Apple Watch Out – It’s a Trap!

Let’s talk about my day. I’ve got a lot of tasks I need to get done every day, and most of them require sitting for stretches of time. Editing a half hour of audio can take up to three hours. Writing 5000 words can take all day. And then there’s writing software requirements documentation, which is its own little hell. To make things worse, if someone or something interrupts me, it takes me some time to get back into the flow of things, because switching contexts is expensive.

I already carry around a ton of guilt about what I’m doing versus what I’m not doing. If I’m sitting down writing, I’m freaking out that I’m not exercising, or doing software requirements, or editing a podcast. If I’m out exercising, I’m thinking about the work sitting waiting for me at home. And if I’m doing any of those things, I’m not doing my own writing, and I feel like a failure pretty much every second of every day for that.

And Apple Watch is right there to tell me all about it. But not just that – it also tells me when there’s someone at my front door, when my mother opens her garage door 70 miles away, when anyone texts me, when someone posts something to the work Slack account, when my Amazon package has shipped, when my Amazon package has been delivered, and, at 10 minutes to the hour every hour, that I should stand up and walk around.

It wasn’t that bad when I first got it, but the more companies plug themselves into my devices, the more everyone is constantly trying to get my attention, and it’s not like I can manufacture any more of that. It’s starting to affect my mental health. I realized that when I’m physically ill, I tend not to put my watch on because I want to be able to sleep all day without having it buzz me every hour to tell me to walk around. When I’m deep into writing, I take it off because I don’t want to have to respond to people’s texts or phone calls.

What if I just took it off and never put it back on? What happens when the nonstop notifications stop? I don’t need my watch to tell me when to exercise. I don’t need it to tell me what tasks I have to do. And if Apple Pay is that important to me, I still have it on my phone. I didn’t realize how much of my mind that thing was taking up, because it didn’t happen all at once. But the nice thing is that by just taking the stupid thing off, I get it back all at once.

Weight Loss in the Time of Coronavirus

There’s a well-understood phenomenon that comes along with bariatric surgery called “dumping syndrome.” When a person who’s undergone bariatric surgery eats too many carbs, their body can respond with vomiting, diarrhea, extreme fatigue, rapid heartbeat, flushing, sweating, light-headedness, loss of concentration, and unconsciousness. It sounds dire, but it’s not life-threatening and usually just signals that you should knock it off, for crying out loud.

But then, along comes COVID-19, and all bets are off. Stress is at an all-time high as people are told to stay home, grocery store shelves are empty, infection rates and death tolls rise, and the truth about our poorly-managed healthcare system is revealed. Being unable to leave the house while simultaneously being bombarded with terrible news is a perfect recipe for stress eating, and stress eating is very often carb-rich. Snacks, baked goods, comfort foods – they’re mostly carbs, and therefore off limits for the bariatric patient. And yet, like everyone else, I’m only human and I only have so many outlets for relieving stress when I can’t leave the house.

Couple this with the fact that it’s spring. Here, it’s been raining for days, which means a lot of mold, to which I’m allergic. And when it dries out, everything is in bloom and spewing pollen into the air, to which I’m allergic. My nose is running like a marathoner and I’m sneezing constantly, and even though these aren’t symptoms of COVID-19, I’ve gotten death stares from people at the grocery store.

Which brings me to the point where I’m sitting on the toilet in some pretty acute distress, my forehead beaded with sweat, worried that the next time I sneeze I’m going to spew from both ends in a way that will involve a whole lot of cleaning up. And because it’s March 17, 2020, my mind does not go immediately to the tamale and beans I had for dinner last night. It goes to coronavirus. And the fact that my daughter, who was staying with us for the past few days and has only just gone home, has a compromised immune system.

It took me way too long to connect my symptoms to dumping syndrome, and once I made the connection, I immediately felt better. But it’s scary that this is what life looks like right now. Every time my nose itches or I feel a little warm (so, add climate change into this mix) or I have a tickle in my throat, I worry that I’m a plague victim, and a danger to the people I love most.

Like everyone else, I don’t know how long this is going to last, or what the world will look like once it’s over, but I do know that the only way to get through this thing will be to take great care of myself and the people around me. I hope you all can do the same, and that if you’re in a tight spot, there will be people there for you.

 

What Does a Fist Know of a Hand?

It’s December. Christmas has just passed, and in a few days, it will be a new year. I started this post on December 3rd, and am only just finishing and posting it. That’s how my life has been for the past few weeks.The magazine for which I’m the editor in chief (it’s called Lunch Ticket, and we’ve got four Pushcart-nominated pieces that you should absolutely read), published on December 3rd, my first patent has been filed, and I’ve been working on the stuff I had to do for school, and three days ago, I had a whole bunch of surgery.

There have been days when I was up until three in the morning in tears, trying to do work that I was completely sure would be sent back to me, not marked with a failing grade, but packaged with a letter bomb and a note that I did not deserve to live. I am nothing if not grandiose in my neurosis. I’ve also had days where I’m in such deep denial of it all that I just play game after game of Plants vs. Zombies as though I have nothing else to do.

The upshot is that there are times when I actually get caught up on things and have some breathing  space, and the first thing that happens is that I begin to cry. For so many years, I have been so stressed every second of every day that on those few occasions when the stress lifts, I break down entirely.  How did this happen? It’s possible that I was just born this way. Being sensitive to noise, light, the emotions of other people in  way that makes daily life a challenge means that situations that are enjoyable for most people (parties, family gatherings, concerts, movies, etc.) are still enjoyable, but exhausting.

I have always wondered what it’s like to think about an upcoming social event with happy anticipation of meeting other people, of finding oneself in a crowd, of making new friends. I have always wished that I could be the sort of person who, when she relaxed, had that melty feeling where the muscles stop being tense and the mind empties itself. I’ve always been a tightly clenched fist who dreamed of being just a hand.