Changes, Landscapes and Escapes

The trees this year apparently can’t decide whether or not to throw their lot in with the changing of the seasons. As I drove to work this morning I noted that a fair number of maples were particularly schizophrenic regarding the changing of the seasons, with green, gold and red leaves all on the same tree, giving them a calico patchwork appearance. Other trees, like the walnut, have already given up on autumn and dropped most of their leaves. And still other trees (you know who you are, oaks) remain full-leafed and green, albeit a green that has seen more verdant days. We’re in the midst of the best of autumn right now. I wish I could take a week off and just hit the road with my camera. Alas, that ain’t to be.

As I was this time last year, I’m restless again. I have no clue what I’m restless for, but I need change. Is this how geese feel, when they’re circling low over cornfields, as they gather in ever increasing numbers during mid-September, before the urge to fly to warmer climes finally kicks in in earnest? Last year I took this as a positive thing, a chance to shed the old and start fresh with winter. This year it feels less optimistic, more nebulous. It has that feel about it of shopping for the perfect gift. You don’t know what you want, but you know that you’ll recognize it when you see it, and you’re getting pretty damned frustrated that none of the stores seem to carry it.

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The dynamics between the Mouth and I are apparently changing. She came to my office last Friday on the verge of tears. There are those in my company who have been rather merciless in taking advantage of her urge to engulf any work that comes her way, and have overwhelmed her with tasks and responsibilities. Her breaking point apparently came on Friday, when she was forced into a confrontation with an employee assigned to assist her, whom we’ll call Susie Homemaker in this exercise. The employee is notoriously difficult to get along with, and assigning the Mouth to oversee Susie caused more than one person to comment that “they deserved each other” when the pairing was first announced. Unsurprisingly, the two were first thick as thieves, but are now on less than cordial terms. While The Mouth is able to continue to act professionally, Susie Homemaker is letting the situation affect her work and is now apparently refusing to do work for The Mouth on a timely basis.

So, returning to the first sentences of my last paragraph, The Mouth came to my office on the verge of tears Friday. We discussed the situation, without naming names (though I hardly needed a name to make a good guess at who was causing the trouble). She asked my advice, and I (being me) obviously gave it. The Mouth proceeded to speak of her loneliness at work, and then her loneliness at home. She has no friends, she has no social activities, outside of Sunday church, she has nothing but her shitzu that she goes home to at the end of the day.

Yes, I know I’m a hard-hearted bitch by reputation, and it’s a reputation I constantly work at to uphold. But I couldn’t help myself. I felt sorry for her. We have plans to go out to the movies some time next week. I have no idea if this is the opening of an era of detente, or if instead she’s just taken a hostage. Only time will tell, I suppose.

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Speaking of movies, The Socialist and I went to see “Motorcycle Diaries” Sunday night at the art theater I’m always going on about. It’s a lightly fictionalized account of Che Guevera’s trip across South America with a friend before he was “Che”. It speaks of a loss of innocence, and the birth of idealism. It doesn’t matter if you approve or disapprove of the man he became and the principals he embraced. The movie does not address Ernesto Guevera’s future, only his transition. The film was funny, and serious, and thought provoking at unpredictable intervals. It makes you think about how anyone ever grows to be the person they become, and what the invisible line is between anonymity and notoriety. It’s worth seeing if you’re the kind of person who goes to the movies to think, rather than escape. This is not an escapist type of film.

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I can’t remember what I’ve written in previous weeks, and I’m too lazy to look it up at the moment. As one of the articles I found while researching the problem stated, A significant minority of patients develop rapid weight gain following liver transplantation. Figures I’d be part of the “significant minority”. Since the transplant, I had gained thirty pounds. I hadn’t hit obesity, but at this rate, I was headed that way in short order.

My visit with Dr. Liver two weeks ago put it in perspective for me. “You’re fat. Go on a diet. I expect you to have taken ten pounds off by the time I next see you in six months.” Blunt, succinct, to the point. Hard to argue with a man when he’s right and he doesn’t give you any squiggle room. He suggested swimming and The South Beach diet. I protested the swimming part. I do NOT like to wear bathing suits. [I nearly said “I don’t like wearing bathing suits in public”, but let’s face it, I’m not nuts about wearing them in private either.] He basically rolled his eyes at that and told me to go out and get some exercise, and he didn’t care what.

[Opportunity missed: I should have informed him at that point that one does not wear bathing suits to lose weight; one loses weight to wear bathing suits.]

I refuse to take on too much at once, and decided to start with the diet, and then start back at the gym after I’d lost an arbitrary ten pounds. I picked up the South Beach diet book on the way home, found it surprising sensible for a diet with a name, and started it a week ago Saturday. It’s relatively easy to follow. No hunger pangs after the first couple of days, no portion restrictions, and no special foods to purchase. It’s strict the first two weeks, but eases up after that. Basically, all you do is cut out most carbohydrates for the first two weeks, and then gradually introduce complex carbohydrates after that.

I’m actually eating far more than I did before. You’re supposed to eat three square meals and not skip breakfast, which I always skip. You’re supposed to snack mid-morning and mid-afternoon. Dessert after dinner is encouraged (and the book actually has some easy recipes for some quite palatable desserts). I was beginning to look forward to going back to Dr. Liver and telling him that I followed the damned diet religiously and it wasn’t my fault I hadn’t lost any weight.

The book claims that people lose from ten to thirteen pounds in the first two weeks. I read that and scoffed. It’s claims like that which put me off these diets. But Dr. Liver had recommended it, and I respect him like no other doctor I know, so I went with it. I’ve been on the diet ten days now, and I’ve lost ten pounds. I see my family doctor tomorrow for a routine follow-up, and with luck I’ll be able to get my flu shot, or at least reserve it. I’m hoping she notices the weight loss.

Be that as it may, I’m looking forward to reintroducing some bread and cereal back into my diet next week.

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Clueless seems to have finally passed the majority of his “back-up”. The lactulose I’ve been giving him has at last started acting as a stool softener, and I’ll back off of the dosage a bit starting tomorrow. He’s getting more and more difficult about eating his food though, a sure indication that something remains very wrong. I try not to feel too alarmed while I supervise his meals, keeping the other greedy two from raiding his highly coveted canned food. Clueless used to finish far ahead of the other two and try to raid their bowls. This turn-about is fair play, I suppose, but it flies in the face of normality. Some changes are easier to adjust to than others.