Obsessive

It's Monday, 4 days before Christmas, 1 day before I have a week off and 2 hours until I get to enjoy a holiday cocktail at my husband's Christmas party. And I'm. restless.

As I sit here obsessively checking the same 3 websites I frequent Monday through Friday all I can think about is getting out of here! My heart's racing, my mind whirling, I cannot sit still and yet there's nothing for me to do. What's with today? Is it the dreaded Monday blues? The excitement of Christmas looming around the corner? Or possibly the thrill of being a part of my best friend's winter wedding that has me dripping with restlessness only a vacation can cure?

No, I'm just obsessive.

Blame it on a job that leaves me less than engaged. Blame it on a year filled with weddings and babies and marathons that has kept me going and going and going throughout 2009. Either way, I've come to realize I HAVE to have something on the horizon. Something to plan, perfect, or point out. Something to obsess over. And today, there...is... nothing.

On Friday I crossed off another obsession on my list. For over a month I put all of my efforts and energy into figuring out a way to be a part of the Napa to Sonoma Half Marathon in San Francisco. Days before registration even opened I was on the website researching prices, medals, events, locations and everything I could to make the registration process easier. Then when registration finally opened I literally went on the website daily and pretended to sign up. PRETENDED. DAILY. This went on for a good month. I was waiting on my husband's input to actually sign up. Money and scheduling was a concern. Finally a few friends of mine emailed me that they had signed up and that I should too.

Let the obsession begin.

For two days I plotted and planned how this run and trip could work. I firmly confronted my husband demanding we make a decision by last Friday. Registration was 90% full and if we didn't sign up for it now we'd have to wait another year to be able to enjoy the race and San Francisco.

Thursday night the decision was made. It would be our vacation.

San Francisco here we come! I signed up Friday morning. At this point the registration was simple. I had already filled out the form several times before, including my husbands information so all I had to do was check a few boxes for t-shirt sizes and we were in. My fingers typed at a speed I didn't recognize. I felt as though I was in a race against myself. Could I type fast enough before it closed on me? You bet I could. My fingers went faster. "just get there!" I chanted as if I were already in the race, a mere mile from the finish line. And suddenly I had completed the task! Whew! You made it! You're registered!

What a relief! It felt so good to finally rid myself of that obsession.

Until today, when I have nothing left to obsess over. The race isn't until July. I've done all of my Christmas shopping. I've done everything I can do for the wedding. I did my long run last night for another marathon I am running. Now I wait. wait. wait.

Maybe I'll obsess over the waiting. Yes, I think I will.

And then there was candy

On the 3rd floor of a dingy, old advertising building sits a giant, gumball-esque candy machine. And in that candy machine sits bin after bin of the chewy, gooey, chocolatey, cavity inducing stuff kids yearn for.

Free to any and all that have access to the building, this candy machine is one of the few perks of a business saturated with unhappy employees. The candy brings an unexpected excitement to the lifeless hallways. "They just refilled the candy bins!" employees exclaim as they awake from their computer coma and dash out of their seats, running towards the elevators and stairs trying to be the first to arrive as if to show off their treasure.

The candy machine first appeared before Halloween. A gift from a client, that employees thought would only stick around for the celebrated candy holiday. But month after month it has remained and day after day it is refilled with different delights even the most ho-hum candy enthusiast cannot resist. From Holiday themed candy like the miniature candy canes to the not-so-traditional carmel chew, this deliverer of candy has become the office saviour.

And so it was mine, yesterday around 2. "I'm starving" I thought to myself. I can't go to lunch yet. My co-workers are all out so I must wait while my stomach screams at me for sustenance. Ahhh! What do I do? Vending machine? Boring. Candy machine? Of course.

Caramel chew, mini Nestle Crunch, mini Candy Cane, Twizzlers, Strawberry Laffy Taffy. Down the gullet in a matter of minutes. I feel ashamed. As if I've cheated on my lunch with a smaller, less healthy and satisfying version of itself. But I am surprisingly full and wanting more. I refrain. My heart is already racing and my vision seems slightly blurred. Oh candy, what you do to me!

But despite it's shaky affect on me the candy machine has proved it's purpose. For a 5 o'clock sugar fix or a hold-me-over-til-lunch snack, this office rallies around it's candy machine. It's our champion. Our trusted friend. A reliable source that will always be there. I cannot remember a day without it and to be frank, I don't want to.

F Writing

A letter to writing for constantly torturing me.

Dear Writing,

You have let me down. Your arduous process complete with perfect grammar, flow, creativeness and thought provoking intensity makes me cringe. Your constant demand for my soul is exhausting. Your criticism is deathly.

How dare you make me feel this way. How dare you make me question my ability and spread polarizing fear throughout my being only to continue to taunt me with your captivating allure. How dare you pull me in while simultaneously casting me out into the depths of insecurity and self-depreciation.

Writing, you are a tease. You lead me on.

Writing, I have decided to quit you. We're too complicated for each other. Goodbye.

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Dear Writing,

I need you. You need me. Please come back...

Jena