A N N A J O H N ' S D I A R Y

Welcome Back, Diary Fans!

It's January 1 and I just finished a gluttonous, epic brunch at my FAVORITE restaurant: Farmers, Fishers, and Bakers in Georgetown. I like their AYCE brunch so much, I'm planning on going back in three days to celebrate my birthday with it! See, they have these bruleed grapefruits and...

First time blogging here since November of 2008 and I'm already digressing. 

Bet you didn't miss THAT, did you? I was famous for it. That and parentheses-abuse.

But back to le blog. I'm touched by how many of you have reached out over the past five years and inquired about the future of AJD. Thank you for reading, commenting, and caring.

Each of the FIVE sites in my "online empire"-- as I once arrogantly called it-- had different constituents. My fotolog was popular with close friends and, well, random men, back in 2003, when the word "selfie" hadn't been coined yet but I was doing it, almost daily. I was in the best shape of my life from working out six days a week and playing indoor soccer four days a week, so I was brazen and confident enough to post pictures of myself running around sunny Northern CA-- though that fotolog actually had a *purpose* believe it or not...it was intended for my east coast friends who didn't want to read THIS site because they preferred fun pictures. Oh, Fotolog. You were Instagram before there was an Insta and you fucking squandered that massive lead you had. You must hate yourself!

My original, "main" blog HERstory was for memoir-esque essays and serious fare, not recounting the desultory delights of my day. I was doing "What's in my purse?"-shots long before People or US magazine asked celebs to do it (and WIMP had RABID fans...I shit you not. I'm shocked when I marvel at that, ten years after the fact). Then there was Sepia Mutiny, a.k.a.the greatest thing I've ever done with my life...that was all South Asian American issues and perspectives, all the time. And finally, there was this space. Inspired by Bridget Jones' Diary, I even used to start my blog posts the way she did, with numbers and stats. This was the "truest" blog I had, in that it fit the stereotype of blogs consisting of navel-gazing self indulgence. This space was for the mundane, daily stuff, fluff, and fun. And it had its own audience whom I treasured. I know you've all drifted away, but I wanted to tell you how much it meant to me that you took the time to read my rambling. And that it's...well...back.

That's right, one of my New Year's resolutions is to resurrect this blog (a resolution I've had since 2010, truth be told). That and the usual ones I never accomplish: lose 50 lbs (no. really), spend more time creating art either in my art journal or with paint and a canvas, work out a minimum of three times/week, create a daily writing habit, FINISH MY FUCKING BOOK, write "thank you" notes more promptly, be more punctual, etcetera ad nauseum. But yeah. Here we are. I'm doing it, aren't I? As of right now, this blog, like the heat, is ON.

Why did it go away, you ask? There are three reasons:

1) Um, twitter. It's where I am EVERY DAY and that's been true since...2007?

2) 2008 was a huge year for me (this blog was shuttered in November of that year, though I posted sporadically a few times after); I met my current partner and was in lurve...and happy. It's sad, but I write more when I'm UNhappy, just like some fucking cliche.

3) That and the stalker-ish internet trolls frightened me into silence when they followed me home from work, followed me to his house, published both locations on a hate site (Unsuitablegirl...can you believe that shit?), and otherwise intimidated me into pushing my computer away. 

My writing has never been the same.

And that makes me seethe, that these assholes could alter the course of my life so completely, but I was terrified for my safety and he was stunned and disturbed by his sudden inclusion in the hate fest. I didn't want to lose him-- not that that was even a possibility. He didn't blame me for that shit show, he just wanted it to fucking be over already...and the surest way to achieve that was to walk away.

But that was SIX YEARS AGO. And while I'm still dating Panda, the evil people have fucked right off to go kick puppies, snatch candy from babies, and torment other people they don't know in real life. It finally feels like I could come here again, and not hate myself for stupidly laying myself bare on a page. I miss my nightly routine of writing a post about my day, and I miss the process of recording memories.

I miss this.

So, hello world. Now the only thing stopping me from updating my Diary is sheer laziness, which I totally should make a resolution about... I'm not promising I'll write every day, especially not at first, but I am committed to having something in each month's archive, so I WILL be here, even if it's not frequent, initially. Feel free to follow along, comment away, and otherwise join in the chant.

So, welcome...back? Yes. Welcome back to all my readers, friends, and randoms. I've missed you!

Dead on my feet

Something a bit disturbing happened to me today; I was running an errand, picking up contacts for G when I was suddenly overwhelmed by this...all-consuming exhaustion. It made no sense. I've done no heavy labor. I haven't been sleeping well lately, but this was something different. It was 2pm and I wanted, no, needed to lie down. Almost immediately. While I was driving down Connecticut avenue. Nicht gut. Nicht gut at all. 

I ended up turning on Tilden and high-tailing it back here and lying down but I was perplexed. What was making me feel this massive level of fatigue. Something wasn't right and I felt terrible. I started to fret; what if I get a job? How will I deal with nine hours somewhere if I can't handle a 45 minute errand? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?

After sleeping for a bit (and yet, I woke up still exhausted) I called my mom and she sussed out the problem. My medications had just been changed and the newest one was known to cause extreme fatigue. I felt drugged. I've been roofied once (!) and this felt a LOT like that, which is a terrifying feeling. It was also frustrating, because through no fault of my own, I was being impeded because my...less than capable new physician hadn't heard my concerns about changing a routine that was working for me. It all felt so unnecessary. And scary. And I don't want to keep feeling like this, but I'm no doctor and I don't have another appointment for several weeks. This blows.

Letting perfect be the enemy of good.

So in my last post, I bemoaned my apparent inability to participate in Lent. I felt truly awful about myself and that feeling has persisted over the last three weeks-- hence no posting. I don't know how the two got connected in my mind, but they did. Ugh.

Today I realized that the only thing stopping me from "starting" Lent was myself. Sure, we're 20 days in, but who gives a shit? What if I set that intention right now and fast until Easter. Shouldn't that count for something? In my case it almost counts for more because I'm typically super-defeatist and it's nearly impossible for me to forgive myself and give something a second (or third. or fifth) shot. But I've been thinking about this and I want to do Lent. I want to struggle and sacrifice and reflect on my choices. And the only thing stopping me is this stupid idea that I somehow missed the fasting train.

Fuck. that. shit.

I know, I'm cursing in a Lent post, but give me a second and I'll explain. I decided that Gd is probably a "better late than never"-sort of deity, based on the parable of the prodigal son. That's me! Prodigal! If only I were a prodigy. ANYWAY, I think Gd will still love it if I start fasting now, three weeks in, so that's what I'm going to do. Here's what I'm giving up:

Lenten failure.

So...lent started yesterday and...I'm still eating.

And swearing.

And watching crap on TV (my mom thinks fasting from this is more important).

Sigh. I have failed at Lent and we are only one day in. I know that's a defeatist attitude, but that's how I feel, damn it. I don't understand myself, either...I had every intention of doing Lent this year. Last year, it was a period of reflection and significant weight loss. Yeah, I said it. Weight loss. The best diet for me is one with Gd in the middle of it. But here we are on March 4th and I'm still eating ice cream like it's my last meal. 

I feel a bit ashamed. And like Easter is going to suck this year, all because I have no self-fucking-control. Ugh, and I'm swearing. Time to log off. :(

Everything is okay with the spay.

Okay, so I just picked up the Frenchie and she is out of it, but otherwise in excellent shape. Whew.

She has sutures in her little nose (my dog had a nose job!) and a new scar where her womb used to be, but everything else is the way it was 48 hours ago. 

I'm so relieved she's been spayed. I wish I could have done it earlier but there were a few issues preventing it (be ye not like me! spay and neuter your pets!!). First of all, we stupidly promised our breeder we'd wait an entire year to do it (and let her have one heat, so she could "bloom"...which was actually split in to TWO heats and both ordeals were fucking miserable for all of us. it's called a "split heat". joy.). We didn't know any better...we've waited for a puppy from Fantasia for FOUR YEARS. And this was a show-quality dog with a champion pedigree and a price tag to match. She is actually the most expensive thing I own. The point is, our other dog came to us spayed at eight weeks because the Washington Humane Society doesn't release animals without cutting them. We've never even had to consider a spay before. The rescue dog came that way. But this? This was our first purebred.

Morning Creeps Towards Us, and I Dread it.

In five (sure to be sleepless) hours, I will drop off my beloved little bat-frog-pig-dog for a triple set of surgeries. She is getting spayed and while they do that, they're fixing her nares (nostrils) and soft palate, too. I know these are routine procedures for bulldogs, but I am anxious about all the things that could go wrong.

What if there's a problem with anesthesia because of her flat face?

What if I picked the wrong hospital?

What if the doctor isn't experienced with brachycephalic dogs?

What if they forget to give her her eye medicine four times a day?

and worst of all:

What if they lose her (I know of another frenchie who died during this operation)?

Tomorow I will take her to the hospital, spend 20 minutes in a coonsultation with the vet, then leave before they slice and dice her. Then she will stay there so they can manage her pain in the afternoon/keep her overnight for observation.

The prospect of an entire day without my polar bear, my animated marshmallow, my obstinate little tom boy (who'd rather fight than snuggle) fills me with a bizarre mixture of dread and sadness. I know, people who are not obsessed with dogs will read all of this and think I'm crazy. Well, you are technically correct. I am crazy. But I also love this puppy and worry about her constantly. I wanted a French bulldog for five years before they put her in my arms on January 9, 2013. I waited for four years to get one from an ethical breeder who only has a handful of puppies a year. She is very precious to me. I know, if I waited for her for years, I can wait a day. If only it were "just" a day. Sure, it will be 24 hours, but those hours will be filled with medical instruments, pain, and risk. And besides, this is my diary. I get to write about exactly what I'm feeling, with no obligation to make it interesting or palatable. HERstory is where I write for others. Here? I write for myself.