If I Plan to Live to 100

The women in my mother’s side of the family live forever, mostly. Okay, not the one with a heart condition (that she refused to fix) and alcoholism. I hasten to add that alcoholism, by itself, seems to kill no one in either side of my family, which is frankly quite impressive. We drink. Yet we live. But not if we don’t fix our heart conditions, or if we also smoke cigarettes. Bad combo, that.

Soon, I will be 48, a number that mystifies me and that feels about as applicable as grandparent, even though the grandchildren are 7, 3, and due in October (new baby). I think, “Me? Grandparent? 48? Me?” a lot, even as I remind myself that is a topic so trivial that it has likely been covered by the wretched Family Circus Cartoon of the Obvious and Bland. Or Cathy. That blithering sexual stereotype has certainly had some trite observations on the subject.

In fits and starts I have been trying to be healthier. I made drinking rules ( you have failed when you make rules, I know this) that I sometimes adhere to and sometimes not so much. I agreed with my shrink that I should go back to self hypnosis/guided meditation when she assured me that it was absolutely fine to fall asleep while doing it, because it means I *can* relax, after all. I also made eating rules, but 5 days into low carb, high fat and high protein I realized I felt like complete shit, so now I am unsure as to how I will go forward. I lost the five pounds that most freaked me out in that they put me within less than ten pounds of what I weighed when I delivered the last child, who was a whopping 8.1 lbs and for whom I gained 60, yes, 60 lbs. That I lost. And that I have now mostly found.

The Gut Problem continues in its joyless moving target process. I am very, very clear on the sulfites angle, however. I am very, very allergic to sulfites. Also, sulfites are everywhere. All over the place. In french fries if they were shipped in raw, cut form to the restaurant. In wine, obvs. And Champagne. And some vermouths, but not all vermouths, complicating the shift to martinis. In dried fruit. Fruit juices. Strangely I had a huge reaction to organic, non-concentrate grape juice that makes ZERO FUCKING SENSE but there it is. Oh, shellfish, so farewell to the favorite foods such as calamari and soft-shelled crab. Awesome. Sometimes the sulfites affect me within an hour. Sometimes they hit the next day after I eat whatever my first meal is. So, yeah, motility issues as well. Coupled with my attempt at a near-keto diet, I find that I am squarely at odds with my lack of desire for most animal flesh and the fact that it’s probably all I can eat. I am the only person I know with chronic diarrhea who is gaining weight.

We went to Taos, NM for a few days and I am consumed with the sense that if I moved to a small, heavily trafficked small town in the North my life would vastly improve. I am not entirely sure how, except that Northern NM is where my soul lives even as my body sweats its nuts off in Southern NM. It has nature, and trees, and the Rio Grand Gorge, and a weirdo Earthship cult (they have bumper stickers that say “Climate Change? Bring it!” because they are pretty smarmy about their mostly glass houses), and art and also lots of adventure stuff for the husband and the boy (who returned a week ago from a 90 mile hike and has done little except eat and play Xbox since then).

I know. Midlife crisis, right? If I plan to live to 100, then I’m right on time. Although I’ve often felt that I’ve been having a midlife crisis since around 25….so……hard to tell. I’m just….bored. Dissatisfied with myself. Not sure what’s next–although I have one iron in the fire and one that I put in, then took out, then rethought and might put back in, hard to tell.

 

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A Note on Online Consignment via ThredUp

Artful Blasphemy has been shopping with ThredUp for some months, and as a buyer I’ve been very happy. Their photography is good, descriptions are accurate and shipping is fast enough. With that going swimmingly, the Artful Blasphemer looked to her max-density closet and ordered a clean out kit.

I carefully researched each item I sent against the accepted brands and for quality. I packed off a Santa-sized sack of clothing before Christmas. Once it was received, I got an email from ThredUP noting an overwhelming volume of clothing and apologizing that there would be some delay in processing. I was told to expect the bag’s contents to be dealt with by January 14, 2016. This was a tad longer than I would have anticipated, but they are a growing company, etc, and I imagine I’m not the only person who cleaned out her closet over the holiday break.

Yesterday being the day, I moseyed over to ThredUp and noted immediately a credit on my account of $57 and change. I thought that seemed rather low, but this was an experiment after all.  I clicked over and examined the items listed as being in the bag to see what all had been accepted and credited to my account.

Here’s where it goes terribly wrong: Half of the items listed as being from me were not from my bag. The double-downside is that I did not make an inventory of everything I sent, so there’s no way for me to determine what is missing, but if I know I sent in at least 20 or more items and my bag shows 18 items accepted and only half are mine, WHERE ARE THE CLOTHES I SENT?

An email has been sent to customer service, but I have little hope that they will be able to resolve the situation given that I can’t provide a list of what exactly was in the bag in the first place. I suspect asserting that there were “A LOT” of items is too vague. While I doubt I will be repeating this process anytime soon, I caution anyone considering it to fully document what you send–which, given the pretty low payout is hardly worth the time and effort unless you are sending in very high-end stuff. 

I’m quite disappointed, naturally, and may have to stop tagging ThredUp in instagram posts and the like since I hate to recommend a company that can’t manage their inventory. It’s a damn shame.