitbit if nothing else.

I’m still trying not to poke at what I should be doing over what I am doing. Even to the point of “okay, keep this up.” Because projecting keeping something up into the future is the easiest way to become overwhelmed and end up despairing. So this is my frequently-needed reminder to concentrate on the now.

Which means I changed the title of this entry from “Day 5/Day 7” to what it is.

Late Start

So I’m not going to try to make myself do all the things, but I am going to give myself credit when I do any of the things. So, to give credit… Marcus (roommate) offered to pay my copays for getting therapy for depression. I’ve had it pretty much as long as I can remember. Most of the time it manifests in low energy and apathy. It has excellent disguises, like momentary enthusiasm and the occasional sense of contentment or outright happiness. …and then I start looking at what I’m doing (or more to the point, not doing) and realize that they’re coming fewer and further between.

So this past Tuesday, I had my first therapy appointment. With encouragement from my therapist, I also consulted my primary doc, and as of about 12 hours from now, I’ll be starting on Prozac. Right this minute, I’m satisfied with taking my first baby steps on a trajectory, but I’m not looking too far ahead, mainly because I don’t want to overwhelm myself.

Also today, I managed to get 12 good minutes in on the Gazelle. Got my heart rate up, got a good sweat going. I’m just going to be proud of myself for that without pressuring to do more. Celebrating the good.

I will be calling one of my two senators…

I’ve heard the calls to “keep calling your senators, tell them that Trump’s cabinet picks are garbage and to not repeal the ACA.”

There’s two problems with that. My senators, Ted Cruz and John Cornyn. Most of the country is familiar with Ted Cruz by now, and John Cornyn is just a quieter Tea Party line-toer.

I have pretty much no hope whatsoever that Ted Cruz will listen to any appeals from anyone to reject efforts to repeal the Affordable Care Act in its totality and in each individual part. He’s made it abundantly clear that no way no how will he ever do anything that could possibly be construed as anything positive toward President Obama. Lost cause there. I really have little hope that he’ll actually obstruct, even out of sheer cussedness, any of Trump’s cabinet picks. Basically, I write off Ted Cruz listening to anyone more liberal than the KKK on anything. An actual Obama supporter? Fuggedabouddit.

John Cornyn, from a quick perusal of his tweets, might maybe possibly be open to forestalling efforts until a viable replacement is codified and presented. So I’ll be calling his office tomorrow. As far as the cabinet confirmations go, however, that perusal of his tweets shows him to be doing his part to carry Trump’s water and is as lost a cause on that as Cruz is on the ACA.

Twenty Seventeen

So now it’s twenty seventeen. Not that I expected it to be, nor expect it to be for at least the first few weeks, it’s not different from 2016.

However, the day after my forty-first birthday, I expect things to begin to change pretty drastically. The biggest change will be that we will definitively no longer have a president most of the country can be proud of. There are plenty of people, several eye-rollingly in my own family, who say that we haven’t had one for the last eight years either. But we’ve had a classy, gracious, gentleman in the White House the last eight years, and we will have someone who is the polar and exact opposite of both adjectives and the noun for the next four. And he will officially be in office. The very thought makes me nauseated.

Twenty Sixteen

Oofdah. What a year this has been.

His Bratliness has managed to make a Cubs fan out of me lo these last several years (I was watching during the Steve Bartman incident), so this year’s win was pretty awesome. Here’s to next year being just as awesome for the team.

All the other things, though… I won’t go into the whole dumpster fire this year has been with the deaths of various icons or the politics.

Personally, it’s been pretty good over all. We haven’t gone any deeper into debt, though the debt we carried into this year hasn’t lessened by a whole hell of a lot either. We’re keeping our heads above water, pretty much. We had a friend move in with his two pit bulls, and they’re adorable goofballs. PITA… poor kitty. He’ll be capping off his 21st trip around the sun April 1, which will put him roughly at the equivalent of 100 human years old. He’s fairly close to stone deaf, at least has vision problems, is arthritic enough that he can’t get up on so much as a step stool, and is fairly obviously dealing with some sort of feline dementia, but over all, he seems to be happy. Pepa died back in January, just a few days before my birthday, but she’d been withdrawing for a good long while, so it wasn’t as much of a wrench to see her go.

Looking into 2017, I should really blog more. I have a few ideas, so we’ll see how it goes.

Love Absurdly

I have a tendency to tell or text my husband one of two phrases. “Love you mostest forever.” or “Love you ridiculous amounts.” Because I do. He’s my sweetheart, the one I annoy the absolute most, the one I trust to be there. My best friend. We’ve got a nice fifteen-and-a-half-year start on forever. I know I drive him up every nearest wall, and he drives me up a few, too. But I really wouldn’t want it any other way.

I don’t think I know how to love other than absurdly, throwing my entire self into it. Even when it hurts. I may draw back a little bit and even nurse my hurt, but I’ll always reach back out. And I wouldn’t want to be any other way. I wouldn’t be me any other way. So I love ridiculously, superlatively, absurdly. And I’ll never stop.

A Tale of Two Resumes

Disclaimer: These names and histories are ENTIRELY AND COMPLETELY fictional. However, they are entirely true to life, if rather optimistic.

There’s a company hiring for a single managerial position. There are two resumes for the final candidates. One is for Andrew Richards, the other for Andre Watson.

Andrew is 34, went to a fairly decent school, graduated in the top third of his class, has had a couple of jobs, starting in high school, his references note that he is detail oriented, has a stellar attendance record, and an employee of the month award.

Andre is 36, also went to a decent school, graduated in the top third of his class the same year Andrew did, has had jobs dating back to high school, and references paint him as conscientious and organized. One boss mentions that he found an error his supervisor missed that saved his company a couple thousand dollars at one point.

More often than not, Andrew will get called in for an interview before Andre will. Their resumes are actually pretty equal, all things considered, but it’s not just the names, though that has a lot to do with it. Andre’s two years older, and has had more jobs. At least one of Andrew’s is listed as an internship, though a paid one.

But the reason Andre had more jobs was that he actually worked two while he was in high school, because while both his and Andrew’s dads were hurt, Andre’s dad had his workman’s comp claim denied because the bureaucrat deciding it looked at it as a lazy black man trying to game the system. Andrew’s dad had the benefit of the doubt that he actually was hurt as badly as he said he was and that the incident happened on the work site. So while both high-school aged boys worked to help their families make ends meet, Andrew was able to work a single job, and most of his money went toward paying for leisure. Andre also has an additional job on his resume during his college years. His father was still out of work, because his injury wasn’t able to heal properly due to doctors treating him as a drug seeker. Andrew was able to take a summer off and go backpacking across the country with a couple of friends because his dad had returned to work by the time he graduated high school.

Andre graduated college the same year Andrew did because he took a little longer to go through, working and taking a couple fewer classes over two years to help out his family.

It’s so often not just the name that’s different.