I'm a firm believer in the philosophy that a tidy house signals a tidy mind.  It's no wonder that whenever I'm a total stress-bucket, one of my major coping devices is to reorganize my closet.  And color code it.  Weird?  Maybe.  But it makes a difference.  I feel as though if I can get that part of my life under control, other things will fall into place.  Alternately, I am more comfortable knowing there are things I cannot control when I have gone ahead and dealt with the things I can.

This mentality is partially to blame for the fact that I'm still going batty over the fact that D and I have not succeeded in getting the flat organized.  It's more done than not, but his toolbox is still out in the living room along with some duffel bags we bought to go to Australia and other miscellaneous junk that does not belong, the loft is a total disaster / junk room, and the bedroom looks more like a laundromat with a bed then an actual bedroom.  The situation is becoming untenable.

Last night, I actually got out of work at a decent time, but due to some difficult news during the day, I really wasn't feeling up to doing anything.  Don't worry, everyone is healthy, it's just another piece of an on-going situation that has the potential to do my head in at times.  Instead of crying it out or pitching a fit or whatever, I parked it on the couch and let my mind wander, soothed by taped episodes of two mightily enjoyable Australian soap operas that D has gotten me hooked on (Home and Away and Neighbours, for those of you in the know).

This morning, however, something had to be done.  I debated pulling a sickie, but my conscience wouldn't let me.  I know doing that, karma will come and get me and do something horrid like make me miss my flight to LA or Australia in a few weeks.  Instead, I decided to skip my morning workout session and spend an hour and half tidying.  I got the bedroom and bathroom done and put on a load of laundry.  Tonight, I will go to the gym after work.  Depending on how my workload looks for tomorrow, I may try to do the same thing.  If I could get the kitchen and living room done tomorrow morning, that just leaves the loft.  It will be more of a project, but I can probably get it done Thursday morning and night.  Then, everything will be done when D gets back from Scotland on Friday.  I'll be happy, he'll be happy and all will be well in my head.  But don't worry, I'll still make it to the gym at least 5 times this week.  It just may not be in the morning every day.

Also, I tried on my bikini this morning to see how I'm progressing.  I think it's maybe starting to be on the verge of acceptable, but need some feedback.  I tried to take a picture to post here, but (fortunately or not) the camera battery is dead, so that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Normally when I do anything remotely high-impact at the gym, I make sure to wear two sports bras.  It's an old trick from my tennis days, one that suffices to keep the girls in place with any bouncing to a minimum.  Since I've been going to spinning classes and swimming so much, however, I've become rather lax in my doubling up.  To my detriment, it turns out.

On Sunday, I went to the gym at 11 am with the best of intentions to go to a spin class.  Turns out, I must have looked at the wrong schedule because the spin class was actually at 10 am, with cardio kickboxing at 11.  No matter, I like kickboxing, fun times, etc.  I got settled in and started really enjoying myself.  Pow!  Take that, invisible assailant!  Ka-blam!  Take that, imaginary effigy of the work that's been keeping me busy lately.

On and on it went, kicking and punching and running around the room like a banshee, thorougly enjoying myself.  Until I realized something was Not Right.  Apparently in all my eagerness to boxercise myself into bits, I somehow managed to kickbox my way out of my sports bra!  Lefty had made a break for it and was scrambling to the floor, and Righty was not far behind, hanging somewhere around my naval.  The offending sports bra, meanwhile, was nearly up to my neck.

What's a girl to do?  The class was half men, so it wasn't like I could just reach in and shove those puppies back in place.  Instead, I hopped my way out of the room, ran into a corner and gave the breasts a harsh talking to about the consequences that would result if they ever tried those shenanigans again, thanking my lucky stars I didn't get a black eye in the process.

I think I need to buy more sports bras.

After a very long two weeks at work, I’m finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  I’m still at the financial printers, where I spent all day yesterday, and will be until late tonight.  But once our document is filed, things will slow down tremendously.  I did manage to make it to Thanksgiving dinner last night, and it was truly lovely to spend the time with friends.  The preparation, on the other hand, was another story.

I was meant to cook a turkey, stuffing, corn soufflé and a pie.  The problem was that I knew I would be stuck at the printers all day on Thursday with no access to my kitchen.  The solution?  Cook all night Wednesday.  I managed to get home around 8:30, and settled in to a solid six hours of cooking.  The stuffing and corn soufflé were easy-peasy, as I have made those numerous times before.  This was, however, my first bout with a turkey. 

Edna (the turkey, I named her, as you do) came frozen.  She had been hanging out in the fridge since Sunday, but still wasn’t totally thawed.  Calling my mother in a blind panic about what to do, I was instructed to give her a bath under cold water.  So she sat in the sink for a while until I realized I would be thawing her until 5 am at this pace.  Instead, I heated up the electric kettle and poured hot water up her butt.  That helped.  The next moment of panic?  Getting out the neck and gizzards.  Apparently in the US they do you the courtesy of putting them into a bag, but not so much in Edna.  I was all over that turkey neck and innards.  Awesome.

The next step was to load her up with lemons, oranges and herbs, and chuck her in the oven.  I did all this, I cooked her according to my grandmother’s directions (using an electric oven, heat at 400F for 1.5 hours, then shut the oven of and keep her in overnight), but unfortunately we learned that she was still a bit pink the next day.  D saved the day, however, by recooking her and getting all the pinkness out.  No one seems to be poisoned, so that’s a good thing at least!

And now that it’s over, I can safely say that I am thankful.  I am thankful for my wonderful friends and family, for my truly delightful boyfriend and for soufflés that rise and stuffings that bake.  And I am thankful for you, my EP buddies, who keep me encouraged and inspired.

Also, I’m thankful to be down to 153 pounds.  Three more to go before Australia!  I can totally do that, right?

It's just been one of those days so far.  I needed to get work done early this morning, so I decided to wake up at stupid-o'clock, which of course meant I hit snooze.  I hauled my butt to the gym since I knew I would function better after a workout, and the pool was packed.  At first, the slow lane was full of slow-lumbering-mostly-floating people, which is fine, but just means I need to be attentive to dodge then.  Then the slow contingent left and all these super fast swimmers decided to swim in the slow lanes.  Commence kicking and waves and water up my nose.

Bah.

Then I got to work and started doing my work and just found it all annoying.  I'm cranky.  I'm irritable with no good reason, and I'm bloated.  I'm physically having to restrain myself from eating everything in sight.

Did I mention I'm PMS'ing?

Thank goodness D comes home tonight.  Although with my general state of irritation, he may want to get back on the first flight to Glasgow come morning.

Getting up this morning was tough!  The alarm went off at 7:20, and all I wanted to do was roll over, stick my head under the pillow and sleep for the next year.  I've been so tired this week.  Some of it is clearly due to the weather and the sun setting so damn early (seriously, by 4 pm), some of it is due to PMS and some of it is probably feeling discord from D being away during the week each week.  Still, score this one as another victory for the New Me.  Despite wanting to be the ostrich with her head in the sand, I instead faced reality and hauled my butt out of bed and went to the gym.  I can safely say there were three reasons I managed to get up: (1) my body is just used to it now, and wouldn't have slept in anyway; (2) I've worked too hard to get into this routine and I'm not going to screw it up now; and (3) I knew I'd feel better after going to the gym.

And of course I felt better.  The pool was crowded, but I still noticed how much faster I'm getting.  I realized today I did double the amount of laps I was doing when I first started, and I'm not getting nearly as winded when I swim freestyle laps instead of breaststroke.  And I passed a few people in the slow lanes, which felt good too.

Still.  I know some of the bad-side-of-the-bed wakeup came from eating too much last night.  I worked late and had dinner in the office, and definitely had more than I needed.  Plus, my body is now settling into a bit of a 155 rut.  Don't get me wrong, that's a great rut to be in and far better than a 162 rut which is where I was.  But if I'm going to be 150 by Christmas, I need to push onward.  I want to be able to wear a bikini in Australia and only be embarassed by my albino thighs, rather than my jiggly belly.

This morning, I had every intention of getting up at 6:30 to go to the Body Pump class at my gym.  It's a fast-paced workout using barbells and dumbells, so you get your cardio and your weight-training done all in one go.  Unfortunately, when the alarm went off at 6:30, I knew there was no way I was getting up.  Some kind of alarm had been going outside from around 10:45 pm until nearly 3 am, so my sleep was quite interrupted.  The Old Me would have called it a wash, reset the alarm for 8:30 and blown off the workout.  The New Me shoved the Old Me away from the controls and reset the alarm for 7:30, knowing then I would still be able to get in a solid 30 minutes of swimming and would still make it into work on time.

Round One:  New Me!

There is, however, one things both the New Me and the Old Me agree on - we all loathe suits.  Now, as a lawyer you would think a suit is more or less my uniform.  As a junior corporate lawyer, nothing could be farther from the truth.  My firm has a "business casual" policy (whatever that means!) and suits are reserved for court or client meetings.  I never go to court, seeing as how I'm not a litigator.  And as for client meetings?  In the 2+ years I've been at the firm, I can count on my fingers and maybe a few toes the number of times I've actually had face time with the clients.  As I move up the ranks, however, that is starting to change.

And today is one of those days.  We have a client meeting this afternoon, so I spent a good forty-five minutes last night in front of the mirror, trying on every viable suit possibility.  Choice 1: too summery, lightweight grey fabric.  Choice 2:  waaaaay too big, looks like I've borrowed one of 6'2 D's suit jackets (huzzah!).  Choice 3:  too trendy for this particular client and this particular meeting.  Choices 4 through 6: while made to order in Thailand, they suck particularly hard and look very bad on me and are too big anyway, and must thus immediately be thrown on the Salvation Army pile.  Choice 7: well, it's going to have to work as it's the only option.  It's from high school and my body has noticeably changed shape since then, but at least it more or less fits, although the skirt is a tad short.

Yuck.  But I am NEVER inspired to go suit shopping.  They are extortionately expensive if you are buying anything moderately decent, and the cheap suits don't fit and fall apart and look tacky on me.  Plus, don't get me started on the impossibility of finding button down shirts that fit over big boobs . . . I know, I know, you can have them tailored, but when they cost a fortune as is, I'm just not willing to spend that much more on altering something I will resent wearing anyway.

Harrumph.  I resent suits.  Do you have any tips for where to get suits that are slightly less resentment-inducing?

On Saturday, I went to get the lady-parts waxed.  Not the most painless procedure, but one I've grown accustomed to.  The first thing my waxer said when she saw me was, "Nice haircut!  It suits you."  The second thing was, "Have you lost weight?"

Yes!  Yes, I have.  And in hearing her say that I felt gratified and happy that someone noticed.  People who see us every day (including ourselves) just don't see the change because it's gradual.  She last saw me six weeks ago.  And I have lost seven pounds since then.

We started talking about how I was doing it.  Simple, I said.  Hard work.  Counting calories and exercising five days a week.  We talked about gyms and working out.  She said she's trying to lose a little weight herself and has taken up spinning once a week.  Turns out, she takes a spinning class at 7:15 on Monday mornings at my gym!  She ended up speaking so positively about the class that I just had to give a go this morning.

I loved it!  Now, granted, sitting on the "saddle" (as the instructor called it) can cause some general chafing of the lady-parts, and granted, I sweat like a stuck pig, I still thought the class was great.  The instructor saw me afterwards and told me I did a great job for my first time, and said I should check out his Sunday class as well, which goes for an hour.

I'm in!

Thanks, everyone, for the great feedback yesterday!  I'm so pleased my thoughts resonated with so many of you.  Things are going well, FINALLY, and if I can spread the wealth around, then I'm more than happy to do so!

As for today, it was yet another up-at-7:30-to-the-gym-for-8:15 pilgrimmage.  This time, I did upper body and abs.  I don't think I worked my upper body as hard as I could have, but then again, I said that about my leg workout on Tuesday, and my inner thighs are still sore.  Seriously.  I'm walking bowlegged, which is kind of hilarious.

I've re-instated a rule from childhood regarding eating.  My grandfather always enforced the dreaded Ten Minute Rule whenever we would come visit him in Houston.  It's simple, really.  Take as your premise that you can shovel food in your face a lot faster than your stomach can send the message to your brain that you're full.  By the time your stomach manages to communicate to your brain that your belly is packed tighter than Red Sox fans in Fenway when the Sox in are in the World Series, you've managed to overflow it causing general pain and suffering.  Thus the Ten Minute Rule.  After you've finished your first moderately-proportioned helping of your food, you wait.  Ten Minutes.  If, after the conclusion of Ten Minutes you are still hungry, then you may take another moderately sized portion.  It works nearly every time.  After Ten Minutes, my stomach has chatted with brain, and my brain has let my fingers and mouth know we're dunzo.

Even D has begun utilizing the Ten Minute Rule.  Granted, he is a Tall Boy with a healthy metabolism and can eat just about anything and not gain weight so long as he goes to the gym.  But since his gym going has been less than respectable recently, he's had to put the brakes on the consumption.  So Ten Minute Rule it is!

What rules do you use to help control your food intake?