End of summer purge

I'm sorry to see summer come to an end. It's been a good summer. It's the easy time of my calendar. Soon financial aid season will be upon me and I'll be at my laptop for hours upon hours, days and weeks at a stretch. Not looking forward to that. In fact, I'm dreading it.

I had my annual physical last week and though I don't have all the lab results yet, I don't expect any surprises. I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. The coughing that had me down during spring (likely allergies), is long gone. The nausea that began last year and worsened this past spring is also gone. It left with Celexa.

Speaking of Celexa, I think I'm finally through the withdrawal. Looking back on it, the process probably hit its apex when I was in Oregon in June. I was so miserable that weekend I wanted to die. I wasn't depressed or suicidal. I just wanted to die. Hard to explain. It's all behind me thankfully. I feel great, both emotionally and physically.

I think my thyroid may be off kilter a bit, so I half-expect to get a call from my doctor to change my Levoxyl dosage. I say half-expect because if my thyroid was off like I think it is, I'd be dropping a lot more weight. I have been dropping weight, but it's because I've been working at it.

After a seven month stretch when I took a break from weight loss and rarely exercised, I picked it up again, in earnest. I came off a stressful winter/consulting season with a serious case of cabin fever. When work wound down, I busted out. I've spent every possible minute of every day this summer outside (or in the pool), doing something.

The batting cage is the perfect compliment to Frisbee golf [I throw from left-to-right and swing from right-to-left]. Just saying.

I've had a lot of time for the outdoors because this is my off season. I've not been especially busy with work. I do a different kind of modeling in my off season. I do these cookie-cutter, assembly line, predictive models. I get a fixed price per model, and there are enough to do that I earn half of my year in my off-season. Yet I hardly work at all.

Unfortunately, the rest of my year doesn't come so easily. I haven't figured out how to adapt my econometric models to an assembly line system so that I can get the same price-to-effort ratio. I need to work on that.

When one can't work, one must play. Playtime aplenty has had its rewards. I dropped 10 pounds over the summer.

I've dropped 50 pounds since quitting my day job 14 months ago. My knees are a lot happier and I no longer suffer from GERD.

I'm working hard to drop 25 more. Then my plan is to clean up the rest of my act just long enough to pass a physical for affordable health insurance. The difference between Fat Trop and Lean Trop is about $200/month in premiums. Cha-ching.

I've blogged enough for now about banjo, except for this cute thing. The kid in the lesson before mine is an 8-year-old girl learning guitar. She's just starting out and already she's doing a respectable rendition of Walk the Line. When her lesson was wrapping up, I overheard her tell the instructor "They're going to make a movie about me, just like in Walk the Line." So. Cute.

If there was a movie about your life, what celebrity would play your part? No clue who would play me in a Trop biopic.

Another reason I'm sad to see summer end: Amanda. I enjoy being home with her through the day. I'm so lucky to have that. We'll still have it after school starts, but it won't be the same.

Amanda has been pumped for school after her first two orientation classes; her full schedule starts tomorrow. I hope she takes to college the way I did. I hated high school so much that I almost skipped out on college. As it was I delayed college until I was 20. That was the right thing for me. I hope this is the right thing for her.

I am so desperate to see Amanda blossom.

Courtney and I spent a lot of date nights this summer at city stadium, where the Hillcats play. Minor league baseball is a lot of fun. We went to the game last night and saw a great fireworks show afterward. I'm going to miss nights out at the stadium.

NASCAR has been SO much fun this summer because my guy has been at the top of the charts most of the season. He had a bad night last night though. Hope that's the last one. NASCAR lasts until November, so there's a lot of racing left.

Finally, I'm sorry to see summer end because with fall comes another birthday (October). I'm going to be 49 this time, and that's hitting me HARD.

Things that make me feel old

40th anniversary editions.

Happy Birthday Courtney

I swear I'm pregnant

I swear I'm pregnant. I even have morning sickness.

Moody much? One minute I'm gay and flirty, the next minute I'm downright mean.

Amanda called me "catty."

I have moments of real confusion. Fleeting moments when I sometimes don't know where I am.

This is what my pregnancy was like. I was not a person you wanted to be around.

Of course, I am NOT pregnant, so WTF?

I was taking a high dose of Effexor and it is finally out of my system. Maybe it's replacement isn't enough and depression, which causes many of my symptoms, is gradually taking over. I'll need to watch that.

Or maybe my thyroid levels need adjusting (the morning nausea is a clue).

Or maybe I'm just heading into The Change. I'll be 48 next month. Does menopause feel like pregnancy?

Whatever it is, I guess I ought to get my old self to the doctor. I hate going to the doctor.

Just my luck

You know your eyes are just about gone when you have to do THIS to edit code.

In response to

I understand Sassy. I was that way all my early life. But when my sister K was pregnant and had Nick, everything changed. He was the first baby I ever LOVED. I was 20 and from that time forward I knew I'd have a baby. Twelve years later, I delivered Amanda.

I hated being pregnant. I was sick for nine months. There is a reason Amanda is an only child... a sibling would require another pregnancy and I have never wanted to go through that again.

Until now.

WTF? I'm six months away from 48. Forty. fucking. eight. Yet, I am having this overwhelming urge to be pregnant and have a child. I even have a man-crush forgoodnesssakes.

I think my last remaining eggs are having a really fun "everything but the girl" party, and I am feeling the buzz (my mojo).

The hormones are in their last throes. I'm ready for the passage. I am ready to let go.

[and Court gave me a cure]

I will be more than happy, however, to hold onto my resurgent mojo thankyouverymuch. I think my wife will appreciate that as well.

me: sorry... got a call

YG: thats ok

me: I'm trying to figure out/debug

why results of SPSS programming don't match my spreadsheet calculations.

12:07 PM YG: that sounds fun :(

2:35 PM me: I've been grouchy

I think I'm DIVING into menopause

2:36 PM something's up with me.

I find myself wanting to be pregnant.

Like the last ticks of fertility are banging on me

YG: smile

2:37 PM me: And my mojo is through the fucking roof

YG: the pregnancy part I like- its the after infancy stage that I've had enough of

well- that's never a bad thing, lol

me: I hated being preggers.

YG: I liked it

me: I was miserable all those nine months

me: I vomited at least once every day

YG: I had really pretty easy pregnancies

and deliveries too for that matter

me: I had to be induced with Amanda

YG: I always had to be "induced" cause I never technically went into labor

But I was always really dilated

me: Oh yes

THAT hurts like hell

me: I was so glad when they pumped nubaine through my drip.

YG: yeah I had some nubaine

me: And of course I was vomiting through labor.

YG: that sucks

I never felt like that

in labor

me: And though the Dr gave me an episiotomy, I still tore

and I got the worst hemorrhoids

YG: man

me: I didn't have bladder control for days.

YG: I just remember my hips hurting so bad the last few weeks

me: Amanda was average, 6' 14"

YG: he was 9 lbs 2 oz

me: that's HUGE

me: dairy really set me off

and I could smell everything, from a mile away.

me: And here I WANT to be pregnant

What's wrong with me???

YG: thats ok

menopause does strange things to us

I admire your courage for wanting to have kids w/ Courtney

me: In my dreams, Bobby Labonte would be the father (for whom I might even consider tossing aside the turkey baster).

me: out of control mojo and all.

just sayin'

me: I'm going to ask my doctor about it

YG: about if you could get pregnant?

or about why you want to be pregnant?

me: A) If I could physically handle it, B) if genetically my eggs are still viable.

if physically I could handle it, but my eggs are not viable we'd have one of court's eggs fertilized and I'd carry the baby to term

Pissy in Pleasantville

I'm still not sleeping right. And I am totally burned out.

I work for a small consulting firm that two major consulting firms hire for analytic number crunching upon which they provide a very expensive array of services. The firms cultivate the business, sign clients, and provide a lot of warm-fuzzy hand holding. We are a quasi-silent partner, providing analysis from the background.

There has been a turn of events with one of the firms my company deals with. Their primary analyst, "J," is leaving. J is brilliant and I have loved working with him. I've learned much from him. He's a gifted analyst. Gifted analysts are rare.

I was the last to know that he's leaving. My company was told weeks before I found out. I was not happy.

That was months ago. In the interim, the parent firm brought in a part-time enrollment expert to take over for J. And they've hired a math teacher with no higher ed consulting experience, a full-time replacement, who only started last week.

Friday is the J's last day, and just today I was told by the client that *I* would serve a primary role in transitioning projects from J to the new analyst. It means that I become the interim project manager for THEIR clients while they get their footing, while still doing all the background stuff.

WTF? This is their transition plan and I am the last to know?

My boss at my company was just as surprised. He emailed for my reaction and I told him I was upset to be the last to know. Had I been brought into the decision-making months ago, I could have told our client their transition plan won't work.

There is a lot I do for my company and their clients during business hours. I cannot do it at my day job. As a state agency everything is monitored, information security is being tightened and everything is being audited. I can't spend hours of state time conducting LiveMeeting conference calls with clients unless I take annual leave to do it. And I can't use state equipment or state internet access for these purposes. But that's how the business is conducted; on the phone and over the Internet. It's just not possible to meet the obligation of transitioning clients from one analyst to another in this context.

Secondly, it's not in the agreement I have with my company. I'm paid to run the numbers, build the tool, answer questions, and offer advice. Our client is charging, by the $10Ks, a lot more per project than I get paid to do my part of each project.

And then there's Amanda. I think she's crashing again. It's been a bad week for her (and me). I'm not available to take on additional responsibility right now. Had we discussed the transition plan before now, I would have told the client this. The client is aware that Amanda was hospitalized and that I am needed at home.

So there. I'm annoyed about consulting and I'm worried about Amanda. But then there's Court.

Two weeks ago Court and I had the closest thing, for us, to a fight. I'm not going to get into it except to say it was a situation where we both wanted the same thing, but in the offering we managed to hurt each other deeply. I made Court cry and she so rarely cries. We were "off" for quite a few days, but were able to talk and finally resolve things on Monday. It's sort of like we fought and made up, but without any nastiness.

Oh. My. God.

The making up has been so good that it can't be good for a woman my age. Court and I are having our best couple time EVER. It's like a whole new world has opened up... like I've been living in Pleasantville all my adult life and I'm just now seeing things in color.

Look what my sister gave me

This is fun.

You know you are old when...

...the newest American Girl historical doll is two years younger than you are.

Finding me, at 47

Finding Her Here
by Jane Relaford Brown

I am becoming the woman I've wanted,
grey at the temples,
soft body, delighted,
cracked up by life
with a laugh that's known bitter
but, past it, got better,
knows she's a survivor--
that whatever comes,
she can outlast it.
I am becoming a deep weathered basket.

I am becoming the woman I've longed for,
the motherly lover
with arms strong and tender,
the growing up daughter
who blushes surprises.
I am becoming full moons and sunrises.

I find her becoming,
this woman I've wanted,
who knows she'll encompass,
who knows she's sufficient,
knows where she's going
and travels with passion.
Who remembers she's precious,
but knows she's not scarce --
who knows she is plenty, plenty to share.

My real age

I'll celebrate my 47th in a couple of weeks.

According to poodwaddle, I'm not even 27, which I find hard to believe. If I had taken a maturity test... maybe.



Court celebrates her 26th in a few days. According to the same test, she's not even FOUR...


...which makes me a criminal.

Giving up the battle for the bottle

This week's Time features an article on The War Over Going Gray. Apparently it is the latest feminist debate... something about aging authentically.

As it just so happens, I'm waging my own "to dye or not to dye" battle. And I'm at the point of giving up the battle for the bottle. I haven't colored my locks since February (just before Sassy's Face-to-Face, when I sported an auburn shade that was the envy of our dear hostess).

All these months later I haven't completely outgrown my winter dye-job. Glaciers move faster than my hair grows. What color remains is now sun-bleached and brittle. I've cut as much of the damage color away as I dare.

What I'm left with is a lot of gray. Court says gray is sexy. It's certainly healthier. When I've completely outgrown the color I hope it will look fetching, but is that possible with gray hair?

In the meantime, I have to live with ever-longer uncolored roots, and THAT is certainly not fetching. The temptation to reach for the bottle is intense.

What's a woman to do?

Girls Night Out

It's our night out with the YaYas tonight. Once every month, one of us hosts a pot luck where we gather to play games, gossip about work, and get drunk.

Tonight, for a change of pace, we're all going to the salon for some pampering. I love a good pedicure. The manicure isn't practical because my nails are very short, but I indulge just for the hand massage. Heaven.

Though I am just a fortysomething, I have the hands of a sixtysomething. My fingers are disfigured from arthritis. I take glucosamine per my doctor's advice. Eventually I'll require cortisone shots.

Getting old sucks. Where my hands are concerned, I'm already old.

After the salon we'll head next door to the Mexican restaurant, where I will enjoy a main course of margaritas. That ought to take care of the pain.

~~~~~

ETA: I shouldn't drink and blob, but OMG Court talked the YaYas into having a Passion Party at one of our monthly get-togethers. That should be a lot of fun.