Like a bridge over bubbled water

Last weekend, which actually lasted from Friday evening to Monday night, was the bomb. Not in the exploding-and-causing-havoc way, but in the super-relaxing, hanging out with people you love way. Samantha and Bear and Thomas and Ginger and Dru and I spent the weekend in a cabin in the mountains.

It was so good to get away and just be for a while.

I worked on a sewing project; a quilt I am making that is probably going to My Favorite Brother-in-Law. Don’t let the fact that he is my only brother-in-law make you think that title doesn’t mean anything, Wilson is really good value. He’s funny, nice, kind, and extremely mellow; all those are good qualities to have if your fate (?) was to marry into my family of edgily overreactive drama queens.

Even the drive up and back (under 6 hours each way) was fun. Thomas and I listened to Laurie R. King’s newest Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes book, Pirate King, on CD. When we weren’t traveling in our imaginations to Lisbon and Morocco with a demented silent-film crew, we spent the drive discussing vacation homes, personal finance, and dogs. (We always talk about dogs. If we started taking about nuclear fusion or underwater basketweaving, the conversation would inevitably worked around to dogs. It’s how we roll.)

Having Monday off meant I got to have a pedicure during the week thanks to a groupon Thomas got me and then get a dog home visit out of the way. I drove into downtown Baltimore with my feet still in toe separators and flip-flops so my new polish could really dry. Good home visit, I hope this couple adopts from us. They are probably my age, no kids, live in a fabulously decorated row-home, and came across as smart folks who have decided a dog would fit into their city-tastic lives. 

The rest of the week has been 1) short, thanks to that Monday off (mwah!) and 2) crappy when I was at my place of employment and awesome when I wasn’t. The crappiness comes because Work and I are having trouble in our ongoing relationship. I am too demanding, and Work is withholding and not sensitive to my need for acknowledgement. Work has begun to bore me, as have all my previous Works. Maybe I am just not a one-Work woman? Maybe I don’t have it in me to be faithful to one Work for years and years and eternally long and same-old same-old years. Could it be that a new Work, or taking time off to be Work-less would perk me up? I do not know, but I am considering my options.

I had dinner with my friend Deana on Tuesday night, went to gentle yoga on Wednesday, and met with The Stern Nutritionist on Thursday. Dinner with Deana was also The Bomb in a good way. Gentle yoga was good, I really enjoy it. The meeting with The Stern Nutritionist was way better than I thought it was going to be, because I have made some progress on losing more of my Own Personal Fat. Since our last meeting I misplaced seven more pounds of myself. Seven isn’t too impressive until you consider that I consumed my own weight in Cheezits and Wine when we were in the country, so I was afraid I would have lost NO weight. That would not have gone down well with The Nutritionist. She’s the only one I have ever worked with, but I wonder if all Nutritionists have a touch of the Dominatrix about them? I am a wee bit scared of her, and sometimes when I want to eat the donut, I imagine having to tell her that I ate a donut, and decide that walking away from the donut is the smart thing to do. If fear of The Nutritionist helps me make healthier choices, I’m willing to make that fear work for me.

The Nutritionist’s magic scale that measures my weight and general body makeup says that almost all the weight I have lost is fat (woo hoo) so I am carrying around a total of 17 less pounds of ugly fat. What that translates to in blood sugar and cholesterol, I won’t find out until April. I do know that my pants are easier to zip up, so that’s a win.