An Ounce at a Time

"Daddy always says an ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure." - Julia Roberts as Shelby in Steel Magnolias

I'm can't wait to hear the first 'born-again' reference from my family during my upcoming month of alcohol abstinence. It will definitely be a clue to shut the hell up about it.

The born-again reference is the code my family uses to describe someone who's taken up something new and just. can't. stop. talking. about. it.

It happened for me with running, and don't even get me started on my farm-fresh food. (Seriously, don't. You'll be stuck with me for hours and I'll send you home with several soups and stews and we'll end up talking about terroir and nuances of grass-fed versus corn and you'll want to poke your eyes out with a stick rather than hear me blather on...)

Have you noticed it's the very rare person who has simply stopped eating gluten, saying nothing about it? It can be very entertaining to observe; if you ask even one or two casual questions, you can sometimes get a full 20 mintues out of them, especially if it's a very new discovery, their allergy or sensitivity. No one seems to just... go on a Paleo diet and quietly make the Paleo-appropriate choice at the restaurant without any discussion of their improved sleep and strength. The Crossfitters are the most entertaining of all in their very own special circle of born-againness, far more prepared to talk at length about their choices than even an organic, gluten-free vegan with a multi-level marketing scheme they're hoping to drag you into.

I'm not criticizing (OK, maybe a little...) - I do love the passion people exhibit for new habits and discoveries, even if I somehow suspect the passion is not going to last.

And now, I get to join them all!

I'll be booze-free for the month of February as part of the Simcoe County Health Unit's Ready to be Thirsty Campaign.

Hopefully. I do love to party and play, and alcohol is such a big part of that in our society.

If I'm successful, you'll be so tired of hearing about it, you're going to want to buy me a drink and shove it down my sanctimonious throat. If I fail, you're off the hook!

Challenges

I don't talk about challenges in the mealy-mouthed PR way, which is code for screwups.

I mean an actual challenge; a goal, an event, a tough thing I'm doing. I started my first one yesterday after much hemming and hawing, and I'll start the second one on Super Bowl Sunday.

The Super Bowl one, I'm expecting, will be the easier of the two.

I accepted a challenge from the Health Unit to quit drinking for a month. Yup. An entire month. Albeit a short one.

I am not alcoholic, and I don't think I drink too much, but I suspect I will find out that I drink a whole lot more than I think I do. The challenge is more about being aware of the role alcohol plays in my life. I'm interested because there are/were some alcoholics in my family, and also, having gotten into shape a few years ago, I'm kind of loving that feeling of being in control.

That said, I'm already staring down a tough weekend when a group of my friends is slated to visit for a ski weekend. Apres ski, I will nurse lemon water while they whoop it up. It should be ... interesting.

My other challenge is within the four walls of my American Foursquare home.

A few years ago, I discovered that if I make a look-ahead to-do list, I can find a way to stick to it. But, if my goals are hazy and nebulous, I'll sit on the couch and watch Archer on Netflix.

Like the booze thing, I don't have a problem; I can get from room to room and there are no stalactites of mould nor dog poop on the floor or anything. My house is tidy, and I can usually find what I'm looking for, but I've noticed in the last few months that I am seeing a wee layer of what can only be called grime, pretty much everywhere. At my Christmas party, I was aghast to see a large cobweb dangling over one of my guests.

While I have been noticing, I have not found the motivation or the plan that might work, short of hiring someone to clean for me, which I would love but the Presbyterian in me won't let me. At least, not yet.

One of the magazines I read suggested a 15 minutes a day cleaning routine, right down to how many seconds should be allotted to wipe down a bathroom sink veers a kitchen sink. That article spurred something in me, and I came up with my own, home grown challenge: 30 cleaning minutes a day, one room or zone in the house. Yes, I even created a chart. Yes, there are spaces on that chart for dates and check marks. (Have I ever mentioned I'm a Virgo?)

Yesterday was Day One. I figured I'd start in the kitchen. I set a timer for 30 minutes and put on an interesting podcast, and settled in to make the grime, go. Three hours later when my sweetheart came home, I had worked my way through two pairs of rubber gloves, three kettles of boiling water, killed an old toothbrush and nearly an entire bottle of Murphy's oil soap, and I wasn't even close to done.

I was shocked to find I can actually move the fridge. There was some gross crap under there, man! Also, did you know it's possible to pull that 'warming' drawer out from under the oven? Lots of gross crap there, too.

Although my nails are a mess and my wrists and hands are sore, when I left for work this morning, I took an enormous amount of satisfaction from the faint whiff of Murphy's lingering in the kitchen in spite of the curry we had for dinner last night.

All I need for today, when I tackle the home office, is new gloves and more downloads.

Confused Thinking

They call it cognitive dissonance.

It's when the things you see and hear and experience don't match what you believe is possible or real.

For example, if more than 20 women were to publicly claim the same man had drugged and raped them, it wouldn't be possible for that man to receive a standing ovation at a public performance.

If someone put their name on a social media post outlining the illegal and brutal things they'd like to do to their fellow dentistry students, it's not possible the university would protect their name.

But there is nothing to be confused about in yesterday's terrorist attack in France. It was entirely expected that Muslim fundamentalists would attack the writers and artists who have been saying out loud and for a long time that religion does not trump freedom in France.

There were police guarding the doors of the magazine Charlie Hebdo in Paris, because there had already been an attack over the magazine's publications. Those officers didn't prevent the deadly shootings, but everyone knew this could happen.

And yet, the cartoonists kept drawing, right up until they were murdered by the people who couldn't agree with them. The cartoonists were not confused about what they were doing, and the shooters weren't either. Each was completely convinced they are correct, and were in the business of righting a wrong.
There is no cognitive dissonance in this case.

The question is, are you still confused?