Faking My Way Through Fatigue

Last night my husband and I went with our friends to a belly dance show in Helena. I really wanted to go to support another dance community in the state and hey! Road trip!  It was a delightful night with a lot of variety and talent and conversation. I had a great time.
Except I couldn't stop yawning.

This event was my idea, but this was me the entire time.

Really. I was excited and enjoyed the company and entertainment, but I couldn't get myself to stop feeling so stinking tired. It's a good thing I wasn't driving on the highway, because I am sure I would have fallen asleep.

And....I'm....out.

I share this story because this has been my state of being for several weeks. Living with lupus, I know that fatigue is a major deal. A few years ago I went through several weeks of getting up, going to work, coming home and crashing on the sofa. I seem to be going that way again.

I'm just gonna take a quick nap. Here. Here's good.

I really didn't enjoy this neverending fatigue the last time, and I thought I had beaten it. I thought I had found a way to manage it and still live a bit of a life. Then I had that silly surgery. I honestly think I caused more problems than I solved with that stupid thing sometimes. Sure I don't have the numbness, tingling, and clumsiness in my right arm and hand anymore, but I am left with cranky fibromyalgia, intense Sjorgren's, and fatiguing lupus symptoms. 

Can't we just fix a problem instead of creating more? Me remembering how fucked up autoimmune disorders can be.

I'm not sharing this to be whiny and gain your pity in some way. It's just the reality of autoimmune. People don't always understand when you say you're too tired. They don't always appreciate that being tired as part of lupus or other autoimmunes isn't just needing a quick nap to recharge. It comes in three forms: mental, muscular, and vitality. 

Psst! Wanna know a secret? They all three suck ass.

The mental fatigue is a real bitch. I hate not being able to be quick on my uptake or witty retorts. It drives me bonkers not being able to read, comprehend, or retain what I've read. Not being able to call up the word or phrasing I need vexes me. It's terribly embarassing, honestly. When the fog crawls across my brain, I can't function. It's not just frustrating, it's downright scary. Knowing I have to drive home or get through two more class periods when I can't gather my wits terrifies me. I had one day last week where I finally reached my last period, which is my open, and I just put my head down because I was so mentally lost and exhausted. I just couldn't do anything but sit there. When I got home, I felt so relieved to then find out I didn't have dance that night because it meant I didn't have to try and put on the act for anyone. My husband was even sick, so after I made him some soup, I could veg out until bed. I even found scrolling Facebook challenging. 

Me trying to be articulate when the mental fatigue strikes.

I've done a lot to combat my symptoms since being diagnosed over ten years ago. The muscular fatigue has gotten much better. There was a time when even trying to support myself with my quads during basic belly dance stance was taxing. Going up one or two flights of stairs-which I had to do daily at work-- was impossible and left me with jiggly legs. Holding my arms up to adjust a painting exhausted me. However, I've not had a lot of this kind of problem in a while. Now though, it comes out of the blue and makes me drop stuff. Some times just brushing my hair, which is a pixie cut for crying out loud, is too much. I know last week I posted about my physical goals with exercise, and I've done well, but oh man! I've had to take it down a notch. Exercise is essential to fighting fatigue and overcoming some of the pain and weakness of autoimmune. I know this. Someone needs to tell my arms. They simply aren't up for the task and pushing too hard leaves me with watery arms and intense nerve pain. 

Curse you fibro! 

However, right now the worst is the not getting through my day to day life without feeling like a slug. Yesterday, I spent half the day on the couch because doing dishes, making coffee, or even going to take a shower threatened to fully deplete my resources. I went downstairs finally to put a load of laundry in the washer. I came upstairs and laid back on the sofa because it sucked the life force right outta me. I knew we had plans to go to Helena and I needed to conserve as much verve as possible. I hate not doing more or being involved more in causes or activities that I enjoy or interest me because I fear not having the energy to follow through. Tuesday I wanted to go to a new action group in my community geared toward building alliances and civility and awareness, but I came home from work and couldn't even consider going back out. I couldn't even Netflix because I my energy reserves were that empty. On Wednesday, I was pooped, but I thought I was starting to recover. Until Thursday hit. Thursday I fought to stay awake, but gave up at 830p and slept straight through until morning. Truth be told, I was nodding off between 5p and 8p, but I refused to give in! My sister told me that their Thursday was crazy busy between PTA, guitar lessons, and swim lessons, you know--typical family of five commitments all on the same night conflicting with each other. There's no way I could keep that schedule feeling like I have been. It seemed so absurd, but I went to bed at 830p that night. I was enormously thankful I didn't have my sister's schedule. 

I'm sorry, but we have to do what when? Holy crap.

I miss getting through my week with enough vigor to do more than just exist. I am tired of being tired. Period. I'll keep trying. I will keep watching my food choices, my sleep patterns, my exercise routine, and my emotional state. I will keep taking the medications as directed. I hope things will start turning around soon because...

...this is all got right now.

Thank You Spring for Getting Me off the Couch

I know what you're thinking: Two blog posts in two days? What is she doing? Madness! Well, I got a little off my routine during spring break. I owed a post for last week, which went up yesterday. So today's post gets me back on my usual schedule.

Thank you. Thank you. 

It's finally spring in the northern realm. It's about 70 degrees, sunny, gentle breeze at times, and a ton of singing birds. Staying inside was not an option today. I had to go for a walk.
My body has been rather frustrated since the neck surgery and herniated discs. For months after the discs started pinching nerves, I couldn't do much in the way of arm work. Instead, I did a ton of squats. Every kind of squat you could think of, I did it. So many squats, so little burpees, tricep dips, or push ups. *sigh

Ok, so I went up. Now what? Down eh? Did that, too. For the love of all that is holy, I need more! 

My body needed some physical exercise dammit! Months of nothing was annoying. Today felt good to roam around the neighborhood. I zigged and I zagged. I listened and I looked. It was lovely. It felt good to get out and do some kind of exercise. I've been allowed to walk as exercise since December, but here in Montana, walking in winter can be lovely, but it is also cold and risky. While I was still in the neck brace and even for a long time after it was off, I didn't want to walk outside because slipping on ice meant potentially damaging my slow healing neck. I think I have also explained why a treadmill was not an option for me to exercise, but in case you've forgotten, here ya go:

You can't make me!

I know that people can see me out for a walk, too, but it's not the same thing. No mirrors for one. Also, people who see me while I'm out for a walk are usually too preoccupied with their own task that they won't make me anxious as I get my walk on.
I'm also finally able to do some more light strength training items again. When I got the go ahead to start working out in January, I did the Diary of a Fit Mommy's 12 Week No-Gym Home Workout Plan-not the cardio portion mind you; I stuck to the squat, crunch, lunge etc. In order to start getting some physical activity as I recovered, I had to modify it though. I was not allowed to do traditional push ups nor I was allowed to do traditional sit ups. Consequently, I skipped the push ups until March. Then I started doing wall push ups. For sit ups and crunches, I do them standing. I still don't do the planks though. I found that if I do them, the incision site gets cranking. It's like a bunch of bee stings or needle sticks. Not pleasant.
In March, I also added one day a week of The Firm Hi-Def Sculpt DVD. I had not done this DVD in years and I can't do the crunches at the end of the routine without modification, so I don't know how helpful that is, but it doesn't bother me. I am just glad to be able to start toning again! Before things went south with the herniated discs, I had lovely, sculpted arms. Those lovely arms have been neglected for months. Time to whip them back in shape!
Now that it is April, I have added a squat challenge as well. It's the easy beginner challenge on the blog My Fitness Pal. It's a simple one, but I'm still doing the Fit Mommy in the morning and this one in the afternoon. After not doing squats from November to January, my hind quarters could use the extra attention.
I've also added my Body by Science 12 minute, one time a week back in. On this one, I can't do the arm hang, so I do free weights in an overhead press. I also do the wall push-ups instead of regular push ups. This is something I was doing faithfully one time a week before my herniated discs made it impossible. Essentially, I do super slow and controlled exercises for 3 minutes each. Slow overhead presses, slow wall pushups, doorway squat/wall sit, and doorway arm press (think floating arm trick with a bit more force). What I really like about this one is the chance to do some mindful breathing. The more mindful breathing I do, the less focused on the agony my muscles endure during this activity I am. Today I did this for the first time since August-September. I'm likely going to feel it in the morning. But it's efficient, effective, and something that I can do at home with only my cats to judge me.

Link thinks rolling in the dirt is a better workout, so maybe he's not he best judge.

Maybe I'm adding in too much all at once. I feel great today, though. I love the feeling that I can finally be active again. Couch-surfing gets old. My body grew bored; it needed a jolt. My butt needs to be firmed up. My triceps need to be worked. It took me a long time to find a work out plan that toned without being too demanding. It's tough when you've got a bunch of autoimmune conditions that complicate your physical ability. My body and I worked hard to get back in tune with one another after the lupus, Sjogren's, and fibromyalgia diagnoses. It's going to take some time this go around, too. We'll get there though. If it's too much, my body will let me know.

Pondering Privilege

Several years ago, I was in a play, "The King and I." Being the Caucasian I am, you'd think I was likely the lead, Anna. However, I was not. I was one of the wives. Our King also was Caucasian. Our community is 88.5% white according to demographic data. During that show, the King shaved his head to fit the part. We wives etc. made our hair dark if it wasn't already a dark brown/black--I dyed mine black. I never intend to do that again; not a flattering look on me at all. We also used make up to cover up the dark circles and pull our eyes forward so they didn't look so sunken and well, let's be honest, Caucasian. We did not do any kind of elaborate make up that involved stereotypes--think Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Although, I do cringe a little at the thought of trying to flatten my features and fit into a more Asian presentation; honestly, probably not the best show to choose in a town like mine. Theater is all about illusion. Illusion of costume, make up, and paint. However, our make up choices also walk a fine line of what some might refer to as white privilege--choosing a show that has so many roles for Asian actors and then filling those roles with white people. We did have one actual Thai actress. One.

I love this movie, but this part is cringe-worthy.

Another experience I mull over when I think about my white privilege involves a performance at a cultural fair. My belly dance troupe was invited to perform. We followed a speaker from India. Our troupe often support each other with ululation and saying things like "Yallah!" The speaker was quite offended. I'm not entirely sure if he thought we were saying "Allah!" or what, but he told our leader that we should not say that as it is taking the Lord's name in vain, except we weren't. I had always believed yallah to be a celebratory phrase. It was something to cheer the other dancers and maybe make him or her move faster in their dance. This Indian fellow though was adamant that we were being rude and insensitive, which would be totally out of place at a cultural fair where the goal is to build connections and appreciation for other cultures. I didn't want to offend audience members, so I did a little digging. I couldn't find anything to support the idea that "yallah!" would be offensive, so I let it go.

Maybe we were articulating too many l's. 

Similar in subject to that, I sometimes think about an article I read that ranted about white belly dancers; I had to keep my knee-jerk potentially white privilege reaction in check. The author stated she despised white belly dancers who were stealing gigs in the Middle East and who were doing nothing more than wearing too much kohl eyeliner and performing in "brown face." I grappled a lot with trying to see things from her point of view. Belly dance comes in a wide variety of styles now. There are fusion, tribal, Egyptian cabaret, Turkish, American cabaret, and a host of others. As one of the oldest--if not the oldest--form of dance in the world, it's gone through countless incarnations and spread all over the globe. While some dancers remain covered in full-length caftans, others like me wear bedlah sets. Ultimately, I had to conclude that while the person clearly had strong feelings about the subject, I couldn't accept what I do as privilege and appropriation. I'm sure she'll never want to see us perform at the restaurant here, but art forms of all kinds evolve and change over time. As we move toward a more global society and a less tribal species, saying one race cannot engage in an art form smacks of divisive thinking. An online acquaintance who happens to be an anthropologist pointed out that the key is to be respectful in the presentation. I agree; I would no sooner apply darker make up thereby mocking the situation like the black face performers of old than I would show the bottom of my feet while dancing at the restaurant because that offends the Greek population who frequent the location. I think keeping the style and technique respectful is important. I'm not going to apologize for being a white belly dancer, though. I love it. I am eternally grateful for having the chance to learn this dance for all of the wonderful details it has brought into my life. Instead of "sorry," I say "thank you" to those first belly dancers who brought the "abdominal gyrations" to the World's Fair. I am thankful that belly dance was shared with the world.

This is a belly dancer.

So is this.

Them, too.

A year ago, I sat at a table with my husband and his two brothers. We were talking politics and the backlash against President Obama came up. One brother posed the question along the lines of how it's obvious that the blow back and opposition is driven by racism. I commented that I didn't "know" that to be true. When I say I "know" something, I've considered it deeply. I had not, at that point, truly considered the idea of racism against our president. While I knew there was definitely a contingent of racism, I felt that chalking it up to racism only was a little too simplistic. Maybe I just wanted to believe better about our country's leaders. I still think it's a complicated issue that goes beyond racism, but I can say that racism is most definitely a factor. Some might say my initial reluctance to agree immediately is my white privilege talking.  Maybe.

I don't think that's quite how it works.

But it's truly mind-boggling that we haven't grown beyond it yet. This is a nation founded on being a melting pot. It's also a nation built on eradicating indigenous people in order to take over. It's a tangled web to unwind; it's not likely to be spun into silk any time soon either. It's one I wish more people considered rather than dismissing outright. For my part, I will continue to consider my reactions to race related issues to determine how much my privilege is in play. May others find their way to do the same.   

Out of Habit, Out of Luck

When I was in college, my first visit to a gynecologist entailed evaluating why my periods were so painful and heavy. The family didn't really know then about Von Willebrand's disease. However, the doctor was very kind and gentle and appreciated the fact that I was a 19 year old virgin as well as a woman in need of answers. It was one of the most open conversations about reproductive health I had ever had. The end result was a diagnosis of endometriosis. The most common treatment for this: birth control pills.

Here to solve your female needs.

I knew how hormone therapy worked. I looked into the pamphlets the doctor gave me and I did some investigating. This was in the early days of the internet folks--it was more books and leaflets and less "OK Google". I remember talking with my mom about it and explaining that I wasn't entirely comfortable with a prescription of birth control pills just yet. Mom being mom of course shared my diagnosis and treatment options with the family--the extended family that is. She then returned to me with what she felt would be reassuring words. My grandmother assumed that my discomfort with birth control was because of us being Catholic and the Catholic church being steadfast in its opposition to birth control. My grandmother via my mother wanted to reassure me that since it was  medically prescribed, it was ok to take the Pill. My eyebrows knit in confusion. It puzzled me why some old guys in Rome would have entered into my decision at all. I knew the Church's stance and even then I didn't give a ripdiddly. I told my mom bluntly that the Church's view wasn't why I was uncertain; it was the effect the hormones can have on the body. I already had acne and I had always struggled with my weight. I knew that these were common side effects of many versions of the Pill as well as other effects that impacted a woman's mood. I wanted to talk with my doctor--not my grandmother or my priest--about finding the right Pill for my body.

Um, what?

My face when my mom told me that taking birth control wouldn't be a sin, so I shouldn't worry.

I raise the issue because birth control is on the forefront again as the Supreme Court sits ready to hand down a decision on whether or not non-profits or church-run organizations can exempt themselves from the Affordable Care Act's mandate to provide reproductive health care including birth control for its female employees. A group of nuns in the lawsuit feels that even signing the form opting out of providing reproductive care to their female employees is still an undue burden because by signing it, they are somehow complicit in providing what they believe to be abortion. Their argument is so wrong, misguided, and selfish that the irony of their "Let them serve" signs at the protest rallies is absurd.

 However, you must sign away your own beliefs and allow us complete control over you. It's ok, we're religious, which means we know better than you or your doctor.

Part of the argument that is wrong involves the simple fact that birth control, even the morning after pill, are not abortificants. In order to argue before the Supreme Court, I would think everyone would want to have facts, not twisted falsehoods to suit their individual viewpoints. Science is quite clear here: the pill prevents fertilization. If the sperm can't get in the egg, there is not conception. It's fact, so don't argue that point. It's simply wrong.

Umm, gee. I really thought that one would work.

Arguing to be exempt from providing this health care also falls into the category of misguided because the nuns and others like them believe that somehow they are violating their conscience by filing a form. First of all, as Catholics, they have access to confession, which absolves them. Ta-da! Like magic it is! You feel a burden on your conscience? Well lucky you. You can go to the confessional and unburden yourself to a priest. Viola. You can go back to serving as you see fit.

I feel so guilty for helping that woman and treating her like a human being. How will God ever forgive me for that?

Not only that, but they want to be exempt from a law because of their religious views when the women who work for them might not also believe the same way. That right there is imposing their religion on other people-PERIOD. One thing I was always taught in school was that the exercise of your rights ends where another person's rights begin much like the extension of fist thrown at another person. You make contact with that other person, you've moved from your right to their right. Furthermore, if we follow this line of thinking, then a Seventh Day Adventist could deny a person a right to coverage for things like blood transfusions or platelets. Really? I need an operation and because I have bleeding disorder that might require blood products, my hypothetical employer could try and deny me coverage for transfusions because of their religious belief? This is a slippery slope argument, but it's not altogether unrealistic. A person's religious beliefs cannot withhold basic health care from another person. If Catholics somehow maneuver this argument and sway the justices, then other religions can also pursue this course of thought leading to denial of all kinds of coverage, which defeats the purpose of healthcare for everyone. That is of course, unless they happen to be decent human beings who recognize their religious viewpoints should not determine the course of another person's life choices just because they happen to be an employee and female.

Wee! Let's all ride the slippery slope together.

Here's a silly notion: some religious believers do not eat some types of meat nor drink certain types of caffeinated beverages. yet, they do pay their taxes. A portion of those taxes goes to provide things like food stamps that impoverished Americans may spend on things that violate the food and drink restrictions of the believers in question. However, these believers do not seek to be exempt or in some way direct their taxes away from the social services. If they did, it would be a ridiculous madhouse of red tape that would be completely unmanageable. The same holds true here. Those little sisters mentioned in the case need to get over themselves and realize that their deeply held beliefs are theirs alone. By trying to exempt out completely, they are attempting to execute a privilege based on their Christianity and Catholicism, not mercy, compassion, or service to others.

Maybe if I look at it from this angle it won't look like I'm using religion to avoid treating a woman like a person.

On that same line of thinking, this lawsuit is simply selfish. No one wants to say that about individuals who have devoted themselves to their faith and service to others, but their position is incredibly selfish and lacks empathy. The sisters want others to believe that their attack of conscience in this matters more than the health care of the women seeking medical care. Those women who seek birth control may indeed need it to solve another medical problem like I did. An ovarian cyst is incredibly painful. When one ruptures, holy crap the intense pain is blinding. The goal of birth control in these cases is to reduce the suffering of the woman. By denying that treatment, the good sisters and their supporters again show their ignorance of medicine if they think painkillers alone manage the job. They want to actually keep the women in pain and suffering to assuage their guilt over violating the Vatican's stance on birth control. Incredibly selfish of them.

...to disregard capitalization rules and another person's pain.

Furthermore, why a woman might need the pills is none of the nuns' business. That is a discussion for the woman and her doctor. When I first got my prescription of birth control pills, I recall that my insurance company didn't want to pay because it was somehow considered elective medicine. I had to have the doctor send a report to the insurance company stating that I needed the hormone therapy to treat endometriosis. I recall thinking that was a ridiculous hoop to jump through and wondering if men ever had to face such a requirement in order to obtain medicine.

Hi! My dangly bits mean I get to call the shots.

Additionally, for some women, getting pregnant, even by their spouse in a marriage as preferred by the Catholics in question, could be a harrowing ordeal. Women could actually die if they get pregnant. Getting pregnant might complicate other diseases or conditions that the woman may be enduring. By interjecting their religious views into this conversation, the nuns and their supporters are executing a privilege that should not exist because it asserts that their religious belief supercedes the medical needs of another person. The women needing birth control apparently simply do not count as people in this debate. Their bodies are not theirs to manage. Their bodies exist simply to carry babies as God the Father deems fit. As women they clearly deserve whatever cursed suffering their lady parts have in store for them. That nasty apple wrought so much sin for which they must atone.Therefore, those nuns and others like them have a right to object to providing birth control.That's blatantly backward and selfish thinking in my book. It's reasoning that fails to see women as individuals who have rights that are just as important and deeply held as the nuns' faith.

We've allowed our religion to oppress us for so long, we know you'll enjoy it, too. 

I call bullshit on this case. I call bigoted, privileged, and hypocritical bullshit on this case before the Supreme Court. I know that not all nuns are agents of oppression, not all Catholics believe birth control is evil, and that not all Christians believe the Court should allow religious exemptions. In this case as it stands though, I call bullshit on religious exemption claim because it is nothing more than using faith as a tool to harm another person. That's an abuse of religious power I cannot abide.

Method to my Madness

I like my routine. I take comfort in my routine and having a plan. Having a plan to follow makes it easier for me to function without losing my shit. Now while my plan is sometimes disrupted by the unforeseen, I'm not always terribly good at adapting and and adjusting my original plan to compensate for whatever winger got thrown at me. Sometimes I can roll with it, but other times it takes much more of my resources than I may have on hand to go with whatever flow I'm supposed to follow.
I absolutely do not enjoy major shifts in my plan or routine.

Me when someone expects me to adjust for their emergency. They just don't appreciate the domino effect of what they ask.

My routine provides me with a solid foundation to start my day, to accomplish  my tasks, and to return home in a satisfied way that allows me to unwind, chill, and prepare for the next day.
Before I go to work, I subscribe to a well-thought out regimen of mental health and orderliness.

1. Make coffee: I need this. I enjoy this. I gave it up once because I was overdoing the caffeine thing and got premature ventricular contractions. Not wanting to incur that weirdness again, I now exercise more moderation. My current caffeinated beverage is Three Peckered Billy Goat. No; really. It's dark roasted and yumminess.

Even this picture makes me crave the warm caffeine embrace.

2. Yoga: I either do a Rodney Yee  DVD or I use one of the Strala at Home on Youtube videos. I like the stretching, the centering, and the flexibility it gives me. However, I will not attend a yoga class. I do not have disposable income for that and ew! People! Kidding aside, I'm not interested in getting my relaxation and mindfulness on in front of other people. That's just going to make it harder.

You can't get this level of mellow with other people around. 

3. Mindful Meditation with Binaural Beats: While my coffee brews itself into deliciousness, I pop in my earbuds and listen to an app on my phone that uses binaural beats. I close my eyes and just sit there for about 15 minutes. My mind wanders--not gonna lie. However, just sitting there listening to the beats and experiencing the solitude around me for a bit is lovely. Before you "Whoa! Binaural beats are rubbish and snake oil!" No, they aren't. The claims made about them may be rubbish (OK, they are total rubbish) but the drone of the beats is what I look for. It's like the meditative chanting that monks do. Some say "Ohm," I listen to the dull hum on my earbuds. When I have a headache, adding the white noise track helps me focus on my task rather than my pain.

Umm, what? How the hell are they doing that in a room full of people? 

4. Exercise: Again, not going to an exercise class. Icky! I don't like sweating in front of other people, and I don't like locker rooms. I also don't like work outs that take longer than 30 minutes. Working out is a solo gig for me.  I do those 30 day challenges. I also do work out DVDs at home. I go for walks. I go for bike rides, at least I will go for bike rides once I can wear my helmet again. Apparently it is still too heavy for my post surgery neck according to the surgeon. *sigh My point is, I need exercise as part of my routine. I did not enjoy not getting any kind of physical exertion while I recovered from surgery. I got excited when the surgeon said I could slowly work back into my burpee, plank, and free weight routine.

Oh FFS! It's the stuff of nightmares I tell you!

5. To Do List: So this is more of an afternoon task, but it is ready and waiting for me in the morning. I have one for the weekends and I make one before I leave the workplace every afternoon. Crossing items off is deeply satisfying. It also helps me prioritize my tasks. It's horribly vexing when something keeps getting moved from one day's list to the next's, but sometimes things demand more time than I anticipate or something happens to completely throw off my original plan. That makes me plain crabby, but what are you going to do? Put it on the next day's list so you don't forget about it altogether. I enjoy knowing what my day will demand and what I need to accomplish.

That's how this Goat rolls, yo!

6. Chores: I'm not entirely sure where I developed such a cleanliness fetish, but I like a tidy living space. Before work, I make sure I do a little work like emptying or loading the dishwasher, putting a load of laundry in, taking out trash, or even disinfecting the bathroom. I do a little each day so on the weekends I don't have to. I also do some when I get home after work. I try to get in 30-45 minutes a day just so I don't log hours on the weekend. It keeps the place looking presentable most of the time. If it's messy on the weekend, I can't relax. I must handle it.

Hardwood floors + cats in spring = a losing battle. You can only manage the fur, not eliminate it. I accept this.

7. Fun: I also make sure that I have time just for fun. It might be Diablo III or it might be dancing. Learning new moves takes time, so putting on music and experimenting is important. Reading. I cannot describe my deep and abiding love for the written word. I just downloaded two new books in preparation for spring break, but I don't think I can wait. I shall begin before break. I might also indulge in my current binge watching of Grimm. Amazon and Netflix make it so easy to while away a little unstructured time.

My monk is more bad ass than Zen.

8. Feline Time: Yup. I'm a cat lady and I embrace it. I make time to give them a little undivided attention whether it's play time or grooming time. Sometimes it's just one of the conversations where they meow and I respond with a narrative structure. It's therapeutic and necessary. Totally.

Hissy commands: Look deep into my eyes, Human. You shall provide me with lovins only so far as I tolerate. No more. No less. And immediately.

9. 4-7-8: This is something my husband shared with me. It's intended to help manage anxiety and it does help me sleep as well as manage my emotional responses. It's a breathing technique. In through the nose for 4 counts. Hold with the tongue pressed to the hard palate for 7. Breathe out through the mouth for 8. I use it before work, during work, and after work. It's also particularly helpful for when you run across bullshit on Facebook that vexes you into a blathering ranty state.

You're doing it anyway. Might as well make it count.

10. Learn Something: My day is simply not complete if I did not learn something new. It might be something I sought out. I might be current events. It might be a new belly dance move or a new music group. New recipes and cooking techniques are fantastic. It doesn't matter what I learn, but I value knowledge. Sometimes what I learn is not particularly pleasant, but I still know more than I did when I woke up. Sometimes I learn perspective. Sometimes I learn patience rather than facts. Learning something is an objective each day regardless of what it was that I learned.

 A Goat needs time to process all that learnin'.

So you see, my routine is quite precious to me. When I don't have something on this list each day, its absence is felt. I honestly don't know how to be unfettered and spontaneous all the time. It's one thing to randomly decide to go out for dinner or to call a friend for coffee; those fall under fun time. However, not to have a morning prep routine or to-do list?

Today I Quit My Job

OK, so it was my second job, not my main gig, but I finally quit.

Dance, Snoopy! Dance! Fling Woodstock like you just don't care!

I started working for this company that has a real mixed bag of a reputation in the education world about five years ago. I shouldn't tell you, but it rhymes with Tearson. I applied for the job as one of my New Year's resolutions to explore other employment opportunities. One of those "10 Things You Can Do to Earn More Money" articles suggested becoming an online writing tutor. I figured it might give me some good additional money as well as a possible job to transition into once my student loans were paid off. I applied and got it.

Smug Goat has got this.

It did give me some nice additional money that allowed me to do things like go on belly dance trips for workshops, buy belly dance gear, pay down my credit card, & get through the holidays without panicking. The cushion was particularly helpful last year when my husband had to take time off to care for his mom. It wasn't a ton of money and I never got a raise in those five years, but sometimes money is not enough reason to stick with a gig.

No Goat! Don't look back.

During my time as a writing tutor, I got familiar with some of the challenges of global education. I reviewed all kinds of essays from dissertations to literary analysis to simple paragraphs. The doctoral candidate papers were some of the hardest. The content could be so completely cerebral that I simply struggled to follow the thread. The company insists on a 30 minute review time, which presents a whole new level of what-the-fuck when trying to offer useful feedback on a dissertation. It's kind of like applying Dominos' delivery guarantee to a six course gourmet French meal. Possible, but maybe not the greatest idea. I also had to be aware that some of my clients might be from Australia or England and not spell words the way we Americans do. Not only that, but I also reviewed a lot of papers for non-native English speakers. Again, breaking down the basics and the nuance of grammar for English language learners was more than a wee bit challenging when there's a time clock ticking away.

That's more my style, Cogsworth.

Despite the challenges, I did learn an awful lot in this job. I learned a lot more about MLA and APA styles. Having never worked with APA, I got familiar with the rudimentary bits of formatting for documentation and citation purposes. A lot of nursing student papers require APA. Countless nursing papers over the five years. Woof! I learned to look past the blatant and numerous and holy crap could you please just use a period instead of a comma just once?!? Ahem. I developed a better method of teaching writing and my feedback on essays is way more helpful than it used to be. I can break down the how's and the why's of thesis, introductions, and conclusions. I can provide ideas and suggestions to expand the development of a thesis. I'm a better writing teacher because of the five years as an online tutor.

I've got a cool 'do, too.

An important detail I won't miss? The friggin' 30 minute deadline or the emails telling me to watch my average review time for the month. I was usually between 30-35 minutes, but there were times when my average crept up to 43 minutes and I got a reminder email. Those longer ones usually happened after a break when I was trying to get back in the swing of things. Using templates and stock examples became an unavoidable must when it came to staying on top of my times, but then I also had to make sure that each review was personalized in some way. Consequently, as a tutor you have to find some way beat the clock, get all the right content in the right order, and make it not sound canned. It's exhausting for $11 bucks an hour with no pay raise despite your above average performance reviews. Seriously--I've been getting 4.5-4.8 out of 5 for the last year and a half and nothing. Nada. No monetary offering to acknowledge my hard work at successfully meeting and then exceeding expectation. That part makes leaving a little bit easier. Not showing gratitude to your worker bees is just bad management.

Shame on you, Tearson.

I'm also feeling more positive about my main gig this year, so a lot of my focus goes there. Since I'm no longer eagerly anticipating leaving my job, it's easier to let this side one go. Honestly, my regular gig is so demanding of my mental and emotional faculties that if  I had not requested this semester as a sub only status tutor to recover from surgery, I'd be so drained that I might as well audition for The Walking Dead.

Honestly, I don't think it's just post-surgery fatigue any longer. I'm just exhausted. All. The. Time.

I guess at this point, my weekends are more valuable to me. I want to spend time doing or exploring or just vegging without feeling obligated to get my hours in for the week. When I come home after a day at work, I'm too groggy and foggy to click in to read even more essays. On the weekend, I like not having to set my alarm so I get my hours in and still have time to spend how I want to. I don't want to work seven days a week anymore. I can't.

Who am I kidding? I still have an alarm on the weekend.

Besides, I have other plans to earn some extra cash that don't involve timers. I want to explore more of the freelance writing end of things. I don't want to be locked into a schedule during my vacations. I want to look into opportunities to volunteer around my town. I want to sit on my ass and play Diablo III with my cats vying for my lap. Sometimes working more is not necessary. Being still has value, too. Just ask those crazy Scandinavians who want to decrease hours for a full time work week or the Spanish who take a siesta in the middle of the day. Americans sometimes just need to stop working so damn much and chillax.

 No one is telling this Goat how to spend the weekend.