Oh no, no, no. This can't be happening to me!

I did an excellent one-hour cardio, level 10, on ellipticals yesterday morning. But halfway through the workout, my throat started to hurt. I ignored it, thinking that fitness requires a bit of stoicism (you won't get anywhere if you let every little ache stand in your way!). I went home, had a protein shake, and tried to convince myself that I was not getting sick. But by evening, I could no longer speak. I got nothing done, rather devoted myself entirely to my new Kindle Touch by re-reading some trashy "dragon" novel I first read when I was twelve or thirteen. (Don't ask me how I found this in the Kindle store, or why I even thought of revisiting this silly story). And here I am this afternoon, attempting to study for the PRAXIS exam in spite of Thera-flu induced somnolence (I admit I'd rather read about dragons). 

This is all doubly depressing given that I am so psyched about getting back on board with my fitness goals. This is supposed to be my time! Time to shine, to emerge triumphant from the last studious period of my life, with a second Masters degree, a leaner body, and honey-blonde hair (read: a little wiser, a little more slender, a little stronger, a little more golden).

In far less poetic words: This sucks!

Oh yes, it sucks to be sick! Hey, that's an alliterative statement, and thus not so unpoetic. 

Hmm, how about: Eff you, eff you, sore throat! (Yes, Dee. I am trying to conjure the same humor you say I achieved in my post about UTIs -- is it working this time?).

Ok, </end rant>. My few, awesome lj-readers, I hope you're well, and if I don't get back to you soon it's because I'm Zzzzz-ing on sore throat meds. But, I will be back, as superheroes say. ;)

Hello, 2012.

Hmm, I seem to be starting all my blog entries with a greeting lately. 

Here is the big news first: I no longer live in Miami, but in Boca Raton, Fl. Upset? I can't say that I am. The Boca shopping center has a Victoria's Secret PINK store -- of course! -- and there is a really great gym on Glades Road. That's all I need these days -- a good gym and "tops that pop," as the PINK website claims (though for Papi, I'm sure, this has an entirely different connotation from the one intended).

Here is the bad news: The end of 2011 saw me at my worst. Overwhelmed by the move to Boca, I posponed my PRAXIS exam yet again. I went off the diet and stopped working out. That is the hard and lonely truth. I have nothing to blame this on but myself. I went on a twenty-day binge on everything that's probably ever made it to Oxygen's "Foods to avoid at all costs" list. I am now dealing with the consequences of my own choices: a weight gain of eleven pounds. Yikes!

Here is another bit of good news, though: I am not mad at myself. Really. It has dawned on me that self-chastisement is but a negative form of self-affirmation. Beating yourself up for not eating right or for skipping workouts is a way of holding on to a negative type of energy that simply does no good. It doesn't matter what you tell yourself about yourself, when it comes to fitness. You either eat clean or you don't. You either work out or you don't. Then, you reap either the benefits or the costs of your choices.

And that is what I love most about fitness: its integrity, its reliability, its trustworthiness. I've come to truly love the gym and the diet, because I realize I can count on them never to cheat me. It is not possible to be cheated by this lifestyle, that is the heartwarming truth! Whatever you give, you will get back. Bodybuilding loves you to the same measure that you love it; it gives you back exactly what you gave to it. 

I'm starting to discover a deeper meaning in the "It keeps me sane!" bodybuilding cliche.

The gym does keep me sane. Too many times, I've poured my heart into what I have come to call the "broken vending machines" of the world -- third-rate university programs, mediocre professors, indifferent and uninspiring clinical supervisors, cynical bosses -- but no matter how much I gave, how much of my sweat, tears, or blood, I never got back what I worked for. What I merited.

This is a world in which merit is no longer possible. I could write pages on why I think this is so, and someday I will write about what happened in the summer of 2011.  But right now, this is what interests me:

Bodybuilding is not one of the broken vending machines of the world. On the contrary, it is a machine that will never break, will always work. With bodybuilding, I know I will always reap what I've sowed, with exactitude. I can trust it. And how soothing it is to be able to trust something in this world that appears to me to become more and more cynical each day. 

I was up at five this morning, ready to get back on track. I hit the gym and had a pretty good workout. And may I say, morning workouts are delicious. They leave you feeling flushed with endorphins. The best part of having worked out this morning is: it's only nine am, and I've already done what mattered most to me today: my workout.

So, I think today will be a wonderful day. :)

Hello, Christmas Eve 2011. I don't really celebrate you because you seem to have less to do with the birth of Jesus than you do with the materialistic flu that seems to grip most people at this time of year. And it is true, I do tend to get a little lonely on this occasion, having no big family of my own, and thus no one to have a feast with, even I wanted to. But that doesn't mean I don't have things to celebrate, and it doesn't mean I haven't been blessed. Thank you, dear God, for creating the world, and for putting all of us together in it with the choice to love each other, even if some of us choose to hurt each other in small, or big, or horrendous ways. There are things about us that I will never understand, and I won't try to. Instead, I'll try to be what I should. I must confess I like the austerity of this night, for there is so little I can do to thank you!

I am so glad to be alive. So glad for all the friends who have flown away to far-away places and are celebrating with their loved ones tonight. I wish everyone a lovely, illuminating, Silent Night.

It's major crunch time for me right now, so I will be gone for a loong time. There's so much I haven't told you lately (like, all about the nightmare I survived this previous summer). I promise to update you in time, but if I've forgotten the horrors of Summer 2011 by then, I will not be concerned. I will probably have finer things to talk about, since I plan to return with a passed PRAXIS exam, and a leaner, tighter, muscled body (with pictures, to prove it). No, I will probably not be any closer to finishing a book by then. But I will be closer to the finish line of this five-year academic marathon that will mean the culmination of all schooling for me, forever. (No, seriously).

P.S. I still love Heather Leff. She's amazing. I look nothing like her. But maybe, someday, years from now, I will.

And oh yeah, livejournal, I love you, too. Please don't crash and disappear like every other clone of yours that used to exist . You have too much of my life in you.

Anyway, hang tight. I'll be back.

I was going to start this post with some expression of shock over not having posted in six months, but now that I've logged in I see that it's only been three. My gosh. It feels like six months. This semester took over my life completely - I suspended everything. I mean everything (bellydance? What's that?)

I finished the semester with a 3.9 thanks to a first-year teacher who was an absolute mess. She made mistakes I would have made in my first year of teaching, so perhaps I should consider this karma. First-year teachers can be quite inconsistent, and they can't fix their mistakes because they feel so desperately that they have to save face. I know. I was like that, once.

In spite of one A minus, and the fact that I haven't been dancing, this semester has been splendid. I've made wonderful new friends (and I have the best classmates I could possibly ask for). I succeeded in making straight As while taking a fifteen graduate credit load. The months came and went - my 28th birthday was spent at a Greek restaurant, as you might have guessed. In early December, I became LSVT certified, which means that I am now "qualified" to give Parkison's patients voice therapy. I teamed up with my friend Danielle at the conference, whom it was lovely to see again after such a long time (and it's so much fun to go into the same profession with a friend!)

I am sick. Again. That is, I was first sick on my birthday. Last week, Michael came down with some kind of flu. Today, I have it. I've been packing up books, in preparation for our big move to Miami, and the dust I've been inhaling hasn't helped my condition. But I can't seem to will myself into staying in bed. I am partly stressed, partly excited, and partly wishing we could get this move over with.

After a long search for a home in Miami (who knew Miami rentals could be so difficult?), we finally settled on a little townhouse close to Bird Road. It's actually owned by the brother-in-law of a friend. We'll be happy there if Papi can manage to have all my schoolwork spread over our dining table.

Earlier in the semester, I bought a lot of new clothes. M bought me a pair of knee-high black leather boots for my birthday, a black corset, a red corset, and plenty of clubwear. In spite of the hecticness of the semester, we managed to go out a lot on the weekends - much more than we ever have. In fact, I made it my mission to drop certain things (like bellydance) so that I could get my work done faster, and so Papi and I could have that time together. And I've loved every minute of it. Our nightlife has flourished; we've spent lovely nights (not without company), and I would gladly tell more if it weren't mandatory to keep these things secret.

And now the Theraflu has kicked in, in good timing. I should simply go to bed now, because I've heard drugs make you reveal all sorts of things.

P.S. And oh yes, isn't this gorgeous? Isn't it splendid? 

 Aannnd.... it's official, I have no words left for the craziness that has become my life. I want so badly to be writing more, but I can't. Oh, school, school, school, will I EVER catch up.

I am blogging today though because I found out yesterday that Frank McCourt died a year ago - on July 19th, 2009. I'm incredibly saddened by this news. I can't believe that flame, that man, with his gift for words and his human beauty and intensity, is gone. 

I found out about his death because I was trying to find a BN interview of McCourt that I read a while ago and that I wanted Michael to read. Instead, I found this.

And then I did find the interview I was looking for.

( Read it here )

On another note...

I have so much I want to be blogging about these days. Maybe I will try to blog again tomorrow, if I can manage to get all my work done...

OMG. Someone posted something on Facebook today about funeral potatoes. If you're as mystified by the term as I was when I saw  it, this is what funeral potatoes are (as per the Facebook description I found): hash browns mixed with cheese, sour cream, and cream-of-chicken soup;  topped with corn flakes and butter.

Honestly, my stomach turned when I read this. I can't imagine being able to taste any of the ingredients in such an egregious concoction, save for the fat and the salt. And I think "funeral potatoes" is the perfect name for such a dish - eat this regularly and expect to die, eventually, of heart attack or intestinal failure (there's your funeral!).

Oh, I'm sure I'm exaggerating, but the least you can get from eating that stuff is a major stomachache; I know I would have to spend a whole week eating oatmeal and broccoli to counter the indigestion.

Speaking of bad eating habits, I've been snacking on cheese today, and right now I am at a Starbucks having a latte before my bellydance class, so I shouldn't exactly be going off about proper nutrition.

Does it seem, these days, like all I ever write about is diet, fitness, bellydance, writing, and school? It's probably true that that's all I talk about here. But that's my life; what can I do.

After all, what I have to report today is simply: I am done with my SLP pre-reqs! :) Okay, I will be done, officially, tomorrow, after I take the final exam. But it should be a cinch, and these days, the thought that I am so close to becoming a Speech Therapist makes me giddy with gratitude. I still haven't gotten over the fact that I got into this program. I feel like I might never get over the fact that I discovered this profession, and that it fit my life goals so perfectly, and that I will get to spend the rest of my life helping human beings recover. I never did do well forcing kids to behave and learn. I lack Papi's killer intimidation factor.

I finished a book today that enraged me, and now I will go rant about it on my other - secret - blog. And on Librarything...

As much as I've been whining about how hard I've been working since I went back to graduate school (I haven't had a break since Fall 2007!), I know I will really miss being a student. I love that I have time to write and to do some pleasure reading these days. Well, once the Fall semester starts, that precious time will be pretty much gone, so perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. In a very recent entry, I said I feel, these days, as though I've grown into my skin. I meant my adult skin, but I also feel like I've grown into my writing skin. I've always been a prosaist; I've always known it; and I've always been highly confessional. I don't see the point in trying to grow into a different style. I'm writing a lot; I'm happy with just that, and what I want is to carve away at my writing, to work and work at it until it is seamless and polished, until it reads like no hard work went into it at all.

Contemporary writers are my inspiration, and the June 14 edition of The New Yorker contains a list of twenty wonderful writers under the age of forty. Michael asked me to read the very moving introduction. Karen Russell made the list - again; she once made The New Yorker's "People under 25 to watch" list - and I can't wait to read her short story in a future issue, as well as her novel in the Spring of 2011.

I've been reading so much lately, and ranting so much about the Nook-Kindle wars, that Michael bought me a Kindle over the weekend. It ships on August 27th, and I can hardly wait to receive it. I feel utterly spoiled, and this feels like an unnecessary expense; but I think M needed me to shut the f--k up about Nooks and Kindles. Ha ha. He pretty much said that when he placed the order for the Kindle. It was funny. But obviously, he bought the Kindle out of love.

So I've done nothing all day but read, write, make ebook wishlists on Librarything, and wash and fold laundry. Mondays like this will become impossible in only two weeks time, so I've been relishing the day while I can.

I've joined LA Fitness, since I need a gym in Miami and Gold's is too far away from my home down there. While most people there seem utterly incapable of re-racking dumbbells, it's a nice gym. The price is nice, too.

I'm ready for the Fall semester, for everything, to begin. I'll just need to keep my focus, make sure I leave time for workouts and dancing and writing (which is a lot!), every day.