Monday Musings

I'm getting ready to go to Baltimore this weekend, and am feeling somewhat ambivalent all the while being excited. My eating has been a little erratic, and while I haven't gone off the deep end, and have still been working out like a mad woman, I could be better. I'm hoping now that the female issues have subsided, I can be more in control.

I'm going to be seeing a bunch of people -- some I've seen in the past six to eight months, some I haven't seen since I left at the end of May 2004. And while realistically I know that I look different, I'm worried that no one will notice. And while all this hard work hasn't been for them, it will be disappointing nonetheless.

And I'm worried about running into my former friend turned nemesis, Bitch-stine. I'd love to slap her. I'd love to lay out the skinny little bitch. But I also don't want to give her the satisfaction that she can still get to me. After two years, she can still get to me. I think about how close we were, what great friends and confidantes we were -- and how she took my confidences and used them to her advantage with our boss, how fake she was once I announced I was leaving, and how even after I left, months after I left, she said horrible, horrible lies and half-truths about me to anyone at the museum who would listen. I don't know how I will handle it if I see her. I just don't know.

I've been having weird dreams -- two in fact -- about J of Baltimore fame. J, who I always think of when I hear Alanis Morissette sing..."it's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife, it's meeting the man of your dreams, and then meeting his beautiful wife." That would be J. The man of my dreams. And now, literally.

I've dreamt twice in the past 10 days or so that his wife is pregnant. Had the dream when I hadn't even been thinking about him. Had the dream when I know his wife doesn't want kids. I'm meeting him for drinks Friday night when I get into town (still need to plan the perfect traveling outfit), and if he tells me he's having a baby...

And then there's Chris. Chris, who is not my boyfriend. He's merely my friend, with benefits. And yet this morning, he called to have me make some changes to an invitation I designed for him, and then told me to have fun this weekend if he didn't talk to me later in the week, "be careful driving, and make sure you don't wear a boob shirt Monday night." I let it go -- but if he doesn't want to make a commitment to me, then he can't dictate what I wear and how much cleavage I may show off. He's so confusing sometimes. Just for that, I will have a great boob shirt on, and hopefully I'll get a good picture of me and Joe Namath that I can show off. It'll serve him right.

And so there's my Monday, too much worrying -- about weird dreams, about running into people I never want to see, about diet and body image. Hopefully, I can shake all of this off at the gym tonight.