It dawned on me this morning as I was getting ready to go to school, way too early for people to be awake on Saturdays with gorgeous weather unless you’re on your way to the beach, still tired since I slept on a couch (though one of the most comfortable couches ever) and deficent in soda so my caffeine levels were at an all time low, that I am happy.

Not exactly what you were thinking I was going to say after that paragraph of complaining, was it? Well, it was kind of a surprise for me too. Lent started this week, good ‘ole Lent. Usually I give up something, something important, something hard. Why try and give up liverwurst if you don’t ever eat it? That’s not really the point of learning about sacrifice, is it?

Previous years have seen me giving up cheese (by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done since I believe everything tastes better with cheese – and I tried to do it twice), fast food (when I was in high school and went away on a school trip for a week), soda (when I was in college and cheap fountain drinks followed me everywhere), and sweets (come on, does this one even need an explanation?). This year I decided to give up fast food (which I’m broadly defining as restaurants with a drive-thru or where you have to get your own fountain drinks), gluten (because I should be staying away from that anyway), and Soda (this one might just kill me – I was up to four Diet Coke cans a day, don’t ask how many fountain drinks I’d consume at resturants).

Sometimes it’s hard for me to commit to change but the greater purpose of Lent usually helps me stick to it (except for the second year of cheese, that was just a bitchy, ill-conceived mistake). The real purpose of Lent though is not to focus on what you’re giving up – it’s not all about the soda. It’s supposed to be teaching sacrifice. This year is seems to be teaching me something else – satisfaction.

I spend a lot of time focusing on what’s missing – because it’s easy, because it’s obvious, because it’s more concise for a tweet or facebook status. But that’s the wrong way of looking at things (so said the girl from True Grit last night – the disturbingly grittiness of that movie being a totally different discussion). And, cowboy wisdom, she’s right. I may not have soda, but what I have is a whole lot better.

I have people who love me and care about me. My sister-in-law saying she’ll cook and freeze me food to make sure that I’m eating right. My best friend giving me leftovers she thinks I might like and going out of her way when she cooked to make sure it’s all gluten free. My friend throwing a party who let’s me know she tried to find gluten free crackers but since she couldn’t she has a Spoon Strategy in place so that I won’t get sick. My mother who cooks for me every weekend, sometimes making the same things over and over again because it’s all I can eat. Love.

I have a job that I’m good at, that I like, that gives me opportunities to do many different things and challenge my skills. I have stability, a roof over my head and the means to pay for it, a car to get me to work, a network of people that I can call on to be my cheerleader, my coach, my bodyguard, and my tough-love trainer that tells me what I need to hear even when I don’t want to hear it. I have family and friends and passion and a thirst for learning and an irreverent sense of humor and a desire for a sarcasm font and characters in my head that say interesting things and the ability to quote episodes of How I Met Your Mother verbatim and this very long run on sentence. I have a lot.

Big changes are coming down the pipe for me. And sometimes I hate change – I react like one of those stupid blond sorority girls in horror movies, blindly going in one direction and then screaming in fear. And then running away. But I’m plucky – I always find my way from vapid sorority girl to plucky heroine. I go back, I don’t go by myself down the dark creepy stairway into the basement, and I take that weapon left lying on the ground and beat the living crap out of the villan. Okay, maybe that metaphor went a little off the rails but you get the drift.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m excited about the future. Well, not the Zombie Apocalypse my friend is predicting (though if I started to go to the gym again, I might be able to outrun their dinner for awhile) but for everything else. For finishing grad school and getting my weekends back (doing an eMBA program has taken every weekend of the last ten months and I’m ready to reclaim them). For moving forward on publishing my book and writing new ones. For searching out opportunities wherever they may be and taking advantage of them. For starting my grown-up, mature, full of infinite possibilities life.

So bring on the highs, the lows, the roller-coaster, the ups, the downs, and even the zombies. This girl’s ready for it.

The end of the year is approaching – only 10 days till Christmas (can I get a ‘oh shit’?) and then it’s just a downhill slide that bottoms out into 2011.  It seems that without trying we’ve once again reached a fresh start.

And of course, being me, all I can think about is where I am in relationship to where I’ve been.  And, being me, all I see is how I’ve come up short.  But yesterday I decided that maybe I’ve been thinking about this whole thing all wrong.

Last year around this time you could find me really only one place, in my bed typing furiously away.  I told myself that I was going to finish my NaNoWriMo fantasy novel from the year before (“Let’s Get Intuit”) before the year was over.  I fudged along the way – chapters that were literally only paragraphs long, gaps that I cheated to fill because the good idea was not forthcoming.  All of these things I knew but I hadn’t written anything in what seemed like forever and I was going to finish this book come hell or high water.

And then in January I sent the story out for people to read and comment on and decided that I would distract myself with another idea before the daunting prospect of editing came along.  And that’s when I happened upon RomCon, my fully formed, ridiculously fun, almost no editing required novel.  It took me six months to write – and not that I wrote every day, long periods of block and bargaining took place – but it’s done.  And, if I do say so myself, it’s kind of awesome.

So, instead of looking back and seeing where I’m not, let’s see where I’ve actually been with

Val’s List Of 2010 Moments Of Awesomeness

• I finished my novel RomCon and everyone who’s read it has liked it so far – even with all of the Chuck Norris jokes, comic book craziness, and scandalous tabloids.
• I pulled off a major work coup – I got us up and running on a software system in 5 weeks (which included training, demanding all the other departments help us, and being optimistic to the extreme) by being so persistent that they had to listen to me.  In the process I found my Work Voice – now when I talk I can generally get people to listen.
• I diagnosed myself with an annoying disease and finally figured out why I haven’t been feeling well – and have generally dealt with it without crying, complaining, or even cookies (though the pizza and pancake withdrawals still make me a little sad, it’s true).
• I bonded with my nephew – the cutest little boy in all the world, it’s true – and taught him to say my name.  Yes, he might say it with a stutter but he knows who Auntie Va-Va-Va-Val is, you better believe it.
• I managed to *almost* keep my New Year’s resolution from last year with regards to making more time to hang out with friends who live in different cities.  Which means I’ve spent much more time engaging with people I love but tend to pass like cat burglars in the night.  I am no longer just a straight line.
• Little by little I’m allowing myself to try new things.  I’ve been to a hockey game and a baseball game so far this year.  Before it’s over I’ll be going to a basketball game and forced to sing karaoke.  It may seem like small steps but hey, they’re steps.

So no, 2011 will not find me suddenly svelte and no longer single – but that’s okay.  Because as far as years go, this last one could have been worse.  Hopefully the same thing will be said for 2011, 370 days from now when I sit thinking about it (oh god, do you know how close I’ll be to 30 then?!).   Here’s looking at you year!

My blog is called Pancakes and Prose and the last few weeks or so I’ve been faced with an interesting question – can we separate the Pancakes from the Prose?

A few months ago I was feeling sick and after I’d written off the seasonal melancholy and wasn’t feeling any better, I went to the doctor (damn vampire) and he came to a conclusion – Celiac’s disease.  On one hand – great news: it’s treatable, its reversible, and it’s managed by diet.  Other hand held a bit bleaker picture – no more cookies, cake, or the yummiest of carbohydrates.  I can’t eat gluten and gluten, well gluten’s wheat, gluten’s pretty much in everything I want to eat.

It probably seems preposterous to even question whether my writing will be affected by my wheat boycott.  Words and foods don’t really mix.  But its bigger than that.  Pancakes and my Saturday morning wrote my last book, the best one yet I think.  It gave me a sense of schedule and purpose.  Just the thought of pancakes made me feel creative.  Now, thanks to Celiacs, all they make me feel is forlorn. 

Today I’m having a bad day and all I want is a cookie.  Two days ago I was feeling sick and all I wanted was a cracker.  Tomorrow we always go out to lunch at the pizza buffet.  None of these simple things I can partake in anymore.  (Even the thought of eating out has me scared because who knows what they’re doing back there in that kitchen and all the places where my meal can meet with cross-contamination doom and silently poison me.)

I want to feel better, so very VERY badly, but the world doesn’t seem to understand that this change is bigger than going on a perpetual Atkins Diet.  I’m making a major life change; one I can’t cheat on, one I can’t be lax about in a few months after I’ve gotten into the swing of things, one I can’t give up if its usefulness has left me.  I will never taste sourdough bread again.  Fondue is out as one of my favorite things.  My mother’s famous Surprise Hamburgers, a thing of the past.  The joy of eating cookie dough and watching Goonies on rainy days, gone.  The convenience of not cooking and grabbing what’s easy, kaput.    This is not a diet – this is my life.

And yes, if done right it will make me svelte.  It’ll also make me broke (who cares about the stock market, get me in bed with the makers on Xantham Gum, stat), make me neurotic (now waitress, are you SURE they didn’t flip this burger with the same spatula they flipped the toasted buns?  And was the grill cleaned after cooking that quesadilla I saw you bring to that other table?), make me sad (but I don’t want to eat another salad without dressing. Why can’t people just get with the program and have one thing without breading on it?).  And now I’m worried about it making me mundane too.

It’s been barely 100 hours of gluten-free living and all I want to do is stop.  The thought of doing this for decades upon decades more is depressing.  I don’t want to be responsible and read labels – I want to be five and it’s summer and I’m taking a nap and having nothing to worry about.

Licorice, Beer, and Soy Sauce – three things I don’t even like but the fact that I can’t have them kind of haunts me.  And the idea that NaNoWriMo starts in 10 days and I don’t know if I’m up for it hanuts me more.  What if wheat was where all the words came from?

It was a week ago that I spouted on my melancholy existence.  This is what people like me do when they’ve had a bad day and heard about the horrendous state of raises at their company.  I know, I know, lucky to even have a job, let alone get a raise, but still, annoyed me.  I yelled at it, I cried at it, I wrote at it – anger now gone.

Now, I’m for some reason in an insanely good mood.  Not that much has happened recently.  I didn’t break the new computer system at the office.  I haven’t tripped and gravely injured myself lately.  I have yet to set off a set of occurrences that disrupts the space-time continuum and causes me not to be born.  Are these really things to celebrate?

But it’s true, my attitude has undergone somewhat of a shift.  You can ask my Team Banner at work (of which I’m regularly cheerful at – I color code them to within an inch of their life and make them have Pocket Pow-Wow’s with me.  I’m like the ideal supervisor, right?!) – I’ve downshifted to decidedly laissez-faire.  “Whatever, no big deal, it’ll all work out.”  I think I may have started to scare them frankly.

But it makes you realize – most things in life are all about perspective.  If you can get your attitude to change, really change, not just an ‘ooh, look at me I’m so progressive and evolved’ change that sticks just long enough for the cute guy to leave your office, then great things will happen.

It isn’t about outward changes, no matter how much we like to think it is.  Even though losing those pounds is torturous and difficult, it’s still easier to shed fat than fatalism.  But a smile has the power to eradicate every flaw we see; a cheery expression and confident air won’t have anyone looking at your cellulite, or caring about it.

Why is this such a scary thought?  Why are we so obsessed with striving to be things that underweight professional advertisers tell us to be?  As any woman knows who’s ever opened a catalog, those clothes that look so perfect on the page never look even half as good when they’re hanging in your closet.  Hammer pants, bell bottoms, oversized day-glow t-shirts, skinny low-rise jeans – styles that seem to be screaming for a long-range 10 year perspective of “What Were They Thinking?”  Yet fads all the same, able to convince most everyone that this is what America looks like, come buy into the mass delusion.

Somewhere along the way we were trained to think of ourselves in a certain way.  We’re allowed to be culturally different, racially different, nationally different, but our own self-image always comes back to the same thing.  We label ourselves as weird or outcasts, simply meaning we’re contrary to what’s popular.  If we were being true to ourselves, style would be much more inclusive.  Can’t I like a yellow blouse today and black emo eyeliner tomorrow?  No. 

The key isn’t not caring what other people think; the key is caring despite what other people think.  Thinking, thinking never got us anywhere.  I think I like long walks on the beach.  You know what?  Beaches are hot, and full of people, and sand migrates and gets caught in places even Houdini would have a hard time entering.  So why does everyone profess to like the outdoors and long walks on the beach? 

I’m over thinking, and over over-thinking, me.  I am who I am – someone who doesn’t like the beach even though she lives in California.  Yes, I could stand to lose a few, frankly more than just a few, pounds.  But let’s stop pretending that you want me to do it for my health (frankly, I have great blood pressure, absolutely no issues with cholesterol, and even though diabetes runs in my family at the moment it’s running a hell of a long way behind me).   I’m deceptively strong – wanna see me bench press that ideally slim woman over there? – and surprisingly graceful – if you happen to catch me in a fall it will be the most beautiful catastrophe you’ve ever seen.  No, you want me to do it because the fact that I don’t care as much as you offends.  What, a happy woman with a huge waistline?  But, if she’s happy and loved and successful like that, then what does that mean about the world I live in that says dropping five pounds will make me fulfilled?  How can she have confidence along with her cake, and eat it too?   . . .  Uh-oh, did I just disrupt that space-time continuum?

Today I am  like the hamster that runs and runs and runs on its wheel, never getting anywhere.  Today I am the dog that chases it’s tail, never managing to catch it but never managing to ignore it either.  Today I am the donkey that only moves when the carrot is dangled, but never reaches it of its own volition, always just a step behind.

I’m feeling melancholy and can’t shake it, the parts of my life not quite fitting together into the picture I want it to be.   The bad parts, the annoying parts, the clumsy parts – those are the parts that are supposed to be ‘worth it’, something to be powered through like a chicken crossing the road to get to the glory on the other side.  But I don’t have any of that stuff, the stuff that makes it all worth it.  I don’t have a husband or a child, no family that gives me something to be happy and thankful for everyday no matter how miserable everything else might seem.  It doesn’t seem like much but this lack of perspective is jarring.

What I have – I have a job and I have an unrealistic expectation of a dream, that’s it.  Telling people it’s “just a job” doesn’t work as well when you don’t view it as a means to an end, when it isn’t something that just serves some other valiant purpose.  And I can’t be one of those people who doesn’t give it 110%, who doesn’t try my best or hardest at all times.  How I wish that I could stroll in at a competently fine 82% and coast on by.  Because that extra effort costs more than its worth, caring too much always does. 

Because none of this gets me anywhere.  You’re almost exceptional, so very close, but not yet.  You’re doing an awesome job, work the hardest around, but its technically your job anyway so thanks for playing.  Sure, you don’t have a boyfriend or a relationship but hey, two years ago you went on a really nice vacation to Nashville, that must cheer you up.

And then I get home from the job I give more attention than it probably deserves and I ignore my dream as much as possible.  I’m better, loads better than I used to be, but I still don’t commit myself to it as much as I should.  I can’t manage to commit myself to anything.  I can’t even commit myself to writing in this blog.

I told my friend last night that I would go sky diving with her if there ever came a time when you could walk into a bookstore and see my name in there.  I’m afraid of heights.    What was the point of that?

God, I’m tired.  This is both a declaration and a prayer.  I need sleep.  On another unrelated – or completely related depending on how you look at it – note, my month of No Procrastination is going . . . well . . . it’s going.

And in a weird twist of fate, I haven’t really been able to sleep since I started it.  I’m starting to think that my subconscious just has a really twisted sense of humor.  Because there really isn’t any other reason why I can’t sleep.  You know, besides the weather changing and possibly developing allergies and laying around like a listless blob most of the time.  But you know, besides all of that stuff I should be able to sleep, no problem.

In the past I’ve had trouble sleeping because I’ve been unsatisfied with my life – the minute I make a decision about something, sleep returns.  Either there was some missing decision that needed to be “Valerie’s Brain Approved” (uh-oh, my cerebellum does not like the color shirt I’m wearing today), I’m fooling myself into thinking that I’m happy, or I really need to cut down on the caffeine.  Either way, I need to figure this out because there are quite a few things where being well-rested comes in handy . . .

Things You Shouldn’t Do While Sleepy

• Walk (walls tend to jump out at you)
• Eat (food tends to fall . . . places that are inconvenient)
• Drive (people always say they can get to work in their sleep – they lie)
• Send coherent emails (okay, so I knew about my tendency to misspell on Facebook but I never realized that it kicks in at other times too)
• Understanding what your boss says to you (usually eyes open is required for this especially when they are referring to some super important paper that would have Really Really Important stamped across it if my life was a cartoon)
• Playing Words With Friends (though, to be honest, my words usually get more points when I spell them wrong – this needs to be my new strategy with Matt)
• Making To-Do Lists (otherwise every single line says Sleep or is written so incoherently it might as well say sleep)
• Watching SNL (because where’s the fun of watching Betty White if you’re falling asleep?! )