I skipped a day on here. I am so sorry, folks. I hope you didn't miss me too much.
I get pissed very rarely. If I do, it is one of a few things that fundamentally just eat me up inside. Today, it happens to be companies that seem to misplace any record or piece of paper that regards Emily Harnett and her finances. I worked in medical records for a doctor's office of over 40 physicians and over 30,000 patients. I know that organization can be difficult and almost tedious, but seriously people, it is your job to keep paper you receive in the right place. If you hate your job, there is something else that needs to be addressed aside from the paperwork.
I have gotten letters and e-mails from the Office of Financial Aid at my school, Point Park University, almost every week since the end of the Spring semester in April. Each form of correspondence indicates that my signed W-2 and Federal Tax Return from 2009 have not been received. And each time I receive a letter, I call them and tell them I came to the office and handed a counselor a new signed copy of each of these forms. I print them in the computer lab above the office and bring them down, hot off the press.
Today, two weeks after the last misfiling of my financial forms, I got an e-mail stating that my signed W-2 and Federal Tax Return from 2009 had not been received.
Come on, guys! Let's get your junk together!
After being put on hold twice for a total of about five minutes with two different financial aid counselors, they found both signed forms.
A-ha!
Hopefully, that is the end of that.
On a whole other note, with my bank, I am so impatient for my monthly bills to be posted to my account. Some of these payments were paid a week ago and still haven't posted. I am getting really irritated. I know that I don't have any money to spend until my next paycheck, but the fact that my bank statement says I have all this money in my account, despite the money being used for bills, it is just a tease.
I hate teases.
Actually, I take that back. I can be quite the tease. Tinkerbell and I are soul mates.
But, in the case of teasing me with money, I hate teases. It isn't fair. You'd think electronic payments would be a little faster than mailing a check, here in the 21st century. But, I guess you would be wrong thinking that way.
I guess what I am trying to do with today's entry is to rant and rave about money. Why have we become so controlled by money, today? Why does money intrigue such deep emotion, controversy, and power? We feel strapped if we have much and strapped if we do not. Nothing else on this earth has this kind of power over a person, emotionally and physically. And if we can name something with that kind of persuasion, it somehow traces back to money in some way.
Am I correct?
Let me know your thoughts, if you can. I'd love to hear them.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
An 88 Year Old Woman Made Me Cry
I had a short day at work today. I was only scheduled from 2:30 until close, so I spent the morning reading and watching some new episodes on the Food Network. Yes, just like last night's post said I would.
So, my day began as normal as it possibly could. I would have liked to wake up earlier and go for a run, but I stayed up until almost 2am, reading my book. I slept in pretty late. If any of you are wondering if Steig Larsson's trilogy at the top of the NY Times Bestseller list are fluff and hype, just know that they are fantastic. I haven't been this captivated by a story line in so long. It is very refreshing. I read every word, just so that I don't miss anything. I tried to take it to work for my lunch breaks, but it just destroys the story. I need to be completely focused on the story to really experience it.
But, today I had a 15 minute break. I didn't have to pout as I left the book at home. I left a little early for work, as I usually do. I remembered my sunscreen and my protein bar for lunch. I forgot a hair tie, but I braved the humidity without it.
I got outside and there was a yard sale in my neighbors' front yard. Mostly junk. But, hey, there is definitely something to be said for a good, solid effort.
I started walking up my street, South Negley Avenue, and saw an elderly woman standing at the bus stop and a younger woman sitting on the steps near the bus stop. I was about 50 feet away from her and she suddenly gasped and grabbed for the tree nearby. She collapsed and fell into the street, as cars continued to drive by her side. She didn't move at first, so I ran over to her and tried to direct the cars into a single lane. They were driving far too close to her for comfort. It made me so angry.
I dialed 911.
She was a black woman, but her legs were covered in white spots. She fallen hard on her side, and her arm was bright red. Her skin was hot to the touch.
A few people stopped by and said they would get some water and fan her. They brought a pillow. We had a nice group of people to help. I stayed on the phone with dispatch. Apparently, I am very calm and authoritative in an emergency situation.
"Have you ever had a heart attack or angina?"
"I'm sorry, she won't answer the question. She is burning up. Can you please send help now?"
They were probably checking to make sure the trip would be worth their while.
She finally gained enough strength to sit up on the curb. The pavement was so hot, and I felt that was the best thing for her. The water came, but she wasn't permitted to drink it. I had Nina put some of the cold water on her arms and legs to try and bring her temperature down a bit. The dispatch told me that she couldn't eat or drink, just to cut down the potential of her getting sicker until the ambulance arrived.
Understood.
She eventually started to talk. I called work to let them know I might be a little bit late. And the ambulance seemed to be taking its grand ole time, driving up the street. Richard called and emphasized to the dispatcher that we needed the ambulance to step on the gas.
It worked.
The ambulance came, much to her dismay, and they checked her vitals and lifted her into the ambulance. She originally didn't want me to call 911, but I insisted she at least get a checkup before she went home to lie down for the afternoon. I guessed she was about 60 when I described her to the dispatcher.
She was 88 years old.
Her neighbor came over and said she would stay with her whether she went to the hospital or back to her apartment across the street. She didn't want my phone number, so I made sure that everything was okay with the EMTs and continued my walk to work.
It must have been the adrenaline rush of the whole experience, but as I walked to Shadyside, I felt a huge wave of anxiety and distress. I didn't like leaving her. I didn't like even more the fact that she was 88 years old, living alone in Pittsburgh, and waiting for the bus in the summer to go to Giant Eagle.
This 88 year old woman made me cry.
I actually never got her name, because she wasn't willing to share that information when I was checking her vitals. She made such an impact on my day---And I think I will always remember this incident---yet, I would never see her again and I didn't even know her name. Usually, when you do the right thing, you often feel very good about yourself.
I felt terrible.
I felt like there was something more I could have done for her. I was really hoping that I would give her my number, she would call me someday, and I could help her carry her groceries to her apartment. Something!
But, now as I see the situation from afar, I can see that those events would only bring benefit to my own intentions. The good deed should be about the person in need. She needed help, and I helped her. She didn't really know me, and I really didn't know her. And those facts still remain. It was just a minute in our lives, but it makes me certain that the best moments in your life are the ones that you can do the right thing and walk away without lingering or wondering.
As I got closer to Walnut Street, a man stopped his car in the middle of the road and asked me for directions to a place I did not know.
I suppose at this point, I have a huge neon sign on my head that reads "Please, ask for my help."
I learned a lot of about myself today. I learned a lot about other people, too. It was nice to see strangers band together to help someone else. It was horrible to see other people drive in the shoulder of the street, while a woman is lying down in obvious trouble.
There are good and bad apples everywhere. I hear the bad, ugly apples are used to make apple cider and get squashed in the end. I would like to know if that's a metaphor from beyond our universe.
So, my day began as normal as it possibly could. I would have liked to wake up earlier and go for a run, but I stayed up until almost 2am, reading my book. I slept in pretty late. If any of you are wondering if Steig Larsson's trilogy at the top of the NY Times Bestseller list are fluff and hype, just know that they are fantastic. I haven't been this captivated by a story line in so long. It is very refreshing. I read every word, just so that I don't miss anything. I tried to take it to work for my lunch breaks, but it just destroys the story. I need to be completely focused on the story to really experience it.
But, today I had a 15 minute break. I didn't have to pout as I left the book at home. I left a little early for work, as I usually do. I remembered my sunscreen and my protein bar for lunch. I forgot a hair tie, but I braved the humidity without it.
I got outside and there was a yard sale in my neighbors' front yard. Mostly junk. But, hey, there is definitely something to be said for a good, solid effort.
I started walking up my street, South Negley Avenue, and saw an elderly woman standing at the bus stop and a younger woman sitting on the steps near the bus stop. I was about 50 feet away from her and she suddenly gasped and grabbed for the tree nearby. She collapsed and fell into the street, as cars continued to drive by her side. She didn't move at first, so I ran over to her and tried to direct the cars into a single lane. They were driving far too close to her for comfort. It made me so angry.
I dialed 911.
She was a black woman, but her legs were covered in white spots. She fallen hard on her side, and her arm was bright red. Her skin was hot to the touch.
A few people stopped by and said they would get some water and fan her. They brought a pillow. We had a nice group of people to help. I stayed on the phone with dispatch. Apparently, I am very calm and authoritative in an emergency situation.
"Have you ever had a heart attack or angina?"
"I'm sorry, she won't answer the question. She is burning up. Can you please send help now?"
They were probably checking to make sure the trip would be worth their while.
She finally gained enough strength to sit up on the curb. The pavement was so hot, and I felt that was the best thing for her. The water came, but she wasn't permitted to drink it. I had Nina put some of the cold water on her arms and legs to try and bring her temperature down a bit. The dispatch told me that she couldn't eat or drink, just to cut down the potential of her getting sicker until the ambulance arrived.
Understood.
She eventually started to talk. I called work to let them know I might be a little bit late. And the ambulance seemed to be taking its grand ole time, driving up the street. Richard called and emphasized to the dispatcher that we needed the ambulance to step on the gas.
It worked.
The ambulance came, much to her dismay, and they checked her vitals and lifted her into the ambulance. She originally didn't want me to call 911, but I insisted she at least get a checkup before she went home to lie down for the afternoon. I guessed she was about 60 when I described her to the dispatcher.
She was 88 years old.
Her neighbor came over and said she would stay with her whether she went to the hospital or back to her apartment across the street. She didn't want my phone number, so I made sure that everything was okay with the EMTs and continued my walk to work.
It must have been the adrenaline rush of the whole experience, but as I walked to Shadyside, I felt a huge wave of anxiety and distress. I didn't like leaving her. I didn't like even more the fact that she was 88 years old, living alone in Pittsburgh, and waiting for the bus in the summer to go to Giant Eagle.
This 88 year old woman made me cry.
I actually never got her name, because she wasn't willing to share that information when I was checking her vitals. She made such an impact on my day---And I think I will always remember this incident---yet, I would never see her again and I didn't even know her name. Usually, when you do the right thing, you often feel very good about yourself.
I felt terrible.
I felt like there was something more I could have done for her. I was really hoping that I would give her my number, she would call me someday, and I could help her carry her groceries to her apartment. Something!
But, now as I see the situation from afar, I can see that those events would only bring benefit to my own intentions. The good deed should be about the person in need. She needed help, and I helped her. She didn't really know me, and I really didn't know her. And those facts still remain. It was just a minute in our lives, but it makes me certain that the best moments in your life are the ones that you can do the right thing and walk away without lingering or wondering.
As I got closer to Walnut Street, a man stopped his car in the middle of the road and asked me for directions to a place I did not know.
I suppose at this point, I have a huge neon sign on my head that reads "Please, ask for my help."
I learned a lot of about myself today. I learned a lot about other people, too. It was nice to see strangers band together to help someone else. It was horrible to see other people drive in the shoulder of the street, while a woman is lying down in obvious trouble.
There are good and bad apples everywhere. I hear the bad, ugly apples are used to make apple cider and get squashed in the end. I would like to know if that's a metaphor from beyond our universe.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Home Alone On A Friday Night
Totally, man.
I got out of work early, and I don't have to work until 2:30 tomorrow afternoon. And, I am home alone. I am so okay with this, it is beyond perplexing. I am 22 years old. Home alone on a Friday night.
No plans.
Why am I okay with this, you ask? First of all, I enjoy quiet nights at home. I always have. I have never really been the partying type. I don't even really enjoy night clubs, unless the mood strikes me. When the weekend comes, I don't have three nights of bar hopping lined-up, followed by a Sunday of black coffee and Advil.
Nope.
I typically relax on the weekends. I see my friends when our schedules align. I like to walk around town and peruse Borders on Sunday nights. I go for longer runs on Saturday evenings. I take the time to make myself a hot breakfast, no matter the temperature outside. I savor my morning coffee, and sometimes catch some new episodes of my favorite Food Network shows on Saturdays. I catch up on my reading, bills, shopping and cleaning. I sleep in, if I can. I go to bed earliest on the weekends, as a matter of fact. If I had a car, "Riding slow on Sunday morning, I never wanna leave" would describe my life perfectly, as if Maroon 5 had never sung those words.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am not anti-social, by any means. I love people. My job revolves around my ability to love on people I don't know. But, that can be taxing and exhausting. I really need to recharge when I am home. But, it doesn't take the same energy to hang out with my friends as it does to work---That is not what I am saying. But, I will say the constant stimulation of being available to talk and communicate with enthusiasm and sincerity does encourage a chill and go-with-the-flow kind of person, such as myself, to take a step back on the weekends and smell the roses, if you will.
I have been awake most of the night, tossing and turning. I officially woke up at 4:55 AM to make oatmeal for a cute boy and kiss him goodbye before he went to work. I was running about 2 to 3 miles around the East End at 6:32 AM. I was at work until just after 6 PM, and I just spent the good part of my evening washing dishes from the roast chicken and potatoes I made last night for dinner.
I am a fun girl. But when it comes to this Friday night, I am so boring.
I think I may finish my evening with a chick flick, featuring Jennifer Aniston and some herbal tea.
My 23rd birthday is coming up in September. I may need someone to invest in a nice pair of bifocals and a cane. Any takers?
Question to ponder on your Friday night: What is your most boring habit?
I got out of work early, and I don't have to work until 2:30 tomorrow afternoon. And, I am home alone. I am so okay with this, it is beyond perplexing. I am 22 years old. Home alone on a Friday night.
No plans.
Why am I okay with this, you ask? First of all, I enjoy quiet nights at home. I always have. I have never really been the partying type. I don't even really enjoy night clubs, unless the mood strikes me. When the weekend comes, I don't have three nights of bar hopping lined-up, followed by a Sunday of black coffee and Advil.
Nope.
I typically relax on the weekends. I see my friends when our schedules align. I like to walk around town and peruse Borders on Sunday nights. I go for longer runs on Saturday evenings. I take the time to make myself a hot breakfast, no matter the temperature outside. I savor my morning coffee, and sometimes catch some new episodes of my favorite Food Network shows on Saturdays. I catch up on my reading, bills, shopping and cleaning. I sleep in, if I can. I go to bed earliest on the weekends, as a matter of fact. If I had a car, "Riding slow on Sunday morning, I never wanna leave" would describe my life perfectly, as if Maroon 5 had never sung those words.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am not anti-social, by any means. I love people. My job revolves around my ability to love on people I don't know. But, that can be taxing and exhausting. I really need to recharge when I am home. But, it doesn't take the same energy to hang out with my friends as it does to work---That is not what I am saying. But, I will say the constant stimulation of being available to talk and communicate with enthusiasm and sincerity does encourage a chill and go-with-the-flow kind of person, such as myself, to take a step back on the weekends and smell the roses, if you will.
I have been awake most of the night, tossing and turning. I officially woke up at 4:55 AM to make oatmeal for a cute boy and kiss him goodbye before he went to work. I was running about 2 to 3 miles around the East End at 6:32 AM. I was at work until just after 6 PM, and I just spent the good part of my evening washing dishes from the roast chicken and potatoes I made last night for dinner.
I am a fun girl. But when it comes to this Friday night, I am so boring.
I think I may finish my evening with a chick flick, featuring Jennifer Aniston and some herbal tea.
My 23rd birthday is coming up in September. I may need someone to invest in a nice pair of bifocals and a cane. Any takers?
Question to ponder on your Friday night: What is your most boring habit?
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Girls Can Be Real Sissies
Ladies, have you ever just cried for no reason? Or, maybe you cried for a lot of reasons, but it came up out of the blue? Has anyone else been here?
I firmly believe that a sign of good emotional health is the ability to cry regularly. This may be just because I cry at least once a month, if not more. If I go close to an entire month without crying, that 30th day rolls around and it's another day at the water park for me. Kleenex should be grateful to have such a reliable, clockwork-type customer every month.
Seriously, I cry like a total sissy.
I mean, as women, we have a lot going on at once. We have a basket for a brain. Everything is intertwined and woven around each strand twice and back again. Men, on the other hand, have compartmentalized filing systems for brains, generally. If a woman smells chocolate chip cookies one day, she might remember her mother baking them years ago and burst into tears. If a man smells chocolate chip cookies one day, he might take one as an impulse snack and one for the road. He would have to go to his "mom" filing cabinet to conjure up tears in remembrance of his mother. He would also have to file back his cookie file first. Whereas, a woman can associate anything to anything and just fall to pieces.
At least that's just how I feel. Sometimes I just feel too much. It's quite okay, actually. I've come to terms with this fact and coin it as my own internal mantra.
So, OK. I know what you're thinking.
"So what? She cries. Everyone does."
Yep. You've nailed it. But, tonight, I've experienced something familiar but all-together brand new at the same time. I don't know exactly how to describe it, or how to react.
Let me try this again.
There was a friend of mine once---a friend I no longer talk to---who, to this day, was the most selfish person I had ever known personally. DEEE-vah! But, at the same time, she acted as though she were Mother Theresa reincarnate. She'd leave moldy food in our shared bedroom for weeks, go days without showering or leaving her bed for class, and even camp-out on the common area's sofa for a month at a time. She would actually yell if we were talking in the common area!
Yes, I realize there are many friends of the past like this.
Also, yes, I am somewhat of a neat-freak. But, if my space was organized and the room as a whole was hygienic at least, I didn't say a word.
Continuing...
One night, I was studying in bed after midnight and the other roommates had gone to their own room on the other side of the suite. Out of nowhere, she just threw everything she had in her hands to the floor in a huge THUD and walked over to my bed. Her body trembling, and her face was reddening by the second.
Every bad word in the book. No exceptions. She yelled about my inconsideration, selfishness, overall integrity as a person. I mean, she was really hammering below the belt here. I couldn't believe it. I was blown away, but at the same time, so serene.
Long story short, I was calm, cool and collected. I did not cry. I did not raise my voice. I did not even respond to any of her accusations in my defense.
Nope. I just stayed in my bed with my philosophy text book in my lap.
I knew exactly where I stood in the relationship. I knew exactly how I felt. I knew how others viewed the situation. And I knew that I was completely in control of my reaction.
Today is different.
Now, I don't have an irate roommate projecting her inadequacies on my own behavior. I don't even have anyone telling me anything bad. Today was actually a very nice day. But, at the same time, I can't help but be overwhelmed by a feeling of:
"Oh shit, what am I doing here?"
I feel as though I have no control over how I feel today. I like to be in control. I like to be completely a-OK with everything, with a solid handshake and a wink. I like to just roll gritty things off my shoulders and "Suck it up, kid." And, today I can't find that in my power. I can't bring that to the surface. I can't be a superhero at the end of the day.
I am being such a sissy tonight.
Yes, I cried. I don't know if it's been 30 days, but it sure was needed and totally unrelated to my craving for chocolate chip cookies.
So, I am feeling pretty stupid. Who's been here? I'd love some thoughts.
I firmly believe that a sign of good emotional health is the ability to cry regularly. This may be just because I cry at least once a month, if not more. If I go close to an entire month without crying, that 30th day rolls around and it's another day at the water park for me. Kleenex should be grateful to have such a reliable, clockwork-type customer every month.
Seriously, I cry like a total sissy.
I mean, as women, we have a lot going on at once. We have a basket for a brain. Everything is intertwined and woven around each strand twice and back again. Men, on the other hand, have compartmentalized filing systems for brains, generally. If a woman smells chocolate chip cookies one day, she might remember her mother baking them years ago and burst into tears. If a man smells chocolate chip cookies one day, he might take one as an impulse snack and one for the road. He would have to go to his "mom" filing cabinet to conjure up tears in remembrance of his mother. He would also have to file back his cookie file first. Whereas, a woman can associate anything to anything and just fall to pieces.
At least that's just how I feel. Sometimes I just feel too much. It's quite okay, actually. I've come to terms with this fact and coin it as my own internal mantra.
So, OK. I know what you're thinking.
"So what? She cries. Everyone does."
Yep. You've nailed it. But, tonight, I've experienced something familiar but all-together brand new at the same time. I don't know exactly how to describe it, or how to react.
Let me try this again.
There was a friend of mine once---a friend I no longer talk to---who, to this day, was the most selfish person I had ever known personally. DEEE-vah! But, at the same time, she acted as though she were Mother Theresa reincarnate. She'd leave moldy food in our shared bedroom for weeks, go days without showering or leaving her bed for class, and even camp-out on the common area's sofa for a month at a time. She would actually yell if we were talking in the common area!
Yes, I realize there are many friends of the past like this.
Also, yes, I am somewhat of a neat-freak. But, if my space was organized and the room as a whole was hygienic at least, I didn't say a word.
Continuing...
One night, I was studying in bed after midnight and the other roommates had gone to their own room on the other side of the suite. Out of nowhere, she just threw everything she had in her hands to the floor in a huge THUD and walked over to my bed. Her body trembling, and her face was reddening by the second.
Every bad word in the book. No exceptions. She yelled about my inconsideration, selfishness, overall integrity as a person. I mean, she was really hammering below the belt here. I couldn't believe it. I was blown away, but at the same time, so serene.
Long story short, I was calm, cool and collected. I did not cry. I did not raise my voice. I did not even respond to any of her accusations in my defense.
Nope. I just stayed in my bed with my philosophy text book in my lap.
I knew exactly where I stood in the relationship. I knew exactly how I felt. I knew how others viewed the situation. And I knew that I was completely in control of my reaction.
Today is different.
Now, I don't have an irate roommate projecting her inadequacies on my own behavior. I don't even have anyone telling me anything bad. Today was actually a very nice day. But, at the same time, I can't help but be overwhelmed by a feeling of:
"Oh shit, what am I doing here?"
I feel as though I have no control over how I feel today. I like to be in control. I like to be completely a-OK with everything, with a solid handshake and a wink. I like to just roll gritty things off my shoulders and "Suck it up, kid." And, today I can't find that in my power. I can't bring that to the surface. I can't be a superhero at the end of the day.
I am being such a sissy tonight.
Yes, I cried. I don't know if it's been 30 days, but it sure was needed and totally unrelated to my craving for chocolate chip cookies.
So, I am feeling pretty stupid. Who's been here? I'd love some thoughts.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
I Forgot My Pants
Yes, the title is true.
I had this grand plan to have an intense cardio workout at the rec center before my four hour macroeconomics class today. First, it is currently in the mid-80s and humid and it is 11:01 PM. Needless to say, running a few miles around the city today did not appeal to me in the heat of the afternoon.
Today was the first day of the second summer session. I have an evening class that meets Mondays and Wednesdays from 6-9:50PM for the next six weeks. It was so hot and humid today, working out was something that needed done, but I was not about to run a few miles in this weather. I had a plan. I was going to go to the rec center---a fancy title for a closet with 2 treadmills, 4 ellipticals, and other various machines in smaller number---and I was going to run AND weight lift before class.
Look at me go. I was such an overachiever this morning.
After figuring out which bus came when by my apartment, I got downstairs in perfect timing to find my bus come just early enough for me to see it, but just late enough for me to miss it. Then, the next bus came late.
Perfect, right?
But, no big deal. Pluto was demoted from planet to moon. The universe has bigger problems. So, I sucked it up and stood in the heat in a black dress, waiting for a bus. Eventually, the bus I did not want to take to town came. At that point, I would take any bus for the sheer fact that a bus meant air conditioning.
It's about 15 minutes until 4:00PM at this point and the bus taking a roundabout route to Downtown could not possibly move any slower. By the time I got Downtown, rush hour was in full force and every single slow pedestrian and construction cone was positioned right in the middle of every sidewalk, on every block.
When I finally got to Lawrence Hall, I realized that summer made Downtown all the more inconvenient. The bookstore was closed already. I couldn't buy a single bus ticket. So, I go back up the street to the nearest PNC ATM and withdraw some cash to get a drink for my workout. I would later use the change to pay for my bus fare home after class.
Oh wait---The Point Cafe is closed too.
OK, whatever.
I will just suck up this workout and use the water fountain. There was no way I was going back up to Forbes Avenue for the second time since getting off the bus to go to CVS for a bottle of water. I'll go back after my workout and pick up a notebook for tonight's class.
I ran down three flights of stairs to the rec center, in the basement of Lawrence Hall. I found my student ID and struggled to swipe into the system. The old guy behind the desk had a crooked nose and his glasses were tilted because of it. He smiled at me.
I have been at Point Park University for four years. I have one more semester, and I still refuse to use the locker rooms in the rec center. I really don't know why I never have, but, for the sake of principle and tradition, I walked straight to the bathroom and wedged myself into the stall to get dressed. I took off my dress and replaced my sandals with my No Nonsense socks and Asics running shoes. I dug through my bag and pulled out my sports bra, my t-shirt, and my shorts. I grabbed the black shorts and started to pull them over one of my legs.
Oh, that's strange.
I looked down at my feet. My leg was through the arm hole of another one of my workout t-shirts.
Damnit.
My bag was completely empty. I brought a sports bra, sneakers, and 2 t-shirts to the gym.
I forgot my pants.
I wanted to just go home and start my day all over again. I was so embarrassed. I remembered a hair tie and even a bottle of toner for after my workout to freshen makeup, but I forgot my pants.
Who does that?
And it isn't like I didn't have all day to get my stuff together for class. I was not short on time at all today. It was just one of those dumb things I do. It was one of those not-so perfect things I do. It was just one of those not-so perfect things I do all the time.
You know, we all like to believe we are better than we really are, act better than we really act, and look better than we really look to other people. We also like to think we are always right---Or, at least I do. I am a fairly smart girl. I have my head on straight. I read the news and vote. I have many different friends and acquaintances, and I have experienced a lot of different things in my life.
I like to believe that I am a good person, and that whatever I do is on-point. I am a perfectionist, too. Can you tell? Well, I am a virgo; it comes with the stars. But, I would like to explore this concept of being not-so perfect. So, what better way to explore something than through my very own blog?
Now I have a blog.
I have started this blog today to introduce both you and myself to my life in an imperfect lens. I want to explore my own grasp on life as I already know it and look at it from a perspective that is not-so perfect. In this blog, I want to examine my life through my imperfect moments. I want to be okay with being imperfect---And, not just because it's the 'so perfect' thing to say. I hope to learn about myself and perhaps change my perspective on a few things. Maybe I won't change anything. Maybe I will change the world. But, either way, I'd like to welcome you to my not-so perfect world---to see me imperfectly, to see the world without seeing it, and to engage in a world without expectation of excellence.
Today, we are told to be the best we can be and to go 110 percent in anything we do. Let's try on 90 percent and see how it fits. Maybe we're missing something when we see everything at 110 percent. Maybe we need to step back and see the highlights of the day as the mistakes we make, the times we embarrass ourselves, or the minutes we wish we could start the day over again, instead of the usual suspects we typically label as highlights. Instead of telling you about how delicious my plate of pancakes from Pamela's Diner was one morning, I am going to tell you about all of the syrup I dribbled down my arm and gave myself a nice waxing to the arm when I tried to lift my hands off the table. Instead of telling you about what a great hair day I had, I am going to tell you about how I burned my forehead with my flat iron right before going to work.
Sound crazy? Maybe it is. But I like the idea so far. So let's just see what happens. I'd love your feedback throughout this journey. Typos are encouraged.
I had this grand plan to have an intense cardio workout at the rec center before my four hour macroeconomics class today. First, it is currently in the mid-80s and humid and it is 11:01 PM. Needless to say, running a few miles around the city today did not appeal to me in the heat of the afternoon.
Today was the first day of the second summer session. I have an evening class that meets Mondays and Wednesdays from 6-9:50PM for the next six weeks. It was so hot and humid today, working out was something that needed done, but I was not about to run a few miles in this weather. I had a plan. I was going to go to the rec center---a fancy title for a closet with 2 treadmills, 4 ellipticals, and other various machines in smaller number---and I was going to run AND weight lift before class.
Look at me go. I was such an overachiever this morning.
After figuring out which bus came when by my apartment, I got downstairs in perfect timing to find my bus come just early enough for me to see it, but just late enough for me to miss it. Then, the next bus came late.
Perfect, right?
But, no big deal. Pluto was demoted from planet to moon. The universe has bigger problems. So, I sucked it up and stood in the heat in a black dress, waiting for a bus. Eventually, the bus I did not want to take to town came. At that point, I would take any bus for the sheer fact that a bus meant air conditioning.
It's about 15 minutes until 4:00PM at this point and the bus taking a roundabout route to Downtown could not possibly move any slower. By the time I got Downtown, rush hour was in full force and every single slow pedestrian and construction cone was positioned right in the middle of every sidewalk, on every block.
When I finally got to Lawrence Hall, I realized that summer made Downtown all the more inconvenient. The bookstore was closed already. I couldn't buy a single bus ticket. So, I go back up the street to the nearest PNC ATM and withdraw some cash to get a drink for my workout. I would later use the change to pay for my bus fare home after class.
Oh wait---The Point Cafe is closed too.
OK, whatever.
I will just suck up this workout and use the water fountain. There was no way I was going back up to Forbes Avenue for the second time since getting off the bus to go to CVS for a bottle of water. I'll go back after my workout and pick up a notebook for tonight's class.
I ran down three flights of stairs to the rec center, in the basement of Lawrence Hall. I found my student ID and struggled to swipe into the system. The old guy behind the desk had a crooked nose and his glasses were tilted because of it. He smiled at me.
I have been at Point Park University for four years. I have one more semester, and I still refuse to use the locker rooms in the rec center. I really don't know why I never have, but, for the sake of principle and tradition, I walked straight to the bathroom and wedged myself into the stall to get dressed. I took off my dress and replaced my sandals with my No Nonsense socks and Asics running shoes. I dug through my bag and pulled out my sports bra, my t-shirt, and my shorts. I grabbed the black shorts and started to pull them over one of my legs.
Oh, that's strange.
I looked down at my feet. My leg was through the arm hole of another one of my workout t-shirts.
Damnit.
My bag was completely empty. I brought a sports bra, sneakers, and 2 t-shirts to the gym.
I forgot my pants.
I wanted to just go home and start my day all over again. I was so embarrassed. I remembered a hair tie and even a bottle of toner for after my workout to freshen makeup, but I forgot my pants.
Who does that?
And it isn't like I didn't have all day to get my stuff together for class. I was not short on time at all today. It was just one of those dumb things I do. It was one of those not-so perfect things I do. It was just one of those not-so perfect things I do all the time.
You know, we all like to believe we are better than we really are, act better than we really act, and look better than we really look to other people. We also like to think we are always right---Or, at least I do. I am a fairly smart girl. I have my head on straight. I read the news and vote. I have many different friends and acquaintances, and I have experienced a lot of different things in my life.
I like to believe that I am a good person, and that whatever I do is on-point. I am a perfectionist, too. Can you tell? Well, I am a virgo; it comes with the stars. But, I would like to explore this concept of being not-so perfect. So, what better way to explore something than through my very own blog?
Now I have a blog.
I have started this blog today to introduce both you and myself to my life in an imperfect lens. I want to explore my own grasp on life as I already know it and look at it from a perspective that is not-so perfect. In this blog, I want to examine my life through my imperfect moments. I want to be okay with being imperfect---And, not just because it's the 'so perfect' thing to say. I hope to learn about myself and perhaps change my perspective on a few things. Maybe I won't change anything. Maybe I will change the world. But, either way, I'd like to welcome you to my not-so perfect world---to see me imperfectly, to see the world without seeing it, and to engage in a world without expectation of excellence.
Today, we are told to be the best we can be and to go 110 percent in anything we do. Let's try on 90 percent and see how it fits. Maybe we're missing something when we see everything at 110 percent. Maybe we need to step back and see the highlights of the day as the mistakes we make, the times we embarrass ourselves, or the minutes we wish we could start the day over again, instead of the usual suspects we typically label as highlights. Instead of telling you about how delicious my plate of pancakes from Pamela's Diner was one morning, I am going to tell you about all of the syrup I dribbled down my arm and gave myself a nice waxing to the arm when I tried to lift my hands off the table. Instead of telling you about what a great hair day I had, I am going to tell you about how I burned my forehead with my flat iron right before going to work.
Sound crazy? Maybe it is. But I like the idea so far. So let's just see what happens. I'd love your feedback throughout this journey. Typos are encouraged.
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