My bod, myself.

I’m not much into diet blogging. I do appreciate reading about others’ struggles with their weight every so often. It’s nice to empathize with other writers I admire and to know they’re not perfect. Not that anyone is, but for some reason, I always associate artistic/literary types with lanky, I-spend-all-that-time-you-spend-eating-pondering-the-cosmos-and-writing-about-it body types.

I even think–among other reasons–that that’s one reason I’ve always shrugged off the label “writer” in reference to myself. Of course, there’s the fact that beyond my journal and school papers and this silly thing, I really have never written anything. But, I consider other bloggers “real”writers. I guess I just think of writers and artists and musicians as these extremely talented people…who put their art above all else and get so busy with it that they don’t always make time to have a sandwich.

What can I say? I love writing, but I will never forget the sandwich.

All that to say, there are body issues I have that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to share on here. I have some health problems that are depressing and scary and not really pleasant to share in polite company. Since I’ve been meeting more and more of you in person lately, though, the physicality of me has been on my mind. Before, I was really just a voice and a shadowy face on a screen. Now, kind of like it is when you’re dating someone online and then meet for the first time, several of you have been confronted with the actual me–the one that belies the voice I’d been creating for over a year.

Also, I now officially weigh more than I ever have. I gained in college, just like everyone else. When I lived in Alabama and was in grad school and then teaching, I had a few instances of successful weight loss. Right before I moved to Nashville the first time, I lost a lot of weight. Then, though, as the stress of being unemployed gave way to the odd hours, disrupted sleep schedule, and access to mocha sauce that Starbucks offered, I packed it back on. Then came my stress-eating tenure at Gestapo High, and I’m now at a net of +20…and this is on top of the “just normal overweight” that I’d already been.

While I take full responsibility for my appearance, I also owe it to myself to point out that the aforementioned health concerns, at times, can make weight loss near-impossible. That’s no excuse not to exercise and eat right, however. There was a time when I was a yoga fiend and could jog several laps. I didn’t lose weight, but I was a lot healthier and felt a lot better. In fact, yoga instructors would actually point me out to the rest of the class as how to correctly get into a position. It would embarrass the crap out of me, but anyway.

I’ve been very fortunate in my life to have friends who have never judged me on how I looked. I’ve been very fortunate to have spent time with great guys who genuinely thought I was attractive. In the end, fat or skinny, that’s what it’s really about for me: people. I love people very much, and I want to live so that that’s what people see about me, instead of this unfortunate spare tire I’ve developed in my late 20s.

All that to say, though…I still need to take better care of myself. Dieting is pretty much out, for several reasons. I am, however, working to incorporate more fruits and vegetables, which is easy this time of year. And, thanks to Dana over on Twitter, I have started walk/running according to this chart. I completed the first week! It’s not much when I know a lot of you are marathoners (or at least half-marathoners), but for The Girl With No Endurance, it’s a good first step.

I will never be thin thin. My body is not made for such. My hip-bones will always come out to here, and I will always have the linebacker shoulders (and lack of booty) I inherited from my dad. That’s me, though, and it’s fine. Beautiful, even–when it’s healthy. Right now, I am not healthy. I cannot completely control every factor. I’m just going to try to control what I can.

Why am I telling you this? I don’t know. It’s intensely personal–it’s one I’m going to have to fight myself not to take down after I publish it. As I said, meeting some of you personally has made my overly-analytical self feel the need to over-explain. Also, I was thinking recently about some ads several bloggers linked to a few months ago that were highly offensive, showing plus-size women and urging them to try a certain low-fat yogurt so men would love them. In my experience, guys (or at least the ones worth it) do not complain about extra pounds–if they’re attracted, they’re attracted, and that’s it.

Beyond whether guys are attracted to me or anyone else, though, I think I’m bringing this up for accountability’s sake above all. Subconsciously, I think I was so diligent about exercising every day this week because I wanted to be able to honestly say I did it. No, this is not going to become an exercise log. No, I will not be announcing how much weight I’ve lost–if any. (In fact, stepping on the scales this morning revealed I’d gained two pounds, but that’s beside the point–erg.) I’d just like to be able to use phrases like “when I was out running last night” without making you do a double-take at the screen and thinking “um…I’ve seen Holly…and she’s no runner…”

I think I just want you to know I’m trying. More importantly, I want myself to know that I’m committed to being healthier. Writing has always made things real to me, so putting this into actual words will make the commitment all the more real. As I said, I’m not dieting, and I’m not just exercising to lose weight, so don’t expect much the next time you see me. It’s just time I took my health more seriously. And I wanted to tell you about it.

How it was supposed to go down:

Principal: Hi, Ms. [My Actual Last Name]?

Me: Yes!

Principal: This is Principal [Whatever] from the high school at which you interviewed a couple of weeks ago–not the really good one, of course, but the other one? The one where you wouldn’t have a classroom, but you’d have to carry everything around on a cart?

Me: Oh, hi! How are you?

Principal: Just fine. I’ll be finer *chuckle*, however, if you’ll come on board and be our newest English teacher!

Me: [sympathetic pause, and then:] Welll…see…I’ve actually decided to pursue other options. Thanks so much, though, and I wish you the best!

Principal: It was the cart, wasn’t it, Holly?

Me: Umm…yeah. Not gonna lie.

Principal: *sigh*

Me: And…well, you guys were kind of creepy during the interview.

Principal: Yeah…I know. We thought the “Stepford Wives” approach to interviewing would be innovative and interesting, but you’re the third candidate who’s turned us down, so…

Me: Yeah, you should probably reconsider that. And give your teachers flippin’ classrooms, k?

How it actually went down (by email, no less):

Ms. Wynne:

Thank you for interviewing for our English position. I did choose another candidate. I wish you the best as you pursue your career.

Mr. Principal Man

Ugh. That’s not even my last name. I’d been wigging myself out, thinking they were going to offer the job because the interview went fair-to-middlin’ and they seemed kind of desperate. I was going to feel bad not taking it if they offered because I have this whole head trip–what if there are kids there who need me? What if this is where I’m supposed to go because there are cool people for me to meet and be friends with? What if I NEVER GET OFFERED ANOTHER JOB after turning this one down? What if my FUTURE HUSBAND works at this school and I say no and DIE ALONE???

[For real, this is what I do. It's scary and strange to be me.]

Plus, I’d just really like to get settled somewhere and start getting ready for the next school year. But…I didn’t want to go to this school. Honestly, I only applied in this system as a backup–they have good schools and it’s a nice area and all, but I just really don’t want to live there.

It just feels like kind of a smack that the school I didn’t even want doesn’t want me.

It’s like a couple of years ago, I was hanging out with this one guy a lot. We were having good conversations, and it was really nice. There was mucho platonic chemistry, but no romantic chemistry whatsoever. I wigged myself out about that, too, because it seemed like all the other puzzle pieces were there and that I should be open-minded and consider that chemistry might not be so important if this was someone whose values and interests I shared. I worried he was going to ask me out and I was going to hurt his feelings.

So I’m all concerned about his emotional well-being and our friendship and stuff…and then he goes and says one of the jerkiest things a guy has ever said about me in front of some other friends, and THEN he asks another one of our friends out not long after that and basically stops talking to me.

That’s a tangent, but you get the idea. I’m really bad about creating these doomsday scenarios in which my future, the happiness of everyone I know, and the education of all the chi’ren of the world hang on how I’m going to hypothetically handle one situation. But, instead of the situation resolving itself in a “oh, it was all actually just fine!” kind of way, it resolves itself in a “silly Holly, they didn’t want you after all and you’re still alone and unemployed!” kind of way.

Well, anyway.

I will go where I’m supposed to go, when I’m supposed to go there.

Right?

Silly, romantic girl.

Sometimes I do this silly thing–this thing where music and art and beauty make me fall in love and want to dance barefoot in the grass. Tonight was one of those nights–a night in which the lazy, sultry city afternoon’s sky had cooled into shades of purple evening, and for about an hour and a half, I was not the only one in love. Two sweet little girls wiggled frenetically to the urgent overtures a couple of rows ahead of me; older couples silently, but with barely-perceptible knowing smiles, passed granola back and forth; and my two girlfriends and I caught up on the past year in between masterfully-performed pieces.

I just love it so much. I love how Beethoven creeps down my spine and explodes through my chest. I love how involuntary it is–how, like falling in love, there is this momentary loss of focus on anything else at all and this raw, all-encompassing shiver of recognition when the right notes fall on the open and yearning heart.

It’s been a long time for me–a long time since I was compelled by a symphony or a piece of art…a long time since I’ve been in love, or at least thought I was. I’ve missed those feelings. I do not intend to miss any more.

A few things.

I’m doing some fetal-position lounging today due to an unmentionable ailment (which, along with that of several other Nashville Tweetpeeps, was documented by the kind Christian of NiT). It’s given me some nice veg time, however, to watch O Brother Where Art Thou again and some Anthony Bourdain.

***

I forgot to mention I made it back to Nashville okay. I think it was sort of implied, and most of you follow me on Twitter anyway, so I didn’t make an explicit announcement, but yeah, I’m here and life is good.

***

Speaking of Nashville, I’m pondering applying to Metro schools. I’m not sure. After such a good interview experience a couple of weeks ago, I was encouraged. I haven’t heard much from anyone since–a couple of other places I’ve turned down, but nowhere I’d actually pursued and hoped to hear from.

I’m not really worried that I won’t get a job at all, though the looming insecurity from my infamous Clinical Depression Job Hunt A-Go-Go of summer ‘06 likes to creep in and convince me otherwise sometimes. I guess I’m just scarred from this past experience–the school system I just left didn’t give me my textbooks or curriculum until less than a week before school started, didn’t assign me a mentor until after school started, and never actually gave any of us a faculty handbook. I really want to avoid that this time and actually be prepared when school starts, so I need someone to call me and give me a job, k?

At this point, as far as interviews go, Nashville is winning 2-0. I can’t say I’m disappointed. But still, Knoxville–call me?

***

My friend, and yours, Mr. Beziat, is in a world of hurt over car troubles. I know what that’s like. Go see him, consider donating (though he’ll probably be mildly annoyed that I asked you to), and if nothing else, lend a kind word or two. The thing is, though he’s what I consider a brilliant writer, he won’t have as much to write about if he can’t make it into the city to amble about and observe its wonder through his artist’s eyes. Then we’ll be in a world of hurt.

And, yes, I have self-centered motivation for mentioning this as well–I was supposed to get to see him, his lovely Bon-Jovi-fan wife, and his beyond-adorable kids tonight at the symphony, but that won’t happen now. Here’s to future meetups in other cool places.

***

Speaking of which, I actually am still going to make the symphony myself, just with different people. It’s free! I’m four days away from a paycheck, and I’ve just about used up all of my June money as is, so I need things to be as free as possible for the rest of the week. I do love Nashville. See you there?

Introducing…the blogroll! —->

Check it out! I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a year. I’ve been meaning to create a blogroll for a long time, but hopefully understandably, it was going to take quite a bit of time that I just simply didn’t have to manually imput all the blog names and links. Enter Blogger’s new feature, the Blog List, and my laziness and procrastination are rewarded!

Now, if you notice your blog is not represented, it’s not because I don’t read it. Well, okay, it could be, but more likely, there is some other factor at work:
1. I may not be sure if you want it shared
2. As I imported the blogs, I may not have recognized your blog’s name (which means you probably haven’t updated lately, and in that case, see #4)
3. Something may have been wonky with Google Reader and it may not have shown up
4. I chose for the widget to only show the 10 most recently-updated. Thus, to cut it here at For Lack of a Better Word, you really need to get to writing.

Oh, and some other non-bloggy feeds are already included on my “favorite things” list. Shoot me an email or leave me a comment if I neglected to include you, because most likely I’m a fan–I read way too many blogs these days.

I derived much more excitement from this than I probably should have.

George Carlin

Surprised to see him here? I thought you might be. I’m a chick. A conservative chick who believes in God and wasn’t even born when Mr. Carlin was in his heyday. Believe it or not, though–he had a strange but subtly significant impact upon me.

My parents, though my dad’s a preacher, have always tried to let me see the world as it is and not shelter me–or at least not too much. I remember some TV retrospective being on one evening when I was a kid, and one of George Carlin’s routines (a more prime-time family-friendly one, I guess) being featured. They laughed and talked about some of his other routines from when they were teenagers. I’d never heard of him, but I thought he was brilliant and hysterical even at that age.

I had a TV in my bedroom for a good portion of my childhood, and I stayed up later and watched more shows than I’m pretty sure my parents were aware of. I don’t even know what show or what channel it would have been, but I became familiar with a lot of classic comedy during my late-night viewing. It was during this time that I think I developed my sense of humor, which was yet another way I was “different” from the kids in my small-town school.

One of Mr. Carlin’s routines that I laughed at back then has stuck with me. He talked about Vietnam and how the government had promised to withdraw–through Laos and Cambodia. (Much funnier when he said it, I promise.) Something about that was stunning and absolutely, maniacally funny to me. What did I know about Vietnam? I knew my dad had had a struggle about registering and that it ended not long before he would have been drafted. I knew lots and lots of people died. I knew, having been a young child during the Reagan 80s, that those deaths were celebrated in uber-patriotic music videos, but that at the time, the veterans coming home had often been scorned.

And here was some nonchalant comedian making people laugh about it? As I said, I was young and quite possibly still trusted the government at the time. I was probably naive enough to think that most people had back then, too.

I loved that he didn’t.

I’m sure my parents will be thrilled to read this, as through the years they’ve looked at each other after one of my proclamations, silently asking each other where they went wrong . It was the TV in the bedroom, y’all. Hee.

Granted, as a person of faith, I find anti-God rants very offensive. But, even as a religious person, I too am offended at what religion often becomes in mainstream society today. He just expressed it in a way and from a different angle than I would have.

Point being, and yes, I started this thing with a point–I often turned Mr. Carlin off when he was too sacrilegious for my sensibilities. That was my right, just as it was his right to be so, and I’d fight to the death for such. George Carlin’s making people laugh for decades over the taboo, the sensitive, the held-sacred, though, was vital. He didn’t preach. He asked the questions in a way that made us laugh…and then think. He just made a lot of cotton-picking sense a lot of the time.

And, he was funny. Just, really, funny. I’m sad we won’t get to hear his perspective on the election this year. He will be missed.

Feel Good Friday–Let’s get this moving ON edition

I heard this twice yesterday, so you get to hear it today. Ladies and gentlemen, courtesy of T-Rex, it’s your Feel-Good Friday morning dance party. Get it on! (Bonus points for a young Elton John appearance toward the end.)

P.S. I’m about to be incommunicado for a couple of days, as my family has descended and we’re packing up the moving truck all day today. See you in Nashville tomorrow, Lord willing!

Thankful Thursday

Yes, I’m blatantly ripping the title from another blogger, but said blogger hasn’t updated in a while, so I’m thinking there’s a public domain thing that probably has gone into effect by now.

After bringing the drama for the past couple of days, it’s pretty obvious to anyone reading that things have kind of gotten to me lately–school, moving, job-hunting, etc. I think the other night was a breaking point, and the cry was much-needed. Now I feel a bit sheepish that I subjected everyone to that–I hate it when I’m negative or needy for the world to see–but I guess the blog can’t be all teaching, yearning, and Ryan Adams, right?

Actually, I haven’t written about RA in a while…it’s kind of like when I used to always buy green shirts because it’s one of my favorite colors and I like how it looks on me. Then I realized I was automatically buying green and had such a closet of green stuff that I needed to branch out. I made a conscious effort to try other colors, but I ended up defaulting to blue…and with a closetful of blue clothes. Hopefully, you get the analogy.

But I digress. Here’s my Thankful Thursday, the I’m About to Leave This Place edition:

~Amazing parents. They’ve had to do this way too many times, but they’ll be heading this way after my mom gets off work in Belle Meade this afternoon to come load me up and move me back home yet again. My sister, her large stomach, and her husband are coming to help too.

~A wonderful congregation. I was not involved as I should have been for various reasons, and I never really made actual friends my age there, but the people of the church where I worshiped this past year did everything they could to make me feel welcome and loved. Remind me to tell you what my preacher did for me sometime.

~Friends who got me through this year. It didn’t get to happen as often as I’d like, but my meetups with Scout, ‘Coma, SQ, and Badger were beautiful oases in a sometimes desert-like state of social void. I loved it, I’ll miss it, but I’m hoping for visits in Nashville regardless of where I ultimately land. My bff, of course, has been my sanity, as she’s been dealing with a similar (but possibly worse) sort of culture shock this year too. And, two non-blogging friends, Sarah and Teresa, who were my vent-friends at school this year. I’m gonna miss them a lot.

~Blogger friends, also who helped get me through. Too many to link, but you know who you are.

~The proctor who saved my sanity yesterday.

~Milder weather to move in.

~This year. My chi’ren. I miss them already. Everything I learned, even the frustration and heartache. Moving here was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, regardless of any previous blog postings to the contrary.

~Hope.

Much more, of course, but I HAVE to get some stuff done so the ‘rents don’t have to do it all when they’re here. Thanks, as always, for reading.

Episode 3: A new hope

Sort of. I just got a call from Prof D, who said I was cleared to take the test. I found my sweetest voice–the same one I used with jerky customers at Starbucks–and said “Thank you so much!”

Whatever. Now I have to finish studying. I was kind of looking forward to the Vespa, but finally being able to finish my coursework toward certification will be a close second.

Thanks for reading. Yes, I know some people have real problems.

The pathetic-ness continues.

So, in the edit below, I’m all excited because it looks like one of Professor D’s colleagues is going to help me out. She’s going to proctor me today and get the forms to him tomorrow. She sent me an email this morning that she had sent to him explaining all this. I thanked her profusely and called him to make sure everything was kosher. I went back to “yes, sir” mode since everything was now worked out and there are no hard feelings, right? While, as I said, I can’t really approximate a conversation with this man, since this one was shorter, I’m going to attempt it here:

“Professor D? This is Holly, from yesterday?”

“Yes!”

“Just wanted you to know [proctor] and I have worked it out, and with your permission, I’ll go ahead and take the test today and she’ll bring the forms to you tomorrow. There was a mix-up–”

[way too cheerfully] “I have to have the forms before the test, Holly. That’s my policy.”

“Oh, of course, I understand, but since this was a sort of special case–”

“It’s my policy, Holly. If I broke it for you, I’d have to break it for everyone else…”

[he then continues to tell me exactly how he's going to continue to make my life a living Hades for the rest of the day, using the words "my policy" about 849 more times, until I--keeping my composure still at this point--attempt to reason with him again]

“Yes sir, of course, and I would never want you to break your policy, and I’m not asking for special treatment, but–”

[again, WAY too cheerfully, and in my mental image, looking not unlike Pennywise the Clown] “If she can fax me the forms this morning, you may take the test, and if you take the test without the forms, you will get a 0! That’s my policy, Holly!”

[dropping all pretense of composure, but strangely, not my own polite-and-cheerful tone] “A-mazing! Thanks!”

*click*

So, I emailed the proctor lady, who I’m sure wishes she’d never heard my name, and asked her to PLEASE fax the forms if possible. If not, I’m going to have to scramble for a proctor this morning so I can take the test today so my grade doesn’t suffer.

Have I mentioned this is one of THREE (3) grades for this entire course?

Have I mentioned I didn’t want to take these classes anyway, but the state of Tennessee didn’t deem me worthy to teach high school kids English–my graduate degree in the subject and my experience teaching college kids notwithstanding–so I have to?

Have I mentioned the day I roll back across the Tennessee River will be the last day anyone west of it will see me again (with a few exceptions that I could link but they know who they are)?

Have I mentioned I just want to go home to Nashville, get a Milkbone at Fido, and go back to my parents’ house where my daddy and I will watch the Godfather for the 212th time while my mom folds laundry and refuses to watch yet again?

***

In the near future, you may hear tale of an odd sighting somewhere in the Appalachians. It will be a Vespa pulling an Airstream with a sweet little black-and-white kitty in the window. The driver, they will say, has a strange maniacal laugh and only seems to be able to quote T.S. Eliot and/or sing random Dylan lyrics. She stops every once in a while at some dive and orders the grilled cheese and a Coke, then makes her way back up the Blue Ridge Parkway. No one is sure how she gets the money to put gas in the Vespa (or how it pulls the Airstream to begin with), but they know one thing–it’s not in education.

Then, you will know for sure: the proctor didn’t fax the forms.