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This Square Peg.

Happily Not Fitting In Since 1978.

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big bag, small bag.

Once upon a time, our fair chocolate princess was at work and in the middle of typing when a sharp pain shot though her wrist. Of course, she gazed at her wrist as if the body part could communicate why it did this to her. Thankfully, there was no answer (talking body parts may be cute in animated films, but in real life? Nah), and she assumed that it would go away. No such thing. The sharp pain became unrelenting. She could barely type, hold things with her left hand, etc. At first, she diagnosed herself, because she’s done this all her life, often running to her parents’ basement to consult various medical journals whenever she experienced pain and/or discomfort, which resulted in giving herself an assortment of ailments. (“Stop doing that,” her mother has demanded many, many times in the past and last week in the not too distant past.) Her final analysis was carpal tunnel syndrome. And yet there was something intense about this pain, perhaps bigger than carpal tunnel. Reluctantly, she realized that it was time to consult a real physician. The medical journals and all those years of watching ER, St. Elsewhere, and other medical shows just wouldn’t suffice this time.

Since there was a clinic right across the street that accepted those employed at her former company, our chocolate princess trudged over one afternoon, her wrist in agony. When the doctor finally came in to see her, he checked everything, asked a variety of questions, etc. He then gazed at her handbag sitting nearby in a chair. “Do you mind if I pick this up?” he asked. Curious but ultimately knowing what he was about to tell her, she nodded. He picked it up. “What do you have in here?” he then asked. An umbrella, an iPad, my wallet, normal things, she responded. The doctor nodded again. “Do you need all those things?” Affronted, our princess explained that as a commuter who lived in Somewheres, VA and worked in the DC area, it was important to bring things to be prepared since her vehicle was miles and miles away. An umbrella for rain. The iPad for metro reading. Other things. And only a large bag would fit. “All true, but your handbag weighs about the size of a small toddler. That’s why your wrist is in distress. Your handbag is too heavy.”

A small toddler?

But, our princess thought to herself, she’d always had big bags. High school, college: what minuscule bag would fit her life??

The doctor went on to say: “If you need to bring all those things, perhaps consider a backpack. You can use both straps for both your shoulders and take the pressure off your left arm.”

A backpack? Was she 11? Was she in elementary school? Was she still walking to the bus in the mornings?

Obviously the doctor saw the horrified (mixed with a bit of snobbery) expression on our princess’s face. “Or you can decrease the items in the bag. But you’re doing damage to your tendons if keep holding a bag that weighs this much.” She muttered her thanks and assured him that she would figure it out. He told her to pop some pain medication if the pain continued. Eventually, the pain dissipated and disappeared and our princess resumed her life.

But she didn’t change her bag.

The End

So I had an epiphany the other day, dear reader. After years of rubbing my shoulder after wearing my bag, or picking up my bag and wincing in pain, or warning the lady at the nail shop to be careful when she picks up my bag in order to protect my wet nails, and so, so on, I realized that it’s finally time to quit playing games with my limbs. Stubbornly refusing to listen to the doctor’s recommendations was one thing (and not a great thing). But now living in an area where I drive to work and no longer need to be loaded down with an entire aisle of a CVS because I can leave things in my car is entirely another. It’s time, y’all. This Square Peg needs to buy a smaller purse.

I used to wonder how women ran their lives with smaller purses. Like, how did they exist? Where did they put their wallets in said smaller bag? What about a certain time of the month and hiding certain items? (Speaking of that, I think the trauma of a boy in my 9th grade History class who snatched my bag one day and peeked in to see a row of pink lady time-of-the-month articles did more damage than I care to psychoanalyze.) Anyway, again: how did these ladies survive without a giant bag on their shoulders?

I’ll provide the answers when I buy my small bag. It’ll be a shock to the system, for sure. A bag on my shoulder is like warm tea on a chilly day. It’s like cool lemonade for a dry, summer-inflicted throat. It’s comforting. But my car is a few feet away in the parking lot. If I need anything, I can go grab it. Enough, I say. We must do right by my shoulders, wrists, that poor doctor who tried to save me from the small toddler…

Here are some super cute smaller bags that stylistically call out to me:

Lovely. Now we need to head to the store. I wonder how many years that will take?

So tell me: what kind of purse/handbag do you use? Small? Large? Massive? Little? Share your adjectives in the comments with me, please.

connecting…

And while the wires and strings and synapses connect, sometimes blogging and writing and This Square Pegging fall by the wayside. Nevertheless, I’m here now, dear reader. Well, I’ve always been here–but life and changes and connecting  made it a bit harder to remember to talk about the process with you. This platform wasn’t far from my mind, though. And like the love of donuts, I’ll always come back. (Take some positivity from that last statement, however you can.)

So, it’s 2017, huh? Insert wide-eyed surprised emoji here. 

But years come and years go. Whatever the numbers are on the calendar, may things continue to connect for you as they always have and always will.

Onwards and upwards…

Blogvember #12 and #13: Le Weekend.

#12: That quote to the left about sums it up. Our sense of humor. Our laughter. Our love. (Because, yeah, I’d traipse through a fire and/or super humid room for her, fro or no.) Those times when la bestie utters words that change my life. My goals to always be there for her. 

She arrived on Friday night and will be leaving in a few hours. She brought a burst of light and much-needed familiarity into this new place and environment that I’m adjusting to, both emotionally and otherwise. I don’t think I’ll be able to communicate just how I needed that. 

I snapped a few photos, but she’ll hurt me if I post them. So just call your bestie and tell him/her that you love them. 

******************************

#13: I bought a couch!

While furniture shopping yesterday, one of the employees showing us around the monster of the store we were in took me the very couch that I saw and saved from their website. If that isn’t kismet I don’t know what is. Delivery is next Sunday and you shall see it then. 

Happy Sunday, dear reader…

Blogvember #3: On Chocolate Pigs and Resets.

Real talk: since arriving in the Lone Star State in September, I’ve been ingesting sweets and junk food like a chocolate pig. I wish I were exaggerating.

If you’ve followed TSP for a while, you know that in 2015, I embarked on a gaining health lifestyle change. I changed everything: how I felt about food, how I felt about fitness, how I felt about taking care of this body of mine. A year later, things were continuing to go well. By no means was I was challenge or struggle free, but when is life challenge or struggle free? Things turned upside down, however, when I landed in this one horse town (I’ve always wanted to say that). I moved to a city with drive-through bagel places and donut shops on every corner. I became an animal. The combination of emotional eating and availability was a death knell for all the hard work I had done for a year and a half. (There’s a place here called Nothing Bundt Cakes, for heaven’s sake. Can I live? Can I live?)

But we all have our a ha moments, don’t we? Where we shutter excuses and just decide to do work? I did last week. I became resolved. As cute as chocolate pigs are, it’s high time for a life/health/fitness reset. So far, I’ve been making better choices. Last night, I also officially restarted my weekly gym routine.


That facial expression communicates everything you need to know. I took a class called BodyCombat. The name was appropriate. My body was beaten up, in combat, and so out of shape. It was like a scene in an action film when the unfortunate villain shows up in a dark alley brandishing weapons that the hero ends up using against him. Yes, I came with nunchucks that ended up around my neck. But guess what? We have setbacks and we move on. I have a class tonight and I’ll be back at it next week. Because: goals.

Have you had to make any life resets lately? Do you love donuts as much as I do?

Ma Maison et Mon Travail.

Went really French on you, didn’t I? But you’re used to that. Translated, it means my house and my job. Because, dear readers, after a month in my new surroundings, I’m happy to announce that I was recently hired at a new job and recently moved into my brand new apartment. We will pause for celebration.

Needless to say, I was anxious about these two things. Initially, I was staying with a kind, hospitable friend who allowed me to rent a room in her home while I figured out where I was going and what I was doing. My plan wasn’t to stay with her for eternity, so there was that particular anxiety. The kindness of others is always welcomed, but I also didn’t intend on overstaying my welcome. Secondly, since Idris hasn’t yet arrived with our marriage license and the key to our villa, your Square Peg needed a job.

The good things: a recruiting firm that I contacted early in the year, once I firmly decided on moving, was still quite open to helping me. Also: my car afforded me the chance, on days I wasn’t interviewing, to drive around and visit apartment complexes in the area. So after a few weeks of interviews and conversations with potential employers, and visiting an inordinate amount of complexes, and lots and lots of prayer…

Enter ma maison and mon travail. Again, let us celebrate.

Ma maison. I live in a nice, simple 1 bedroom place in a Dallas suburb. (I would be more specific, but…nope.) It’s quiet, save for a Chihuahua that occasionally has something to say, but he’s largely silent. As far as furniture, I have a bed and a very comfortable armchair. So you can imagine all the Pinterest decor boards currently overflowing with all the ideas I have for the remainders of furnishings and decorating to come. I’m a simple Square Peg: I basically want ma maison to look like Paris on a weekday. Lovely, uncomplicated, filled with croissants. Updates and photos will come.

Ma travail. It’s my third day at this new environment (a direct hire via that recruiting firm, yay), so everything is still minty and fresh and new. Nevertheless, my colleagues have been great so far and I’m acclimating well. Of course, the same Norse gods that secretly lived in my cubicle at the old OK Corral and blew icicles in the air apparently followed me here (search under “cold” to learn about my inability to stay warm; according to my mother, this is why), which resulted in purchasing a space heater and walking these halls draped in my usual scarf. But c’est la vie. I’m hopeful for this new professional path.

So here we are. Living on my own once again (it’s been twelve years since I had my very own place) and starting fresh with new employment. Onwards and upwards…

Oh, you want to celebrate again? Let’s.

here.

Yes, I moved.

Yes, I hitched up my lady pantaloons and made the decision to start over with new people, new new places, and new things.

Yes, I wept when leaving my mother, my brothers, and my sister.

Yes, I continued to weep on and off days after arriving in the Dallas area (specifically Carrollton) and still nurse a weepy homesickness that consumes here and there, especially when I’m driving. (Why do we weep when we drive? Or is it just me?)

Yes, I realized that this was a pretty significant step to take in my life and I have to say: I truly underestimated the emotional upheaval that was poised to come.

Yes, it’s lovely here.

Yes, I’ve reconnected with/met a few friends who’ve helped to assuage my aching for home and the familiar.

Yes, I’ve gotten lost on these long, winding roads and have become besties with my GPS.

Yes, I’ve slowly created a routine that I’m getting used to. quotelion

Yes, some roads have already become so familiar that I turn off the GPS when driving, and I realize that my mobile phone’s data plan thanks me for this.

Yes, it’s really hot here. For real. Like really.

Yes, I want to go home. But right now, I won’t.

Yes, the quote to the right explains how I largely feel about staying here.

Yes, I’ve wanted to blog since I got here, but I needed time to wipe these tears. And a wet laptop keyboard wouldn’t have helped anyone.

Yes, I FaceTime my people whenever I can. And I worry about them. And I think of them constantly. And I’m back in kindergarten.

And yes, despite that ache mentioned above, and the homesickness, I’m happy, excited, and curious about the future.

It’s nice to be with you again, dear reader. If you’ve ever made a move, please tell me about how you dealt with it in the comments, won’t you?

Give Me the Panic Attack with a Side of Nervous Breakdown. And a Diet Coke.

If you’d like to order that particular meal/psychotic break, attempt to clean up Chernobyl your room and simultaneously pack up your life for a move across several states. I started this week. Let’s just say that my mother and sister had to repeatedly tell me to calm down. Like stop from taking a swan dive from your bedroom window level of calm down. stress1It’s overwhelming. 11 years in that room, with an abundance of things to rifle through and pack up and/or trash. Le sigh. If you’re peeking through your trusty psychology manual to determine the emotional subtext behind my mania and stress, I’ll save you the trouble: I simply detest packing. I detest moving things from one place to the other. It makes me nauseous. I’m serious. Don’t ask me where that came from. Likely the same place that drives me to rip off my jewelry. We’re all weirdos.

Anyway, in TSP’s continuing effort to always find the silver lining peeking mischievously behind all those clouds, I’ve considered the few pluses that came from this initial phase of moving/packing. Here they are:

  1. Finding bookworm treasures. To my everlasting glee and giddiness, I found my thought-to-be-lost collection of Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler’s A Series of Unfortunate Events books. Can I tell you how I delved into these witty, smart, exciting tales of the unfortunate Baudelaire siblings when they were first released? I freely read books meant for the youngsters, by the way, because I love a good story and because they’re almost always well-written. (We’ll talk about my soon-to-be foray into children’s books and YA fiction soon.) Anyway, I thought the original six books were lost forever. And then I found them on Wednesday. So here’s to more book-related treasures I will undoubtedly find as I continue with this breakdown of my room. All to build my bookshelf in TX.
  2. Family Rocks. Your Square Peg has a very patient mother and sister. I already knew this, but it was pretty evident on Wednesday evening. My sister was the eternal cheerleader. (You’re doing great! Look at what you accomplished!) My pragmatic and hilarious mother ordered me to stop freaking out, eat some food, and go to bed. In the end, as I finally burrowed myself under my covers, I could only be thankful. Here’s to people who love you and will never be released from their promises to help you, no matter how hard they try. *insert maniacal laughter here*
  3.  Feeling Determined. I have too many things. I’ve acquired too, too many things. Some goals for my move/new apartment include making sure that I have just what I need and no more than that. Here’s to re-reading this blog in a few months when I have a desire to purchase something I certainly don’t need.
  4. Feeling Charitable. A lot of things I have are being donated to various charities that can benefit from clothes, shoes, and other items. I already have two contractor bags teeming with items for donation. Here’s to doing something good for someone else, even while I dramatically slide down a wall as I drownwallslide in tears.

That’s all for now. Told you it was just a few pluses. Anyway, I’ll keep you apprised of the cleaning/packing journey as I go. Pray for me, y’all.

Which one of you likes to pack? And why would you enjoy such a thing? Let’s talk about it in the comments while I peek in my psychology manual…

30 Days.

Recall our discussion about comfort zones and the changes looming in my life. Well, hear ye, hear ye…

I’m moving!

After nearly 30 years of living in Somewheres, VA, in 30 days, I will beadventure moving to the Dallas, Texas area. Since revealing this news to my family and friends, I’ve received responses that range from shock to support/glee/excitement to downright confusion. Here are a few of the most popular questions I’ve gotten, followed by my responses.

Why in the world are you moving?
Because I’m a human being, an adult, a grown woman, and I have the right to vacate my premises.

I’m so happy for you! What inspired your decision?
Thank you. Honestly, I’m ready for a change in my life. It really helps that the area I’m headed to is affordable and has a great cost of living, as well as an abundance of jobs. Also, I have personal goals that I’d like to see through and I think being in a less expensive area may assist me in those endeavors.

But why Texas? It’s like the Wild West down there.
Well, no, it’s not. It’s different from the metropolitan area we live in, sure. But I fell in love with the area when I visited and always had in the back of my mind to move there one day. I think it’s beautiful there and we’ll see what life will be like for me.

Won’t you miss your family?
Of course I will. I love my family to pieces and pieces. But I’m also pretty excited about this new, impending chapter in my life. For the first time, the idea of moving away isn’t causing the butterflies that permanently reside in my belly to implode. I’m actually OK with this choice, and my family has been nothing but supportive. And if it stinks over there, I’m headed back home without fail.

Uh, do you have a job lined up?
No, I don’t. I’ll be starting the hunt when I get there.

You must have thousands of dollars saved up then.
*crickets*

How will you LIVE?
I’ll be staying with a friend temporarily while I look for work. Eventually, when work comes, I’ll get my own living arrangements.

I’m terrified for you. Have you seen the news lately?
I have. And, honestly, it gives me pause, too. Sadly, however, bad news isn’t relegated to one area of the nation or the world. I can only pray that I stay safe and make good decisions about the places I go and the people I see.

Do you have family down there?
No, but I have friends who are like family that live down there.

This is just really shocking.
It is. Change can always be shocking. And you always imagine–at least I do–that people will stay where they are forever.

We’ll miss you.
I can’t describe how I’ll miss my friends and family and will miss living in an area where I know the shortcuts to the shortcuts. I’m starting over and without a known tribe around me. But I’ll be ok.

Well, it was nice knowing you.

I’m not going to the moon. I’m just some states over. There’s FaceTime, Skype, social media, the phone, and this blog, which won’t change just because I’ve changed my address. If anything, my new life will be healthily updated right here on This Square Peg. It’ll be an entirely new story line of square pegness, actually, in this new area, so we’ll have a lot to talk about.

So, yeah. I’m moving. I’m moooooooving!

Have you moved before? Whether stateside or to another country? How did you adjust? Details, please, in the comments. 

#dreamgoals

This song came up on my shuffle last night while plugging away at the gym, and I was immediately reminded about why it spoke to me so deeply when I first heard it. Ah, this song. Not only that haunting melody and those vocals (those vocals, though), but the lyrics. Are the truth. Are my truths. Banning further ado, here it is, followed by the lyrics, followed by my commentary.

Closer to my dreams
It’s coming over me

I’m gettin’ higher
Closer to my dreams
I’m getting higher and higher
Feel it in my sleep

Some times it feels like I’ll never go past here
Some times it feels like I’m stuck forever and ever

But, I’m going higher
Closer to my dreams
I’m goin’ higher and higher
I can almost reach

Some times you just have to let it go (Let it go, let it go)
Leaving all my fears to burn down
Push them all away so I can move on
Closer to my dreams
Feel it all over my being
Close your eyes and see what you believe

I’m happy as long as we’re apart
Then I’m moving on to my dreams

I’ll be moving higher (Moving higher)
Closer to my dreams
And higher and higher, higher
Feel it in my being (I can feel it flow around me)
I know that I could not go alone (No, no)

I’m moving higher (Higher), oh…
I’m going higher and higher and higher (Higher and
Higher)
Closer to my dreams (Higher and higher, oh…oh…)
I’m moving upward and onward and beyond all I can see
(Stretching out my arms so I can reach)

Feels so close it’s like i can just reach
I can feel my dreams (Closer to my dreams)
I’m moving closer to my dreams
I’m moving (Higher and higher) higher and higher
(Higher and higher)
Moving higher, oh…

Some times it feels like you never gon’change (Never gon’change)
But you never choose to walk away

To me, the song is about a lot of things. Relationships. Choices. Fear. But singularly, I’m drawn to the aspect of the pursuit of dreams.

I’ve never been a go-getter when it comes to certain dreams and goals. By and large, I’ve long believed that what will be will be, and what will come will come. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t taste the proximity of my soon-to-be fulfilled dreams. And this song speaks to that. It reminded me that I may not charge at my dreams like a Pamplonan bull, but I’m moving toward them at my own pace, higher and higher, upward and onward, beyond all I can see. Even when “it feels like I’m stuck forever and ever”, eventually, those dreams and I will meet.

As that linked post mentions, I’ll be reflecting on a few fulfilled dreams/changes that are coming to my life in a few short months. Needless to say, we will discuss. Until then, I’ll continue to spend some music-on-repeat time with Goapele and Closer.

Tell me: any songs you’re listening to (or still listen to) that speak to you? Like really, really speak to you?

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