Save Me

You hear that gurgling sound? No, it's not a retch although I can understand why you might have confused it as such. It is me, just below the surface, DROWNING.

In work.

Issues? Of course because if I were to actually get several days strung together, IN A ROW, where everything ran smoothly and according to plan, the world might tip off its axis and twirl away into another galaxy.

What is worse than building a chair, shipping it to the Middle East to a new, high profile restaurant and having it break when your buyer sat in it for the first time? Tough one right? Wracking your brain for an answer? Well, how about building lots of chairs, shipping them to the Middle East to that new, high profile restaurant and having GOBS of them breaking right out from underneath their occupants? Yes, it's true. And the restaurant grand opening is set for tomorrow. And replacement chairs will take 90 days to deliver. Welcome to my life.

Oh yes, there is that meeting I had last week. Remember? I fretted about that baby for a week and a half. For nothing. The buyer was charming, respectful and completely reasonable. But like most in his position, he is faced with crazy deadlines, enormous responsibilities and limited help. To be considered for his new modular plan that rolls out next spring, I have exactly 6 days to get him pricing, samples and concept packaging on no less than eight items. For those that don't know, that's a bit like asking Britney Spears to chew gum and think at the same time: CHALLENGING.

Dallas and I are scheduled to fly home to Canada on Friday. It is not a pleasure trip. Over the weekend, one of my clients is scheduled to be on television with his products and between props, customs, couriered samples and on air protocol, I'm buried alive in the details. To top everything off, my daughter is sick with a cold. It's not horrible and yesterday, after a hasty nasal swab at the doctor's office, we learned that she isn't suffering from the flu, which is great. The trouble is, she goes to her father's house on Thursday night and conditions over there are less than ideal. Under normal circumstances, I can live with the thought of her foraging in the trash for scraps of foods and going unwashed for days but now that her little immune system is compromised with a cold, I'm concerned. So, I'm home with her, forcing heaps of vitamin C and cleansing her sinus cavities with saline and running to the school to pick up her schoolwork... DURING ONE OF THE BUSIEST WORKWEEKS OF MY LIFE.

I've been pretty good at treading water but lately, I can't feel my fingers and toes. I understand why some people give up and allow themselves to sink. I'm not there yet but I could sure use a mouthful of air.

Workmares

I've been having work dreams lately. While not necessarily nightmarish, they are still intense and laden with anxiety. I hate that.

Isn't it enough that I spend the majority of my waking hours at work? I don't think expecting a little respite as I sleep is unreasonable? Apparently, my overactive psyche feels differently.

Last night, I dreamed that I had landed at the airport only to walk up to the car rental desk and learn that they didn't have my reservation. I felt the familiar twinges in the pit of my belly that come when I slip into "Plan B" mode, which in my line of work, is nearly second nature.

I am overwhelmed with exasperation because the travel industry is full of people who are battered on a daily basis by rude, self-absorbed individuals and thus, at some point the flight attendants, car rental clerks, TSA staff and hotel workers just check out. It's a matter of survival, I think. Customer service for them is an oxymoron. They exist to punch a clock. Of course, there are exceptions but generally, business travel has become a chore.

So, in my dream I look at the guy and ask him to check his computer again as I fumble around in my backpack looking for the reservation email I printed out before leaving home. "You aren't in here," he says and just as my heart starts to kick it up a notch, I find my reservation and hand it to him.

He takes the paper, looks at it, raises his eyebrows and says, "Your reservation is for the Nashville Airport branch."

"Of course it is," I say and not without a measure of sarcasm, "so can you please ring the lot and get my car ready?"

"Ma'am, this is the Memphis Airport," and with that, he hands me back my piece of paper and calls out for the next person in line.

Inside, I FREAK. Badly. I start to sweat and struggle to contain the tears that are threatening to spill over at any second.

Then, I give my head a shake and try to figure out how to fix the situation so I can get to my appointment in time. I don't give a single thought as to how this could have happened. I turn around and the airport has completely disappeared. In it's place is a wheat field. What the hell?

I turn back to the car rental desk and inexplicably, I am at Penn Station trying to figure out which train to take.

I am worried that the ice in my samples will melt before I get to Nashville. From NEW YORK CITY!!! Bizzaro.

That's when I woke up; fuzzy, in a sweat and with a barrel of anxiety-fueled adrenaline coursing through my body. Just a Jim Dandy way to start the day.

I have a big meeting tomorrow morning in Nashville for which I have been preparing all week. It's important that it goes well but clearly, I am not managing my stress. I am grateful, however, that my travel tribulations were all just a bad dream.

I did however, check my reservation for my air tickets, hotel and car. Because I'm a sixth-sense, superstitious, my-mind-is-trying-to-tell-me-something weirdo.

An Empty Office

Being employed by a small, privately-held, company has distinct advantages. At my office, there is a noticeable lack of bureaucratic red tape and I cannot express how much easier it is to operate in this environment versus the slow-churning, multi-layered approval, political minefield that is a large, listed company. My working hours are more flexible, too, which enables me to be an effective wife and mother versus the robot I was in big corporate America. In a smaller company, you get to know your colleagues better because we all wear several hats and often, our projects overlap and mingle. They become like family.

Which makes it especially hard when someone leaves.

Last week, Steph the Magnificent put in her final days with us. I'm still struggling to adjust to her departure. She was my person, you know? She was the one that I would talk with about the weekend's events and kids and husbands and the stress. Steph is the reason I met and married Dallas. She had threatened to create a profile for me on eHarmony without my input if I didn't do it myself. She was the one that I covertly called on my first extended date with Dallas where I squealed with excitement in pitches that only a dog could hear. She was my colleague who evolved into my friend.

I hate that she's gone.

I have distinct memories of driving through the streets of Philly together jamming to "Brick House" or arriving at a shopping network's front doors for a sales call, which was a bit like Mecca for a girl like Steph, who has Martha Stewart blood coursing through her veins. One year, after our corporate Christmas party, we left with our spouses in tow and ended up in a bar playing pool like a couple of drunk sharks. Steph was pretty conservative at work but over the years, I got to see how hysterically funny she was.

This morning, I arrived at the darkened door to her office before I remembered that she wouldn't be there. Instantly, I felt a pang a sadness. Steph the Magnificent left for a better opportunity and I'm thrilled for her.

But I miss her.

It's Not A Diet Damnit

Remember how I said that I would NEVER diet again? Okay, I lied. Sort of.

It's not that I'm a serial diet diva or the poster child for body dysmorphic disorder but I have been leaner and fitter in the not so distant past and I liked how I felt then.

Recently, I had a colleague turn me on to a new book (yes, another new book) and the diet plan detailed within its pages resonated with me. Now, I'm not talking diet as in the filthy, four letter word involving prolonged calorie restriction and weirdisms like colonics. No, I promise you, I am DONE with that shit (no pun intended). I am referring to a lifestyle as in, "Sally had a diet rich in fiber".

I have struggled with my weight since the beginning of time and my relationship with food has been largely dysfunctional.

There is the story my mother tells about the time we were at our cottage in New Brunswick. For some reason, I slipped the notice of those aunts and uncles who were charged with babysitting me while my mum gave birth to my sister. All of the sudden, one of them looks out the back and sees me running on my chubby two year old legs towards the cliffs that precipitated a twenty foot or so drop to the beach below. They panicked, calling my name and running after me but I was too far ahead to be caught. Then one of my aunties used the "c" word.

"Beth," she called, "Would you like a candy?" As the story goes, I stopped in my tracks, made an about face and ran back to them. And sadly, my mentality hasn't changed much in the forty odd years since then.

For me, food is so much more than just sustenance. It is the memory of holiday dinners with my extended family. It is molasses cookies and blueberry pie in my grammy's kitchen where I felt safe and unconditionally loved. Food is medication, which I know is not healthy. Me and Oprah. Two fat peas in a pod.

The new book is called, "Cheat To Lose", which sounded good to me before I had even cracked a page. Basically, it details a plan for carb cycling which has long been used by professional athletes to increase fitness while reducing body fat. Of course there is exercise. Of course there is portion control. Blah, blah, blah. What made my ears perk up was the incorporation of a day where I can eat whatever I please. In fact, the author postulates that it is absolutely critical to cheat once a week in order to overcome our body's biological need to store fat. This is a lifestyle I can embrace, people. Consensual cheating. HELLOOO....

This morning, I was nine pounds less than I was last Tuesday. I know it is mostly water but I don't care. I feel encouraged. And under control. I'm even looking forward to going to the gym after work.

Hell hath frozen over.

Friday Smackdown: Inagural Edition

The weekend is here and I am determined to savour every second of it. In order to do so, I feel it necessary to unburden myself of a few things that are stuck in my craw. This way, I can plow headlong into weekend with a fresh attitude and a peaceful demeanor.

1. Balloon boy fever: Lock the father up with Nurse Ratched and throw away the bloody key. Please, please get this story off the evening news. I just don't care anymore.

2. Sarah Palin as a presidential hopeful for 2012: Really? REALLY? Aren't her 15 minutes of fame up yet?

3. My ex husband: Worst father on the planet. One redeeming quality is that he mostly pays his child support. He is woefully inadequate in every other way. Dallas and I appreciate our time alone but I now question if I am doing the right thing by allowing my children weekend visitation with their father. My son expressed yesterday that he no longer wishes to go over to his dad's house but feels that he would be a crappy brother if he let Olivia fend for herself. I had no words. It's just all kinds of yuck.

4. Rude People We Buy Stuff From: You know as consumers, we have plenty of shopping choices. Being on the receiving end of a churlish clerk or flight attendant or office administrator is never a pleasant experience but during rough economic times, when people are hyper discriminating with their dollars, poor service is stunningly ignorant. I'm talking to YOU Starbucks and YOU optometrist and YOU Sam's Club cashier.

5. I am not crazy. I can still smell the cat pee in the office at home. That is all.

6. Exclamation Marks: They are to be used sparingly. Twittering about having cereal for breakfast, which is beyond mundane, is made all the worse by the excessive use of exclamation marks. They are distracting.
STOP IT!!!!!
See, that is how they are supposed to be employed, Juan Pablo.

7. The ethically bankrupt: You Shifty, cheating, disloyal, greedy wanks. How do you sleep at night?

Whew, I think that's it for today. I feel heaps better. I think the Friday Smackdown might become a weekly thing because God knows, the world is full of stupid and internet, you are most definitely cheaper than a shrink.