Me Previously

I’m 30. I did exist before then. This is me previously…

I was born on snowy Thursday morning on February 21, 1980. Okay, so I don’t know that it actually snowed that day, but I’m sure that it was cold. So young (20 and 22) and married just 7 months, I’m sure my parents had no idea what was in store for them. At 9:16am, Angela Marie Followell met the world. I wasn’t the prettiest baby girl, but I was loved. That I know for sure.

Two years later on Friday May 21, 1982 my sister Nicole was born. Of course, I don’t recall that specific day, but I know that I loved her from the moment I saw her. Looking at pictures of her then reminds me that she was much cuter than me. I loved the way she felt in her terrycloth pajama’s when I would snuggle up close; so warm and cuddly. The feeling didn’t last long. She became a pincher and I was her favorite thing to take her 2 year old anger out on.

In 1985 I started Kindergarten at Mulkeytown Grade School. There were about 10 kids in Mrs. Simpson’s class. It was a whole new world to me and I loved it. Twenty-five years later, my fondest memory was having milk donuts on the bleachers in the gym before school. I don’t know how often that happened, but it was fantastic. I also remember my school picture that year. My mom gave me a butterfly necklace from Avon that had 3 of 4 interchangeable butterflies to coordinate with my outfits. Dad must have got me ready that morning because the turquoise butterfly I wore that day did not match my maroon flowered dress. Mom was devastated and dad paid dearly, I’m sure.

The summer of 1988 the Followell family went on an excursion only the brave would attempt; driving to Disney World. The air conditioner died and we lost Niki (just for a short time) but in the end it was the most amazing vacation an 8 year old could ever imagine. That school year I met my best friend Katie. She had just moved to Christopher and I was sort of new. Mulkeytown consolidated with Christopher the year before so it was my 2nd year at a new school. We were meant to be. It was fate. We were attached at the hip. I loved her as much as I did my own sister. We spent the next 6 years doing the things that best friends do, but even better. Sleepovers, science books, and swimming come to mind. We also made prank calls on a daily basis, went on vacations together and spent every football season covering Christopher in toilet paper. Good times.

In 1994 I graduated 8th grade and began my career as a naïve high school girl that cared more about boys (2 or 3 come to mind) than actually learning anything. They broke my heart. The end of my sophomore year I got my drivers license. I had the privilege of driving my mom’s awesome Mercury Sable (Ang Nik 2) for a few months. Other than having the mirror knocked off of it in front of Dairy Queen, nothing too horrendous happened. Gas didn’t cost $6,187,249,259 a gallon then, so I spent every weekend making sure to empty the tank just in time for Mom to go to work Monday morning. On June 13, 1996 I was introduced to my first real love. I welcomed the 1992 sea foam green Ford Probe (Angla 80) that I had been drooling over for months. It was spectacular, it was perfect…until I demolished it my senior year. And that was the end of my love affair with an automobile. By graduation I had gained knowledge, but grown apart from my best friend, I had gained life experience, but misplaced (some of) my youth. Would I go back if I could? Possibly.

The summer of 1998 I spent working at Wendy’s and every other waking moment with Maria. Someone special was on the way and I didn’t want to miss it. School (RLC), work (RLC and K’s Merchandise), friends (Maria, Alechia, Jordan) is how I spent my first semester as a college student. I shared my 19th birthday with Maria’s baby shower. Two days later Sophia came into the world. The next year I spent every waking moment with Maria and Sophie. I celebrated my 20th birthday with Sophie’s 1st birthday. That August I left for Murray as naïve young woman that had every opportunity in the world to achieve great things. But life is not a contract set in stone. My life changed instantly.

To be continued...

I Feel It

I’m 30. My body, at times feels much older.

This year it is more difficult to get out of bed in the morning. My left hip aches when I take long walks. My back hurts when I sit too long. My knees crack. My ankle that I sprained in 5th grade throbs when it rains. I was recently diagnosed with Diabetes.

I wasn’t devastated with the results of my lab work. I have suspected it for some time now. I didn’t cry when the nurse told me that I have a disease that causes more deaths a year than breast cancer and AIDS combined. I just told myself my family history played the lead role in this drama. I ignored the possibility that I brought this on myself by gaining almost 50 pounds since high school. I was worried the lifestyle change alone would kill me before the diabetes. But, I was ready for a change.

My first doctor appointment after the diagnosis pissed me off more than anything. She didn’t need to tell me that Diabetes is a serious illness. I’m not stupid. She didn’t need to tell me that I needed to loose the chubbiness that is my stomach. I see my self everyday. I know it’s not pretty. What really upset me was her suggestion that I partake in 90 minutes of vigorous exercise daily. Who has the time for that? Not me. I cried on the way back to work that morning. I cried on my way home from work that evening. I cried for a week.

Since then I have spoke with a nutritionist and started a low-carb diet. I’m taking medication with the most unpleasant side effect. I try to walk in the evening when I get home from work. I also started riding a bike. Sugar free chocolate has become my friend. I miss mashed potatoes the most. In 7 weeks I have lost 11 pounds. My goal is to loose 36 more.

Diabetes is not reversible. My sugar has never been out of control. It was just high enough for me to be considered diabetic. Even with controlled blood sugar, I will always carry the label, the burden. There may be a time where I don’t have to take medication, but carbs/sugar will always be my enemy. I will always have to watch what I eat. But, I am alive and well and that’s the most important thing in my opinion.

I bet you didn’t think you’d be getting a crappy health lesson today, did you?

Big Dreams

I’m 30. My career is years behind.

When I was 10 I dreamed of living in New York City. I dreamed that by 30 I would be settled in an amazing apartment (think the movie Big) with an even more amazing career. I don’t remember what I wanted to be at the time. All I knew is that Mulkeytown would be miles behind me and I would be a reputable business woman in the Big Apple on my own, bringing home a more than adequate pay check.

When I was 18 I dreamed of being an interior decorator. I practiced on the walls of my bedroom. I also wanted to write poetry (thanks to teenage heartbreak) and own a bookstore (think Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail). When it came time to decide on a college major, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. So, I chose to be a business major, with really no attainable career goals. My dreams have always been bigger than I could ever achieve. Decorating, writing, and my love of books have so far turned out to be just a hobby.

Twelve years later I am in a position that requires me to get up at 4:30 in the morning and spend 3 hours of my day commuting. I do this for a job where I take money from people that they sometimes cannot afford to pay. Sometimes they cry. I do this for a job where I am willing to be talked to like I’m an uneducated, ignorant woman that will never make anything of herself. I can’t take it anymore. I am tired and I don’t like eating dinner 2 hours before I have to go to bed. I don’t like to make people cry. I have been in their shoes. And I don’t like being talked down to. I am much more intelligent than that.

I won’t bore you with the pathetic statistics on my being turned down or not even getting a call for an interview. Let’s just say, I have been seriously looking for 2 years. But all hope is not lost. When I thought my self-esteem couldn’t get any lower, this month employers have been buzzing with interest in me and my hard-working, committed, organized self. Please keep your fingers crossed.

Possibly in another 12 years my once seemingly impossible career goals will be within my reach. I still don’t know exactly what I want to do, but I have an idea. It will involve me doing what I love. It will include books and writing or decorating and for the OCD in me, organizing. Maybe an amalgamation of these things…a store that sells books and offers interior design/organization services where I can write down the ramblings in my mind and share them with the world.

P.S. I know you’re thinking “amalgamation”? It’s from the movie Parenthood. Don’t worry. I don’t use that word on a daily basis. That would make me a nerd.

Time flies...

I turned 30 on February 21, 2010. Almost 5 months later, I still don’t believe it. When I was younger (a lot younger), I pictured myself at 30 as an old, decrepit woman that would have 14 cats calling my home, theirs. I was definitely wrong. Where I got the idea that magically at the beginning of my 3rd decade I would turn into a somewhat friendlier version of the Wicked Witch of the West, I will never know. Could it have been my mother?

My mom turned 30 on March 17, 1989. She did not handle it with the grace that any woman who spent the 80’s as a twenty-something fashionista should. She cried. I clearly remember her sobbing at the kitchen sink doing dishes as my sister and I ate breakfast before school. She obviously wasn’t old and decrepit. I imagine she just realized that a decade of her life passed her by so quickly that she barely had time to breathe. I understand now. I spent the 29th year of my life feeling the same way; dreading loosing my youth, wondering where the last 10 years went.

As it turned out, her 30’s didn’t ruin my mother. She didn’t age significantly. She didn’t stop doing all the wild and crazy things she did in her 20’s. In fact, it’s possible her 30’s were the best years of her life. I won’t let them ruin me either, mom. Look out 31, here I come! But not for 222 more days, please.