Things I Would Tell My Teenage Self

I was at a conference this Monday, and during it I started thinking about all the things I would tell my past self, which is what you do when you're at a conference for teenagers and young people. Over the years, I've read a lot of these, but I've never made my list. So, here's what I'd tell teenage Laura, if she would just pick up the phone for once.

Teenage me, on a parade float, dressed in a borrowed poodle skirt.

Reading is awesome. Making excuses to people who hate reading for why you LIKE reading sucks up too much time and is a bummer. Tell the losers who ask you incessantly why you're reading that smart people read, and you feel sorry for them if they don't. Then tell them not to interrupt you while you're reading. You're practicing for your future career.

Don't spend time with people who make you feel awful. You spend time with a few people, some of whom are related to you, that make an effort to tell you terrible things about yourself, punish you for being who you are, and otherwise are horrible. You don't have to talk to them. There are really cool people who love you in the world, and only by dropping the awful people will you find the cool ones.

Don't let your passport expire. It will get too expensive for you to want to renew it. And then you will watch it get even more expensive and never bother to renew it. Not that you travel, but you CAN'T travel if you don't renew that sucker. Mental note: renew passport.

Find a doctor that listens to you.You are not supposed to feel sick all the time. I know your doctor keeps telling you there's nothing wrong, but he's the wrong one. You actually are sick. You have three different chronic illnesses. Three. So, there's a reason you feel like crap.

Fitness shouldn't hurt. It does. I know, but it won't always hurt to run and play like you used to as a kid. Go to the doctor again. Find a better one. See above. Soon you will have lots of fun playing outside or at the Y, and it will help your brain work better.

Buy better foundation. It will match. Drugstore foundations never do. It is worth the extra money, because you won't buy five foundations that you throw away or give away when they don't match, you'll just buy one.

Go places by yourself. People underestimate you and make you doubt yourself. You can totally drive up to see your aunt or grandparents alone. Why are people stopping you? Ask that question more.

Dental Checkups: Go to them. Schedule more. It will save you money in the long run. Basically half your teeth are made of tooth and half of them are made of filling now. You could have probably prevented some of these fillings, if you'd gone to the dentist during college.

Shoes. Get good ones. Vegan leather is plastic. Plastic causes blisters. You aren't vegan. Get good shoes. You walk weird and it destroys your body. You need arch support and narrow shoes, not normal shoes. You especially need these for running. You'll thank me later when you don't have shin splints.

You will figure out your hair. Eventually. Most days. Just don't print the pictures, it will be like that haircut you have right now never happened. And DON'T let your mother color your hair. She has no idea what she's doing. She will look at you and cry, and then you will cry, and then you'll spend too much trying to fix what happened and will look like a zebra for six months. Just go to a stylist like a real adult. And stop cutting out pictures of people who look cute with their hair and instead ask that stylist what she (spoiler alert: your favorite hair stylist in the world will be a woman) thinks will work best for you.

There's more, but you probably stopped listening after I told you to go to the dentist. I get it. I have to find ANOTHER new one. Stop laughing. I'm you. My suffering should make you feel bad.

What would you tell your teenage self? Let me know in the comments. I'm curious.

The Best Thing Ever

I am a hairy girl. Like, not gorilla-level hairy, but I am very pale with extremely dark hair, so I FEEL very hairy, because the hair stands out more on my skin. I remember being a kid at the dunes outside of Chicago and thinking, "Wow, no one else has arm hair as thick as mine," because no one in my family did, except my dad, and he is a man. So yeah. That's fun for you to realize when you're eleven and want to be pretty.

For years I have tried everything to diminish the appearance of hair (bleach, anyone?). I shave my legs, but it does me no good because the root is so dark under my translucent skin, it looks like I didn't bother. I even experimented with at-home mustache waxing, because I thought, "I can do this!" And, "The Internet says shaving makes the hair darker!" But my hands aren't warm enough to melt the wax strip, leading me to put the wax strip under my sports bra, leading my to fall asleep trying to melt the wax, leading to me waking up and wondering how this wax strip ended up in my bra all night.

I am a feminist, and if you don't want to shave, good for you. I wish I could be that kind of person. I really would love to be, but my skin is so sensitive, when my hair (or a piece of grass, or a bit of splinter, or a pine needle) pricks it, I have an allergic reaction. If I grow my hair out, it literally gives me hives. This is loads of fun, I might add. Really. so much fun. You should try it.

Enter my new favorite thing, the epilator.

I got the Braun Silk-epil 9. It has been in my Amazon cart for over a year. I finally clicked "order" when a friend bought one, and ironically, she didn't end up loving it. But the week I have spent ripping all my hair out with the epilator has been the happiest of my life.

It comes with a bunch of stuff. And it is beautiful.

I epilated my legs. They looked hairless. Actually looked hairless. I have never shaved and look like I'd bothered to shave. I have smooth legs for the first time ever. I had a 5 o'clock leg hair shadow by 10:00 AM. Seriously. It is why I stopped wearing shorts. Because the prickly leg thing was so annoying, and then hives would appear. Good times. Really, try being allergic to life sometime.

I said, "What the heck, let's just commit." So I epilated my arms. Oh my goodness. I am planning on installing a shrine to this thing. I haven't had hives in days, except for where the hair on my head hits my shoulders (time for a haircut).

This is amazing. It's like no-benadryl Christmas here.

Epilator review, 13/10. Buy at once.

On My Wishlist This Month

Transitional Clothes

I am not in massive need for any clothing, unlike at the start of summer. This is because, on November 9th, when I was in mourning for humanity, I purged only the summer/spring section of my wardrobe, not the fall/winter, which I had in my closet and not in storage. Still, there are a few bits that I'm loving that I may treat myself to, should they go on sale in the near future.

One, Two

THOSE Shoes

Yeah, I cannot afford the Gucci loafers, nor would I spend that kind of money on shoes if I COULD afford the Gucci loafers. You walk on shoes. They fall apart after a while, no matter how nice you are to them, and eventually, no cobbler or shoe expert can rescue them. I had a pair of boots I wore all through junior high, high school, and college, but when I got in a car accident, they got a scratch in the leather that no one can fix. Bad stuff happens to shoes. Why spend crazy money on them? Instead, buy yourself a plane ticket to somewhere cool. Or buy five pairs of more reasonably priced shoes. Or 20 pairs of cheap shoes. I am Richard Gilmore.

But I like the look, so I've been hunting for shoes that are similar enough to satisfy my shoe-craving without putting me into the poorhouse.

One, Two, Three

I'm leaning toward number one, which has gold hardware, but really I'm spoiled for choice. Loads of brands have done loafers in this style. These are just the first few results I saw on Zappos. Right now you can get them in any color, any pattern, with or without embroidery, vegan or leather, cheap or pricey. It's actually a nice time to shop for loafers. if you're in the market.

Books

Andy Weir has a new book, Artemis coming out in November. John Le Carré's new book comes out September 5th. The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye, which is either book five in Stieg Larsson's Millennium series or book two in the spin off series by David Lagercrantz, depending on how you look at it, is coming out on September 12th. (Unpopular opinion: I actually like the spin off better. I like how Lagercrantz writes a more believable Blomkvist who does not automatically seduce women just by breathing in the same room as them, but that's just me.)

Other Bits

I'm dying for one of these pencils. This notebook is arriving in the mail for me on Monday and has the perfect weight of paper for writing with fountain pens, like this one.

Books on My Radar: August

I'm making you a handy list of things to read, if you want to, because I'm about to. Read them. You know. With my eyes. It's a thing. You should try the reading thing. This is a monthly deal now.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling. Yes, I've read this before, dozens of times. But I've only read the US version, never the original UK version. AND my mother ordered me a fancy anniversary copy for my birthday that's in Ravenclaw colors, because she gets me. I'm waiting for it to come from across the pond. When it does, expect me to sleep curled up next to it for the rest of my life because it is just that precious.

Magpie Murders: A Novel by Anthony Horowitz. I asked for this book for my birthday, and happily, it is in the mail. Thanks, Auntie Jeanne! Quickie description, famous crime writer Alan Conway's editor, Susan Ryeland, receives Conway's newest manuscript. As she reads about his detective, Atticus Pünd, she begins to recognize another story concealed in the pages. It's an homage to vintage crime fiction, and I can't wait to get my hands on it. Is it okay and healthy to check tracking 16 times a day? Okay, good.

The Essex Serpent by Sarah Perry. I have this checked out from the library and need to quickly read it before I get angry notes telling me other people want it and I need to return it. (That happens to librarians, too.) After the death of her husband, happily widowed Cora Seaborne heads off to Essex to enjoy the country air, only to encounter a panic. The locals have seen a giant serpent, which may have caused a death. And, in a historical sort of X-File, Cora the scientist meets the vicar, William Ransome, and the two investigate. Cora thinks they're about to discover a new species. William thinks the town is in a religious panic. Gosh, I need to read this. It sounds so good.

Firebrand by A.J. Hartley. The sequel to one of my favorites from last year, Steeplejack. If you haven't read that one, go back and do it. It's a complex mystery set in an alternate 19th century South Africa. Anglet, fresh from solving the murder of her assistant steeplejack in the first book, is now assisting behind the scenes in Parliament, using her particular set of skills. Great for fans of mysteries and historical fantasy. I bought this over my vacation because I needed it in my life.

You Don't Have to Say You Love Me by Sherman Alexie. This memoir has already broken me. I'm nearly finished and can't recommend it enough. If you're a fan of The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian or Alexie's other works, this is a must-read. If you love memoirs, this is a must-read. If you are human, this is a must-read. Seriously. Read this. It's complex and beautiful, and heartbreaking and wonderful.

What's on your bookish radar for this month? Do any of these strike your fancy? Let me know in the comments!

What I'm Loving Right Now

Glossier--This is my new favorite skincare brand. When summer came along, I quickly became sick of foundation. To be honest, I was sick of it for a while. My skin, thanks in part to the glory of my endometriosis medication, has completely cleared up. It looks pretty, not spotty, so I wanted to stop hiding it. Enter Glossier. If you want a high-coverage foundation, their skin tint is not it, but it will blur your skin and even out the tone. Their Priming Moisturizer is wonderful. I use Boy Brow everyday. Cloud Paint is gorgeous in every color. Oh--and I finally found an SPF I wasn't allergic to--Invisible Shield. 10/10, would recommend. If you're thinking about trying them out, here's a link you can use for money off!

A post shared by Glossier (@glossier) on Jun 5, 2017 at 6:46am PDT

Madwell Transport Tote--I've wanted this thing for years. I finally used some store credit and a coupon code to buy one. It is everything I've ever wanted in a bag. I love it for work. I can load up with books to take out to preschools, carry all my knitting at once, and all while looking a whole lot less like a Civil War-Era carpetbagger, laden with all my earthly possessions.

Kindle Fire--Prime Day rolled around and I finally replaced my aged Kindle 2. Oh my goodness. They really made these awesome! My old Kindle could do books, wasn't backlit at all, barely had a battery to speak of, and weighed a ton. This Kindle is light, easy to read in many different lights, and so useful. I've been reading up a storm, and it's brilliant for referencing recipes while you cook. If you don't have a tablet, this is a great (and affordable) option!

My Fitness Pal--Who was getting 1000+ calories from sugar (drinks especially) per day? Not me, no. Couldn't have been me. This app helps you see what foods are killing you. Also I'm never having soda again. Unless I'm under my calorie goal. By a LOT.

Like today. I could have a Coke today.

The only weakness I see with My Fitness Pal is with recorded calories burned by exercise. This app seems to be confused. I use both Nike apps and the app that comes with the gym equipment at the Y , and both list calories burned as the same number. My Fitness Pal either massively overshoots that number (with walking or biking, for example) or undershoots it (with running). It's odd. No idea why. No idea which is right, either, but I tend to side with the other apps, as they agree. Want an accurate calorie count? Try Nike Run Club--Fit Club, if you aren't running.

Fitness--with a Chronic Illness

To begin, here's the rundown. This is not a whinging post or an "I wish I had a different life" post. I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I do not need solutions or supplements given to me; I have doctors and experts doing that. Keep your pyramid schemes and juice cleanses on Facebook. I'm good.

Today I'm going to write the blog post I wish I could have read as a preteen, a teen, when I started trying to become fit, and now. I keep randomly Googling, looking for this kind of post, and it just doesn't exist in the form I want it to. So I'm writing it.

Here's to being active and having a chronic illness.

No, that's not a sunburn or bad white balance, I'm that red after a run.

I have asthma and allergies and endometriosis and some other bonus diseases. My body mostly hates me. I'm on hormone therapy to shut my reproductive system down, and it still doesn't manage to do that, my hormones are so messed up. I try to work out three times a week. Here's why: I always feel healthier when I'm active.

But the bottom line is, I can't always do it. And that doesn't make me a bad runner, or a bad athlete, or a bad person. It doesn't undo what I've done and how fast I ran my last mile. It doesn't mean I'm not serious about being fit.

When I was in junior high, I approached my gym teacher and my doctor to ask why, when I ran even a lap of the gym, I felt like I was going to black out in pain. I was told it was a stitch in my side and to breathe through it. I ran slower because it hurt so much. Sometimes I walked. Later, I discovered that "breathing through it" could have killed me. I had a 17 inch cyst on my left ovary that could have ruptured at any time.

In high school, I was still in agony. I really wanted to be athletic, because that was the cool thing. I wanted long hair in a high ponytail, and to run down the street looking fit and healthy. I was neither fit nor healthy. I managed a fourteen minute mile my senior year and was proud. That summer, I had major surgery to remove the cyst I'd never known was there, the same cyst that caused the chronic pain I'd felt since junior high. I lost 15 pounds and part of an ovary during several hours of surgery.

In college, I discovered yoga, and I loved it. For once, my body wasn't fighting me. I stuck to yoga until I met a friend in a lit class and discovered she, now calmly taking notes, had run 23 miles right before coming to class. And I wanted to do that too.

I couldn't.

The face you make after being attacked by biting flies.

I'd hoped the surgery would have done away with what was keeping me still. But I kept getting dizzy and lightheaded. I still had joint pain almost every day, even when I did next to nothing. The longer I stood, the more my diaphragm HURT. I can't explain how that feels, but it sucks. I managed a three mile run with my friend. I spent the rest of the weekend coughing and gasping for air. Eventually, we found out that was asthma, which I'd been walking around with for years. I'd lucked out and never had a massive attack that landed me in the hospital, so I was never diagnosed. I got inhalers and steroids and medicines to make my sinuses work and my lungs work and I felt...well.

When I get steroids now, I wake up in the morning, roll out of bed, and have a full day of activity. I get more done at work and home than I thought possible. I can go outside and sit in the fresh air. I feel healthy. This is because at long last, my body works the way it was designed to work. That will never be my everyday.

My everyday is taking a handful of pills, steroid nasal spray, and inhalers. I feel ill for about an hour, which is why I wake up an hour earlier than I really need to, so I can spend that hour eating breakfast and watching YouTube waiting to feel human. On a good day, I feel better at about 6:50 AM. Then I start getting ready. On a good day, I can make it through work and then head to the gym. On a bad day, my joint and/or sinus pain is so bad I can't consider running or lifting weights, so I go home and spend my evening prone, watching TV or reading. That's okay.

It's taken me years--since the days of the 30 Day Shred on this blog--to learn to be okay with bad days. But they're fine.

I might never be a marathon runner. In fact, I almost certainly won't be. I'm still a runner. I'm still athletic. I'm physically fit, even with my "endo-belly." Even with all the times I have to stop at the side of the road and gasp. I'm a runner. I spent the spring recovering from a nasty case of bronchitis. I didn't run for two months. I'm still a runner.

Look at me, outside! Only slightly red-faced!

If you're like me, Couch to 5K won't work the way it says it will. I'm sorry that there's no training plan for us. We have to make our own. Count your spoons. Do you have enough?  Tie on your shoes, go outside or to the gym. Maybe you'll walk or ride a bike, maybe you'll feel well enough to run. Maybe tomorrow you'll do more, or maybe you'll spend the day lying down. It's fine. That happens to me too. We are enough.

I used to joke when someone asked if I was a runner. I would reply, "Yes, the world's suckiest!" Then I realized how cruel that was to myself. Spoonies, let's stop stomping on our accomplishments. Let's be proud of all the things we can do instead

Podcasts You Should Be Listening To

I've been obsessively listening to podcasts lately. Here is a countdown of my top five:

5. Levar Burton Reads

This one is new! Ever watch Reading Rainbow as a kid? Like getting stories read to you by the chief engineer of the Enterprise? Like stories in general? This podcast is for you. Levar Burton is the best ever and as a child I wanted to marry him. I still would if he showed up and knocked on my door and asked me. But he has a lovely family and should stay with them. I'll just enjoy the podcast.

4. Lore

Lore is new-to-me, and I've quickly downloaded all the episodes so I can catch up. It comes out twice a week and has an Unsolved Mysteries kind of vibe, with freaky creatures, mysterious places, and some truly awful historical stories. The last episode I listened to involved an axe murderer. I will never sleep again.

3. Welcome to Night Vale

I started listening to podcasts after dozens of friends told me to listen to Welcome to Night Vale. Since then, they've released three books (another is on the way), been on countless tours, and reached 110 episodes of great storytelling. It's fantastic and if you haven't listened yet, you should start now. They're on haitus in July (they have to sleep sometime), but will be back for episode 111 in August.

2. Stuff You Should Know

Listening to Stuff You Should Know makes me feel smarter. I put this podcast on whenever I'm working or cleaning and want company. When I spent two months house-sitting, I listened to more episodes than I want to count. Josh Clark and Chuck Bryant cover all kinds of topics from super-volcanoes to stoicism and I always learn something new when I listen. I THINK they're coming to Indianapolis soon--and if that's true, I'm getting tickets.

1. My Favorite Murder

I missed their tour stop in Indianapolis, so let's hope Georgia Hardstark and Karen Kilgariff come back soon. These ladies are HILARIOUS. Also they make me afraid to go into the forest ever, which is bad because I live in one. While the idea of listening to stories about murder seems a bit...not normal, turns out it totally is so stop staring at me. I would take a bullet for this podcast. Give Elvis all the cookies. (Subscribe and that will make sense)

Where the Heck I've Been

I have been at home, of course. Where I usually am. Except instead of blogging I did the following:

1. Ate Cheetos. I have begun a love affair with Cheetos. We are announcing our engagement soon. We have a close and special bond. You wouldn't understand.
2. Donated half my wardrobe to charity. I'd like to say I did this for an important, special reason. The reality was, I decided to clean out my storage boxes in the basement while switching out my summer wardrobe for my winter/fall wardrobe and in the process donated half the clothes I own to charity because America had just elected well, you know, and I wanted to light myself on fire, so instead I donated all my clothes.
3. Surprised myself when summer came and I had no clothes to wear. Yeah. That was a shock. I had literally nothing to wear that wasn't a sweater.
4. Spent too much money. Because I had to buy a whole new spring/summer wardrobe because I LITERALLY had nothing to wear.
5. Thought a lot about blogging. Not just about writing a blog, but about what I wanted this blog to BE. 

When this blog started, it was a knitting blog. I know, right?! What happened? That lasted about a month. Then it became what it has been for years, a "Random Story" blog. But that doesn't make it easy to write posts for me. For one, I might go through a spell of being very anxious, which has happened multiple times. Instead of having a topic prepared, I have to think up a funny story from my week, and shaking under the desk at work isn't funny to me when I'm still anxious.* I could have a loved one get sick or pass away, and that isn't funny at all. So how to I get inspiration?

I'm going to rethink things. For one, my interests have changed. I went from being a college student, an unemployed former college student, a deer-in-the-headlights newbie librarian, to an experienced professional. I went from sitting on the couch and watching a whole season of The X-Files in one sitting to going for a run, and THEN watching part of a season while drinking lots of water. I went from eating literally everything in sight to considering my health and allergies as I made food choices and becoming much healthier in the process.

I'm going to change this blog up a bit. I'll share book recommendations, lifestyle posts for people like me who totally don't have their sh*t together, my fitness foibles, and, of course, funny stories because it's me, after all.

The goal right now is two posts a week. I want something attainable while still keeping a schedule I can maintain while working and gym-ing and watching The X-Files while eating half a bag of Cheetos.**

* It's funny after, because I have a dark sense of humor.

** This post was in no way sponsored by Cheetos, but seriously Cheetos, call me. I am down with changing this blog design to be electric orange and taking pictures of various bags of Cheetos in different rooms of my house.

Surprise

Happy Mental Health Awareness Month.

As a heads up, this post contains a lot of anxiety talk, which can sometimes be triggering for other anxious people, so avoid if that's the case for you. Instead make a cup of tea and watch Mind of a Chef on Netflix. Or Fixer Upper. That's good too.

I'm back! By now, most of you know a blog hiatus (especially an unannounced one) means I am in a giant pit of anxiety and am currently clawing out of it. I hate that this happens, and in less anxious times I try to backlog posts so I can fill any gaps, but it doesn't always work. Writing doesn't always work. In fact, the second I start feeling the yawning pit of anxiety somewhere in the distance, the desire to write, the ability to write...completely goes away. So there are gaps.

Here is what a "good" time is for me:

I wake up. I bathe and get dressed. I take medicine and eat breakfast and put on nice-ish clothes and go to work. I do work. I go to the gym. I go home. I watch cooking shows on Netflix and eat dinner. I get comfy in pajamas. I lie awake in mind-numbing panic that everything and everyone I love in the world will be snatched from me in the night and THERE IS NOTHING I CAN EVER DO TO KEEP THEM SAFE AND WHAT WILL I BE WITHOUT THE PEOPLE I LOVE, I WILL CEASE TO BE WITHOUT THEM. EVERYTHING IS MELTING.

Then I fall asleep.

Here's what a bad time is for me:

I wake up multiple times in the night, with raw, soul-crushing panic. I try to fall back asleep but can't manage that, so I lie in bed in a cold sweat wishing I could pass out from lack of oxygen, because yeah, I can't breathe. It feels like my heart has forgotten that beating thing it used to do, and that's probably not good, but the doctor did a test and everything is okay but everything is not okay EVERYTHING IS NOT OKAY.

Then my alarm goes off and a new wave of panic floods my veins and I choke down breakfast and sometimes throw it up, then I get clean and dressed and cry and then try to use makeup to cover up the crying and then I feel sick and get in the car and want to dissolve into the seat cushions but instead I drive to work and sometimes I sit shaking in the car in the work parking lot thinking about how it would be so much easier if I didn't know anyone, because then no one would notice or care that I'd been crying. And then I do work. And sometimes I cry in the storage room and shake some more. And then I go to the gym and try to run away from what I'm terrified of, even if I don't know why I'm afraid in the first place. And then I eat dinner and go to bed and the cycle repeats itself.

I can't NOT do anxiety. It's something that just IS, and I share space with it. As far back as I could remember, I have been anxious. There are a few reasons, some of which have been circumstantial, like a death in the family or career-based stress. And this year, I found out I have sensory processing issues, which upon further study, has pretty massively shaped my life and development. Also it is probably why I'm so massively clumsy.

So, coping. It's a thing. I know I've talked about it before, but it never hurts to go through it again, just in case you didn't need it then but you do now. Here's how I do it:

Tea. I drink it. Caffeine-free because it doesn't make my anxiety even worse. Hot tea, because iced is not even the same thing. There's a reason why making tea is an actual ceremony in some cultures. The very act of making tea is soothing. Coffee isn't the same. Coffee wakes you up and makes you energized. That is not tea's job. Tea's job is to make you feel safe and loved and at peace. Drink tea.

Exercise. On a good day or a bad day, exercise. I run, I lift weights crappily because apparently my body doesn't understand muscle development. I go to barre class and fall on my face because my socks are too big. After I've gotten sweaty and worn myself out, I feel better. Sometimes only a little bit, sometimes a lot. But it helps.

Talking. I go to a therapist who is awesome, and I talk to Jennifer loads, usually during long car trips to and from places that have tasty food (or Target). Talking through what you're going through makes anxiety less isolating, and the last thing anxiety needs is a dark quiet place where it can grow like mold. Sometimes it means I write blog posts for you. Sometimes it means I tell the teens I work with that anxiety is a thing people feel and that it's okay to talk about it.

Audiobooks. I can sleep at night for one reason: I listen to audiobooks as I drift off to sleep. Usually to audiobook. One book. Howl's Moving Castle. I practically have it memorized, but it doesn't matter. It's soothing.

I turn off the news. One of the biggest anxieties I have is news-based. I cannot control the terrible things in the world. There are many terrible things in the world. When I watch the news, or too much of the news, depending on how bad off I am, all I can think of is the bad stuff. I forget that good things happen, and that people can be kind. Instead I think that everyone is terrible and that's why Donald Trump is going to end president, no matter how many people mobilize to vote for someone else.

I spend time alone. Too much alone time can be a bad thing for me and so is too little. I'm an introvert. That and sensory issues mean people = anxiety trigger. But only SOMETIMES. When things are getting too big or too loud, I go to a quiet place. It makes things better.

Anyway. It's Mental Health Awareness Month, so now you're aware.

Great British Bake Off

I love watching cooking programs because I like food. I tend to gravitate toward food travel shows, where people go to different places and eat food I can't get in the middle of nowhere Indiana. I love watching Anthony Bourdain. I love America's Test Kitchen, and I recently fell in love with The Great British Bake Off.

I should also mention that I get obsessive about certain foods. I think a certain food looks good, I decide I want to go try it, make it, whatever, and then I spend hours finding a recipe or researching restaurants I probably won't end up going to. Then I order weird spices or herbs on the internet and make curries or fancy soup. And then I can move on.

If you haven't seen The Great British Bake Off, you should. In the states, it's called The Great British Baking Show, because Americans apparently could not understand that "bake off" means "baking competition" without them dumbing it down. It is brilliant. Basically, two judges, Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood, evaluate the baked goods produced by a number of contestants over a series of weekends in a tent set up in the garden of a lovely estate house. Each weekend, they take on a specific sort of dessert, cakes, pies, biscuits, puddings, pastry...you name it.

One week they made croissants. And I died a little inside when I saw how perfect the flaky layers were. We can't get croissants here. They do make "croissants" at grocery stores, but they aren't made with real butter, which basically means they aren't croissants at all. It's depressing. I dreamed of having proper French pastries, but when I was in France during my college years, it was for a few days right after New Year's and everything was closed. Everything. The only croissants we had came in sealed packages from convenience stores. It was like not being in France at all. I watched each contestant roll out dough and fold in butter and thought, "I could do that."

I was forgetting a few things:

1. I am not a talented (or even practiced) baker
2. Baking is hard.
3. Seriously, though.

I went, as I always do, to America's Test Kitchen. There was a recipe, which I printed off. I'd had lunch and my afternoon was free, so I figured I could bang out a few croissants in a few hours and we'd be set for breakfast the next day. The recipe warned that the process would take 10 hours, but I thought, "No big deal, I can do that."

Mary knows the truth.

Except it was, and I couldn't.

Here are the problems with croissants:

1. The dough is yeasted, so it rises as you're trying to work with it. 
2. Every recipe assumes you can roll things out in a rectangle.
3. Butter melts. 

You begin by making your dough, wrapping it, and chilling it. Then you beat a few sticks of butter to make them pliable, but still cold. Then you roll the butter into a square inside some parchment paper. Then you chill that, too. When you pull out the dough, you roll it into a rectangle (hysterical laughter), then slap the butter into it, fold the dough around it and seal it, Then you roll it out again, then fold it up again. Then roll, then fold. Then chill. Then roll and fold, roll and fold, and chill.

You keep doing that for hours. Then you allow it to rise in the fridge a bit. Then you freeze it. Then you roll it out and cut it into shapes. Then you roll the shapes into croissants. Then you let those rise some more. Then you cry in the corner of your kitchen because everything is melting (literally). Then you make an egg wash. Then you think you'll never sleep again because no way will you be done before midnight. Then you bake the croissants. And then you thank God and think, this will never happen again. 

The reaction Paul and Mary would have had to my croissants.

Then you have the croissants for breakfast and think, That wasn't so bad. I could do those again some time. Maybe over two days, but still.

Terrible shaping. Just awful. The baker leaving us today is Laura.

This Post Is Brought to You by Chronic Illness Cat (And Whinging)

Last week I woke up and I tried to take the brick off of my face, but there was no brick because it was actually just the normal, eternal sinus pain, massively worsened from the constant headache it normally is. So I went to the doctor at the walk-in clinic because it was the weekend, and I was given the kind of antibiotics they give people who are infected with bio-weapon sorts of diseases. I think every bacteria in my body cringed in fear the second I picked up the prescription.

Every once and a while we try to treat my chronic sinus infection. Mostly we just make it bearable, because there is no way to actually treat it, only to manage the symptoms. I could do sinus surgery, but seriously, why? It would be a temporary fix. I am saving it for my

Here is a normal day of medication for just my sinuses: Morning: Allegra, Sudafed, Mucinex, Ibuprofen, Prevacid (to treat reflux from all the medicine). Midday: More Sudafed and Ibuprofen. Evening: Benadryl. Lots of it. Sudafed. Nasacort. *

Soon I will have no headache! I thought. I will have a blissful week of normal. I can't wait! Because literally I get one week of happy, then my sinuses remember they are really exclusive, so they close up and only hang out with each other.

I picked up my medicine plus more Sudafed.

Then I went home. I took the medicine. I even picked up some homeopathic thing the doctor lady said would make me catch less crap! And I thought, now I will feel better.

Then I woke up the next day and thought WHAT THE ACTUAL [REDACTED].

Because how do antibiotics make you WORSE. I was worse. I drug myself around that day. Then the next day I was even worse. And the next day I felt even WORSE. My lungs were turning themselves inside out. But I did not invite lungs to this party. I did not know lungs could just show up to a sinus infection after a person was taking antibiotics. I felt so horrible that I could not even call the doctor, and my family kept checking to see if I was dead. I think they were looking up burial plots and pricing caskets.

On Tuesday, Mum handed me the phone. It was the nurse at my doctor's office. The nurse said, "We need to see you." I was like, "What is happening?" and she said, "NOW."

I may have asked if I needed to put on real pants.

Then I made Mum drive me because I could not tell if up was still a thing and also could not hear words. And I went in to see the doctor only to find out that through Christmas, New Year's, and well, all month, I've been walking around with pneumonia. This would be why fitness got suddenly harder for some reason. Also why I discovered I needed my emergency inhaler more than usual. Also why I was feeling like death.

See, when I got the antibiotics they use to treat deadly deadly anthrax, they worked so well, they killed the pneumonia no one knew was there. I'd had pneumonia so long, my doctor said, that they couldn't hear it anymore because it had become one with my lungs. I was kind of proud of my lungs for having made pneumonia feel so welcome, because that was hospitable of them as organs, but seriously, lungs. Could you work?

So now I have steroids because I am allergic to being sick, and also I cannot sleep. And also I cannot sit still. And also I cannot stop eating. And also I am very happy because nothing makes me happier than steroids do, they are like the best mood stabilizers on the planet,** and also now I know I am straight-up NOT a wimp, because I was walking around dealing with crap and having pneumonia all at the same time, and I didn't even notice.

We will pretend not noticing had more to do with me being freaking awesome and tough and less to do with this.

* Before you freak out about dosages or NSAIDs, seriously, this is what my doctor says I'm supposed to do. If you can come up with a better way to keep me from being stuck in bed with sinus headache-induced migraines, I'd love to see your peer-reviewed published medical journal article about it.

** This is because when I take steroids, I know what non chronically-ill people feel like when they wake up, which is NOT like they are surprised to still have a pulse. I am always surprised.

Functional Fitness

You know what you deserve? A blog post. And you know what else you deserve? Stories of my misery, because those are always funny. So here is the story of the most horrible thing I've ever done to myself in a burst of ill-timed pride.

I was NOT the worst in gym at my high school. I know loads of people always say they were the most rubbish, they finished the mile last every time, and I was not that girl. I was usually not even picked last for sports. Why? Because I was the THIRD from the last. This meant I finished the mile and then there were a few other stragglers slightly behind me, meaning I wasn't the very last person so I was spared a minimal amount of embarrassment. I mean, I still ran a 14 minute mile. But I didn't run a 16 minute mile. I was usually picked for sports right before the other people no one wanted due to 1. asthma, 2. feuds, 3. refusal to participate, 4. physical inability to participate. I always got picked before the kids with broken limbs.

The Awkward Yeti makes comics that are my life. Go love them.

Of course, later, I found out why I sucked at gym. I had raging endometriosis and undiagnosed asthma. That hurts a person's athleticism quite a bit. I still suck at anything involving hand/eye coordination, but by darn, I can run a mile now. If I did the president's physical fitness test now, I would finish middle of the pack. Good for me.

But now is not high school, so I mostly compete with myself, and I have a good time going to the YMCA and running on the treadmill or lifting weights. I think, "Look at me, I did a thing!" and always leave the gym with a happier disposition than when I arrived. One thing still I wish I had was a fitness buddy. A person who goes to the gym when I go, who likes the same machine or wants to talk while we gasp for air in spin class. That was why I was vulnerable to this sort of problem in the first place.

I was planning on going right to the stationary bikes one evening, since I had missed spin class and figured, what the heck, I ran yesterday, I won't crush my shin bones again after giving them no rest. And then I saw a friend. Kelsey is Athletic. She does things like run in races and do well plus also volunteer to help during the races, while I mostly just sweat while trying to tie my shoes. Kelsey asked me if I was here for the class.

"What class?" I asked innocently.

"Functional Fitness!" Kelsey said cheerily. I automatically assumed that Functional Fitness was for the elderly and the infirm, because it is the sort of fitness designed to help you stay functional, right? Plus Kelsey had to be teaching it, because she works at the Y. Except then I found out that she doesn't anymore and she wasn't teaching, this was actually a HIIT class, much like my Jillian Michael's DVDs. Except unlike the Jillian DVDs, this was not thirty-five minutes long. It was more like an hour, maybe an hour and fifteen minutes. Of the most. Insane. Exercises. Of all TIME.

Let's go back to the part where I had come to ride on the stationary bike that day.

On the bike, I don't need my inhaler. I'm fine without it. So I didn't use it. And I didn't bring it upstairs. And I had actually left it in the car.

First we warmed up by running and doing jumping jacks and lunges other smallish things. Then we started doing stair runs down a stairway connecting the upstairs with the pool, meaning the hallway was crazy humid and also over 80 degrees. Then we did step ups on boxes and froggies and squats and sumo squats and glute bridges and...honestly I can't remember because I've blocked most of it out. We had to do four circuits of this. I thought, finally, as I finished my last squat, that we were done. Nope.

Then we had another batch of exercises, including mountain climbers, push-ups, sit ups, planking...and I thought we were done. But no. Another batch.

Now, if I'd remembered my inhaler I'd probably remember more of this class. But I forgot it and that meant my brain was getting less oxygen and so were my muscles, which responded by not working. I was having that weird jelly-shake-legs thing I had at the beginning of 30 Day Shred, but I thought no way was I going to give up because...

OTHER PEOPLE WERE WATCHING.

Already a respiratory therapist who just-so-happened to be in the class had alerted me to the fact that she could tell I was asthmatic and could save me if I needed it. I said, "Cool, my car keys are in my pocket, grab my inhaler from the trunk!" She stared at me, concerned at my level of sanity. "Why would anyone leave their inhaler in the car?" I imagined her thinking. "This chick must have a death wish."

The instructor, noticing my distress, had given me alternate tasks, so I ran on the track instead of on the stairs of death, but it was too late. I had destroyed my body and there was no coming back, all because I didn't want these people, who were clearly fit and healthy, to think I was less fit and healthy and therefore less worthy of their friendship. I wanted gym buddies, and there was no quitting, no backing down. For once, I was the Nike slogan from the 1990's, I just did it. I tried very hard not to say anything, even whimpers. I kept my form as good as possible, and even when my brain stopped, I still tried to keep count and do the exact number of each exercise I was supposed to do. Basically this happened inside me:

Seriously, you must go love The Awkward Yeti, genius of comics.

Then I went home.

I was broken. I could barely get out of the car, because when I bent my knees, they could not support my weight and I wiped out. I tried to run a bath, to help myself relax, and well, act this out for me:

• Stand up. Okay. Good.
• Now, bend over at the waist and bend your knees a bit, as if to touch the stopper at the bottom of your tub.
• Done? Now try standing back up without using your legs, arms, or core.

Yep. I got stuck. The Brother had to rescue me. Fortunately, the idea of taking off my clothes and the pain it would cause me had frightened me enough that I was still fully dressed, but he did get a hilarious video of me stuck, crying out for help as one foot began to slip out from underneath me. I could easily have become a household injury statistic, but no. I lived.

And I went back. I went back to the class with my inhaler and did better because my inhaler made a giant difference.

Also it turns out I had pneumonia through all of that, so maybe current Laura would actually LEAD the crowd in high school gym, because I seem to have upped my fitness game. BIG TIME.

In Which I Get a New Bestie

What's this? A visitor? At the library? Pony, is that you?

It is you! Oh, you make every day so much better when you're around. I'm so happy you've come to stay.

What's that? You're not here to stay at the library, but you want to come and live at my house forever and ever for always and you want me to pet you and hold you and love you?

That can be arranged.

I'll knit you a little sweater when we get home. In the meantime, you can hang out here at my desk and help me get some work done. Remember, we frown on book-eating at the library, so try to snack on some publisher catalogs instead.

Don't know anything about Pony? He's featured in Kate Beaton's The Princess and The Pony, a picture book released this year, as well as on her website, Hark! A Vagrant. If you know her work and are already in love with Pony or if you are so obsessed you defied Kate Beaton's advice and have Pony tattooed on your lower back, you can order one here. 

Good Morning

Today I woke up to find that The Bloggess had found my church shoe buckle story funny enough to retweet, which is the high praise. Also if you haven't read some of the other hilarious / embarrassing stories people have been sharing with her, read this post from her blog.

!!!!!!!!

And if you can't remember this story from my childhood, read a longer version here. It is simultaneously the funniest and most embarrassing thing I have ever done in church (or anywhere else). It continues to haunt me almost two decades later, even though my mother stopped telling the story as soon as I asked by bursting into hysterical tears at my grandmother's house.

When I crawled out of bed, my neck had locked up and hurt like mad. I carefully took out the heating pad, trying not to move my head, and then figured I'd get cleaned up before I curled up to relax my neck muscles.

I grabbed my shampoo bottle, LUSH I Love Juicy, and opened the lid. It is one of those lids that open when you press down one side and close when you press the other, like a seesaw. When it clicked open, it spat several droplets out, one on my arm, a few in the tub, and one in my left eye.

I Love Juicy is made of fruit juices. Also other things, but lots of fruit juice goes in there. It's a bit acidic, which makes the whole clarifying thing happen. Unfortunately, when you get an eye-full of citrus, pineapple, and various other juices, you FEEL it. It was like the time I cut a bunch of chilies and then took out my contact lenses. It was like I imagined an eyedropper full of  sulfuric acid would be like. I half expected there to be a chunk of eye missing. My eyes teared.

I tried to flush my eye with water, but I forgot I had the faucet on hot, so I scalded my burned eye before I managed to turn the handle to cool. I also used up half a bottle of eye drops flushing my eye out. It was the sort of red of the apples stereotypically given to elementary school teachers. It took me over a half hour to manage to keep my eye open. Almost another half hour before it stopped feeling like my eyelid was made of sandpaper.

Now, of course, I want safety goggles for the shower, and I'll never trust this particular shampoo bottle again. Stupid life. Stupid burned cornea. And what was I thinking, not having a white button-down shirt? I would so have worn boots and black pants and an eyepatch and gone to work as a pirate today. The kids would've loved it.

Naturally...

Well, I am sick of zombie references and dystopian books...so naturally I'm writing one for NaNoWriMo. In my defense, this will be less about actual visible zombies and more about human nature, and less about dystopia and more about hilarity. Also my protagonist is not going to be the savior of all people. She is going to be socially awkward and an accidental survivor.

I have had mixed success with NaNo. Lots of my issues come from the "no plot no problem" side of things. I find that I tend to get lost on tangents when I write if I don't know where the story is going, and sometimes endless tangents can take over longer stories instead of being humorously charming the way I pretend they are on this blog.

Please don't disillusion me...I choose to believe you love my tangents.

Tangents are awesome for word count. Deleting them means a day of work is all gone. That's fine when I'm not doing NaNo. I don't mind getting rid of things that don't matter. But when I'm looking at a daily word count goal, I get bitter and keep things in that should go, especially since the whole point of NaNo is to WRITE and not edit.

Here's what I'm doing this year: I'm editing. Yep. I know.

Editing will probably make this more work for me. It will probably suck, be frustrating, maybe even make me throw a small tantrum in my bedroom with only the non-judgmental face of Kate Beaton's Fat Pony looking on (the Fat Pony is my desktop background). But I know me, and that means editing has to happen.

Speaking of tangents, there were three of the sickest people in the world at the library this morning, and I probably have tuberculosis now. Thanks so much, Random Mother, for bringing your sick children to the library to touch all the toys and cough up mucus on the computers. I'll think of you next week when I have bronchitis during my vacation.

I wish I could give that ecard to the mother on her way out. But that would be unprofessional. Instead I'm just leaving it up on my computer monitor REALLY BIG to see if she reads it.

Back to NaNo: I'm also using a technique a few writer friends use, in which you get a sticker on your calendar when you make your word count goal. Also I am bribing myself by giving myself a preward (like a reward, but given BEFORE you do a thing, not after) of a Fat Pony stuffed animal from Kate Beaton's TopatoCo store. Because nothing motivates me like the Fat Pony. I love that pony. SO MUCH.

Basically I wake up in the morning because I can look at the Fat Pony book some more. The Fat Pony is my spirit animal.

I'll let you know how NaNo is going this month by complaining a LOT about deadlines on Twitter! Also my daily tea consumption will probably quadruple.

Are any of you doing NaNo this month? If you are, let me know how your book is going! I love to commiserate with fellow deadline sufferers.

Now, I'm going to go bleach the computers. I hope your Monday is going better than mine.

Dear Past Laura: Running Lessons I Wish Someone Had Thought to Tell Me

Okay, one more post in which I impart fitness wisdom. Yeah, I know you're sick of these. This is a letter to Past Laura from Current Laura, teaching the lessons CL learned by trail and error that PL never found on the internet, even though she looked for it.

Dear Past Laura,

By now, you're realizing that Jillian Michael's 30 Day Shred DVD taught you that if you're not gasping, sweating, and near collapse, you aren't actually working out. And since you're so good at her DVDs now, you're looking for a new challenge. So you've picked up running! That is really awesome. I've always wanted to be one of those running people I see from my car as I drive along, eating an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen (only 49 cents!) on my way home from work. I never thought I could because I sucked at fitness, but thanks to your hard work, you don't suck anymore! You can do 30 Day Shred, Ripped in 30, and whatever other DVDs you've tried, so you are READY for running. You have muscles. Thanks to you, I can run! That's pretty awesome. Feel proud of that.

But here's the thing: Other people aren't you. Running is easy for them, because they just have to put on shoes and go. But your body is a broken wasteland of aftermarket parts and salvaged materials. You are barely alive when you wake up in the morning. Have you SEEN you? I have. It is not a pretty sight.

You are not going to be a running success story like those blogs you read the other night. Yeah. I saw that. Not everyone is a success story right away. Not everyone becomes a marathon runner after a happy year of training. Some people never get one of those pretentious stickers for the back of their car, and that's okay! You are going to hurt yourself pretty quickly. Also you will probably not get better, because you're you. Also here are some more things you should know:

1. Guess what? You have chronic shin splints. This sucks for you, doesn't it? It sucks for me, too. 
2. More running makes chronic shin splints worse. Running every day makes them feel deadly, like your shins are made from fragments of broken glass that grind together with each step. Running two days in a row makes you want to cry. Adding distance too quickly will temporarily cripple you.
3. Couch to 5K doesn't work for you (see 1 and 2). It adds distance too quickly and will just make you feel like a failure. Plus it's use of timed running/walking splits doesn't actually build distance if you're running with shin splints. It just builds pain. Throw out the papers and delete the app.
4. Here's what DOES work. Go outside. Run until you feel like you're going to die, either from lack of oxygen (asthma), heart rate, or shin pain. Then walk until you feel like you might survive. Then go back to running. Repeat this cycle until you're feeling like a good workout has begun. Then TURN AROUND. You still need to get home. Do not run the next day.
5. At the most, run three days a week. Don't run those days back to back. Do not try to make up runs. Do not do a "long run" or a "short run." Those terms work for people who can handle various distances.
6. Do not run by yourself. Not only does this make street harassment more likely to happen, it also makes you sad. Sad running is stupid, because it defeats the purpose of running, which is to make you happier. Have someone ride their bicycle along with you, or take Darcy and run shorter distances. This will keep you running for longer, meaning you won't get depressed about everything sucking and quit for three months before starting over again.
7. Give up on all workout clothes except Old Navy's. Their leggings come in Tall.
8. Seriously, get your shoes fitted. And when the sales clerk tells you to come back when your legs start hurting, resist the urge to walk outside, turn around, and walk back inside to tell her your legs never stop hurting. She won't think your chronic shin splints are as darkly funny as you do.
9. The treadmill won't actually kill you. It is pretty much designed not to. There are safety switches and everything.
10. Races are not for everyone. You might never run another race again. That is totally okay. You don't need to do that just because the running bloggers you like run them. Races are expensive, and they're only worth it if they motivate you.
11. Find out what DOES motivate you and do that thing. Maybe it's spending time reading running books or blogs. Maybe it's looking at cute fitness wear on Pinterest even though you will never shop at expensive luxury exercise clothing boutiques. Maybe you just have fun running with your dog. Do those things, even if you think you're "supposed" to be motivated by other things.

So there you go. Running lessons from someone who will never be an awesome runner and is okay with that. 

Current Laura

FINALLY: A Haircut and I Give Unsolicited Advice

Well. It has been like three months or maybe longer, but I finally followed through and got a haircut. It basically grew back to the length it had been before I got it cut short. That is how bad I am at adulting. I am just bad at hair.

Complete with temporary curls, behold: new hair.

It isn't my fault (...yes it is). No one ever taught me how to deal with hair! Hair is a SKILL you need a hair savvy mom or older sister to teach you. I can't braid my hair, I can't use fancy pins or slides to put part of it back. I have two sorts of hair: Up and Down. Up is a ponytail of varying size, Down is just that. Down. 

I spent the majority of my childhood trying to avoid my mother's attempts to style my hair, because she wasn't good with a curling iron and kept accidentally burning my skull by holding the iron too close to my head. Also it kept catching my hair and pulling strands out. Also the curls only lasted about 15 minutes before they were back to Down, so why bother? Eventually we settled on a style that worked okay-ish, but it involved me hacking off all of my hair (actually a stylist did it) and starting over.

My hair game was terrible for most of my life. Heck, it is still terrible some days. But it is much improved, and that is because I have learned to cope with having my hair, which is both thick AND fine.

Here are some things to know about thick hair: 

1. Thick hair is your enemy. It is the bossy girl on the playground who will only play the games she makes up and no other game and insists that you join in or else she'll treat you like dirt. You don't want to be friends, but you have to deal with her anyway. Thick hair is like that. It will defeat any style you attempt to inflict upon it, so stop fighting. Let it do what it wants to do and move on. 
2. Everyone will envy your hair and refuse to acknowledge that the struggle is real. The struggle is real.
3. Get used to broken hair elastics and bent bobby pins. No clip or slide will ever close. Just buy elastics in bulk and don't get too attached.
4. If you do not use a blow dryer, your hair will never dry ever, even if you wash it the night before.
5. If you do not use products, your hair will own you and create its own style, even if that style means you can't see all day, or a chunk is pointing directly vertical for no reason you can discern.

Oh, but just when you think you understand think hair, get ready for fine hair:

1. Fine hair refuses to accept your hair products.
2. Also wait, you have hard water? You will never have volume. Give up now.
3. Seriously, all of these hair products are bumming fine hair out. It wants to lie down and cry. It's just going to do that for a while.
4. Except you wore a wool sweater today so it will FLY ABOUT and STICK TO THINGS! STATIC! EVERYWHERE!
5. Basically fine hair is sort of bipolar.

After trial-and-error, lots of terrible hair, and tons of money I wasted buying stuff that only made me look homeless, I have a few things I love for thick AND fine hair. 

one / two / three / four / five

I'm trying out this conditioner because it is especially for fine hair and I wondered if it might be even more lightweight than the Clear Total Care Conditioner. I can only hope. I have liked Macadamia Healing Oil Spray in the past because it deals with all the dryness of my during the winter, but right now I'm trying this out because it's so much cheaper and comes highly recommended.

Clearly, I am not a hair stylist. This stuff works for me. It might not work for you, and that's okay! If you have something you like better, tell me in the comments!