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Where My Mind Goes

Surely, this is normal.
It is, isn’t it?

To begin with, I am not an morning person AT. ALL. I also do not work outside the home.
And, my children are older and in school.  So, I do have the luxury that I am aware others do not, of waking up around 9:30 a.m. or so and taking my time, for better or for worse, to slowly ease into the world.  This ritual is facilitated by many, many, cups of coffee.

(Well , by that I really mean a whole pot of coffee, at the very least).

And since I’ve got the itch to make things again, I found this morning that continuing a knitting project while sipping my warm and dark cure for grogginess was what I needed to get me going.

And this is where my mind ambled…..

“What did the philosophers and writers and artists of yore do to support themselves whenever they weren’t philosophizing and writing and painting?  I’m talking about the people who became known forevermore as the “great thinkers’ and the “great artists”.  What were their “day jobs”?  I must look into this.  I’m curious.  I can’t imagine that anyone was paying them to sit around and do what they did.  I doubt that much has changed in attitudes about that sort of work over the ages.  Artists were paid, maybe, by commissions from the Church or from Royalty…but in between gigs?”

Then, because I had a news program going on my phone whilst knitting and sipping, and because they were addressing the Noble Prize and some scientists’ achievements in studying bacteria, and because they were showing pictures of bacteria and cells under a microscope…..

“I find it extremely interesting how the tiniest organisms on Earth, and the tiniest brain systems in our head, are so visually similar to the massive systems of stars and galaxies in the universe.”

Which somehow led me to remembering what my my father, never a particularly religious person, likes to say from time to time….

“God is Gravity”.

And this sparked a thought about religious beliefs…

“I always hear from religious and spiritual people that we are here on Earth to learn lessons.  That God has a greater plan and that there’s a reason for everything.
Some even say that we choose our lives before we’re even born.  Or that God does.
As if Life on Earth is some sort of amusement ride.  As if Life on Earth is a product in a gigantic universal vending machine from which we choose to sample.

And if it’s the case that humans simply have to have Faith, that we simply have to believe in an afterlife or in a higher power, does that mean that our own brains are what control our lives? I mean, that certainly seems to be the implication.

Like, if you believe in Heaven and in God then you will most definitely go there and see Him.  But if you don’t, then you truly DIE – as in, completely cease to exist anywhere anymore. No passing Stop and moving on. You chose one ride and now it’s over.

Bill Hick’s quote about Life being just a ride pops into my grey matter…

‘You are what you eat’ as the saying goes….
You are also what you believe ??

If our brains are so powerful that all we have to do is believe in something, then is it maybe the case that we are actually God?? (Wasn’t there someone famous who expressed that idea?).

Sometimes I see the proclamations about saviors in my mind’s eye as Tinkerbell saying the magic words and sprinkling around some pixie dust….

I mean, I certainly don’t feel like God.  Or a god. Trust me, things would be a whole lot different if that were the case! I know I haven’t seen any sort of magic in my life that makes everything okay….Well, with the exception of wine. Or chocolate. Or cold, wet dog noses.  Or a baby’s laugh. Or good music. Or a cat’s purring in my ear. (And I can just hear my husband whispering…”Or ME purring in your ear, right?”…ha!)
BUT none of that sort of magic makes your problems stop.  Doesn’t cure your ailment, whether it’s financial or physical. The objective world remains the same.

But I won’t say I haven’t seen or experienced things that resembled miracles….

Hmnnn…… They say ‘God is One’, ‘We are all part of God’, “Connectivity is what is important to humans’, ‘Treat others as you would have yourself treated’, ‘We are all brothers and sisters’, etc……

Try substituting “Mind” for “God” and for “Humans”….
Why is it that neurons and cells and bacteria and synapses resemble a snapshot that Hubble takes out in space?
Are we really parts of the whole? Parts of one Big Power??

Is this how prayer is supposed to work? Everyone thinking and hoping for the same thing continually or at once?
But then why is it that so many people who are sick, who do have Faith, and have devout friends and family praying for them in large numbers, nevertheless die from their disease? Why do some make it and some don’t? Why is it that a missing child for whom many people pray to be found safe and sound…isn’t??

Does this go back to the idea of the giant vending machine in the sky? That existences are truly planned out before birth, as some believe? That our experiences here are simply parts of the whole Deluxe or Prime or Individual or Wild Card Life Packages that we CHOSE???  Like, somehow YOU picked “The Wild Card Life Package” that resulted in you ending up homeless just so you could feel what it’s like and to learn something from it. Or maybe the “Deluxe Package” in which you go from rags (with all it’s struggles and pain) to riches (with everything which that implies to you.)?
I think that maybe the idea of reincarnation fits in here somewhere….”

And then I realized that I’d had enough coffee to wake me up, and that I wanted to write this down, and that I need to go out to see my dad today.

And I wondered, “Is this what other people think about as they go on with their day too? Is this a normal train of thought”?

What sort of thoughts bounce about your skull as you make your way through the day?

 

 

 

 

This Is My Problem

Something has set me off lately, which has consequently off-set me… again.
Actually, there have been lots of somethings, lots of situations and lots of things, that have happened.  I won’t get into them today.

I will say that I find myself in yet another self-reflective funk.  It’s not as terrible or as painful a funk as my past depressive episodes have been.  It’s a weird funk in which I find myself a little ..detached from? lucidly objective with?… my brain, and how it functions.  I guess I’m trying to figure out exactly how it tends to work.  (Because lots of other things, like Life, aren’t really working for me, for us, ….oh, what the hell….let’s be honest….have not been working for some time now).

I’m finding myself strangely mindful of what I’m doing, and what I’m feeling so frustrated about, while doing it. It’s like looking at a blueprint of a complicated system (which, of course, is what everyone’s brain IS) and trying to figure out where things get FUBAR.

Anyway, there’s a poem that keeps coming to mind.
It’s a poem by A. A. Milne, who was one of my absolute favorite authors when I was a child (and still is).  It isn’t a poem that I would have called a favorite back then.  I had lots of favorites which my mother would often read to me at bedtime.  No, this is a poem that was among many that were usually skipped, not for any particular reason except to save time for my mother who probably wanted desperately for me to go to sleep and didn’t feel like reading the long ones.
(I understand the reasoning now that I’ve had children of my own.  You want to give them as many poems or stories as possible so that they think you’ve read them everything there is to read and they can’t plead “just another one!”; and it’s also to give your throat a break a little more often.  Shorter ones fit the bill).

So here I present this poem that’s been rattling ’round my noggin, “The Old Sailor”, which I feel describes me quite accurately:

“There was once an old sailor my grandfather knew
Who had so many things which he wanted to do
That, whenever he thought it was time to begin,
He couldn’t because of the shape he was in.

He was shipwrecked, and lived on an island for weeks,
And he wanted a hat, and he wanted some breeks;
And he wanted some nets, or a line and some hooks
For the turtles and things which you read of in books.

And, thinking of this, he remembered a thing
Which he wanted (for water) and that was a spring;
And he thought that to talk to he’d look for and keep
(If he found it) a goat, or some chickens and sheep.

Then, because of the weather, he wanted a hut
With a door (to come in by) which opened and shut
(With a jerk, which was useful if snakes were about),
And a very strong lock to keep savages out.

He began on the fish-hooks, and when he’d begun
He decided he couldn’t because of the sun.
So he knew what he ought to begin with, and that
Was to find, or to make, a large sun-stopping hat.

He was making the hat with some leaves from a tree,
When he thought, “I’m as hot as a body can be,
And I’ve nothing to take for my terrible thirst;
So I’ll look for a spring, and I’ll look for it first.”

Then he thought as he started, “Oh, dear and oh, dear!
I’ll be lonely tomorrow with nobody here!”
So he made in his note-book a couple of notes:
“I must first find some chickens”
and “No, I mean goats.”

He had just seen a goat (which he knew by the shape)
When he thought, “But I must have a boat for escape
But a boat means a sail, which means needles and thread;
So I’d better sit down and make needles instead.”

He began on a needle, but thought as he worked,
That, if this was an island where savages lurked,
Sitting safe in his hut he’d have nothing to fear,
Whereas now they might suddenly breathe in his ear!

So, he thought of his hut…and he thought of his boat,
And his hat and his breeks, and his chickens and goat,
And the hooks (for his food) and the spring (for his thirst)…
But he never could think which he ought to do first.

And so in the end he did nothing at all,
But basked on the shingle wrapped up in a shawl.
And I think it was dreadful the way he behaved –
He did nothing but basking until he was saved!”

– From the book of poems, Now We Are Six, by A. A. Milne

 

(I wonder if this was the first time that ADHD had been written about in literature, because…..c’mon…..right?).

Yup. This is how my brain works.

I’m pretty sure that “I think it[‘s] dreadful the way [s]he behave[s]” is probably what a lot of people, and especially my mother, think about me when they come to my house and take a look at the state it’s in combined with the fact that I’m a stay-at-home mom.

I’ve always known that I’m indecisive, but I’ve never framed that judgement in the sense that I’m just interested in so many things!

Because, it’s true! When I haven’t been depressed, when I’ve been “awake and alive”, so to speak….

I’ve wanted to learn as many foreign languages as I possibly could…
I spoke German with my mother until I entered elementary school in Texas and they talked me out of continuing (much to my mother’s dismay).  I tried picking it back up in High School, but I’m not fluent as I should be.  I did study French for awhile in college, going on a study-abroad program and even took two semesters of Chinese (which I’m proud to say I earned A’s in!  But not proud to say that I’ve mostly forgotten….)

I’ve wanted to study linguistics and communication disorders.

I’ve wanted to learn how to play  piano and guitar and saxophone and cello and harmonica and drums and violin and flute….I did play clarinet in school for seven years.

I’ve wanted to be able to help the homeless, whether human or canine or feline.  The most I’ve done with that is to unquestioningly give donations of whatever change I have on me to whatever homeless person asks for it, and to taking in dogs and cats, left and right, over the years.

I’ve wanted to read.  Read and read and read!  Fiction, always, but also non-fiction on topics like History and Nature and Biography and Psychology and Politics and Social Studies and Science and Art and Religion.
Things I don’t care to read about??  Business Strategy.
Mathematics. Marketing. Technology (depending). Economy (depending). Food (depending).
Eh.  I just want to read…doesn’t really matter much what. Just LOTS. I want to know about almost everything.

I’ve wanted to write and/or to edit.  That was my plan from the age of twelve until I got into college and completely gave up that idea (Hello, Clinical Depression.  Hello, Block. Hello, Hell).  But, here I am, on a blog, which I remember feeling extremely queasy about when I first made the rash, and yes, drunken, decision to begin one.  But, this blog is just me spouting in the wind for no particular purpose.

I’ve wanted to garden.  Correction: I’ve wanted to garden well. Don’t ask to visit my backyard.  Seriously.  Ugh.

I’ve wanted to travel; which I have been able to do from time to time over the years. Mostly when I was young.  I miss it.
I love airports and terminals and train stations.  When I say I long to do it, I mean a longing that is almost physically painful.

I’ve wanted to be healthy.  I’ve wanted my family and my pets to be healthy. (Who doesn’t want that, right?)
I’ve wanted to get us all on some sort of exercise routine and to cook healthy meals.
It’s one of the most important things you can do for yourself and your loved ones.  Take care of your health.
I’m not going to comment on where we are with that.
I mentioned that Life isn’t working for us already, yes?

I’ve wanted to paint and draw and photograph and sew and crochet and knit and embroider and decoupage and design and build and bead and weave and potter and invent and craft and make jewelry and rugs and paper and books and furniture and …..I don’t need to go on, do I?  Sorry.

And recently I became obsessed with Genealogy.  I was obsessed for about two to three weeks before becoming obsessed with sewing a couch cover to protect our leather furniture from our neurotic, pissing, Doberman, before really wanting to do and finish OHSOMANYPROJECTS!!!!  And before all this I was obsessed with getting this house organized….so I could DO THINGS and FIND THINGS with which to do them!!!!
(Not the least of which involves making some income so that we can live under a roof and feed ourselves.  Oh, wait.  I wasn’t going to get into the “somethings”, right? Moving on….)

My husband has told me numerous times that my problem is that I don’t know how to prioritize.  Oh, and that I need to manage my time better.  He’s told me, rightly, that I need to just pick an important thing and do it, and then move on to the next thing. Just make ONE thing a priority and forget about the other stuff.

My mom called me “lazy” so many, many times when I was growing up. “Lazy” and “Selfish” and “Uncaring”.  Maybe she might have understood me better if she had read that poem, “The Old Sailor”.

Because, he wasn’t lazy.  He wanted to DO all these things.
And, he wasn’t really selfish; after all, he needed to survive.
And he cared very much.

He was unfocused.
EVERYTHING was important to him.
He was overwhelmed and thus, distracted.
He was pulled in too many directions.
And Time is not a friend to those who want to do so many things.

It can be very, very, very, very, very discouraging.
It’s enough to make someone want to lay down and give up.

 

 

Bats In Our Belfry….Again.

I think bats are cute.  I actually do! Just not when they are flying around in my house.
And I feel really bad when one of our dogs manages to catch one and it is lying on my living room floor, seemingly dead.  And I feel rather happy when I find out it is not dead, just stunned! But I go back to feeling bad after I manage to get it outside the house, leave it sitting on our doorstep, and then realize that they have problems launching themselves off of the ground and I see it crawling away rather dazed and lost.  I feel worse when I google how to help them and then can’t find the little creature when I go back outside.

This is the third time we’ve had a bat in our house.  Tonight was the second time in a week.  Our “Bat Man”, as we call him, is coming on Monday to seal up where it looks like they are coming in…this time.  The first time it happened it was a little funny.  Now? Not so much.  It appears our house is like swiss cheese.  We already know it’s leaky.  I mean, the financial hits just keep coming, you know? Bat-proofing was never something we thought to budget for when we bought this place.  I’m beginning to wonder if the previous owners were aware of these little tenants or not.  And now I’m going to have to call the vet in the morning to see which of our dogs is, or is not, current with their rabies vaccinations and whether or not our cats are either.  We have our suspicions about who caught the poor thing, but it’s still a line-up. And when you have a line-up, we have learned from past experiences, treatment becomes a sweeping, all-inclusive, “better safe than sorry” ordeal.

I’m going to have a hard time sleeping tonight thinking about whether that poor bat managed to find a tree to climb to launch itself off into the sky, or whether or not the dogs injured it so that it can’t fly at all anymore; all the while having the worry that it, or its relatives, will find a way back into the house sometime in the middle of the night.

I seem to have to learn things the hard way.  Always.  Like the time I had to get rabies shots because of a feral cat bite and ended up learning SO much about rabies! And like learning from the past few weeks that we really need to pay more attention to our mail. (Got another Toll Road bill this afternoon! What the hell!? Believe me, I’m not ignoring those anymore!) And when a bat first flew around in here, I learned a lot about bats.  This evening I learned that if your dogs are going bonkers barking in the living room and scratching at doors, that you really need to find out why they’re being so raucous – it could very well be that they’re chasing one. And it might need your help.

Things get battier around here every day.  Including myself.

 

 

At Least I Can Still Laugh

It’s funny that when I take other people’s advice, like “lighten up” or “gotta find the silver linings” or “laughter is the best medicine” or “gotta laugh to keep from crying” or “don’t take everything so seriously”, the reaction I get is hardly ever what I would expect.  I don’t get the pat on the back that I’d think it would illicit.

For instance, my parents told me all my life growing up that I shouldn’t let other people’s opinions drag me down.  My dad especially.  Mostly my dad, actually.  Sometimes my mother, but rarely. My dad always would irritably bark at me, “Who cares what they think?! You shouldn’t care what they think!!” any time I seemed distressed about friends or teachers or boyfriends.  It always made me feel like I was spineless and weak.  He seemed to admire the gutsiness of anyone who defied conventions.  “Too sensitive” was a phrase that was tossed at me by almost everyone I knew back then.

My parents, in those days, were never particularly religious.  I should clarify, actually.  My MOTHER didn’t seem too religious then.  My father has always declared, “A pox on all their houses!”, having grown up in a Southern Baptist, small minded community with which he was from a fairly early age extremely disenchanted, to say the least.  In these later years, the closest to religion he has gotten has been to speculate that Gravity is God. So, I wasn’t baptized as an infant.  My parents took the stand that I could decide what religion I believed in when I became an adult.

So, I grow up.  I decide to finally express my somewhat passionate opinions on all sorts of things.  I stand up for what I believe. I call out people who seem to be expressing rather close-minded ideas.  I even decide to join the Jewish tribe.

What happens then?  A whole lot of tension between us. ESPECIALLY my mom.   It’s okay, it seems, to stand up against others; it’s okay to make my own decisions – I am a grown-ass woman now, right? It’s okay to do what I think is best.  Just as long as I am not going against any of THEIR beliefs and prejudices, of course.  Isn’t that how it is with parents and children?  I guess that’s how it will always be.  I’m trying not to be too strict on this front with my own, but I know now what parenthood is like, so I cannot really blame them.  I love my parents.  In my view, they are the best parents.  As all parents should ideally be to their children.

But, I digress….sort of.

Back to “lightening up”.

When I sheepishly told the story to my husband about what was up with all those toll violations, I could tell for about a second or three, that he was on the verge of laughing along with me.  But, he pulled himself together quickly, and said with an earnest expression, “It isn’t really funny”.  (Yeah. Duh. In reality, of course it isn’t. We aren’t made of money here.  In fact, things are a bit, shall we say, dire.  I won’t get into it).

A good friend of our family, someone who is really more like actual family, flew into town to visit us and stay with my parents the same day I straightened out my tags.  I went to pick her up from the airport as a favor to my parents, since the airport was much closer to me.  This friend can be just about as absent-minded as myself and I felt safe telling her what had happened; about what a huge boo-boo I had made.  We laughed and laughed, shaking our heads every time we crossed through those toll lanes after I had regaled her with my story and told her, “Don’t worry! I’ve got tags!…”

I tend to be way too much of an open book, way too honest, maybe even way too trusting with the ones closest to me.  Shit, sometimes even with complete strangers.  So, I risked telling my mother the same story when we arrived and all of us had settled onto the couch, the both of them sipping wine, because my mom has always laughed about the woman from Tennessee – it’s one of her favorite memories.  (Like I said in my last post, you really had to be there).  She really needs good laughs lately considering how hard she’s working and the whole situation with my dad’s cancer and worries about my husband and me (not to mention the whole state of our country, but I digress again).  I knew that she would want to chastise me a bit; she might shake her head in disappointment in me – I knew!  But, I thought, at least she could get some really good giggles in there too.  It would be worth it.

I could tell she didn’t want to laugh when I got to the “punchline”, if you will.  She really, really didn’t want to.  But, she finally did.  We had a few heady minutes of uncontrollable giggling, the three of us.  Oh good, I thought, we’re actually okay here.  She can find the humor in it! Relief.

Then she suddenly stopped, fixed me with a mother’s glare, and pursing her lips, spat out, “Christiane! When are you going to get your shit together?!? Seriously!!”

Then she proceeded to lecture me on what I needed to do to fix it, even though I already had.  I let her go on about marching “into the nearest EZTag store and straightening this all out in PERSON! That’s what you need to do!! Don’t mess with online stuff!! You need to DO THIS!! It really isn’t funny!!” She may as well have shouted “Grow up!!”.  (Thinking back, she may have.  I may have tried to block that part out.  But, if she didn’t shout it, she might as well….).

Our friend and I looked at each other across the room, lowered our eyes for a second, almost able to read each other’s minds about how I really shouldn’t have told her that story, and about the humiliation of your mother chastising you at the age of 52 like you were an errant 13 year old, and how, at the same time, you had to agree with her about acting like an adult, and about how that stung you so much inside……

I was just trying to lighten up.

 

 

 

Driving While Thinking

Whenever I’m driving is when the words flow in my head and when I get the urge to write them down.  It’s frustrating. (It’s probably also a tad dangerous because I’m driving while my mind is elsewhere.  It’s not infrequently that I find myself going where I didn’t intend to go because I was lost in some thought, in some conversation in my head….)

I’ll find myself thinking, “don’t forget this!”…and you can guess what happens once I get home…
I tried once to record what I was thinking while driving.  I couldn’t stand my voice and I also felt too self-conscious.  I felt a bit too pompous to be honest, so the “flow” stopped flowing.

Or sometimes when I’m trying to do what I “should” do and am “supposed to” be doing while at home, my mind starts spilling essays out on various subjects and I think to myself, “I need to explore this.  I need to write this out”.  But when I sit down in front of the computer to begin, I suddenly feel quite tired.  I feel fatigued even before I start and I feel as if I simply don’t have the energy anymore, or the time, and my mind automatically goes to guilt about all the other things I “need” to and “should” be doing instead at that moment.  Because I know once I start writing I will be at the computer a very, very, very long time.  And that’s when the “flow” slows to a trickle.

And then I start wondering exactly why I feel this need to write?  To put out thoughts for anyone else to read? Where does it come from? I’ve always had it.  I think anyone who has ever been a bookworm probably feels it.  Anyone who has ever loved books, been magnetically drawn to written material, adored libraries, feels like it’s the most natural thing to do – to express oneself outwardly, even if no one else is listening.

But at the same time, writing can feel like the most tortuous thing in the world.  It takes so fucking LONG to get down exactly what you want to say, the point that you are chasing, the connections that you see.  It starts to seem like the biggest task to take on because of ALL THOSE THOUGHTS. Where does one even begin?

When I’m driving, words flowing along, debates being argued, opinions being expressed, stories starting and continuing, questions demanding research, conversations going on, subjects being broached, feelings finding an outlet, is like breathing; it’s almost effortless. And I don’t believe that it is something oh-so-special about me; I know that everyone else in their cars passing me by on the freeway is doing the exact same thing.  I know it’s called “thinking” and it’s not exclusive to myself.  I just don’t know that everyone driving past feels this weird need to write it out.

Anyway, put a pen or pencil in my hand, place a keyboard under my fingers, point me in a certain direction and suddenly, DAMN, this is time-consuming, concentrated, frustrating, self-esteem risking, (did I mention TIME-CONSUMING?) WORK.

And it’s not as if I am work-averse, though outwardly to some I probably seem so; it’s that the work that I would gravitate toward, that I would choose to do, isn’t what others would truly consider work if they were to see me doing it.  And I think that this is what hinders me.  Well, let’s be truthful…..it’s ME and my own thoughts and feelings and fears that hinder me.  BUT it certainly isn’t helpful that the rest of society kinda looks upon any creative or expressive endeavor as a luxury or as a somewhat worthless use of time (until they enjoy that book, or that article, or that painting, or that piece of jewelry, or that photograph, or that play, or that movie, of course…..). It certainly isn’t a JOB.   They don’t realize – or rather, they aren’t really aware – that it takes dedication, work, and time; and lots of it.

And I think that I have now digressed into different territory than simply the issue of driving while having ideas….

I can’t remember which writer said it, but I will paraphrase here:  “I don’t know what I think until I write it down”.

I guess that’s one of the main motivations of writing.  Trying to figure out what you think about this increasingly stressful, yet beautiful, world.  It might not matter to anyone else, but it is an inherently natural, and important, thing to do for yourself.   And, yes….it is WORK.

Geez

Just ran across something that I wrote on September 13, 2016.  It’s a diary of almost every thought that went through my head on that date.   I think I was trying to get a grasp of how my mind functioned in a typical day.

“Need to get new iron.  Need to get gas.  Need to pick up film.  Need to clean out the fridge and go to the grocery store.  But first need to make inventory and check online for coupons.  Need to scrape paint off everything!  (The previous owners of our house did a LOUSY job of painting! Every surface seems to be peeling!)  Eeyore (one of our dogs) needs Heart worm treatment.  We all need eye doctor appointments.  Need to make arrangements for Z’s birthday!  And then call Mom back!  Need to start making weekly & monthly goals to focus on priorities like making money! With studio, blog, etc.!!  Need to get it up and running!! Especially before holidays! Need to look up how to clean garden tools, how to tell if dry beans have gone bad, if bleach is really necessary to kill germs in laundry – especially when it’s being washed in hot water.

What happens to your body when you go without showering for more than two days ?(remembering article I saw and meant to read).  Need to read those books on how the computer works.  I’m too tech illiterate.  Hating how stupid it makes me feel and how it handicaps me in so many ways.  Really need to take dogs for walks!!

Need to get moving.  What should I clean first before plumber gets here? Floors, guest bath where he’ll be working.  What do I do with dogs while he’s here? Really need to train them to behave better!  Need to weed front garden.  Need to edge lawn.  J. needs to show me how that damn weed eater works!!  Seems we can never get one that works properly, doesn’t break!  Need to mop!! Clean bathrooms!! Clean dining table and get all those papers under control!  Really need to establish some sort of routine!!

Mr. Robot.

Stop writing and get moving!  NO COMPUTER!!  Have to leave at 3 to pick up boys from school.  Need to get back into gym.  Need to get blood work done before I meet with Dr. G. again.  Should I quit drinking so much coffee??

Fish Oil tablets – need to get some.  Need to get back into gym.  Need to make more coffee. Shit!! Stop! Move it!! Wasting time!!

Wonder when I’ll hear back from that person who contacted me about genealogy?  Stop! Go!  Clean up before he (the plumber) gets here! Or you’ll be standing here writing ALL DAY!! (which is why it’s hard for me to blog because I’m always afraid I’ll be in front of the computer all day.  Need I remind myself I already tend to do that with Facebook and Lumosity.  No wonder I’m such a mess…)  Not like I don’t have a million things that need doing!!

Plumber’s gonna get here and I’ll be embarrassed about the house.  Random anxious thought: “What if he attacks me because I’m alone?!?”  Hello – we have 5 (count ’em, FIVE!!) dogs!!  Get a grip!  You’ve watched too much TV in your lifetime.  Too many bad and scary stories.  STOP.

When am I gonna get around to organizing Mom and Dad’s photos like I said – promised! – I would.  I can tell Mom feels resigned that it won’t be for awhile.  Doesn’t believe me when I say I will. Sad that I can’t blame her.  When am I gonna organize our own??  The stuff on the computer needs help too!  Thousands of pics!! Society…. All these pictures now in digital memory… Can’t even fathom the numbers…

Maybe I should just walk around with voice memo turned on so I don’t lose an idea?? or just to see where my mind goes??…

What if it was a mistake to submit a sample to the genetic testing site?? Or answer their research questions?  What if there’s repercussions in the future?  Thinking of sci-fi stories/movies… Might make an interesting story or post.  Gotta think more about this later.  I’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING AROUND HERE!!

Not gonna answer the landline. Always some damn telemarketer.  How much longer does Greta (one of our cats) have?? 😦

Eeyore needs Heartworm treatment.

Go vacuum, dammit!

Is this thought pattern typical of most people? Is it normal? Mind goes from big topics to truly little mundane ones….Dusting to Death to Politics to Groceries to….. ALL DAY LONG.

Been wondering why I’m pretty much in the same place I was 15 years ago…Minus boobs and ovaries!

Oh, yeah, there’s THAT.

Which makes me go on another tangent! Back to THIS one!: Brother-in-law said, “You’ll be in the same place 5 years from now”.  Arrogant asshole he was then. Better now because he’s pretty much happier now.  But dammit, 15 years later and STILL facing same issues!!

Except I know now that I most definitely don’t want to die.  Or feel like dying.  I want to live!

But IS THIS LIVING????

Back to the same questions I’ve had most my life.  So I need to figure out what’s been keeping me back.  ADD diagnosis explains a LOT from back when….

SHIT – writing again when I need to CLEAN…which is part of my 15 year block!!

Why, WHY, can’t males put things in trash cans?? Really?? Band-aid strip covers all over guest bath floor – thanks to my son.

My son.  What am I going to do to help my son???

Really want to replace the crusty old fixtures in the guest bath.  Shit.  Really want to completely update and fix all the bathrooms but we’re in debt!!

And WTH are we doing planning for ANY kind of vacation for next summer??  We are essentially BROKE.  Seriously.  When you are in debt, you are POOR!! YOU HAVE NO MONEY!!

Should I get Greta more intravenous fluids?? At this point will it really make a difference for her?  I feel bad looking at her.  Poor girl.  But she’s lived a long time. Love that cat. Should have continued fluids? She hates getting poked with that needle…

Looking at sagging-in-the-middle, beaten up, outdated kitchen…So many things need to be fixed in this house.  Doors.  Floors down to concrete now. Thanks to herd of dogs and cats.  Paint peeling on all the cabinets too easily – way too easily! Mad at previous owners now.

Wow.  I actually can get a lot of stuff done when I get moving!  I remember one blogger who said “motivation follows movement” was her motto when she felt especially stuck. Yes.  Nike’s “Just Do It”, Shia LeBoeuf’s “Just Do It!”   Clichéd or whatever, there may actually be some science behind it.  Once I started physically moving around , I somehow managed to take care of several things around the house.  My brain quit running around all over the place and just thought about the task at hand.  I’ve always been able to tolerate repetitive tasks; like, sorting, creating or finding patterns, knitting, doing one component of a project over and over, pulling weeds… It seems like it calms my mind down somehow.  I really need to get back into that whole “mindfulness” thing that Dr. C. introduced me to.   I wish I could teach it to the rest of my family.  Would help if I practiced it more first, right?

But, once I sit for a moment, like now, I look around and run into wondering if it only FEELS like I got a lot done?? Was it really a lot for the amount of time it took?? 11:30 to 12:48 – what did I do?? Cleaned computers and dining and kitchen tables, vacuumed kitchen and laundry room, washed and dried 2 wine glasses, scooped cat litter, mopped kitchen and laundry room, wiped down washing machine and dryer – something had been spilled or splashed on the doors.  Wait – I did do stuff before plumber got here – so 10:00 until 11:30 cleaned guest bathroom, washed 2 loads of cat beds, vacuumed living room, loaded dishwasher, took out recycling, took stuff to studio that belonged out there.  Is that really “a lot”??

And now, of course, I feel like kicking back because things look “better” and look…The plumber has left! Woohoo!! New shiny clean toilet!!! Still have 2 more to replace. Sigh.

On a roll.  Need to keep going.

Need to look up if Borax powder is harmful to plants.  Also, if one can mix Borax with Vinegar?  Lots of plant pots and need to clean out so I can finally plant in them.  Too many plants on patio that are suffering right now.  Really need to walk dogs.  But it’s so damn hot outside!!  Can’t believe that so many people still don’t believe that our planet is in serious trouble!! What is it going to be like for my grandchildren?  I sometimes think that I should just tell my kids NOT to have kids in the future because I envision even worse misery.  In which case, I probably don’t need to save any of their baby stuff.  Phooey.

Need to redo flower bed in back.  Get cinder blocks instead and move those moss rocks to the front.

Can’t I call it a day and go do something more interesting??  Or am I using all this as an excuse to avoid doing  the things that I keep  saying I really want to do? ( Why would I do that?)  Or do I just not really want to do them?  I’m confused now!  Shit!  Need to get gas before 3 p.m.!

Fuck going to the grocery store.  I’m so tired of running errands.  I just really want a day or two in which I don’t have to go anywhere, get interrupted, see anyone….

But what will  I make for dinner?
I’m tired.
Looks like it might rain.
Sisyphus.
Always Sisyphus.
Can’t think that way again….
Paralyzes me.
Have I become the classic bored housewife??

Lots of people tell me I should get work now that the kids are older.  But there’s lots of reasons that I don’t really want to do that:  1) I actually DON’T enjoy working with or servicing others (unless it’s actually work that provides something immediately to someone in a really dire situation – like the homeless, the poor, the abused, the disadvantaged…)  I probably should have gone into social work all those years ago in college.  What stopped me?  Oh, yeah.  Depression.  Low self-esteem.  Feeling worthless and stupid. Not feeling qualified at all.

Makes me think about my meltdown  yesterday and thoughts about how I’m still feeling “un-credentialed”….at 50!!  For instance, Mom and old issues with her.  Too much in my head again.  Have always been.  As far back as I can remember.  No wonder I don’t get stuff done.  It’s so crowded in here it’s hard as hell to find my way out!!

It’s like there’s all these folders in my head and you open one and there are more sub-folders and these have their own….I can only imagine that everyone’s mind works this way?  And what’s with this compulsion to spit my thoughts out everywhere? I’ve always felt it.

Man, I’d really like to make a painting of these clouds.

Crap! I have thoughts even as I write these thoughts!

Muddled mind.  Crammed mind.  Has always bugged me, annoyed me.  At some point, it always gets to overload and a grey steel wall slams closed down.

Tell me – do we all jump from thought to thought like this?

Jumping spiders.

Just stopped to fill tank up with gas on way to get boys and I was approached by little middle-eastern ? man with head closely shaved, wearing blue jacket, earphones hanging from sides of his head, shorts, clean white socks, tennis shoes, holding a bottle out towards me.  At first didn’t hear him say “for you” like a sommelier presenting a bottle of wine.  “Excuse me?”  He says it again.  Very seriously.  Find myself blurting “I don’t want it”, then “Thank you though!”.  Weird that he didn’t offer it to the white haired lady who got off the bus.  Wonder what’s going on in his mind?  Further on, wondering what that yellow police pylon was doing in the middle of the road between lanes on neighborhood street?  Shouldn’t text OR write while driving!  Behind a student driver – Z is going to be driving soon too!

Mr. Robot – talks to “You” – Just realized I’ve always done that too.  Love this song – The Church “Under the Milky Way”.  Do we all talk to “You”? Do we all have a “You” in our heads?  Am I going to get there on time?  Who am I talking to, writing all this down, scribbling away? Am I only one who analyzes their thoughts once they start paying close attention to them? Can’t be.  Is this “navel gazing”? Yeah. Pretty much. More like “noggin gazing” though.  Stupid.

Don’t think I’ve ever heard this Ramones song: “Howling at the Moon”.  People called them Punk, but they only looked that way to me.  They sounded  – I’m going to be vilified here – more like 50’s doo-wop reworked.  C’mon! “Sha-la-la-la-la”?!  “Oh baby! Oh baby!” ?

Yay! “Burning Down the House” now! Much better.  But flashes me back to basement store of my UWMadison dorm building. Room mate and I in the aisles dancing around underneath neon cigarette signs.  Heads bobbing.

Thoroughly enjoy talking politics with kids. They are far more civilized about it than adults.

Ahh. So nice to walk back into a clean tidy home – too bad that it’s only part of the house. Facing the dreaded bathrooms – UGH.

Weird. Since coming home my mind has been so much quieter.  Granted, I vegged out a bit playing Lumosity games.  The other hour was spent focusing solely on searching places to consider for Z’s birthday brunch.  Got hungry.  Went to kitchen and pulled my salad out of the fridge and thought of nothing else but eating it.  And calling my mom back since she left me a text.  And really nothing else.  Like all the workers went home for the day and closed up shop.  Just doing what I’m doing in the moment.  Eating.  Looking out the window.  Hearing Louis C.K. on J’s iPad and son playing a video game on the TV.  Watching the sun set and birds fly across the sky.

Still need to clean bathrooms.  Feeling strong urge for a glass of wine.  Fighting it because I think part of the reason I was crying at the drop of a pin was because I was approaching the limit of wine intake and it was messing with my meds.

Fed dogs. Fed cats. Got J. to help me with the computer. Now getting caught up with scanning old family photos onto computer.  (Did this and Ancestry.com tree until 3 a.m. with breaks for scooping litter and doing dishes).”

Whew.
Geez.
Making yourself write down every thought throughout the day actually seems to slow your thoughts down.  Sort of.
Damn.
Some practice “stream of consciousness” writing.  I mean, I suppose that’s what this was….I can’t fathom sitting down and doing it as a regular practice though because it seems like it would be too hard to keep up pace! Just writing and writing and writing…… scurrying and scurrying to catch every thought.  And when I’m faced with doing something as an “assignment”, like this, with the overwhelming task of capturing EVERY thought in writing, my mind can often just go deer-in-the-headlights blank.
Weird.

Probably why I’m not a writer.
Like I’d wanted to be every since I was twelve.
Probably why I’m not an artist….
Like I’ve also always wanted to be.
Too many thoughts, too many ideas, too much jumping around in my brain, too much conditioning to be a “responsible daughter, friend, wife, mother, woman, adult”, too much that overwhelms until I just freeze.  And have a breakdown.
And start all over again.

A Vow of Silence

I’ve been thinking about taking a vow of silence.  Just for a day or two. Or a week.

I just get tired of noise sometimes.  Especially when it’s emanating from my own self.
And the visual noise around me is not helping whatsoever. I need to turn it off.

I don’t want to talk today for sure.
The explosion of last night, coupled with a little bit of a hangover, has sapped my usual yappity, yappity.

The only problem is that I will be amongst people today.  Namely my parents.
We are going to be spending the entire day together at the hospital, as we usually do when my father has his chemo appointments.
I don’t mind that.  In fact, I want to be there for both of them.

But today I don’t think I can handle any questions about things that I have and have not done, talk about things that are or are not happening, report on progress that is or isn’t being made in regards to my personal life.  “Have you spoken to H.?  Why haven’t you called him? You know that Z.s Spring Break is right around the corner! H. might not be there to see her!”  “Have you sent an email to A. and D.? Really, you need to do that!!” (Coupled with the usual look of extreme disappointment and dismay and complete befuddlement).  “How is J.?? Is he feeling any better?” “Did you get the paperwork in for I’s school admissions? Did you find out how much financial assistance you can qualify for?” “Is the furniture I gave you still holding up? You still aren’t letting the animals up on it, right???” (Um. They’ve been getting up on it since we got it and despite the fact that we try to keep them off, we’ve failed….).  “Have you got the website up yet?” “When are you going to do that?” (At this point, probably never….) “Are you paying off your debt?” “What’s been going on?”…..

I don’t want to talk. I just need to rest my brain. I need some peace.

Issue: Anger Management

No one likes feeling trapped. No one. What I hate is feeling trapped in my own body and mind when experiencing stress. It’s visceral. It’s all-encompassing. And I hate that I haven’t learned how to control it.  I’m terrible at it.  I endure it and endure it and plod along and ignore it until I can’t…..and then BOOM! I physically feel like I cannot hold it in anymore, despite the fact that I REALLY NEED TO.  I’m too much of an open book.  And I hate that about myself.  I may even hate myself for writing all of this.  I will definitely hate myself for it.

There’s lots of things I hate that I can’t escape, like OTHER PEOPLE.  Like MYSELF.

I hate living in a world with Type A, over-achieving, controlling, overly scheduled, equally stressed out people.  I hate living in a world with people who expect that their way is the best way.  That we should ALL be on the same page, with the same ambitions, with the same expectations, with the same timetables, with the same definitions of what is acceptable…..

I hate other people’s definition of success and feeling forced into it.  I hate other people making their problems (their “quest for success”, their logistics problems, their goals, their expectations, their first world problems)… MY problems.  I guess I’m pretty damn selfish that way.  I hate schedules. I hate deadlines. I HATE TIME.  Time and I have a terrible relationship.

Actually, Time and I wouldn’t have such a fucking problem if OTHER PEOPLE WERE NOT INVOLVED.

And sometimes it gets to me so much that I need to slam things.  Seriously….I NEED a physical outlet for the energy that’s been held in so long that it NEEDS to go somewhere.  I know that calming down is the best thing.  I know that breathing is the best thing.  I’m all for that!  Only, I can’t seem to do that on a consistent basis. And I hate that.  I hate that I can’t practice what I preach.

(Yes, there are lots of capital letters in this post.  I’m trying to calm myself with wine – probably not the best way – and Ravi Shankar on my headphones and pounding the keyboard instead of pounding anything else, because I’ve done enough of pounding doors and eardrums with my outrage this evening….)

But what my body feels like doing is running and running and running until I’m alone in the wilderness; punching and punching and punching until I can’t anymore; screaming until my lungs give out and the veins in my neck rupture.  Over the past two years I’ve finally come to an understanding why some depressed people cut themselves.  I am TERRIBLE at handling stress.

My father once told me that when he gets angry, he LITERALLY sees red.  He used to be a door and cabinet slammer too.

The very first psychiatrist I ever went to told me that depression is actually anger turned inwards.  I can see that.

I hate the fact that my personal stresses are nothing compared to other people’s stresses and yet I’M STRESSED!  I hate feeling like I’m so spoiled compared to others on this planet and yet I’m STRESSED! WE ALL ARE.  And that stresses me out too!

My father has an incurable cancer.  My husband is severely depressed.  My son has ADHD and Anxiety.  And SO DO I.  The special school for my son that we gave up everything to move across town for is having an extreme trust issues in regards to health of the student body and financial management.  Our country is being led by the worst ignoramus EVER.  There are terrible injustices going on in this world.  All the life forms on the entire planet are endangered….including US!  My daughter just wants a “normal” teen-hood (enough said….she’s a teenager….). We have severe financial difficulties (who doesn’t besides the really wealthy?). My own depression and anxiety and “mother guilt” are constantly jumping around in the background, while I am constantly trying to hold it at bay.  My house is a HUGE MESS and I know that this sounds so trivial, but it aggravates me to no end (I can’t list the details because…. I just can’t ….-it just contributes to my depression).. Our pets desperately need more attention, I can’t find anything around here when I need it and…..and…..and…..and…….
Everything feels so fucking hopeless and out of control.

So. The LAST thing I needed this evening was a text from another stressed out mom; a Type-A, more efficient than me, more organized than me, more involved than me, in my mind BETTER than me mother, letting me know, in very passive-aggressive terms, what unreliable FLAKES my family are in planning and being on time.  Letting me know that she holds grudges.  Letting me know that we SCREWED UP before and therefore she no longer trusts us.  And I get how she feels, actually!

And this anger and frustration and self-loathing and irritation had nowhere else to go than OUT.
And that does my family NO GOOD.  And I’m A MOM.  And therefore, it is MY FAULT.

I’m not good at being an “adult”.
I’ve got a HUGE problem.
And I need to find a safe outlet, because I feel like it’s all on my shoulders. MINE.

 

 

It’s In My Head

At 3 a.m. Sunday morning, I sprang awake with one fully formed thought in my mind:  Maybe I actually am crazy!

Other words quickly followed: delusional, flaky, insane…

A massive pressurized feeling of having been up until this very moment completely divorced from Reality, lost in a temporal world of my own making, floating along in another plane of existence, burst through my chest.  My family and friends have observed this ditziness in me, especially of late, and they have been tolerating me out of love and concern! That’s what’s really going on!

I managed to shove it all away, placate myself that I was just having a moment of self-doubt; that Depression was struggling to gain a foothold again by pulling me down into its’ endless burrow of negativity and self-hatred.  I closed my eyes and burrowed into my pillow instead.

When I awoke again, I went about my day attending to the usual mundane things that somehow exalt themselves with meaning. Things that I had imbued with grand importance:  Cleaning and organizing and planning and “nesting” and creating a schedule and cleaning some more; a training program,  if you will,  for getting my shit together once and for all; to get things prepared for my Master Plan of becoming a Creative Entrepreneur (to use a fancy-pants term for “artist who can help support her family”).

I couldn’t help thinking to myself in the following days that I was, truth be told, feeling a bit manic lately.  I wrote some of it away to being off one of my meds. But my mind has been all over the place with hopes and dreams and plans and schemes and determination and “keeping positive” and a stubborn willfulness that things are going to work out the way I want them to.  I’ve been feeling restless, impatient, hopeful.  I’ve been doing things with a hyper-focus and a strange stream of energy; all while putting other things on the back burner (where they smolder with a threat to break out into a fire).  I’ve been thinking and planning and doing for “all the things!”

But today, that feeling I had Sunday night at 3 a.m. is prying open my mental space again, siphoning out my optimism, gassing panic into it’s place….

I’ve become suspicious of myself.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/suspicious/”>Suspicious</a&gt;

The Underbelly of It All

My father is dying.

I know that we are all dying minute by minute, despite what we’d like to think.

But, my father is without a doubt, dying. He is 77 years old.
I guess he’s within the median range for males within the U.S.
Doesn’t matter to me, though.  The statistics offer no comfort.

He has mesothelioma. Peritoneal Mesothelioma.
There is no cure.

My dad is dying.
It’s the undercurrent to everything right now.

I keep feeling a catch in my chest whenever I confront this fact.
I know that I have friends and family who have been through this.
I know that my husband, my parents, my friends and my cousins know what this is like.

It doesn’t change the pain.
It doesn’t change the facts.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

And they know this. Unfortunately, they know this.