Not Coincidence that the Chinese New Year Starts Today.

I can't say that this past weekend will be one that I will fondly look upon in the future. Other than brief window of time on Saturday night where I was at a party, pleasantly buzzed but not yet catastrophically drunk, the last 50 or so hours have been pretty awful.

It started pleasurably enough. The first workout for the TNT Spring 2009 Tri Team was 8am Saturday. Our participants looked excited (albeit a bit apprehensive, or maybe that was the cold) and that sense of excitement always makes me smile inside. Here is a group of strangers who have no idea that in three short months they will be a family of fit, disciplined triathletes. Its fun stuff. I'm smiling again just thinking about it. I officially start my own coaching duties on the pool deck bright and early Wednesday morning.

Next was the team ride. This is where everything went to shit. One word sums it up: demoralizing. It simply sucks to be working as hard as I can and still watch everyone crawl away from me within a minute of a regroup. Even with frequent "get some perspective" checks (these rides are meant to be hard, I can't really expect to keep up with the men, its my first time trying to train to road race), I was totally miserable and pissed off. I wanted to go home, sell all of my bikes and go back to being a pathetic gym rat. I had just expected so much more out of myself.

After the post-ride latte, I rode home and tried to take a disco nap. When sleep wouldn't come, I cleaned the shared space in the condo. My current roommate (a nurse what worked nights) moved back to Alaska on Friday and it was nice to bang and clank through the house with the TV blaring Top Model reruns at full volume. Made a playlist for the cocktail party and packed for the Sunday ride in the unlikely event that I would feel like an 8:30 ride after a cocktail party. At any rate, I didn't feel like riding my bike any further than I could throw it.

Turns out, I wasn't even conscious at 8:30 the next morning. Kristin's party was a blast. Correction-- it was a blast until I hit the point where I was retarded drunk and wanted more than anything to be home in my own bed. Two large manhattans plus a high level of physical and emotional exhaustion equals bad news. I fell asleep on a bedroom floor for an indeterminable period of time, then woke up and drove home in the snow. Passed out with contacts in and clothes on.

I woke up at some point to wash my face and feed the cats and then gain when my alarm went off to remind me that IT'S TIME TO RIDE. Right, ride, ha-I felt like a garbage dump. No, I felt like a bona fide superfund site. When I couldn't get back to sleep, I figured I'd at least make breakfast and switch venues to the living room couch. Then I realized that I didn't have any coffee in the house.

One of the total bitches about getting older is that not only are hangovers physically awful, they have become emotionally awful. Once I realized that I was, heaven forbid, going to have to leave the condo to get coffee, my system reacted like someone had died. And thus the downward spiral and waterworks began in earnest. I was looking at myself from outside and thinking, 'are you fucking kidding me,' but was just too tired to stop the onslaught.

Honestly, reader, I don't like the way I'm living my life a whole lot right now. I am feeling exceptionally uncomfortable in my own skin. I dread going into work and dread going home to an empty house. That leaves training. I love the cycling and the associated comraderie, but I'll admit that I've been using a manic training schedule as a means of ignoring the fact that I really do need to figure my shit out. Not tomorrow, not next month. Like RIGHT NOW.

No one can pull me out of this hole. I have to get out of it myself.

Feeling that it was best to start from the inside out, and because there was no way I was getting more than fifty paces from my couch or the nausea-reducing ginger ale in the fridge, I went to clean and organize my kitchen and assess my nutritional situation. This may seem like a small step to regaining order in one's life, until you consider that I've lived in that condo for almost four years and have never organized the kitchen. There is no sense of order to my kitchen cupboards. Various roommates and boyfriends have attempted to manage the chaos of pots, pans , coffee filters and assorted canned goods, but it all goes to hell when I am back to being left to my own devices.

Here is what I discovered yesterday afternoon. I own 9 bags of rice. Nine. If given sufficient water and power, I could live out the end of days in my condo by subsisting on rice. Rice and diced tomatoes and powdered iced tea. I am not joking about this.

Two hours later, I was finished both with the organizational project and a trip to the grocery store to purchase a few items that go well with, you guessed it, rice. And I felt a lot better about myself.

By nine last night, I was feeling almost human again. I cooked dinner (rice, anyone?), watched a movie and made a significant to-do list. Fifty percent of the items on that list are gimmes. Buy lighbulbs. Fix front fender. Schedule a haircut. Bring my own coffee to work.

The other half are things that are going to be very, very hard for me to do. Get started with the 3/4 time arrangement at the firm. Make real steps to start writing for money. Network. Lay off the sauce. Make efforts to meet new people. Ask for help when I need it.

The most daunting item of all: complete all items on this to-do list.