For a large portion of the day, I felt so grumpy that I didn't think I should be allowed around other humans. I almost typed "grumpy for no good reason", but then I thought about it, and it was more like "grumpy for a thousand good reasons, but none that I can do anything about right this second", which basically amounts to the exact same thing. I came here, all prepared to write (yet another) endless rant about lord only knows what, but sometime in the last half hour, while sitting at the table with my family eating a very late dinner, the majority of those bad feelings shrunk down to manageable, and I think I'll save the rant for another day. For tonight, I think I'll tell you how glad I am that I'm just sitting here, wandering around through the internet, while most of the people I love are accounted for.
It seems, at least to me, that my life - and the lives of the people I am closest to - has become a series of blundering our way through one emergency to another, from one crisis to the next, ricocheting from one hectic gathering to the last, often leaving very little time for essentials of life, such as breathing or eating. Every day has taken on an urgency that didn't used to be there, and at the same time, leaves me with such a useless, futile feeling: It's as if I'm running as hard as I can, and getting nowhere, not understanding that there's a treadmill beneath my feet as opposed to a street.
Moving all the time - at least mentally - and making no progress. Even the areas where I can see progress being made, it feels like so little, too little to ultimately matter. I am that prototypical lone sailor, trying to bail out my boat with a teaspoon, only some days, it seems more like a thimble. So it's a rare treat when I can stop running for a little while, put down the teaspoon/thimble, and just be.
And even a half hour of just being. Of just letting a good book take me far away, or sitting with my family at dinner listening to them bitch, or here, in the dark talking to you fine people, is invaluable. (Literally had to just google invaluable to make sure it meant what I wanted it to mean. It does: you guys are priceless, google says I say so.) Back to the bailing, would appreciate larger spoons.
Showing posts with label Wondering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wondering. Show all posts
Thursday, January 05, 2012
Tuesday, November 01, 2011
Game On.
Here it is November First, all over again. And for the first time in five years, I have given very little thought to participating in NaBloPoMo, where you agree to post at least one blog entry for every day of the month. I am seriously doubting my ability to complete the entire challenge, not because of something big and world changing, but because of a million different little things. I talked about it some in this post, already, but I'm still finding it difficult to put words to paper (or, more likely, computer screen) in a way that seems legible and laudable. I mean, I can just say random things for thirty days in a row, I'm sure, but I don't particularly want to do that: I think this blog and I are past the point of just posting to have a post up. (At least, I hope we are.)
No, I want what I say here to matter, and that's half the problem right there - it matters so much that it grows and grows in my mind until I can't write anything, because what can I say that's going to be new or different or interesting or worthwhile? And while I have tons of things I think it'd be great to write about, more often then not, they get all stopped up in my head together, and I spend an entire hour trying to untie them enough to type them out, only to wind up with a mess of nonsense that's definitely not publishable.
So I'm not making any promises on my ability to complete the month, but I am going to commit to sitting my butt down and trying to get the words to come out in a way that makes sense, for three reasons. First, I need to follow through with something - I feel like I'm letting too many bits and pieces of who I am slip through my fingers. Second, we all know that having all of this stuff log-jammed up in my brain is not doing me any good, and it'd be great to get some new perspectives on some of this stuff. And lastly, I always feel such a sense of pride and accomplishment when I complete NaBloPoMo, and I'd hate to either lose that feeling or break my streak.
I could use all the good feelings I can get, at this point. So I'm here to kick of November on the right foot, and cross my fingers that it goes as well as it can. Tomorrow we can talk about all the ways it is sucking so far, but for today, November: let's do this!
No, I want what I say here to matter, and that's half the problem right there - it matters so much that it grows and grows in my mind until I can't write anything, because what can I say that's going to be new or different or interesting or worthwhile? And while I have tons of things I think it'd be great to write about, more often then not, they get all stopped up in my head together, and I spend an entire hour trying to untie them enough to type them out, only to wind up with a mess of nonsense that's definitely not publishable.
So I'm not making any promises on my ability to complete the month, but I am going to commit to sitting my butt down and trying to get the words to come out in a way that makes sense, for three reasons. First, I need to follow through with something - I feel like I'm letting too many bits and pieces of who I am slip through my fingers. Second, we all know that having all of this stuff log-jammed up in my brain is not doing me any good, and it'd be great to get some new perspectives on some of this stuff. And lastly, I always feel such a sense of pride and accomplishment when I complete NaBloPoMo, and I'd hate to either lose that feeling or break my streak.
I could use all the good feelings I can get, at this point. So I'm here to kick of November on the right foot, and cross my fingers that it goes as well as it can. Tomorrow we can talk about all the ways it is sucking so far, but for today, November: let's do this!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
I stopped writing because ...
I stopped writing because everyone I know is having babies, and I'm not. Because all of my friends first children are in school now, and I'm not even their teacher. Because I've spent eleven years raising nephews and nieces, and there will be nobody to raise come September.
I stopped writing because everything hurts, and there's nowhere that doesn't, and there's no way to bear that, only you have to. Because it never gets better, and only gets worse. Because there's no word for how much it hurts, so nobody understands.
I stopped writing because everything smells, and there's no way to block it out. Because the smells choke me, and gag me, and the words stay plugged up in my brain, with no way to flow out.
I stopped writing because my parents are drinkers, and my sisters embrace or enable chaos, and my cousins live so close to the edge. And because no one in my family can seem to do what's right for themselves without trampling fifteen others on their way. And because being Switzerland is hard work, especially when you can't even have chocolate to balance it all out.
I stopped writing because other people were saying everything I had to say, only better. Wittier, worldlier, wiser.
I stopped writing because of another damn doctor, another damn test, another damn failure. Because for every little nudge forward, there's a giant chasm of backwards to fall into. Because there's new medicines to battle, new insurance issues to curse, new hope that I don't even want to acknowledge. Because there's another tube to lie down in, another unanswered set of questions, another nowhere to start at.
I stopped writing because the dark didn't make sense to me, and the light was too bright. Because there was nothing to share when you are both inundated and empty.
I stopped writing because I can't even depend on the people closest to me, because there's nobody who sees me 100% and nobody I trust enough. I stopped writing because I stopped depending on myself a long time ago, and I don't know if I trust myself enough to try again.
I stopped writing because everybody else started living in my brain, and there was no space left for me to try to craft things - thoughts, words, whatever. Because I forfeited the ground out of self preservation, and when I started to reclaim it, there was more than one protest.
I stopped writing because I sought out distractions, brainless, effortless, Calgon-like distractions, in any form I could find them. I'm lucky that my vices aren't extreme, or punishing, or expensive, but they could be, if I let them. And sometimes I really want to let them.
I stopped wiring because it takes energy to write, and I didn't have any to spare. Because lifting my body into my chair and out again became all that I could manage, and there was still lunch to be made, to eat, to clean up after.
I stopped writing because there were chairs to rock in, people to nurse, hellos and goodbyes to be said. Because there were things to be made, parties to plan, hugs to accept. Because there was no pause button, no matter how much I needed it.
I stopped writing because other people have bigger problems than I do - life threatening illnesses, children they don't know how they'll feed, father in laws that make passes at them - and all of my problems seemed to be both mountains and molehills. Because I felt like complaining, and, at the same time, knew that I was blessed.
I stopped writing because I couldn't find the connection - because I couldn't plug back into whatever conduit there is in my brain that lets the words come out meaning something. Because trying to write when I'm not plugged in is really just typing, and I don't need the extra practice there.
I stopped writing because things gathered up around me, in heaps and in piles, until I couldn't find anything I was looking for and I was forced to attack them back. Because I couldn't find a place to put the words until I could find both paper and a pen, and I knew they had to be at the bottom of the stack I couldn't tackle.
I stopped writing because every last thought was trapped in there, somewhere. Because my brain became a cell, and I couldn't find the key. (It was probably buried in the stack as well.)
I stopped writing because there was a frenzy, and I don't do well in frenzies. Because it's my last defense, and the universe decided I should be defenseless.
Because... honest to god, I don't know why.
And I started writing again because I couldn't not.
I stopped writing because everything hurts, and there's nowhere that doesn't, and there's no way to bear that, only you have to. Because it never gets better, and only gets worse. Because there's no word for how much it hurts, so nobody understands.
I stopped writing because everything smells, and there's no way to block it out. Because the smells choke me, and gag me, and the words stay plugged up in my brain, with no way to flow out.
I stopped writing because my parents are drinkers, and my sisters embrace or enable chaos, and my cousins live so close to the edge. And because no one in my family can seem to do what's right for themselves without trampling fifteen others on their way. And because being Switzerland is hard work, especially when you can't even have chocolate to balance it all out.
I stopped writing because other people were saying everything I had to say, only better. Wittier, worldlier, wiser.
I stopped writing because of another damn doctor, another damn test, another damn failure. Because for every little nudge forward, there's a giant chasm of backwards to fall into. Because there's new medicines to battle, new insurance issues to curse, new hope that I don't even want to acknowledge. Because there's another tube to lie down in, another unanswered set of questions, another nowhere to start at.
I stopped writing because the dark didn't make sense to me, and the light was too bright. Because there was nothing to share when you are both inundated and empty.
I stopped writing because I can't even depend on the people closest to me, because there's nobody who sees me 100% and nobody I trust enough. I stopped writing because I stopped depending on myself a long time ago, and I don't know if I trust myself enough to try again.
I stopped writing because everybody else started living in my brain, and there was no space left for me to try to craft things - thoughts, words, whatever. Because I forfeited the ground out of self preservation, and when I started to reclaim it, there was more than one protest.
I stopped writing because I sought out distractions, brainless, effortless, Calgon-like distractions, in any form I could find them. I'm lucky that my vices aren't extreme, or punishing, or expensive, but they could be, if I let them. And sometimes I really want to let them.
I stopped wiring because it takes energy to write, and I didn't have any to spare. Because lifting my body into my chair and out again became all that I could manage, and there was still lunch to be made, to eat, to clean up after.
I stopped writing because there were chairs to rock in, people to nurse, hellos and goodbyes to be said. Because there were things to be made, parties to plan, hugs to accept. Because there was no pause button, no matter how much I needed it.
I stopped writing because other people have bigger problems than I do - life threatening illnesses, children they don't know how they'll feed, father in laws that make passes at them - and all of my problems seemed to be both mountains and molehills. Because I felt like complaining, and, at the same time, knew that I was blessed.
I stopped writing because I couldn't find the connection - because I couldn't plug back into whatever conduit there is in my brain that lets the words come out meaning something. Because trying to write when I'm not plugged in is really just typing, and I don't need the extra practice there.
I stopped writing because things gathered up around me, in heaps and in piles, until I couldn't find anything I was looking for and I was forced to attack them back. Because I couldn't find a place to put the words until I could find both paper and a pen, and I knew they had to be at the bottom of the stack I couldn't tackle.
I stopped writing because every last thought was trapped in there, somewhere. Because my brain became a cell, and I couldn't find the key. (It was probably buried in the stack as well.)
I stopped writing because there was a frenzy, and I don't do well in frenzies. Because it's my last defense, and the universe decided I should be defenseless.
Because... honest to god, I don't know why.
And I started writing again because I couldn't not.
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Constant vigilance
Am imagining myself in Italy with Nathan Fillion, instead of lying here in bed, with a headache the size of that leaning tower he's probably posing next to right now. (Nathan Fillion is actually too cool to pose as if he and the tower are both tipping over, I'm sure, it was just the largest thing my poor tired brain could think of.) I actually had a pretty eventful day - wedding crafting with my mom and sisters, which went relatively well.
When it comes to my sisters - to any of my family, really - "relatively" is the operative word. Members of my family have long accused me of being "overly sensitive", and I probably am, but I feel like I am certainly not alone in that personality trait - none of us is particularly immune to the barbs and arrows that are routinely slung around here. Only, for the most part, I feel like they are all only sensitive to what's coming at them, not at what they're dishing out, while I have to be on high alert for everybody's issues. (Hello: I'm an adult child of three alcoholics: I like to try to stave off any emotional conflict before it completely & disastrously explodes - Pleased to meet you!)
But I am apparently the only one who is on hyper-vigilant putting-out-fires-before-they-flame-up duty, because it often feels like every time I tune into a conversation, I see somebody standing there, dropping another match.
It's like they can't see each other's tender spots - or when they do see them, they underestimate the impact on that person when they poke at them. When they're doing it it's "just teasing/joking/making an observation", but if it's done to them, then it's a deliberate insult.
I know people do bite their tongues, which makes me grateful that they have some internal sensors, but I don't feel like anybody else is as tuned into trouble as I have to be. Nobody else seems to see that looking to SisterJ for what comes next is probably putting more pressure on her than she needs/wants, or that continuously laughing at Mum's attempts to cut straight leaves her more embarrassed than amused. Perhaps there's more than a kernel of truth in these things, or in the fact that SisterCh would rather play with her her music list than make a decision, but when people keep poking the same spot over and over, I find myself waiting for the inevitable to occur, and for some to go just one joke too far.
And Lord only knows what happens then.
Part of my apprehension is, of course, this newly formed/found peace between SisterJ and SisterCh, which (it seems to me as a semi-outsider) is being constantly strained and tested by the multitude and magnitude of wedding STUFF TO BE DONE, and while I know it is not my responsibility to try to police their interactions, I keep finding myself doing exactly that. (And then writing super long, run-on sentences about it!) I hear myself re-interpreting something one of them just said to the other, trying to soften a verbal blow that I hope was unintentional, or have to physically stop myself from following after them when they leave a room together, worrying about what might happen once they are out of earshot. It's unreasonable, and I know it, but I haven't figured out how to stop feeling it yet.
They're actually doing a lot better than I'd have imagined, but the potential for danger and chaos is frightening to me, and I know that it's kicking my control freak tendencies into high gear, leading people to tell me how bitchy I'm being, which, when you are really only trying to help, feels pretty awesome, let me tell you. So then I try to dial it back, and wind up seeming uncaring to somebody else. Balance: I need it. (You can't control other people, I keep telling myself. But knowing it and following through on it are two different things.)
What's really evident to me now, though, is how much it hurt when they were fighting - not just them, but me too, - and how powerless I felt during that whole thing. I don't want to feel that way again, so I am trying to throw myself on all the grenades I see now, before they blow us apart again. Of course, this is a stupid strategy, because A) maybe those aren't grenades to anybody else besides me, B) constantly watching for grenades is exhausting, as is trying to diffuse them before they blow up, and C) everybody involved is an adult, and I'm never going to be able to predict or control their behavior, so it's useless even to try.
I am well aware of all those points, and it helps, some, to calm me down when we get to spend a day like to day where there were three separate bouts of laughter-induced tears, two semi-completed projects, and a whole room full of very stubborn people who each gave the day their absolute all, but I have a feeling that this relationship repairing stuff is going to take a lot longer than I want to be on guard duty for, and am going to try to work on that.
When it comes to my sisters - to any of my family, really - "relatively" is the operative word. Members of my family have long accused me of being "overly sensitive", and I probably am, but I feel like I am certainly not alone in that personality trait - none of us is particularly immune to the barbs and arrows that are routinely slung around here. Only, for the most part, I feel like they are all only sensitive to what's coming at them, not at what they're dishing out, while I have to be on high alert for everybody's issues. (Hello: I'm an adult child of three alcoholics: I like to try to stave off any emotional conflict before it completely & disastrously explodes - Pleased to meet you!)
But I am apparently the only one who is on hyper-vigilant putting-out-fires-before-they-flame-up duty, because it often feels like every time I tune into a conversation, I see somebody standing there, dropping another match.
It's like they can't see each other's tender spots - or when they do see them, they underestimate the impact on that person when they poke at them. When they're doing it it's "just teasing/joking/making an observation", but if it's done to them, then it's a deliberate insult.
I know people do bite their tongues, which makes me grateful that they have some internal sensors, but I don't feel like anybody else is as tuned into trouble as I have to be. Nobody else seems to see that looking to SisterJ for what comes next is probably putting more pressure on her than she needs/wants, or that continuously laughing at Mum's attempts to cut straight leaves her more embarrassed than amused. Perhaps there's more than a kernel of truth in these things, or in the fact that SisterCh would rather play with her her music list than make a decision, but when people keep poking the same spot over and over, I find myself waiting for the inevitable to occur, and for some to go just one joke too far.
And Lord only knows what happens then.
Part of my apprehension is, of course, this newly formed/found peace between SisterJ and SisterCh, which (it seems to me as a semi-outsider) is being constantly strained and tested by the multitude and magnitude of wedding STUFF TO BE DONE, and while I know it is not my responsibility to try to police their interactions, I keep finding myself doing exactly that. (And then writing super long, run-on sentences about it!) I hear myself re-interpreting something one of them just said to the other, trying to soften a verbal blow that I hope was unintentional, or have to physically stop myself from following after them when they leave a room together, worrying about what might happen once they are out of earshot. It's unreasonable, and I know it, but I haven't figured out how to stop feeling it yet.
They're actually doing a lot better than I'd have imagined, but the potential for danger and chaos is frightening to me, and I know that it's kicking my control freak tendencies into high gear, leading people to tell me how bitchy I'm being, which, when you are really only trying to help, feels pretty awesome, let me tell you. So then I try to dial it back, and wind up seeming uncaring to somebody else. Balance: I need it. (You can't control other people, I keep telling myself. But knowing it and following through on it are two different things.)
What's really evident to me now, though, is how much it hurt when they were fighting - not just them, but me too, - and how powerless I felt during that whole thing. I don't want to feel that way again, so I am trying to throw myself on all the grenades I see now, before they blow us apart again. Of course, this is a stupid strategy, because A) maybe those aren't grenades to anybody else besides me, B) constantly watching for grenades is exhausting, as is trying to diffuse them before they blow up, and C) everybody involved is an adult, and I'm never going to be able to predict or control their behavior, so it's useless even to try.
I am well aware of all those points, and it helps, some, to calm me down when we get to spend a day like to day where there were three separate bouts of laughter-induced tears, two semi-completed projects, and a whole room full of very stubborn people who each gave the day their absolute all, but I have a feeling that this relationship repairing stuff is going to take a lot longer than I want to be on guard duty for, and am going to try to work on that.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Ladies who lunch
Went out to lunch today with some of my girlfriends from college, and some of their kids. I had a pretty good time, but it was, as always, bittersweet. They talked about their jobs and their families, their moves and houses, and when it came around to my turn to update everybody, I just talked about all the things everybody else in my life was doing - getting married or graduating from college, moving in/out or heading to the 6th grade - as I had nothing new to report.
SSDD, Ladies. Well, Same (enhanced) Shit, Different Decade, honestly. It's frigging frustrating, for sure. But even with all of that, and the general left behind feeling that follows, I'm glad I got to go out for a bit, be around different people, people that I care about & who care about me. I got to meet new babies (4 and 1 year olds aren't exactly babies, but new to me, anyways), and talk about things that are not my family or my health, which is all I ever seem to have to talk about (as is evidenced here by recent posts, as well as lack of posts). And a friend who lives just down the road a piece volunteered to give me a ride home, so that was even better because I rarely get to go places 'on my own', and not having to wait for your mother to pick you up does help you feel slightly more adult.
Doctors always say things about getting out more, and making sure you have a social network, people you can count on, when you're living with chronic illness. And it definitely has its upsides, for sure. Tons of benefits. But I think they underestimate a) how hard it is to build that network in the first place and b) the toll it takes - not just physically, what with the energy you have to expend to be social and leave the house and all that (and holy jesus, I forget that leaving the house to see other people requires things like makeup and non-holey clothing) - but emotionally, to maintain it. It's hard to see them all moving on and going forward and to still, still feel like you're stuck. I am so sick of being stuck.
Anyways, like I said, it was mostly good. I'm trying to focus on that. Although I should have remembered to take a picture, because one of the girls is moving to Tennessee in a couple of weeks, and who knows when we'll see her next, but that didn't occur to me until about three hours ago, so what are you going to do?
Tomorrow the kids will be over, and I have no plans for what to do with them, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. We always do.
SSDD, Ladies. Well, Same (enhanced) Shit, Different Decade, honestly. It's frigging frustrating, for sure. But even with all of that, and the general left behind feeling that follows, I'm glad I got to go out for a bit, be around different people, people that I care about & who care about me. I got to meet new babies (4 and 1 year olds aren't exactly babies, but new to me, anyways), and talk about things that are not my family or my health, which is all I ever seem to have to talk about (as is evidenced here by recent posts, as well as lack of posts). And a friend who lives just down the road a piece volunteered to give me a ride home, so that was even better because I rarely get to go places 'on my own', and not having to wait for your mother to pick you up does help you feel slightly more adult.
Doctors always say things about getting out more, and making sure you have a social network, people you can count on, when you're living with chronic illness. And it definitely has its upsides, for sure. Tons of benefits. But I think they underestimate a) how hard it is to build that network in the first place and b) the toll it takes - not just physically, what with the energy you have to expend to be social and leave the house and all that (and holy jesus, I forget that leaving the house to see other people requires things like makeup and non-holey clothing) - but emotionally, to maintain it. It's hard to see them all moving on and going forward and to still, still feel like you're stuck. I am so sick of being stuck.
Anyways, like I said, it was mostly good. I'm trying to focus on that. Although I should have remembered to take a picture, because one of the girls is moving to Tennessee in a couple of weeks, and who knows when we'll see her next, but that didn't occur to me until about three hours ago, so what are you going to do?
Tomorrow the kids will be over, and I have no plans for what to do with them, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. We always do.
Monday, January 17, 2011
It’s your own sweet self with whom you must rendezvous.*
I spent a lot of time yesterday making lists. Making lists is one of my specialties; I can make a list for any occasion, discussion, event or job - and often do. Yesterday's lists wound up being twelve pages worth of flowcharts and sub-sections, due dates and color-coded keys.
The reason I started making the lists was that I was feeling completely overwhelmed: No matter what I went to do - everything from putting my clothes away to finishing up scrapbook pages had an additional twelve steps that needed to get done before I could even attempt it. Something as seemingly simple as sewing a button onto my winter coat began an unending domino effect of "find the damn needles and thread -> which are still in a box in the cellar somewhere -> I have to get down cellar to go through the boxes till I can find it, but there's snow outside and I have to go outside to get down cellar, which means I can't get downstairs -> so instead just ask someone else to look for the boxes -> but everyone else is doing their own thing already, so now I have to wait for them to have time -> now they are in the cellar, but they can't find the sewing box with the black thread, will pink work -> decide whether or not pink will work on my black wool coat -> Figure that it's not worth it, and continue to go around with an unbuttonable coat in freezing temperatures."
It was all kinds of ridiculous.
So I sat down and started making very detailed lists of all the things that need to happen, according to my full-to-the-brim brain box, relatively soon. Some of the goals were pretty simple, like Stitch the Names on the Christmas Stockings which I have been promising to do for the past three years, but forget as soon as the stockings get packed away with all the other Christmas stuff. This year, I put them in my craft pile, AND they are on my list, so they at least have a shot at getting done. Other simpler tasks include the aforementioned Button Sewing, Putting Pictures on a Camera Card for my mom's digital frame, Hanging up my 2011 Calendar (only 18 days or so late!), and finally get somebody to help me Arrange the Top Shelves of the Bookcases in the Library.
Other goals were more abstract like Have a Comfortable, Usable Bedroom and Be a Better Friend/Family Member, which includes steps like "setting a reminder to make weekly phone calls to people" (because I hate making phone calls, but don't mind it once I'm on the actual phone), and "finally respond to e-mails from three weeks ago". And still other goals are 1000 stepped behemoths that begin with things like "set aside a few hours a week" and end, forty-five arrow lengths later at An Uncluttered and Sensibly Organized Storage Area In The Cellar or Finally Stop Living Out of Boxes .
There are goals that I have to physically do (Call and Make Appointments with Lynne, Zack, and Neurologist ) and goals that rely more on me finally making decisions ( Start Taking New Prescriptions or Call and Say You Don't Want To ). There are goals that have a lot of steps missing, because I am not sure of how to fill them in, most importantly Feel Better and Have Less Pain, but even with out all the intermediate steps, I have starting points for most of these things, something to do or decide or think about that will help me make the next steps.
I didn't realize until I was about 3/4 (and 3 hours) into the process that some of these goals seemed an awful lot like what could be considered New Years Resolutions, even though that certainly was not my goal. Maybe it was the time of year that had so much busyness buzzing around in my brain, but I just needed to get some of it down on paper, get some of it in a place where I could say "Ok, I know that needs to get done, so now I can stop worrying about forgetting it, or never getting to it: It's there, and I'll get to it when I can, one step at a time." And as I was writing the list, and breaking these huge all-encompassing objectives down into their smallest pieces, it made me realize that there were things that I could actually be doing to help me achieve these things. I wouldn't say it made everything less overwhelming (because, hello: please see 12 pages of color-coded lists ), but it certainly made a lot of the stuff seem more doable.
I can't Get all of Last Year's Pictures into Photo Albums today, but I can "label and date a few packages", or "figure out where the extra albums are living". I'm not going to immediately Make Money Selling Extra Stuff , but I can constantly be "weeding out boxes into four piles: Keep Trash Donate and Sell" as I go through them.
And yes, this is not a revolutionary new system of achieving goals that I have created (because if it was, I would please to like my genius check now, thank you), but the same advice those "experts" on tv or in magazines have been giving since they became experts - Break things into managable chunks, or you won't bother doing them. It supposedly works for losing weight, for being organized, for "living the life you deserve," for whatever. I don't know how well it will work for me, in the long run, because I just made my damn lists yesterday, but I will say that it's helped me to think about where I want to wind up, and what kinds of things I can do NOW to help me get there, eventually, someday.
And if there were more blank spaces on the charts then I would have liked (for example, between "talk to Zack" and "start taking wonder drug that fixes everything"), then those are just a part of life - and especially a part of living with chronic illnesses - and I can deal with them when I get there. It's the knowing that I'm in charge of something even if it is as small as "write records request form for Specialist X", that gives me hope, and a sense of control. I might not have any choices about some of the things I have to deal with (hello: Hives; Parents who drink to excess; Living in a house with stairs), but there are still some choices that are only mine to make, and that feels - if totally overwhelming - still pretty damn good.
*Last week's Dear Sugar column
The reason I started making the lists was that I was feeling completely overwhelmed: No matter what I went to do - everything from putting my clothes away to finishing up scrapbook pages had an additional twelve steps that needed to get done before I could even attempt it. Something as seemingly simple as sewing a button onto my winter coat began an unending domino effect of "find the damn needles and thread -> which are still in a box in the cellar somewhere -> I have to get down cellar to go through the boxes till I can find it, but there's snow outside and I have to go outside to get down cellar, which means I can't get downstairs -> so instead just ask someone else to look for the boxes -> but everyone else is doing their own thing already, so now I have to wait for them to have time -> now they are in the cellar, but they can't find the sewing box with the black thread, will pink work -> decide whether or not pink will work on my black wool coat -> Figure that it's not worth it, and continue to go around with an unbuttonable coat in freezing temperatures."
It was all kinds of ridiculous.
So I sat down and started making very detailed lists of all the things that need to happen, according to my full-to-the-brim brain box, relatively soon. Some of the goals were pretty simple, like Stitch the Names on the Christmas Stockings which I have been promising to do for the past three years, but forget as soon as the stockings get packed away with all the other Christmas stuff. This year, I put them in my craft pile, AND they are on my list, so they at least have a shot at getting done. Other simpler tasks include the aforementioned Button Sewing, Putting Pictures on a Camera Card for my mom's digital frame, Hanging up my 2011 Calendar (only 18 days or so late!), and finally get somebody to help me Arrange the Top Shelves of the Bookcases in the Library.
Other goals were more abstract like Have a Comfortable, Usable Bedroom and Be a Better Friend/Family Member, which includes steps like "setting a reminder to make weekly phone calls to people" (because I hate making phone calls, but don't mind it once I'm on the actual phone), and "finally respond to e-mails from three weeks ago". And still other goals are 1000 stepped behemoths that begin with things like "set aside a few hours a week" and end, forty-five arrow lengths later at An Uncluttered and Sensibly Organized Storage Area In The Cellar or Finally Stop Living Out of Boxes .
There are goals that I have to physically do (Call and Make Appointments with Lynne, Zack, and Neurologist ) and goals that rely more on me finally making decisions ( Start Taking New Prescriptions or Call and Say You Don't Want To ). There are goals that have a lot of steps missing, because I am not sure of how to fill them in, most importantly Feel Better and Have Less Pain, but even with out all the intermediate steps, I have starting points for most of these things, something to do or decide or think about that will help me make the next steps.
I didn't realize until I was about 3/4 (and 3 hours) into the process that some of these goals seemed an awful lot like what could be considered New Years Resolutions, even though that certainly was not my goal. Maybe it was the time of year that had so much busyness buzzing around in my brain, but I just needed to get some of it down on paper, get some of it in a place where I could say "Ok, I know that needs to get done, so now I can stop worrying about forgetting it, or never getting to it: It's there, and I'll get to it when I can, one step at a time." And as I was writing the list, and breaking these huge all-encompassing objectives down into their smallest pieces, it made me realize that there were things that I could actually be doing to help me achieve these things. I wouldn't say it made everything less overwhelming (because, hello: please see 12 pages of color-coded lists ), but it certainly made a lot of the stuff seem more doable.
I can't Get all of Last Year's Pictures into Photo Albums today, but I can "label and date a few packages", or "figure out where the extra albums are living". I'm not going to immediately Make Money Selling Extra Stuff , but I can constantly be "weeding out boxes into four piles: Keep Trash Donate and Sell" as I go through them.
And yes, this is not a revolutionary new system of achieving goals that I have created (because if it was, I would please to like my genius check now, thank you), but the same advice those "experts" on tv or in magazines have been giving since they became experts - Break things into managable chunks, or you won't bother doing them. It supposedly works for losing weight, for being organized, for "living the life you deserve," for whatever. I don't know how well it will work for me, in the long run, because I just made my damn lists yesterday, but I will say that it's helped me to think about where I want to wind up, and what kinds of things I can do NOW to help me get there, eventually, someday.
And if there were more blank spaces on the charts then I would have liked (for example, between "talk to Zack" and "start taking wonder drug that fixes everything"), then those are just a part of life - and especially a part of living with chronic illnesses - and I can deal with them when I get there. It's the knowing that I'm in charge of something even if it is as small as "write records request form for Specialist X", that gives me hope, and a sense of control. I might not have any choices about some of the things I have to deal with (hello: Hives; Parents who drink to excess; Living in a house with stairs), but there are still some choices that are only mine to make, and that feels - if totally overwhelming - still pretty damn good.
*Last week's Dear Sugar column
Monday, November 29, 2010
"Thanksgiving is a time to get together, and none of you are taking it seriously! None of you!
So, as slap bet commisioner, I institute a new law: at Thanksgiving there will be no slapping!"*
I promised a picture, and a picture you shall have. Here is the mock Thanksgiving dinner Lil Girl and I made out of Playdoh last week. I know it is totally not to scale (please note how the corn kernels are bigger than the blueberry pie), but when you're working with a four year old, things like scale aren't exactly that important matters. We worked diligently on this plate, with Lil Girl rolling all of those blueberries and corn kernels by hand, and Auntie NTE "carving" the turkey into an (not too shabby if I do say so myself) approximation of a real bird.
Clockwise, you've got cranberry sauce ("the kind in the can that goes Plop!"), the previously mentioned turkey; some carrots and baked potatoes ("because we don't have white for mashed potatoes and the gray ones look yucky"); corn (that's not Green Giant, but obviously should be) and two pies - a blueberry with no top crust (we made some, but she didn't like covering up all that hard work, so it was discarded) and an apple with a top ("because I am not making a lot of more little apples").
Our real Thanksgiving feast was pretty low key this year with just 8 of us: Mom & Dad, SisterJ and BrotherInLaw K, Me, Grandmother, UJ and SisterK. For us, that's pretty small. We had a good day, and there was very. little. drama., which, for me, is about all I'm asking for at this point. There were some laughs, and stories, and lots of food (pies, pies and more pies - five pies for eight people means pie for breakfast for the next week).
But I thought you all might get a kick out of our Fauxgiving, which we served to Mum at Lil Girl's request = "Because Grammy LOVES turkey, and because she doesn't have to cook it this day." Since tomorrow's going to be our last day for leftovers (hopefully), I hope Lil Girl is still in the mood to see the real thing.
----- Off Topic - -
Yes: I think the nicknames/code names have gotten out of hand and confusing too. When I was typing that last entry, I had to check it like three times to make sure it was even making sense. I will try to think of a better system, since I still don't want to use people's real names. I guess I should just stop adding letters (and words) to the names they already have, but poor Youngest Nephew really is No Longer Youngest Nephew (poor planning NTE!), so it would be even more confusing to keep calling him that. So I will come up with something, I promise.
Also, you might want to stay tuned this week for posts on the following topics: My hives are not really hives. Harry Potter 7 was sold out when we got there, but we didn't just turn around and come home. Christmas shopping and why I think grown ups should make wishlists. (hint: because some people are hard to shop for!). What I have been doing for the past 139 *and counting* days. And finally, how I am going to make my living space livable, so help me god.
*How I Met Your Mother
I promised a picture, and a picture you shall have. Here is the mock Thanksgiving dinner Lil Girl and I made out of Playdoh last week. I know it is totally not to scale (please note how the corn kernels are bigger than the blueberry pie), but when you're working with a four year old, things like scale aren't exactly that important matters. We worked diligently on this plate, with Lil Girl rolling all of those blueberries and corn kernels by hand, and Auntie NTE "carving" the turkey into an (not too shabby if I do say so myself) approximation of a real bird.
Clockwise, you've got cranberry sauce ("the kind in the can that goes Plop!"), the previously mentioned turkey; some carrots and baked potatoes ("because we don't have white for mashed potatoes and the gray ones look yucky"); corn (that's not Green Giant, but obviously should be) and two pies - a blueberry with no top crust (we made some, but she didn't like covering up all that hard work, so it was discarded) and an apple with a top ("because I am not making a lot of more little apples").
Our real Thanksgiving feast was pretty low key this year with just 8 of us: Mom & Dad, SisterJ and BrotherInLaw K, Me, Grandmother, UJ and SisterK. For us, that's pretty small. We had a good day, and there was very. little. drama., which, for me, is about all I'm asking for at this point. There were some laughs, and stories, and lots of food (pies, pies and more pies - five pies for eight people means pie for breakfast for the next week).
But I thought you all might get a kick out of our Fauxgiving, which we served to Mum at Lil Girl's request = "Because Grammy LOVES turkey, and because she doesn't have to cook it this day." Since tomorrow's going to be our last day for leftovers (hopefully), I hope Lil Girl is still in the mood to see the real thing.
----- Off Topic - -
Yes: I think the nicknames/code names have gotten out of hand and confusing too. When I was typing that last entry, I had to check it like three times to make sure it was even making sense. I will try to think of a better system, since I still don't want to use people's real names. I guess I should just stop adding letters (and words) to the names they already have, but poor Youngest Nephew really is No Longer Youngest Nephew (poor planning NTE!), so it would be even more confusing to keep calling him that. So I will come up with something, I promise.
Also, you might want to stay tuned this week for posts on the following topics: My hives are not really hives. Harry Potter 7 was sold out when we got there, but we didn't just turn around and come home. Christmas shopping and why I think grown ups should make wishlists. (hint: because some people are hard to shop for!). What I have been doing for the past 139 *and counting* days. And finally, how I am going to make my living space livable, so help me god.
*How I Met Your Mother
Friday, November 19, 2010
"Let the world know you as you are, not as you think you should be, because sooner or later, if you are posing, you will forget the pose, and then...
... where are you?" ~Fanny Brice
Day 22: Something you wish you hadn't done in your life
I don't know if it's just a local thing, but here in the Boston area, we have a store called Filene's, which gave birth to a bargain version of the store, Filene's Basement. (Or we used to - it's since gone into bankruptcy and they closed a ton of the stores.) I think most people (around here, anyways) know it best because of their annual Running of the Brides extravaganza, where hundreds of designer gowns are sold at deep discounts for one day only, causing local brides to sleep outside and stampede into the stores. Back when I was in high school, they also had a much less advertised, one day only sale on prom gowns, where every gown was $50-90. (Which, even 10+ years ago, was pretty cheap for a prom dress around here.)
The first year I was old enough to go to a prom was sophomore year, when we had a semi-formal. My mom had been searching the newspaper for the advertisement, finally saw that it was scheduled for the next Saturday, and woke up ridiculously early to drive me and my best friend Ann-Marie the 25 or so minutes away to our nearest store. There were a few mothers and daughters sitting in cars waiting, like us, but the line wasn't horrible, and there was no stampede. We both managed to find fabulous dresses in a relatively short amount of time, and then my mom took us out for breakfast.
Junior year, I never made it to the dress-buying stage, because I got really sick right before prom, and wasn't able to go. (Although I did have a date, with a boy who turned into a real prick when I told him I couldn't go, but whatever - I stayed home with pneumonia, watching a Star Wars (pre-prequel) marathon instead, and I see on Facebook that that boy has since had some "legal" troubles.)
By the time my Senior prom rolled around, I was determined to go: I had already missed out on a lot of "normal" high school experiences because of my illness, and I really was set on going. I was partially home tutored and so was absent from most of the social aspects of school, like lunches and clubs and such, and I saw the prom as really my last shot at being a normal teenager.
I was going to go by myself, like I'd done as a sophomore, but one of my girlfriends started talking to a mutual guy friend of ours and she decided that we would go together. Since I'd literally gone to school with him since Kindergarten, and he knew I wouldn't really be able to dance or anything, we were fine to go together as friends.
When the day of the sale came, I managed to find two dresses that I loved: a black and pink Audrey Hepburn-ish number, with a high collar and a ballgown's bottom and a sweetheart necked, all black dress with a little rhinestone bling right on the front. We wound up taking them both home, even though, at nearly $100, I knew I'd have to return one of them. I tried those two dresses on, almost daily, for weeks, trying to decide. They hung on the back of my door and I would try to picture myself at the prom, wearing one or the other of them, trying to figure out which I should keep.
The all black dress was great: I felt fancy and skinny and gorgeous in it.
But the pink and black? I loved it. I loved it because it was different, because it felt elegant and classy and classic. Because it was totally unlike anything I'd ever seen before, and definitely unlike anything I'd ever worn before.
You have to keep in mind that I barely ever worn anything other than sweats or jeans to school. I didn't wear make up or have the energy to do my hair for 45 minutes like all of the rest of the girls - the little umph that I had had to last me through the two required classes I had left to take, and then I would come home and collapse in bed. I was never fancy or fashionable, and it seemed to me - even now, but especially then - that in one of the many classes I was missing, they must have been teaching all those girls how to do their hair and makeup or how to put outfits and shoes and whatever together, because I never picked up those skills. Those are things that I am - to my younger sisters' dismay - horrible at. I wore what was easy, what was comfortable, and never understood fashion or how it was supposed to relate to me.
Before I got sick, I was pretty bad at it, but at least I tried. Afterwards? I was lucky to get to school at all, and if that meant I had to go in the same shirt I'd worn the day before, well then that's what it meant. (Thankfully, at my (all girls) college, this - or, even better, pajamas - would be the norm, rather than the exception, but I didn't know that then.)
So I kept trying the dresses on, kept marvelling at the fact that I was actually, kind of/sort of ... almost beautiful when I was dressed like this. I'd stopped feeling pretty when I'd stopped being able to dance. I hated my body and the way it wouldn't do what I wanted it to do, and I hated the 10-15 extra pounds I'd put on since I stopped being able to move freely. I just... was so unhappy. But then I actually thought I looked GOOD in those dresses, I actually thought I was pretty.
- And it hurts me that I am still so negative about my body, and that I hate it for all the things it can't do instead of loving it for what it does. It's better now then it was then, but God, 16 years later, you'd think I'd have made more progress on accepting that this is the way I am! -
But I also didn't have enough confidence in the way I felt to make the bolder choice - in the end, the pink and black dress went back to the store, because I didn't feel like a good judge of what would fit in with everybody else, and I absolutely did NOT want to stick out anymore than I already did ("You know, the girl who falls down a lot? She wore the oddest dress to the prom....") and so I went with the safe dress, the safe choice. And I looked fabulous in that dress, don't get me wrong - I was skinny and beautiful and elegant, and I had a great time with my friends, even though I did eat a box and a half of caffeine pills just to stay awake, and it was a fabulous night, that I don't regret at all.
But now, sometimes, when I have to decide something that I don't really feel all that confident about, I wonder: am I choosing the black dress, or the Audrey Hepburn dress? Am I passing on my (probably only) chance to feel like an elegant icon, because it might make me different, might make me stand out? As somebody who hates standing out, it's hard to choose the pink and black, hard to pick the thing that'll get me noticed.
But it might just be worth it, too.
And that's something I wish I had done then. And I hope I'd do it differently if I had the chance again.
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Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Day 22: Something you wish you hadn't done in your life
I don't know if it's just a local thing, but here in the Boston area, we have a store called Filene's, which gave birth to a bargain version of the store, Filene's Basement. (Or we used to - it's since gone into bankruptcy and they closed a ton of the stores.) I think most people (around here, anyways) know it best because of their annual Running of the Brides extravaganza, where hundreds of designer gowns are sold at deep discounts for one day only, causing local brides to sleep outside and stampede into the stores. Back when I was in high school, they also had a much less advertised, one day only sale on prom gowns, where every gown was $50-90. (Which, even 10+ years ago, was pretty cheap for a prom dress around here.)
The first year I was old enough to go to a prom was sophomore year, when we had a semi-formal. My mom had been searching the newspaper for the advertisement, finally saw that it was scheduled for the next Saturday, and woke up ridiculously early to drive me and my best friend Ann-Marie the 25 or so minutes away to our nearest store. There were a few mothers and daughters sitting in cars waiting, like us, but the line wasn't horrible, and there was no stampede. We both managed to find fabulous dresses in a relatively short amount of time, and then my mom took us out for breakfast.
Junior year, I never made it to the dress-buying stage, because I got really sick right before prom, and wasn't able to go. (Although I did have a date, with a boy who turned into a real prick when I told him I couldn't go, but whatever - I stayed home with pneumonia, watching a Star Wars (pre-prequel) marathon instead, and I see on Facebook that that boy has since had some "legal" troubles.)
By the time my Senior prom rolled around, I was determined to go: I had already missed out on a lot of "normal" high school experiences because of my illness, and I really was set on going. I was partially home tutored and so was absent from most of the social aspects of school, like lunches and clubs and such, and I saw the prom as really my last shot at being a normal teenager.
I was going to go by myself, like I'd done as a sophomore, but one of my girlfriends started talking to a mutual guy friend of ours and she decided that we would go together. Since I'd literally gone to school with him since Kindergarten, and he knew I wouldn't really be able to dance or anything, we were fine to go together as friends.
When the day of the sale came, I managed to find two dresses that I loved: a black and pink Audrey Hepburn-ish number, with a high collar and a ballgown's bottom and a sweetheart necked, all black dress with a little rhinestone bling right on the front. We wound up taking them both home, even though, at nearly $100, I knew I'd have to return one of them. I tried those two dresses on, almost daily, for weeks, trying to decide. They hung on the back of my door and I would try to picture myself at the prom, wearing one or the other of them, trying to figure out which I should keep.
The all black dress was great: I felt fancy and skinny and gorgeous in it.
But the pink and black? I loved it. I loved it because it was different, because it felt elegant and classy and classic. Because it was totally unlike anything I'd ever seen before, and definitely unlike anything I'd ever worn before.
You have to keep in mind that I barely ever worn anything other than sweats or jeans to school. I didn't wear make up or have the energy to do my hair for 45 minutes like all of the rest of the girls - the little umph that I had had to last me through the two required classes I had left to take, and then I would come home and collapse in bed. I was never fancy or fashionable, and it seemed to me - even now, but especially then - that in one of the many classes I was missing, they must have been teaching all those girls how to do their hair and makeup or how to put outfits and shoes and whatever together, because I never picked up those skills. Those are things that I am - to my younger sisters' dismay - horrible at. I wore what was easy, what was comfortable, and never understood fashion or how it was supposed to relate to me.
Before I got sick, I was pretty bad at it, but at least I tried. Afterwards? I was lucky to get to school at all, and if that meant I had to go in the same shirt I'd worn the day before, well then that's what it meant. (Thankfully, at my (all girls) college, this - or, even better, pajamas - would be the norm, rather than the exception, but I didn't know that then.)
So I kept trying the dresses on, kept marvelling at the fact that I was actually, kind of/sort of ... almost beautiful when I was dressed like this. I'd stopped feeling pretty when I'd stopped being able to dance. I hated my body and the way it wouldn't do what I wanted it to do, and I hated the 10-15 extra pounds I'd put on since I stopped being able to move freely. I just... was so unhappy. But then I actually thought I looked GOOD in those dresses, I actually thought I was pretty.
- And it hurts me that I am still so negative about my body, and that I hate it for all the things it can't do instead of loving it for what it does. It's better now then it was then, but God, 16 years later, you'd think I'd have made more progress on accepting that this is the way I am! -
But I also didn't have enough confidence in the way I felt to make the bolder choice - in the end, the pink and black dress went back to the store, because I didn't feel like a good judge of what would fit in with everybody else, and I absolutely did NOT want to stick out anymore than I already did ("You know, the girl who falls down a lot? She wore the oddest dress to the prom....") and so I went with the safe dress, the safe choice. And I looked fabulous in that dress, don't get me wrong - I was skinny and beautiful and elegant, and I had a great time with my friends, even though I did eat a box and a half of caffeine pills just to stay awake, and it was a fabulous night, that I don't regret at all.
But now, sometimes, when I have to decide something that I don't really feel all that confident about, I wonder: am I choosing the black dress, or the Audrey Hepburn dress? Am I passing on my (probably only) chance to feel like an elegant icon, because it might make me different, might make me stand out? As somebody who hates standing out, it's hard to choose the pink and black, hard to pick the thing that'll get me noticed.
But it might just be worth it, too.
And that's something I wish I had done then. And I hope I'd do it differently if I had the chance again.
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Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Thursday, November 11, 2010
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?*
Day 11: Something people seem to compliment you the most on **
I seem to get the most compliments on my patience. People are all constantly telling me how patient I am. Which makes me think that they don't really know me at all, because I don't think I have hardly any patience at all.
Well, that's not exactly true, because I do have patience with little people. When it comes to kids, I can put up with just about anything... until I can't. But my limit is pretty high, and often, I'm the last one standing when it comes to waiting out a tantrum or listening to their latest complaint about how unfair some rule or another is. Pretty much nothing they do bothers me at first, and it takes a lot to push my buttons, because I figure "They're kids, they're just learning, or just trying to figure it out" and I can cut them a lot of slack while they work on it. (Which does not mean that I'm a pushover - I may have a lot of patience, but I'm also a stickler for rules, as any of the munchkins who've been under my care would surely tell you.)
But when it comes to grown-ups? I mostly figure they should have grown out of their tantrums - whatever form they might take - and so have a lot less patience for their poor behavior.
But I've been getting the "you have so much patience!" compliment a lot lately especially since I've been working with Grandmother and all her various therapist type people... Uncle Jack (who has very little patience... for anybody) is constantly telling me how much he appreciates that I have the patience to put up with them (and Grandmother's ... self-willed-ness) so that he doesn't have to. It doesn't really take that much though, so I think that's more a measure of his lack of patience, than my abundance of it.
But I'll take any compliments I can get, so let's all pretend that I am awesomely patient, why don't we?
*William Shakespeare, Othello
** Can we please stop ending sentences with prepositions? It's hurting my grammar-geek soul.
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Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
I seem to get the most compliments on my patience. People are all constantly telling me how patient I am. Which makes me think that they don't really know me at all, because I don't think I have hardly any patience at all.
Well, that's not exactly true, because I do have patience with little people. When it comes to kids, I can put up with just about anything... until I can't. But my limit is pretty high, and often, I'm the last one standing when it comes to waiting out a tantrum or listening to their latest complaint about how unfair some rule or another is. Pretty much nothing they do bothers me at first, and it takes a lot to push my buttons, because I figure "They're kids, they're just learning, or just trying to figure it out" and I can cut them a lot of slack while they work on it. (Which does not mean that I'm a pushover - I may have a lot of patience, but I'm also a stickler for rules, as any of the munchkins who've been under my care would surely tell you.)
But when it comes to grown-ups? I mostly figure they should have grown out of their tantrums - whatever form they might take - and so have a lot less patience for their poor behavior.
But I've been getting the "you have so much patience!" compliment a lot lately especially since I've been working with Grandmother and all her various therapist type people... Uncle Jack (who has very little patience... for anybody) is constantly telling me how much he appreciates that I have the patience to put up with them (and Grandmother's ... self-willed-ness) so that he doesn't have to. It doesn't really take that much though, so I think that's more a measure of his lack of patience, than my abundance of it.
But I'll take any compliments I can get, so let's all pretend that I am awesomely patient, why don't we?
*William Shakespeare, Othello
** Can we please stop ending sentences with prepositions? It's hurting my grammar-geek soul.
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Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Friday, November 05, 2010
"Parenthood is pain and sacrifice and...
the extinction of free time and the postponing of dreams and the scrabbling in the folds of the couch for spare change and sanity, peppered with flashes of pure joy."*
Day 05 : Something you hope to do in your life
This one is easy. Besides "get better" (however better might be defined, but preferably the words "miraculously" and "completely" should be involved), my major hope has always been to be a mom.
Seems like it shouldn't be the most outrageous hope in the world, but it is the one I'm most afraid might never come true. It's even less frightening to think I might never get better, because, at the very least, I've figured out how to get by being sick. I've never really figured out how to get over not yet being a mother.
I don't talk about it a lot here, because it's so hard to talk about, and because it's one of those topics I'm not capable of expounding on with any sense of clarity at all. It's all emotion, and it sits, like a huge lump in my throat. I'm afraid to utter even a peep about it, lest the entire lot come tumbling out in a torrent of tears and ramblings and little hiccups.
So I'll just say that that is something I hope to do in my life, and, should that hope prove impossible, I don't really know how I'll cope. (I will cope; I am just not really sure how I'll manage it.)
So negative: gah! Was I supposed to say "mountain climbing" or something? Because mountain climbing sounds like torture, and I don't know why anybody would want to do that.
Unless it's your hope, and then: more power to you!
*Kate, Sweet/Salty 9-10
Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Day 05 : Something you hope to do in your life
This one is easy. Besides "get better" (however better might be defined, but preferably the words "miraculously" and "completely" should be involved), my major hope has always been to be a mom.
Seems like it shouldn't be the most outrageous hope in the world, but it is the one I'm most afraid might never come true. It's even less frightening to think I might never get better, because, at the very least, I've figured out how to get by being sick. I've never really figured out how to get over not yet being a mother.
I don't talk about it a lot here, because it's so hard to talk about, and because it's one of those topics I'm not capable of expounding on with any sense of clarity at all. It's all emotion, and it sits, like a huge lump in my throat. I'm afraid to utter even a peep about it, lest the entire lot come tumbling out in a torrent of tears and ramblings and little hiccups.
So I'll just say that that is something I hope to do in my life, and, should that hope prove impossible, I don't really know how I'll cope. (I will cope; I am just not really sure how I'll manage it.)
So negative: gah! Was I supposed to say "mountain climbing" or something? Because mountain climbing sounds like torture, and I don't know why anybody would want to do that.
Unless it's your hope, and then: more power to you!
*Kate, Sweet/Salty 9-10
Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
"Monsters are real, ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win."*
This is my third attempt at this post - Damn: this truthiness stuff is hard!
I need to forgive myself for not growing up to be the woman I'd hoped I'd be. In so many ways.
I need to forgive myself for that one time I chickened out - for all the times I chickened out, held back, let myself be silenced; because it could have made a difference.
I need to forgive myself for forgetting important things, because it would have meant something if I'd remembered.
I need to forgive myself for not being truthful when it mattered most, because I hurt myself and some good people along the way.
I need to forgive myself for postponing things I don't want to face, because it always bites me in the ass.
I need to forgive myself for not answering the phone that night, because I couldn't have known.
I need to forgive myself for the times I only live a half-life, because I want to be more, be better, than that.
Oi, I have a feeling the next twenty seven days are going to be a tad more difficult than I had thought.
*Stephen King
Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
I need to forgive myself for not growing up to be the woman I'd hoped I'd be. In so many ways.
I need to forgive myself for that one time I chickened out - for all the times I chickened out, held back, let myself be silenced; because it could have made a difference.
I need to forgive myself for forgetting important things, because it would have meant something if I'd remembered.
I need to forgive myself for not being truthful when it mattered most, because I hurt myself and some good people along the way.
I need to forgive myself for postponing things I don't want to face, because it always bites me in the ass.
I need to forgive myself for not answering the phone that night, because I couldn't have known.
I need to forgive myself for the times I only live a half-life, because I want to be more, be better, than that.
Oi, I have a feeling the next twenty seven days are going to be a tad more difficult than I had thought.
*Stephen King
Day 01 Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Let me tell you something...
(said in my very best Fire Marshall Bill voice): I just don't know what to tell you.
My head is full of so many things it is like a buzzing, humming swirling hive of activity. There isn't any space unoccupied by some new terror or old enemy or flashing through like lightening bolts or scrolling through like a news crawl - "This just in: You are Still Hurting! And reports are coming in of even more affected areas - Devastation spreads! Stay tuned to this channel for further developments."
Basically, the inside of my head is on overload, and that makes it kind of difficult to weed out enough (logical, legible & un-loopy enough ) bits and pieces to write something. Anything. Anything at all that doesn't wind up reading like the inside of my head - a lot of words and letters that are seemingly unconnected and yet make entirely too much sense.
So that's where my head is at. My body, at present, is camping on the Pull Out Couch of Death (tm) at my grandmother's house. Again. As I was laying on it in the dark last night, I was thinking back: I didn't have a lot of sleepovers here as a child (probably because our houses were about 3 minutes apart from each other), but occasionally, when my dad was on leave from the Navy, my brother and I would stay for a night or a weekend. We must have slept on this very same pull out couch, because there's no way this thing is less than 30 years old, although the one we slept in seemed huge to me then, and this thing feels like a postage stamp now, compared to my queen sized cloud of awesome at home.
I can remember laying on this very same bed, in the almost total dark - my brother beside me, his foot twitching back and forth as it does every time he goes to sleep; the street light shining in through the cracks in the shades, just enough light to keep it from being pitch dark; an intense and eerie quiet all around that never seemed to happen at my house no matter what time it was - and being petrified of the odd shadows, the different creaks and groans of the house, the ticking of the clock.
I must have been under ten (maybe even more like 5 or 6), but the memory came back to me so clearly last night - just the feeling of absolute, frozen, "I can't go to sleep because I might never wake up" terror. I was sometimes (ok, maybe most of the time) anxious as a child, and once my brain latched on to something - even if I knew it was ridiculous, outlandish, and totally improbable - I just couldn't let it go. It would swirl around in there like a tornado, picking up bits and pieces of other worries and wishes and whatevers as it spun ever faster and grew bigger until I thought I would explode from it. (This is not that different from how I am now, come to think of it: I guess we don't grow out of as many things as we would like to believe we do.)
The fears of my ten year old self seemed laughable last night - the creaks of an old house are nothing compared to the strains of an older life.
I have been staying here for four days, as the sibling switching that occurs at my house has required a new paint job in one particular room, and I don't know how much longer I'll stay. My grandmother has been in the hospital for all of those four days, and we don't know how much longer she'll stay there, either.
On Friday night, my uncle heard a thump upstairs in her room, and he went up to check on her, and found her on the floor, tangled in her blankets. When he got to her, he realized he couldn't understand what she was saying, so he got down on the floor and took a good look at her face, and saw that the left side was drooping. I think everybody recognizes that symptom as what it turned out to be - my Grandmother had had a stroke.
As it turns out, she had what is (apparently) the best kind of stroke - a mini-stroke, a temporary stroke, a Transient Ischemic Attack. At the hospital, they were able to treat her quickly, and she has since recovered to about 85% of her normal self - her speech returned quickly, the drooping went away, she is able to breathe and swallow and sit up and stand all on her own. The only physical signs of her stroke are a large bruise - which takes up a quarter of her face - she got when she fell out of bed, and some lingering weakness and swelling in her left leg, that the doctors are pretty sure will go down on its own.
She is bored and frustrated by her lack of control at the hospital (I come by it naturally, see?), and she's tired because "the people who work here have no respect for night time hours," and she's a little bit embarrassed and scared, I think, too, which she has shown by being pissed at my uncle for making the call to the ambulance in the first place. But she's herself, and she's ready to come home, and she doesn't understand what's taking them so long to let her go.
She's alright, is what I'm saying: She's doing a lot better than the doctors said she would be doing, and excellent as far as I'm concerned. But here's the thing - my brain just can't shut it off. It's got this worry wrapped up in the tornado now, this huge "She's 93 years old" funnel cloud full of "But what if"s and "I'll stay here forever if you need me to" and "I can't handle this" and "God I hate hospitals, even if her room is better than most hotel rooms I've stayed in, why the hell does it have a fake fireplace" and "Holy shit, I really can't do this again" and a million more swirling swishing sounds and sights and memories and realities and fears.
It makes me long for the worries of ten year old me, that's for sure.
In the meantime I try to be helpful: try to answer the phone and pass out the updates to the family scattered around the country; try to convince UJ that I can make dinner for myself - and for him - and that if he needs to stay at the hospital all day, I'll be fine; try to make the doctors who come into her room speak louder because she doesn't have her hearing aids in and she needs them for a reason; try to ask questions and think of solutions (the rugs at home can all come up, if that's what we need to do/the pull out couch needs a much better mattress if she's thinking of sleeping on it long term) to all the little issues that are popping up; try to rub lotion on her back because I also come by my sensitive skin naturally, and whatever they wash the sheets in has given her a rash (even though the lotion she uses to soothe her sensitive skin leaves my sensitive skin raw, red and burning); try to do something - ANYTHING - to make myself of use, and to give me something else to focus on, a stopper to keep that tornado from spinning so fast that it carries me away with it.
My head is full of so many things it is like a buzzing, humming swirling hive of activity. There isn't any space unoccupied by some new terror or old enemy or
Basically, the inside of my head is on overload, and that makes it kind of difficult to weed out enough (logical, legible & un-loopy enough ) bits and pieces to write something. Anything. Anything at all that doesn't wind up reading like the inside of my head - a lot of words and letters that are seemingly unconnected and yet make entirely too much sense.
So that's where my head is at. My body, at present, is camping on the Pull Out Couch of Death (tm) at my grandmother's house. Again. As I was laying on it in the dark last night, I was thinking back: I didn't have a lot of sleepovers here as a child (probably because our houses were about 3 minutes apart from each other), but occasionally, when my dad was on leave from the Navy, my brother and I would stay for a night or a weekend. We must have slept on this very same pull out couch, because there's no way this thing is less than 30 years old, although the one we slept in seemed huge to me then, and this thing feels like a postage stamp now, compared to my queen sized cloud of awesome at home.
I can remember laying on this very same bed, in the almost total dark - my brother beside me, his foot twitching back and forth as it does every time he goes to sleep; the street light shining in through the cracks in the shades, just enough light to keep it from being pitch dark; an intense and eerie quiet all around that never seemed to happen at my house no matter what time it was - and being petrified of the odd shadows, the different creaks and groans of the house, the ticking of the clock.
I must have been under ten (maybe even more like 5 or 6), but the memory came back to me so clearly last night - just the feeling of absolute, frozen, "I can't go to sleep because I might never wake up" terror. I was sometimes (ok, maybe most of the time) anxious as a child, and once my brain latched on to something - even if I knew it was ridiculous, outlandish, and totally improbable - I just couldn't let it go. It would swirl around in there like a tornado, picking up bits and pieces of other worries and wishes and whatevers as it spun ever faster and grew bigger until I thought I would explode from it. (This is not that different from how I am now, come to think of it: I guess we don't grow out of as many things as we would like to believe we do.)
The fears of my ten year old self seemed laughable last night - the creaks of an old house are nothing compared to the strains of an older life.
I have been staying here for four days, as the sibling switching that occurs at my house has required a new paint job in one particular room, and I don't know how much longer I'll stay. My grandmother has been in the hospital for all of those four days, and we don't know how much longer she'll stay there, either.
On Friday night, my uncle heard a thump upstairs in her room, and he went up to check on her, and found her on the floor, tangled in her blankets. When he got to her, he realized he couldn't understand what she was saying, so he got down on the floor and took a good look at her face, and saw that the left side was drooping. I think everybody recognizes that symptom as what it turned out to be - my Grandmother had had a stroke.
As it turns out, she had what is (apparently) the best kind of stroke - a mini-stroke, a temporary stroke, a Transient Ischemic Attack. At the hospital, they were able to treat her quickly, and she has since recovered to about 85% of her normal self - her speech returned quickly, the drooping went away, she is able to breathe and swallow and sit up and stand all on her own. The only physical signs of her stroke are a large bruise - which takes up a quarter of her face - she got when she fell out of bed, and some lingering weakness and swelling in her left leg, that the doctors are pretty sure will go down on its own.
She is bored and frustrated by her lack of control at the hospital (I come by it naturally, see?), and she's tired because "the people who work here have no respect for night time hours," and she's a little bit embarrassed and scared, I think, too, which she has shown by being pissed at my uncle for making the call to the ambulance in the first place. But she's herself, and she's ready to come home, and she doesn't understand what's taking them so long to let her go.
She's alright, is what I'm saying: She's doing a lot better than the doctors said she would be doing, and excellent as far as I'm concerned. But here's the thing - my brain just can't shut it off. It's got this worry wrapped up in the tornado now, this huge "She's 93 years old" funnel cloud full of "But what if"s and "I'll stay here forever if you need me to" and "I can't handle this" and "God I hate hospitals, even if her room is better than most hotel rooms I've stayed in, why the hell does it have a fake fireplace" and "Holy shit, I really can't do this again" and a million more swirling swishing sounds and sights and memories and realities and fears.
It makes me long for the worries of ten year old me, that's for sure.
In the meantime I try to be helpful: try to answer the phone and pass out the updates to the family scattered around the country; try to convince UJ that I can make dinner for myself - and for him - and that if he needs to stay at the hospital all day, I'll be fine; try to make the doctors who come into her room speak louder because she doesn't have her hearing aids in and she needs them for a reason; try to ask questions and think of solutions (the rugs at home can all come up, if that's what we need to do/the pull out couch needs a much better mattress if she's thinking of sleeping on it long term) to all the little issues that are popping up; try to rub lotion on her back because I also come by my sensitive skin naturally, and whatever they wash the sheets in has given her a rash (even though the lotion she uses to soothe her sensitive skin leaves my sensitive skin raw, red and burning); try to do something - ANYTHING - to make myself of use, and to give me something else to focus on, a stopper to keep that tornado from spinning so fast that it carries me away with it.
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Happy Holiday I Never Heard of Before
True Story: Sometime in the early nineties, when 90210 was in its heyday, and I was in the 7th grade, my best friend and I convinced my mom to take us to a local mall where Ian Zearing and Luke Perry were going to be appearing.
To this day, I have no idea why we did this: Because it was on the radio? Because some of our friends were totally rabid Luke Perry fans? Because it seemed like this huge deal at the time? I am honestly not sure - neither she nor I were huge fans of those particular actors, (although I did have a crush on Jason Priestly in his pre-90210, Teen Angel and later Sister Kate days) even though we liked them well enough, and neither one of us remembers being particularly enthusiastic about the show as a whole. We weren't super fans or mega fans, or anything more than "I know all about Brendan and Kelly, think Brenda should get back with Dylan, and don't care about Donna and David" followers. We watched the show, but in the pre-everybody has their own TV in their room days, weren't guaranteed to even catch it every week, and it wasn't that big of a deal because everybody in school would be talking about it the next day anyways. All I can come up with was that some of our friends were going, so we wanted to go too.
So we talked my mom into getting up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning (no easy feat) to drive us the 6 minutes to get to the mall. (I was not allowed to take the bus back then. You too can roll your eyes over the injustice of it all with my 12 year old self if you'd like.) When we got there, it was packed. Shockingly, worse than any Christmas shopping day ever, overly packed. There must have been hundreds teenage/tween girls there, and they didn't even let us inside the mall.
Instead they rounded us all up on the outside concourse, behind the mall, around a little lake - which up till then I hadn't even known existed - with a path that was cut directly from the Charles River. I remember standing there shivering, although I can't recall exactly what season we were in - Cold. That's about it. Covers everything from November to April in Cambridge, so I can't narrow it down. Just that it was cold and brittle, and that teenage girls who had taken all morning to get their hair just. right. in anticipation of meeting the dreamy Luke Perry had their hopes crumpled when the wind whipped around and gave everybody the same "I've just lived through a cyclone" hairdo.
My mom had her coffee, smoked her cigarettes and muttered under her breath about how she let herself get talked into these things. My friend and I, unable to find any of the other girls who'd sworn they would be there in the midst of the huge crowd, mostly shifted from one foot to the other trying to keep warm, talking about nothing in particular and dreaming of hot chocolate and donuts when this was all through. I don't even remember being excited. Just cold. And bored. And not particularly happy about this waiting outside nonsense.
And then there was an announcement, and the lady from the mall must have said something about them coming, because there was a huge cheer. We didn't hear what she said, but the excitement in the crowd amped up a lot, and I know my friend was starting to feel it, because she started to do this tense little hop. Other girls started to pop up a little bit too, trying to see over the crowd, and for some reason, this made me feel anxious as well. Something was coming. Somebody was coming, and it was somebody famous. And that started to get a little bit exciting.
We waited like that for a few minutes, things getting louder and more intense, until finally we heard a boat's engine coming in from the river. From where we were standing, I could see the water pretty clearly - everyone had assumed they'd be in the mall, so those of us in the back actually wound up having the best few when we all had to turn around.
And now girls were screaming, and there was a lot of noise, and the boat was zooming around the little waterway (pond? maybe.) and the two actors were on the boat waving grandly. Smiling, waving, on their parts; cheering, screaming and clapping from the crowd. I have to admit, the noise was slightly overwhelming. I do not remember contributing to the noise really, but I must have: I was big on fitting in, so I can't imagine I just stood there and made a "Why the hell are we all making so much noise?" face, even if that's what I was feeling. I probably cheered and clapped, and I do remember hugging my best friend back when she was so excited that she hugged me.
And then Luke Perry took a megaphone, thanked everyone for coming and said what great fans we were. And Ian Zearing had his turn and said something very similar. And then the boat went around the little waterway again, and it zipped back out on to the river, two actors waving as they left, hundreds of girls standing there cheering.
The entire experience had lasted ten minutes, tops.
Now, I had not really even been all that excited. I had not even particularly wanted to meet the actors. But I can remember being more than a little bit pissed that all they did was zoom around the water twice, say "Thanks for coming" and then zoom off again. I know I wondered what the hell I had gotten out of bed early for. And I definitely remember being more than a little upset that they never even let us in the mall (I wanted hot chocolate!) Other girls, girls who'd brought posters or hats or t-shirts for them to sign were probably more than a little upset, and I don't really blame them: I'm pretty sure we had all been told that there would be a signing, so I can imagine more than one tweenage girl left with a broken heart. (Probably through no fault of the actors themselves, but rather some bad public relations, but still.)
So that is my one and only "I've met a celebrity" story, and it contains no actual meeting, and makes me sound like one of the Twihards who pass out at the mall when a certain sparkly vampire (or rather, the actor playing him) shows up. In reality, my brush with celebrity was cold, disappointing (no hot chocolate!), short and rather unimpressive.
But still: It did give me a story to tell on 9-02-10 Day. :)
To this day, I have no idea why we did this: Because it was on the radio? Because some of our friends were totally rabid Luke Perry fans? Because it seemed like this huge deal at the time? I am honestly not sure - neither she nor I were huge fans of those particular actors, (although I did have a crush on Jason Priestly in his pre-90210, Teen Angel and later Sister Kate days) even though we liked them well enough, and neither one of us remembers being particularly enthusiastic about the show as a whole. We weren't super fans or mega fans, or anything more than "I know all about Brendan and Kelly, think Brenda should get back with Dylan, and don't care about Donna and David" followers. We watched the show, but in the pre-everybody has their own TV in their room days, weren't guaranteed to even catch it every week, and it wasn't that big of a deal because everybody in school would be talking about it the next day anyways. All I can come up with was that some of our friends were going, so we wanted to go too.
So we talked my mom into getting up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning (no easy feat) to drive us the 6 minutes to get to the mall. (I was not allowed to take the bus back then. You too can roll your eyes over the injustice of it all with my 12 year old self if you'd like.) When we got there, it was packed. Shockingly, worse than any Christmas shopping day ever, overly packed. There must have been hundreds teenage/tween girls there, and they didn't even let us inside the mall.
Instead they rounded us all up on the outside concourse, behind the mall, around a little lake - which up till then I hadn't even known existed - with a path that was cut directly from the Charles River. I remember standing there shivering, although I can't recall exactly what season we were in - Cold. That's about it. Covers everything from November to April in Cambridge, so I can't narrow it down. Just that it was cold and brittle, and that teenage girls who had taken all morning to get their hair just. right. in anticipation of meeting the dreamy Luke Perry had their hopes crumpled when the wind whipped around and gave everybody the same "I've just lived through a cyclone" hairdo.
My mom had her coffee, smoked her cigarettes and muttered under her breath about how she let herself get talked into these things. My friend and I, unable to find any of the other girls who'd sworn they would be there in the midst of the huge crowd, mostly shifted from one foot to the other trying to keep warm, talking about nothing in particular and dreaming of hot chocolate and donuts when this was all through. I don't even remember being excited. Just cold. And bored. And not particularly happy about this waiting outside nonsense.
And then there was an announcement, and the lady from the mall must have said something about them coming, because there was a huge cheer. We didn't hear what she said, but the excitement in the crowd amped up a lot, and I know my friend was starting to feel it, because she started to do this tense little hop. Other girls started to pop up a little bit too, trying to see over the crowd, and for some reason, this made me feel anxious as well. Something was coming. Somebody was coming, and it was somebody famous. And that started to get a little bit exciting.
We waited like that for a few minutes, things getting louder and more intense, until finally we heard a boat's engine coming in from the river. From where we were standing, I could see the water pretty clearly - everyone had assumed they'd be in the mall, so those of us in the back actually wound up having the best few when we all had to turn around.
And now girls were screaming, and there was a lot of noise, and the boat was zooming around the little waterway (pond? maybe.) and the two actors were on the boat waving grandly. Smiling, waving, on their parts; cheering, screaming and clapping from the crowd. I have to admit, the noise was slightly overwhelming. I do not remember contributing to the noise really, but I must have: I was big on fitting in, so I can't imagine I just stood there and made a "Why the hell are we all making so much noise?" face, even if that's what I was feeling. I probably cheered and clapped, and I do remember hugging my best friend back when she was so excited that she hugged me.
And then Luke Perry took a megaphone, thanked everyone for coming and said what great fans we were. And Ian Zearing had his turn and said something very similar. And then the boat went around the little waterway again, and it zipped back out on to the river, two actors waving as they left, hundreds of girls standing there cheering.
The entire experience had lasted ten minutes, tops.
Now, I had not really even been all that excited. I had not even particularly wanted to meet the actors. But I can remember being more than a little bit pissed that all they did was zoom around the water twice, say "Thanks for coming" and then zoom off again. I know I wondered what the hell I had gotten out of bed early for. And I definitely remember being more than a little upset that they never even let us in the mall (I wanted hot chocolate!) Other girls, girls who'd brought posters or hats or t-shirts for them to sign were probably more than a little upset, and I don't really blame them: I'm pretty sure we had all been told that there would be a signing, so I can imagine more than one tweenage girl left with a broken heart. (Probably through no fault of the actors themselves, but rather some bad public relations, but still.)
So that is my one and only "I've met a celebrity" story, and it contains no actual meeting, and makes me sound like one of the Twihards who pass out at the mall when a certain sparkly vampire (or rather, the actor playing him) shows up. In reality, my brush with celebrity was cold, disappointing (no hot chocolate!), short and rather unimpressive.
But still: It did give me a story to tell on 9-02-10 Day. :)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Yesterday I went floating in a pool
you will think that this is no big deal, until I tell you that the last time I owned a bathing suit was 1997, when I went to Disney World with my friends after I graduated from high school. I still do not own a suit, and went floating in the pool wearing a skirt, my bra, underwear and a tank top. It did not matter, because it felt heavenly.
I never really learned how to swim: When my mom signed me up for lessons at the Y (at my insistence), I was ten years old, a slightly chubby brainiac that frequently still wore my hair in pigtails, played with School with her sisters and was completely useless without my glasses. Of course, the first thing they did was tell us to change, and to stow our personal gear - "This means glasses too!" - in the lockers. My best friend was also taking the class with me, and was kind enough to lead me out of the locker room and into the shallow end of the pool. To say that my vision without my glasses is hazy is a major understatement. I can see shapes - people sized blobs of mushed together colors, fuzzy colors with no defined edges. I could see my friend's face, if she was the one bobbing in the water next to me, but I couldn't have picked her out of the line of young bodies that floated around. We had our own secret game of Marco Polo going on, even before the lessons started.
And what an illuminating and educational lesson it was: A large man - the high school swim coach - came out of the locker room and sat in a lifeguard's chair. Then he threw a bunch of plastic rings into the pool and told us to go get them. "Dive if you want to, tiptoe over if you don't, but go down there and get them." End of lesson. I spent the entire time trying to see a darker blue blob at the bottom of the moving lighter blue blob, failing over and over again to retrieve my ring because A) it was at the bottom and I was at the top not knowing how to get to the bottom without drowning and B)the blob that I thought was a ring was in fact paint on the bottom of the pool, so I just wasted all my breath to get down there for nothing. For one hour every Friday for six weeks, my friend tried to drag me around to the location of a ring, I would claw my way down to get it, bob back up and then we'd hold on to the edge of the pool for dear life, waiting for the class to be over so we could go home. Between that and my uncle throwing me into a pond and telling me I'd pick it up once I was in the water, I figured I'd never be able to swim.
Eventually though, I put together the basics on my own - arms and legs both need to be moving, try rotating your head so you can breathe every now and then - but swimming will never be my forte.
But yesterday I waited until the sun went away and the shade covered the yard, after the kids had finished all of their major splashing and the adults had had their pool time as well. Then I slipped into the middle of my sister-in-law's pool, (to the shock of my brother in particular) laid on my back and floated. It was the most peaceful I've felt in a very long time, and I was reminded that I used to like the water (initial swimming experiences excluded). It's so quiet and calming, and honestly, my body feels so different in the water.
The weightlessness is part of it, sure: it's easier to move all the stiff and sore parts of me - they feel more connected to each other and less likely to rebel: It's almost as if I've got my dancer's body back - one that responds to the moves I want it to make automatically and with little protest. I'm still in pain, but it's just like someone turned it down a notch, and if I could've stayed in that water all day - every day - I would've.
I splashed around a little with Lil Girl (who is a fish), and floated as long as I could, but even though the pain had dimmed a bit, other issues were still making themselves known. I got a rash from either the chlorine or the sun, just one big patch of it on my thigh, who knows why (it's itchy as all get out today). And my pulse was hammering away the way it does when I try to stand up - being upright, even in water makes all the lovely blood pumping away slow down and my heart tries to speed it back up, and the ultimate conclusion to all that is that I pass out, which I really didn't want to do in the pool, so my peace was short lived. And the getting out reminded me of why it's been so long since I've been in a pool. Because all of that freedom and flowing stops as soon as I put my butt on the steps and try to scootch out... I'd rather live in the water forever than try to do that again.
Add in an unexpected breathing issue that popped up - Lil Girl kept making me go all the way under so she could show me her flips and wave and whatever. I forgot that I can't hold my breath very long anymore. (Hello: Asthma!) I had to use my inhaler twice yesterday, and today my lungs are wheezing and my chest feels like I got kicked by a mule. "Call the doctor" my mom suggested. "And say what," was my reply: "I held my breath too long and now I'm hurting?" Even I can't tell them that. It'll go away eventually, but it's another harsh reminder that everything I do has a price.
So it had it's drawbacks, but I'm not sure I wouldn't do it again. It was worth seeing Lil Girl with her goggles on and a mile wide smile. To float on my back and feel dainty and delicate and like nothing in the world could be heavy. To look up at the clouds and remember that the world is going to keep turning whether I'm participating or not. It was nice to participate, and since I have all week to recuperate, I'll deal with the consequences.
In the meantime, want to see a fish?
I never really learned how to swim: When my mom signed me up for lessons at the Y (at my insistence), I was ten years old, a slightly chubby brainiac that frequently still wore my hair in pigtails, played with School with her sisters and was completely useless without my glasses. Of course, the first thing they did was tell us to change, and to stow our personal gear - "This means glasses too!" - in the lockers. My best friend was also taking the class with me, and was kind enough to lead me out of the locker room and into the shallow end of the pool. To say that my vision without my glasses is hazy is a major understatement. I can see shapes - people sized blobs of mushed together colors, fuzzy colors with no defined edges. I could see my friend's face, if she was the one bobbing in the water next to me, but I couldn't have picked her out of the line of young bodies that floated around. We had our own secret game of Marco Polo going on, even before the lessons started.
And what an illuminating and educational lesson it was: A large man - the high school swim coach - came out of the locker room and sat in a lifeguard's chair. Then he threw a bunch of plastic rings into the pool and told us to go get them. "Dive if you want to, tiptoe over if you don't, but go down there and get them." End of lesson. I spent the entire time trying to see a darker blue blob at the bottom of the moving lighter blue blob, failing over and over again to retrieve my ring because A) it was at the bottom and I was at the top not knowing how to get to the bottom without drowning and B)the blob that I thought was a ring was in fact paint on the bottom of the pool, so I just wasted all my breath to get down there for nothing. For one hour every Friday for six weeks, my friend tried to drag me around to the location of a ring, I would claw my way down to get it, bob back up and then we'd hold on to the edge of the pool for dear life, waiting for the class to be over so we could go home. Between that and my uncle throwing me into a pond and telling me I'd pick it up once I was in the water, I figured I'd never be able to swim.
Eventually though, I put together the basics on my own - arms and legs both need to be moving, try rotating your head so you can breathe every now and then - but swimming will never be my forte.
But yesterday I waited until the sun went away and the shade covered the yard, after the kids had finished all of their major splashing and the adults had had their pool time as well. Then I slipped into the middle of my sister-in-law's pool, (to the shock of my brother in particular) laid on my back and floated. It was the most peaceful I've felt in a very long time, and I was reminded that I used to like the water (initial swimming experiences excluded). It's so quiet and calming, and honestly, my body feels so different in the water.
The weightlessness is part of it, sure: it's easier to move all the stiff and sore parts of me - they feel more connected to each other and less likely to rebel: It's almost as if I've got my dancer's body back - one that responds to the moves I want it to make automatically and with little protest. I'm still in pain, but it's just like someone turned it down a notch, and if I could've stayed in that water all day - every day - I would've.
I splashed around a little with Lil Girl (who is a fish), and floated as long as I could, but even though the pain had dimmed a bit, other issues were still making themselves known. I got a rash from either the chlorine or the sun, just one big patch of it on my thigh, who knows why (it's itchy as all get out today). And my pulse was hammering away the way it does when I try to stand up - being upright, even in water makes all the lovely blood pumping away slow down and my heart tries to speed it back up, and the ultimate conclusion to all that is that I pass out, which I really didn't want to do in the pool, so my peace was short lived. And the getting out reminded me of why it's been so long since I've been in a pool. Because all of that freedom and flowing stops as soon as I put my butt on the steps and try to scootch out... I'd rather live in the water forever than try to do that again.
Add in an unexpected breathing issue that popped up - Lil Girl kept making me go all the way under so she could show me her flips and wave and whatever. I forgot that I can't hold my breath very long anymore. (Hello: Asthma!) I had to use my inhaler twice yesterday, and today my lungs are wheezing and my chest feels like I got kicked by a mule. "Call the doctor" my mom suggested. "And say what," was my reply: "I held my breath too long and now I'm hurting?" Even I can't tell them that. It'll go away eventually, but it's another harsh reminder that everything I do has a price.
So it had it's drawbacks, but I'm not sure I wouldn't do it again. It was worth seeing Lil Girl with her goggles on and a mile wide smile. To float on my back and feel dainty and delicate and like nothing in the world could be heavy. To look up at the clouds and remember that the world is going to keep turning whether I'm participating or not. It was nice to participate, and since I have all week to recuperate, I'll deal with the consequences.
In the meantime, want to see a fish?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
What I would say, if I were brave enough
Dear Facebook Friends,
I am genuinely glad that you are expecting your (insert number here) child. You are my friend, and I'm so glad for you (especially those of you that have been TTC for quite a while). I will happily attend baby showers and baptisms, and am already shopping for a gift to take to the hospital. But I am also sickeningly jealous, because the only thing I want more than getting well is a family of my own. So if you decide to complain about a)the gender of your baby or b)the fact that you are a little more tired than you usually are, you'll have to excuse me if I don't join in on the pity party. I know you have a right to how you feel, but since right now I feel like I'd rather be you on your worst day than me on my best, I'm just going to ignore your posts for a while and come back for the big announcement.
Kind of Sorry About This, and with Lots of Love, NTE
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Dear Facebook Friends,
I am glad you get to spend your time playing games that entertain you such as Farmville, MafiaWars, Sorority House, Godfather, Wizard World, ZooPets, etc. For myself, however, I know that if I were to join you in playing any of these games, it would not go well. I have a limited amount of energy as it is, and if I get sucked into playing a highly addictive game (and I can see by the number of posts you have each day, these games are highly addictive), then I would get less than nothing accomplished. (Evidence Bejeweled Blast, and the fact that I had to uninstall it from my page, lest I get sucked in again.) So please, please stop asking me to join yourcult community: even if I liked it, it would be bad for me.
Love, NTE
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Dear people I used to know and now only sort of know because we are "friends" on Facebook,
Perhaps you are unaware of my particular life circumstances, and that is fine: I understand that we haven't been close in the 10-15 years since we've last seen each other, and so how were you to know? But if I post something about how I am feeling, or the status of my 1200th doctor's appointment of the week, or if you happen to see a picture of current-ish me (of which there should be none: although sometimes my siblings sneak them in when I am not vigilant enough) and notice that I am in a wheelchair, it is not an appropriate response for you to say things like "Damn, what happened to you?" or "Really, you're that sick? I would kill myself if that happened to me." It's called common sense, people. Rudeness is still rudeness, even if you're typing it.
Whatever, NTE
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Dear Facebook Friends who are too cutesy,
If I have to hear how your and your fiance/husband/boyfriend are head over heels, lovey dovey, to the end of the earth and back, never been in love like this before in LOVE, one more time, I might unfriend you. Just warning you. You have a right to be happy, but I have a right not to roll my eyes every time I open up my homepage, too. I am actually glad that you are in a happy and stable relationship, but if you called each other those cutesy names in real life, in public, your friends would laugh at you and walk away. So maybe you should just keep it to the private messages, and leave the "smooshy" "bestie" "Daddy" (ick) & "Snookums" (Really? Unironically?) for when you're actually seeing each other, so that I don't have to read it. Deal?
Love, NTE (See how I could say that without drawing 17 hearts in a row? You could try that too!)
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Dear Facebook addicts who tell me I don't update my status enough or think I should get a Twitter,
Honestly? Most weeks, if I updated my status daily/tweeted it would look like this:
Ow.
Ow.
Ow, plus Lil Girl is here.
Ow, am recuperating from Lil Girl.
Look, Ow & now Lil Girl is here again.
Ow, and now I have another doctor's appointment that I don't want to go to and will probably be a big waste of time.
OUCH. Doctor's appointment was a painful bust, but now I have pill number 756 to try, so we'll see if that works.
LOOK A PURPLE UNICORN.
Pill Number 756 gave me hives. And hallucinations. Am not taking it anymore.
Ow.
Actually, that's a lot more interesting than my normal week - purple unicorns are few and far between here (hives, unfortunately, are much more common). I realize that since you are working, you might have something new to talk about all the time, but for me, my life is a lot of same shit, different day. So, you should be glad that I only post things when they're actually interesting. Ow loses its meaning, after awhile.
Thanks for thinking I'm interesting, even when I'm actually not, NTE
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Dear Family Members/Friends from elementary school,
You do know I have lots of embarrassing pictures of you, right? And that I am consciously choosing not to post them? Ok, so maybe you don't want to get on my bad side, is all I'm saying.
Really.
Love, NTE
I am genuinely glad that you are expecting your (insert number here) child. You are my friend, and I'm so glad for you (especially those of you that have been TTC for quite a while). I will happily attend baby showers and baptisms, and am already shopping for a gift to take to the hospital. But I am also sickeningly jealous, because the only thing I want more than getting well is a family of my own. So if you decide to complain about a)the gender of your baby or b)the fact that you are a little more tired than you usually are, you'll have to excuse me if I don't join in on the pity party. I know you have a right to how you feel, but since right now I feel like I'd rather be you on your worst day than me on my best, I'm just going to ignore your posts for a while and come back for the big announcement.
Kind of Sorry About This, and with Lots of Love, NTE
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Facebook Friends,
I am glad you get to spend your time playing games that entertain you such as Farmville, MafiaWars, Sorority House, Godfather, Wizard World, ZooPets, etc. For myself, however, I know that if I were to join you in playing any of these games, it would not go well. I have a limited amount of energy as it is, and if I get sucked into playing a highly addictive game (and I can see by the number of posts you have each day, these games are highly addictive), then I would get less than nothing accomplished. (Evidence Bejeweled Blast, and the fact that I had to uninstall it from my page, lest I get sucked in again.) So please, please stop asking me to join your
Love, NTE
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Dear people I used to know and now only sort of know because we are "friends" on Facebook,
Perhaps you are unaware of my particular life circumstances, and that is fine: I understand that we haven't been close in the 10-15 years since we've last seen each other, and so how were you to know? But if I post something about how I am feeling, or the status of my 1200th doctor's appointment of the week, or if you happen to see a picture of current-ish me (of which there should be none: although sometimes my siblings sneak them in when I am not vigilant enough) and notice that I am in a wheelchair, it is not an appropriate response for you to say things like "Damn, what happened to you?" or "Really, you're that sick? I would kill myself if that happened to me." It's called common sense, people. Rudeness is still rudeness, even if you're typing it.
Whatever, NTE
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Facebook Friends who are too cutesy,
If I have to hear how your and your fiance/husband/boyfriend are head over heels, lovey dovey, to the end of the earth and back, never been in love like this before in LOVE, one more time, I might unfriend you. Just warning you. You have a right to be happy, but I have a right not to roll my eyes every time I open up my homepage, too. I am actually glad that you are in a happy and stable relationship, but if you called each other those cutesy names in real life, in public, your friends would laugh at you and walk away. So maybe you should just keep it to the private messages, and leave the "smooshy" "bestie" "Daddy" (ick) & "Snookums" (Really? Unironically?) for when you're actually seeing each other, so that I don't have to read it. Deal?
Love, NTE (See how I could say that without drawing 17 hearts in a row? You could try that too!)
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Dear Facebook addicts who tell me I don't update my status enough or think I should get a Twitter,
Honestly? Most weeks, if I updated my status daily/tweeted it would look like this:
Ow.
Ow.
Ow, plus Lil Girl is here.
Ow, am recuperating from Lil Girl.
Look, Ow & now Lil Girl is here again.
Ow, and now I have another doctor's appointment that I don't want to go to and will probably be a big waste of time.
OUCH. Doctor's appointment was a painful bust, but now I have pill number 756 to try, so we'll see if that works.
LOOK A PURPLE UNICORN.
Pill Number 756 gave me hives. And hallucinations. Am not taking it anymore.
Ow.
Actually, that's a lot more interesting than my normal week - purple unicorns are few and far between here (hives, unfortunately, are much more common). I realize that since you are working, you might have something new to talk about all the time, but for me, my life is a lot of same shit, different day. So, you should be glad that I only post things when they're actually interesting. Ow loses its meaning, after awhile.
Thanks for thinking I'm interesting, even when I'm actually not, NTE
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Family Members/Friends from elementary school,
You do know I have lots of embarrassing pictures of you, right? And that I am consciously choosing not to post them? Ok, so maybe you don't want to get on my bad side, is all I'm saying.
Really.
Love, NTE
Sunday, March 14, 2010
In which I ramble (again) ...
I know my posting these past few weeks has been lean - and it will probably get leaner still, should I have to have that damn surgery - but, fear not; I have not been sitting around wasting time. (Or, more accurately, I have not just been sitting around wasting time, since I did, in fact play more than my fair share of Bewjewled Blast on Facebook.)
No, I've been thinking. And plotting. And researching. Oh my heavens, with the researching.... Here are some things I have done, based on my research:
- I attempted to repair my laptop my own damn self: After reading a lot of blog posts and watching a video or two, I came up with the smart idea that the problem was the LCD inverter. So I tracked one down on E-bay, unscrewed my screen, and hooked the new inverter to the rest of the screen. Unfortunately, it was not the problem. This is unfortunate because A) that part only cost me $10 and fixing the damn computer for $10 would have been awesome, B) the part that is actually broken is most likely the LCD backlight, which is a little more expensive (ok, 10x more expensive), and that sucks, and C) not fixing the damn laptop means that I still have to steal mom's netbook. On the plus side, however - I took apart (and put back together) a computer screen solo. This is no small accomplishment for a girl who failed a Lego class.
- I have learned a little bit more about Macs, and using Photoshop with Macs (or even Windows with Mac, if necessary), and now only need to get my butt to the store to see what size will fit me best. (I have tried to have this size conversation with three people in the past week or so, and NO MATTER WHICH WAY I try to say it, it always ends up in a "That's what she said" type of comment. There is no avoiding it - if you're talking about size, TWSS will naturally appear.)
- I have found a new book series that I think (no longer) Youngest Nephew would like to read, and have started reading it myself.
- I may have found about 27 new books for me to read. And PBS-ed them. And read a few of them.
- I have found a couple of fun things for us to do this summer (hopefully).
- I have realized that I have a real issue with eating, and I'm working on it. (Awesome new-to-me resource: Did you know eating is not actually supposed to be a chore? Somewhere around the time that my meds killed my appetite, food and I started to have a very complicated relationship. I'm excited to think that can change, even though I can't afford the sessions she offers, just reading her blog has been so worthwhile for me.)
- I have scared myself out of sinus surgery. Twice. And scared myself back into it twice as well. Needless to say, I am very confused about this damn surgery, and am retroactively glad that my appendix decided to twist itself up in such a way that decision making was unnecessary: The only thing I thought that day was "Holy hell, did I just throw up blood??"
- I am trying to be kind to myself while I waffle over this decision, but I feel stupid, and inadequate, and ridiculous. No one has actually said anything mean to me about it, but I feel horribly judged - if I decide against the surgery (because it is painful, and because I don't heal well (no matter what the doctor tells me is "normal" healing), and because I petrified that this will make things worse instead of better, and because I don't know if I can handle that), I will never know if this is the thing that could have made me better. I will always wonder "what if". Maybe the people around me will wonder "what if" too, and judge me and think that I don't want to get better, because I don't want to do this one thing. If I do have the surgery (because it might actually solve a real problem, and because the doctors think it's my best bet to ward of the ever-present infections), then my face might get messed up. And - although I do not, generally, consider myself to be a particularly vain person - it is my face. And my sinuses might wind up worse than they are now, which would leave me worse than I am now. Or I might not heal right, because I never have before. And on and on and on.
- I have given myself permission to feel stupid and call and ask the doctor for another consultation, because I did not understand everything he told me that first day. That first day, it was all hypothetical and "then we do this" and "ten days later, good as new." Now, it is My Face, and My Body, and My Nose that you are going to be shoving a hammer up. Now, it's "Why should I do this? What are the real benefits?" and "How do I take my medications for 10 days if I can't swallow things?" So, yeah: I think I need more than 6 minutes of your time. And I'm sorry if that inconveniences you. (I think I am spoiled by Zach, who sat with me for 45 minutes on Friday - during a completely unrelated visit - and said things like "Don't do it if you're not ready" and "You have to realize that doctor's only know what they know - you know you." )
- I have finally posted something on my blog again - with words and thoughts and everything!
No, I've been thinking. And plotting. And researching. Oh my heavens, with the researching.... Here are some things I have done, based on my research:
- I attempted to repair my laptop my own damn self: After reading a lot of blog posts and watching a video or two, I came up with the smart idea that the problem was the LCD inverter. So I tracked one down on E-bay, unscrewed my screen, and hooked the new inverter to the rest of the screen. Unfortunately, it was not the problem. This is unfortunate because A) that part only cost me $10 and fixing the damn computer for $10 would have been awesome, B) the part that is actually broken is most likely the LCD backlight, which is a little more expensive (ok, 10x more expensive), and that sucks, and C) not fixing the damn laptop means that I still have to steal mom's netbook. On the plus side, however - I took apart (and put back together) a computer screen solo. This is no small accomplishment for a girl who failed a Lego class.
- I have learned a little bit more about Macs, and using Photoshop with Macs (or even Windows with Mac, if necessary), and now only need to get my butt to the store to see what size will fit me best. (I have tried to have this size conversation with three people in the past week or so, and NO MATTER WHICH WAY I try to say it, it always ends up in a "That's what she said" type of comment. There is no avoiding it - if you're talking about size, TWSS will naturally appear.)
- I have found a new book series that I think (no longer) Youngest Nephew would like to read, and have started reading it myself.
- I may have found about 27 new books for me to read. And PBS-ed them. And read a few of them.
- I have found a couple of fun things for us to do this summer (hopefully).
- I have realized that I have a real issue with eating, and I'm working on it. (Awesome new-to-me resource: Did you know eating is not actually supposed to be a chore? Somewhere around the time that my meds killed my appetite, food and I started to have a very complicated relationship. I'm excited to think that can change, even though I can't afford the sessions she offers, just reading her blog has been so worthwhile for me.)
- I have scared myself out of sinus surgery. Twice. And scared myself back into it twice as well. Needless to say, I am very confused about this damn surgery, and am retroactively glad that my appendix decided to twist itself up in such a way that decision making was unnecessary: The only thing I thought that day was "Holy hell, did I just throw up blood??"
- I am trying to be kind to myself while I waffle over this decision, but I feel stupid, and inadequate, and ridiculous. No one has actually said anything mean to me about it, but I feel horribly judged - if I decide against the surgery (because it is painful, and because I don't heal well (no matter what the doctor tells me is "normal" healing), and because I petrified that this will make things worse instead of better, and because I don't know if I can handle that), I will never know if this is the thing that could have made me better. I will always wonder "what if". Maybe the people around me will wonder "what if" too, and judge me and think that I don't want to get better, because I don't want to do this one thing. If I do have the surgery (because it might actually solve a real problem, and because the doctors think it's my best bet to ward of the ever-present infections), then my face might get messed up. And - although I do not, generally, consider myself to be a particularly vain person - it is my face. And my sinuses might wind up worse than they are now, which would leave me worse than I am now. Or I might not heal right, because I never have before. And on and on and on.
- I have given myself permission to feel stupid and call and ask the doctor for another consultation, because I did not understand everything he told me that first day. That first day, it was all hypothetical and "then we do this" and "ten days later, good as new." Now, it is My Face, and My Body, and My Nose that you are going to be shoving a hammer up. Now, it's "Why should I do this? What are the real benefits?" and "How do I take my medications for 10 days if I can't swallow things?" So, yeah: I think I need more than 6 minutes of your time. And I'm sorry if that inconveniences you. (I think I am spoiled by Zach, who sat with me for 45 minutes on Friday - during a completely unrelated visit - and said things like "Don't do it if you're not ready" and "You have to realize that doctor's only know what they know - you know you." )
- I have finally posted something on my blog again - with words and thoughts and everything!
Saturday, October 10, 2009
A sale at Old Navy makes me wonder what year it is... I see shirts for Star Wars, Transformers, GI Joe, Snoopy, Hulk & Spiderman (all for boys, of course, but that's a different rant). At Target the other day, searching for a pair of pants to fit Lil Girl (who seems to have a permanent plumber's crack), there were Hello Kitty and Little Miss clothes right and left.
I'm just checking: it's not really 1985 is it?
I'm just checking: it's not really 1985 is it?
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