When I let myself get so upset it takes days to get over it. My meltdown on Friday left me quite lethargic on Saturday. But the bat that scared me on Sunday morning really got my adrenaline going. I was out of the bed with the door slammed in no time at all. It was quite hard to fall asleep afterwards with cats climbing on top wanting to join me on the couch. Eventually I did fall asleep and have been quite cheerful since.
Mr Tolliver Grote, in Going Postal is full of noxious home remedies such as putting sulphur in his shoes and bread pudding poultices. He claims that it "clears the tubes". I feel like my tubes are cleared now and it is full speed ahead. Just after I get a few hours more sleep.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Hysteria and Perspective
As this week has progressed, I have been crazier and crazier about losing the phone and internet lines. It wasn't because I need them so much; I have a cell phone and can use the internet at the library. It was because I was being lied to, manipulated by outside forces and generally felt out of control. It was like everything I wanted to do was being controlled by the stupid lies.
Today, I totally lost it. I just lost it. I was in a frantic state and could hardly breathe and was crying upset to the point of craziness. I called Erica and she thought someone had died. She calmed me down, took the information and called Qwest. She told me to lie down and I did. I read a little Dave Barry and actually smiled. When I was calm I went out for a while. I came home and the technician came and made sure I had service. When I went online I found out that a friend's son had died in a skydiving accident.
Not to get all hippy trippy, and totally accepting that I have been working myself up all week, I think my hysteria and when my friends heard about their son was about the same time. I don't know if there is any correlation or I was super sensitized to what was happening.
The young man, Eli Thompson, was 36, a professional stunt diver, husband, and father of two little girls. His wife is eight months pregnant with their son. I remember when my brother Stuart died. My parents were devastated, as are my friends. But I think of this pregnant woman, trying to make sense of anything and comforting her daughters, and trying to be comforted and my heart goes out for the terrible pain that is spreading through their family and friends.
Oh my, oh my...I make a fuss because I am feeling manipulated. As Erica said, she thought someone had died. Someone had, I just did not know it.
"Is there any remover of difficulty save God? Say: He is God, all are His servants and all abide by his bidding." -The Bab.
Today, I totally lost it. I just lost it. I was in a frantic state and could hardly breathe and was crying upset to the point of craziness. I called Erica and she thought someone had died. She calmed me down, took the information and called Qwest. She told me to lie down and I did. I read a little Dave Barry and actually smiled. When I was calm I went out for a while. I came home and the technician came and made sure I had service. When I went online I found out that a friend's son had died in a skydiving accident.
Not to get all hippy trippy, and totally accepting that I have been working myself up all week, I think my hysteria and when my friends heard about their son was about the same time. I don't know if there is any correlation or I was super sensitized to what was happening.
The young man, Eli Thompson, was 36, a professional stunt diver, husband, and father of two little girls. His wife is eight months pregnant with their son. I remember when my brother Stuart died. My parents were devastated, as are my friends. But I think of this pregnant woman, trying to make sense of anything and comforting her daughters, and trying to be comforted and my heart goes out for the terrible pain that is spreading through their family and friends.
Oh my, oh my...I make a fuss because I am feeling manipulated. As Erica said, she thought someone had died. Someone had, I just did not know it.
"Is there any remover of difficulty save God? Say: He is God, all are His servants and all abide by his bidding." -The Bab.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Ranting and Raving
Monday evening I lost phone and internet service. I called Qwest repair and they told me I didn't have trouble on the line. Next morning I called the billing office to see if I hadn't paid the bill or something. They had not shut off the service so I called repair again. They told me someone would be out between 3 and 7, no later than 8. I asked if it was ok for me to go out before then and was told that was fine. At 8:15 I was told there was no repair order. I got pretty upset and asked to speak to a supervisor. He calmed me down and told me someone would be there between 8 and noon today. At 12:30 I called back and asked where the repair person was. I was told he would be there by 4:30. I went ballistic. I wanted to know why they couldn't call me to say why they would be late?
At 4:15 a repairman came and tested that I did not have service. Duh. He followed the line and found that it must have been pulled down on purpose in my neighbor's yard. He tried to get a bucket truck but was not successful. I was just called on the cell phone asking if it would be ok if they came out tomorrow morning? Please.
So here I am at Hennepin County Library using their computers and internet and realizing that as we get more and more dependent on the internet, we are becoming more vulnerable to technology. No electricity or gas or phone, and I as a semi-modern woman am lost. I can stand an occasional weekend in a rustic cabin with an outhouse and pump. But I want my ATM and phone banking. I want to pay bills online. I want modern life.
There are people in Africa and other parts of the world who walk miles for dirty water. When my phone service is restored I am going to make a donation to Play Pumps International as a gift for being so blessed in my life and for the awareness of how spoiled I can be.
At 4:15 a repairman came and tested that I did not have service. Duh. He followed the line and found that it must have been pulled down on purpose in my neighbor's yard. He tried to get a bucket truck but was not successful. I was just called on the cell phone asking if it would be ok if they came out tomorrow morning? Please.
So here I am at Hennepin County Library using their computers and internet and realizing that as we get more and more dependent on the internet, we are becoming more vulnerable to technology. No electricity or gas or phone, and I as a semi-modern woman am lost. I can stand an occasional weekend in a rustic cabin with an outhouse and pump. But I want my ATM and phone banking. I want to pay bills online. I want modern life.
There are people in Africa and other parts of the world who walk miles for dirty water. When my phone service is restored I am going to make a donation to Play Pumps International as a gift for being so blessed in my life and for the awareness of how spoiled I can be.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
My great niece and nephews.
Today I had the fabulous experience of holding Owen, (what a chunk a bunk) while watching Emma hold a sleepy Dylan. Ethan was talking to me and little Linnea slept in her swing. Oh it is so precious, dear nephews and nieces. Enjoy these little bunnies; their tummy aches, and ear infections are nothing compared to the joy of holding them, experiencing their smiles and knowing you are the center of the world.
The old ladies used to say "It goes so fast!" They were right. Sleepless nights pass, as do hours spent at the pool or soccer field. I believe you can have a full and happy life without children, but I sure am glad to have had mine and I will always admire these miracles of love where and whenever I come across them.
I love being a Grauntie!
The old ladies used to say "It goes so fast!" They were right. Sleepless nights pass, as do hours spent at the pool or soccer field. I believe you can have a full and happy life without children, but I sure am glad to have had mine and I will always admire these miracles of love where and whenever I come across them.
I love being a Grauntie!
Friday, August 14, 2009
Ten days without blogging...something and nothing to say
First the nothing. I have not gotten a job yet, nor am I closer to living on my own.
I went up to Barnum earlier in the week to see Betty's mechanic and body shop men. Aubrey, the mechanic took a look at the Camry and thought it well worth repairing. Said I needed new light bulbs and to have a welder look at where the exhaust pipe came off the engine. Otherwise I was fine. He thought ten dollars more than fair for his time. Gotta love it. Then we went over to Tony Grimm's shop and he wrote up an estimate of $450. to fix the bumper and light assembly and another forty to knock the rear bumper back into alignment. That was Monday. I came back on Wednesday night and dropped it off at 8:30 on Thursday morning. It was done this morning. I had been missing a front wheelcover and he found one that sort of matched and threw it on for free. Then he decided to only charge $470. for a job he estimated at $490. Some things are better in small towns for sure! Thank you Betty.
After we dropped the car at the body shop we went back to the house and had a quiet morning. After lunch we went in the lake. It was so warm. I was very glad to be wearing my rubber shoes though. Clams and stones and weeds, oh my. Dinner at Hanging Horn Village where they have big city prices. I think their food is fine, but not all that wonderful. It is, though, the only decent place around for miles. As usual Betty knew some people there.
Today we went to Jay Cooke State Park. I haven't been there in at least ten years. The rock formations were as timeless as ever. We had a good time hiking around and enjoying the scenery. We arrived around nine and left at eleven, just as crowds were getting there. I loved looking at the water and rocks and Betty was able to tell me about some of the flora. We walked down to a protected part of the back water and Betty identified deer, wolf, and bear tracks. I thought they were just holes in the sand. I bow to greater knowledge.
Betty gets around so well it is hard to remember she is 84 years old! I saw some of her hesitation and helped her down over some of the rocky trails. Although she is easily offended, she took none as I offered my hand. I told her it put my mind at rest to see her accept help when she needed it. I reiterated how sensible she was and that we would not have to worry about her being alone in the house when it got too much for her.
Here is the problem. She is stubborn and can not hear very well and thinks people are talking down to her. When we sat at the gas pump I asked her what side the door was on. She got all defensive and told me she knew where her gas door was and hated when people treated her like an idiot. I sat for a moment and said I was only asking because a man was filling a gas can on the other side and sometimes I went to the far side and pulled the nozzle behind the car. I was just asking, I wasn't telling her what to do. She had to regroup and apologize but did tell me it drove her crazy when people spoke to her in words of one syllable as if she was an idiot.
When we were at Autumn Voices choir practice on Monday, she had to have everything repeated. She has no idea of how deaf she is. Scott says he would like to fit her with new hearing aids that would help her singing. Betty tells me she has two swim suits, one that I bought her, and one she bought on her own. But what she goes swimming in is just awful. She wears an ancient pair of bleach splotched shorts and a Helly Hanson singlet that not only is full of holes, it is almost indecent. The yoke is grey, but the chest is white nylon, so her nipples show through. Oh boy. I asked if she has a philosophical objection to the suits. She finally admitted that she is not going to be 130 pounds again and doesn't like the way she looks in a bathing suit. But she doesn't mind her nipples showing, I asked. She did laugh and admit it was silly.
When we were at Jay Cooke we were told that the water was Root Beer colored. I said I always heard it called tea colored. Later on when we were in the lake I mentioned that when she was on her back, she was having a Root Beer Float. Aren't I the witty one? And if she washes her hair in the lake, which she does, that when she is all lathered up she is a root beer float with whipped cream. Big groan, but I liked it and would have gone on ad nauseum, but took the hint and shut up. How lucky I have been in my in-laws. Poor Scott has not been quite so lucky.
This week my breasts have been so tender, and I was experiencing cramps, just like I was expecting my period. Imagine my surprise to get a period after eleven months. I thought I was done and didn't miss it for a minute. I was so looking forward to September to be able to say I was there, in menopause. I am fifty-seven years old and really ready to be done. The PMS I had this week was truly awful. I lost my temper with the old man and could have hurt him.
On Tuesday night the old lady said the old man was crying that he wanted to go to the beach. I knew I had to get up to Barnum but I said I would take him on Thursday at 2. About ten to two I called to say I would be late. The old lady couldn't hear me so the old man got on the phone and I gave him the message. By the time I got there at 2:20 he got himself into a snit about why I was late. Now the last thing I wanted to do was go to the beach and here he was giving me shit about my time management skills. I told him I called, he insisted I did not. We got in a shouting match and I hit him with a towel. I am so appalled at my action that I feel like I should be put in jail. I haven't hit anyone in over twenty years. I can't begin to tell of my shame at hitting this frail old man with a towel. I know he can push my buttons, but this was like lighting a flame to dynamite. When I saw my blood on Thursday, I was relieved. I am still mortified at my actions, but can blame it on my hormones. That doesn't make it right by any standard, but at least it makes it understandable.
I've just listened to the phone messages. My mother called to say "Thank you, thank you, thank you for making my life easier. I love you." Oh my God, I feel like such a heel.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Comedy of Errors, Confederacy of Dunces, or: My Day and Welcome to it.
I couldn't sleep well last night, knew I had to be somewhere at noon. I was in a deep sleep at 9:30 when the phone rang and woke up sort of jangly. It was my father. I told him I would pick him up at one for his appointment. He told me they were out of "everything". I told him to make a list and we would go to Cub after his appointment.
Every now and again I get called to take a taste test. I got to the place and saw posted places where I should park as opposed to general parking. Don't ask me why or how, but I turned into a spot and promptly scraped a brand new, no plates yet, van. I pulled out and parked in the empty next row. I did not even stop to look at my car. Oh my goodness, what have I done? There is a part that wants to run away and pretend it never happened. That is the bad karma creator and the price paid is more than any deductible! I found the owner who was just lovely to me. She had only had the van since Friday and was totally mellow. Not me. But as she pointed out, the work needed to be done whether she flipped out or not. What a woman. She has my information and I am going to pay her deductible. It is not fair for her to suffer for my stupidity. I don't know if I will fix my car or what. New front bumper and light and who knows what? Maybe look into getting something new, or newer. I would like something like an old time Volvo, built like a tank but with better mileage. OY.
Nice taste test. Amazing they can make food that has no smell or taste, but there you have it. If I told you what the product was I would have to kill you. Got the old man to Dr. Stockman and found out he almost weighs 140 pounds. That is good. I wish I weighed that much. Of course at one point I had to leave the room for the obligatory questions about Viagra. Dr. Stockman pointed out that not only do those drugs not work for him, he has a wife who is NOT interested in sex anymore, and hasn't been since she was eighty-eight.
Off to Cub Foods for ice cream and cereal. The old man picked out eleven, count them, eleven boxes of cereal. Everything from Raisin Bran to Reeses Puffs. "Dad, that cereal is chocolate and peanut butter." I was told to mind my business. By this time his ice cream was starting to melt. He picked out two large Bryer's, four Haagen Dazs, and three Ben and Jerry. I managed to put two of the Haagen Dazs away behind his back as he was studying Ben and Jerry. Nathan's hot dogs, buy one, get one free! He also is becoming addicted to precooked Johnsonville Brats.
By the time I got home I was wiped. I realize that my attitude doesn't help. I am not patient and kind. I am impatient and pissy. Can I blame it on menopause or should I just bite the bullet and blame myself? I am not where I want to be doing what I want to do.
I asked Dr Stockman what was the old man's life expectancy. He said he had already exceeded it. I asked if he could live another five years and was told it was quite possible, or he could pop off at anytime. I have taken on the burden of my parents quite voluntarily. Doe tried to prevent me but it was something I felt I had to do. Now I have to see it through, no matter how long it takes. Please, dear Creator, help me do it with love.
Every now and again I get called to take a taste test. I got to the place and saw posted places where I should park as opposed to general parking. Don't ask me why or how, but I turned into a spot and promptly scraped a brand new, no plates yet, van. I pulled out and parked in the empty next row. I did not even stop to look at my car. Oh my goodness, what have I done? There is a part that wants to run away and pretend it never happened. That is the bad karma creator and the price paid is more than any deductible! I found the owner who was just lovely to me. She had only had the van since Friday and was totally mellow. Not me. But as she pointed out, the work needed to be done whether she flipped out or not. What a woman. She has my information and I am going to pay her deductible. It is not fair for her to suffer for my stupidity. I don't know if I will fix my car or what. New front bumper and light and who knows what? Maybe look into getting something new, or newer. I would like something like an old time Volvo, built like a tank but with better mileage. OY.
Nice taste test. Amazing they can make food that has no smell or taste, but there you have it. If I told you what the product was I would have to kill you. Got the old man to Dr. Stockman and found out he almost weighs 140 pounds. That is good. I wish I weighed that much. Of course at one point I had to leave the room for the obligatory questions about Viagra. Dr. Stockman pointed out that not only do those drugs not work for him, he has a wife who is NOT interested in sex anymore, and hasn't been since she was eighty-eight.
Off to Cub Foods for ice cream and cereal. The old man picked out eleven, count them, eleven boxes of cereal. Everything from Raisin Bran to Reeses Puffs. "Dad, that cereal is chocolate and peanut butter." I was told to mind my business. By this time his ice cream was starting to melt. He picked out two large Bryer's, four Haagen Dazs, and three Ben and Jerry. I managed to put two of the Haagen Dazs away behind his back as he was studying Ben and Jerry. Nathan's hot dogs, buy one, get one free! He also is becoming addicted to precooked Johnsonville Brats.
By the time I got home I was wiped. I realize that my attitude doesn't help. I am not patient and kind. I am impatient and pissy. Can I blame it on menopause or should I just bite the bullet and blame myself? I am not where I want to be doing what I want to do.
I asked Dr Stockman what was the old man's life expectancy. He said he had already exceeded it. I asked if he could live another five years and was told it was quite possible, or he could pop off at anytime. I have taken on the burden of my parents quite voluntarily. Doe tried to prevent me but it was something I felt I had to do. Now I have to see it through, no matter how long it takes. Please, dear Creator, help me do it with love.
This, that, and the other
1. This
Yesterday I looked at places to buy on Craig's List. It is definitely a buyers market. I decided to drive down Cedar Lake Road and look at some of the addresses and see what was happening at open houses. There was an open house in Greenbriar at a town house I can't afford but I had a great talk with the realtor. She is going to show me some things she knows about. I liked two addresses in Ridge Drive. I do not like the ones way down on Cedar Lake Road. They can't seem to give them away. But here is where my philosophical mind gets active. Is it right to ask for a lower price from people who are already in distress? Does this create bad karma, or at least bad real estate karma? As far as short sales go...the bank owns them, I think. If I wanted to live in Brooklyn Park I could get a townhouse for less than sixty thousand. I do not want to live in Brooklyn Park or Center. I do not want to live north. One realtor I spoke with on the phone is going to look into the building near Excelsior Grand. I would love to live on Wolf Park.
It is looking like I can only afford a one bedroom. This makes me a little sad because I have been toying with the idea of doing foster care. I thought of taking in teenagers. This is probably a bad idea because you can't pick and choose and say only give me kids who need temporary shelter while Mom is in the hospital. Don't give me messed up abused kids who need so much more than I can give. Still, the idea of a sweet teenager who needs me is appealing. I am not always a realist.
2. That
After driving around looking at neighborhoods I had an omelet at Perkins and went to see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. It is a conundrum, alright. How to cut the book and still keep the essentials of the story? Erica and I have eaten up all the books on CD. Jim Dale does a fabulous job of reading. The mind can form a picture so quickly from the words, but it does take a very long time to listen to twenty or more discs. Laurel has not read or listened to the books and only knows the story from the movies. She is enjoying each installment and getting the essentials. But I can't help wishing there was more to the films. The suspense of getting across the lake to the false horcrux is just a fraction of the book. The entire battle at Hogwarts is eliminated and although Dumbledore has the same end, the spell he puts on Harry so he can not assist is not shown. Too much quiddich for me, although I can see that the children needed a way to ease the tension. All in all, it was a good film. Was it as good as the book? No, but it did what it needed to do.
3. The other
My sweet sister turned fifty-three years old yesterday. Only grown-ups have sisters that old. If I am four and a half years older, am I grown up? Is she grown-up? Happy birthday, Doe! May this year bring laughter and love and fun and adventure. And, as always, wishing you the very best of health. You deserve it!
Yesterday I looked at places to buy on Craig's List. It is definitely a buyers market. I decided to drive down Cedar Lake Road and look at some of the addresses and see what was happening at open houses. There was an open house in Greenbriar at a town house I can't afford but I had a great talk with the realtor. She is going to show me some things she knows about. I liked two addresses in Ridge Drive. I do not like the ones way down on Cedar Lake Road. They can't seem to give them away. But here is where my philosophical mind gets active. Is it right to ask for a lower price from people who are already in distress? Does this create bad karma, or at least bad real estate karma? As far as short sales go...the bank owns them, I think. If I wanted to live in Brooklyn Park I could get a townhouse for less than sixty thousand. I do not want to live in Brooklyn Park or Center. I do not want to live north. One realtor I spoke with on the phone is going to look into the building near Excelsior Grand. I would love to live on Wolf Park.
It is looking like I can only afford a one bedroom. This makes me a little sad because I have been toying with the idea of doing foster care. I thought of taking in teenagers. This is probably a bad idea because you can't pick and choose and say only give me kids who need temporary shelter while Mom is in the hospital. Don't give me messed up abused kids who need so much more than I can give. Still, the idea of a sweet teenager who needs me is appealing. I am not always a realist.
2. That
After driving around looking at neighborhoods I had an omelet at Perkins and went to see Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. It is a conundrum, alright. How to cut the book and still keep the essentials of the story? Erica and I have eaten up all the books on CD. Jim Dale does a fabulous job of reading. The mind can form a picture so quickly from the words, but it does take a very long time to listen to twenty or more discs. Laurel has not read or listened to the books and only knows the story from the movies. She is enjoying each installment and getting the essentials. But I can't help wishing there was more to the films. The suspense of getting across the lake to the false horcrux is just a fraction of the book. The entire battle at Hogwarts is eliminated and although Dumbledore has the same end, the spell he puts on Harry so he can not assist is not shown. Too much quiddich for me, although I can see that the children needed a way to ease the tension. All in all, it was a good film. Was it as good as the book? No, but it did what it needed to do.
3. The other
My sweet sister turned fifty-three years old yesterday. Only grown-ups have sisters that old. If I am four and a half years older, am I grown up? Is she grown-up? Happy birthday, Doe! May this year bring laughter and love and fun and adventure. And, as always, wishing you the very best of health. You deserve it!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Buttons Part 2
Last night I wrote about my own buttons. This morning I pushed some myself. I didn't mean to, honestly I didn't. That is the worst part, I just don't know what I can say that won't cause a reaction. I hate walking around on eggshells. I hate watching every word that comes out of my mouth. I hate living in silence for fear of pushing buttons. I hate hiding upstairs.
Today is a good day to find a place I can afford to rent.
Today is a good day to find a place I can afford to rent.
Buttons
I was going to write about the old man and the way he can push my buttons. And he does, push my buttons, that is. He acts like a petulant child and I go off my rocker. He doesn't learn, and I don't learn. Then I started thinking about other buttons. Scott and I were talking about a conversation we had and he said I said something and I said no I said something else and we each pushed the other's annoyance button. I think he doesn't listen and he thinks either I don't know what I said or that I was unclear. Oh yeah, we all have buttons. Sometimes we see it happening and other times it takes a while to understand that our buttons have been pushed.
I started thinking about other buttons; how we react to other stimuli. Show me a baby and I smile. I can't help it. Kiss the back of my neck and I melt. Be kind to me and I forgive. But what about the more subtle buttons? Show me that you care for me and I care for you. Look like you need me and I will give to you. What is automatic and what is thought out action?
There is a lot of talk about living a mindful life. Of weighing one's actions before acting. About thinking about what we are doing before doing it and seeing if what we are about to do is of benefit to self, community and planet. Sometimes I am defiantly mindful. I know this ice cream or chocolate is not good for weight, cholesterol, or diabetes, yet I eat it. I want what I want when I want it.
What I really want is a positive life with purpose. Right now I can't seem to achieve it. So instead of focusing on working harder at what needs to be done, I will have some ice cream. It makes no sense except that it is something that I can have right now.
There are some phrases that describe my dilemma, ie: can't fight my way out of a paper bag, can't get myself arrested, my own worst enemy, self defeating behavior. I know I have to do it on my own, but I really wish I had a twin who would keep me motivated and on task. (That or a good friend to kick me in the ass.)
What are the buttons I can push to achieve my goals? I'd love to know.
I started thinking about other buttons; how we react to other stimuli. Show me a baby and I smile. I can't help it. Kiss the back of my neck and I melt. Be kind to me and I forgive. But what about the more subtle buttons? Show me that you care for me and I care for you. Look like you need me and I will give to you. What is automatic and what is thought out action?
There is a lot of talk about living a mindful life. Of weighing one's actions before acting. About thinking about what we are doing before doing it and seeing if what we are about to do is of benefit to self, community and planet. Sometimes I am defiantly mindful. I know this ice cream or chocolate is not good for weight, cholesterol, or diabetes, yet I eat it. I want what I want when I want it.
What I really want is a positive life with purpose. Right now I can't seem to achieve it. So instead of focusing on working harder at what needs to be done, I will have some ice cream. It makes no sense except that it is something that I can have right now.
There are some phrases that describe my dilemma, ie: can't fight my way out of a paper bag, can't get myself arrested, my own worst enemy, self defeating behavior. I know I have to do it on my own, but I really wish I had a twin who would keep me motivated and on task. (That or a good friend to kick me in the ass.)
What are the buttons I can push to achieve my goals? I'd love to know.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Roses are red...
I'm not much of a gardener. I have tried, though, and my results have been abysmal. I have no patience. I don't like digging in the dirt. I don't like weeding and and usually have very little luck with most flowers and veggies. I can't see spending a bunch of money on a pot with a tomato plant that isn't going to produce for me when I can get good ones from the farmer's market. Petunias get rangy every time but I can grow geraniums, begonias, and roses in pots.
My mother-in-law is green to her elbow. She can grow anything and her house plants are the best. She tells me she has never been able to grow roses. Roses are easy. They just want to be told they are beautiful every day. They like encouragement over every bud and exclamations of just how miraculous each blossom is. Oh sure, once in a while you have to spray or add some fertilizer, and it is important to keep them watered, but roses like the personal touch.
Geraniums and begonias like to be told how nice they look too. They do well with compliments. But they are like the chorus of dancers in a ballet; all looking alike and best in bunches. A simple, "You are looking beautiful today, girls" and in passing, "I'll bring you some water tomorrow" and they are happy to bloom for one and all.
Roses, though, are like the prima ballerinas. Each plant has very few blossoms and they are all precious. Each takes a turn opening up a bud and revealing the lovely color and fragrance within. After each star's turn, the stage goes dark and days or weeks go by until there is another show. Roses make you get involved. They demand daily tribute and attention, if only to say, "Look, another bud." They want to know you notice.
Last year I spent a ton for brand name roses. I had to start them from bare roots and never really got many blossoms. This year I went back to Home Depot and bought what was on sale. This year there is no theme. One plant produces huge red roses, the others have smaller blooms in a salmonish color, or white with pink edges or lovely pink. I bought one plant that is silvery lavender. I treat them as annuals, knowing that they will last only one season. Last year I learned it is wise to use new soil in the planters each year. That was a real case of "who knew?" I will tell you who knew, people who know how to garden is who.
I jokingly say I am a delicate flower. I would like to think of myself as a rose but I know I am not. Years ago a friend told me I was a Pink Carnation, strong and spicy, common and complicated, and very long lasting. I guess I can live with that. I can grow with others and stand alone or in a group. I don't have thorns and can be a welcome sight. No one gets upset over the price of a pink and no one jacks up the price of carnations for holidays.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
My list for Tuesday
I don't sleep at night. I never have been what is called a good sleeper. Yet, I do need a lot of sleep. Several years ago I was diagnosed with sleep apnea, but the machine doesn't seem to help very much, when I can stand to use it. Consequently I am up a lot at night, like right now. I will probably fall asleep at about six, and then sleep until ten. It is not a good way to live.
Here, in no particular order other than just thinking about it, is my list for Tuesday:
Find out which bank the old man is bouncing checks on and try to get some answers!
Bring up Coke tops to enter into the computer. I hate that.
Fold towels
Pay phone and electric bills
Call Prostaff and Intrepid agencies
Vacuum the upstairs and stairs, yeah, right.
Get that letter to Credo started.
Call Extrados
Change sheets on bed
Put away laundry
Go to JR's for Patti's birthday.
Patti is a pretty conflicted woman. She is sort of nuts around me. Half of her is still mad over a remark I made over a year ago. I apologized profusely and sometimes she accepted and sometimes she didn't. Finally I said "Look, I'm sorry, but that is the last time I will apologize." What she didn't realize is that every time I said I was sorry, it brought up the thing she did to hurt me that prompted my remark. And never once has she apologized for that. But, I do like the Tuesday night get together and she is part of that group. I picked up some little Mikasa Christmas votives at The Hope Chest for Cancer for $2.00. She collects that crap, so I know it will be a big hit. If it is the thought that counts, what does that say about me? I'm thoughtful and super cheap.
Here is what should be number one on my list:
Be a good person with love in my heart for myself and all of Creation! And get off my ass and do stuff.
Here, in no particular order other than just thinking about it, is my list for Tuesday:
Find out which bank the old man is bouncing checks on and try to get some answers!
Bring up Coke tops to enter into the computer. I hate that.
Fold towels
Pay phone and electric bills
Call Prostaff and Intrepid agencies
Vacuum the upstairs and stairs, yeah, right.
Get that letter to Credo started.
Call Extrados
Change sheets on bed
Put away laundry
Go to JR's for Patti's birthday.
Patti is a pretty conflicted woman. She is sort of nuts around me. Half of her is still mad over a remark I made over a year ago. I apologized profusely and sometimes she accepted and sometimes she didn't. Finally I said "Look, I'm sorry, but that is the last time I will apologize." What she didn't realize is that every time I said I was sorry, it brought up the thing she did to hurt me that prompted my remark. And never once has she apologized for that. But, I do like the Tuesday night get together and she is part of that group. I picked up some little Mikasa Christmas votives at The Hope Chest for Cancer for $2.00. She collects that crap, so I know it will be a big hit. If it is the thought that counts, what does that say about me? I'm thoughtful and super cheap.
Here is what should be number one on my list:
Be a good person with love in my heart for myself and all of Creation! And get off my ass and do stuff.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
What just happened?
My birth mother, Fay, had a good friend. I think they went to Brooklyn College together at night. Her friend had three children, Michael and his two sisters. Michael loved my brother Stuart and some years ago we found each other online. When I joined facebook, he became a friend and we would chat quite often. He liked hearing about my life and he often bemoaned how much he missed Beverly, a woman who had grown up in my building and now lived in Montreal. They would see each other every other month or so. He recently told me about the vacation they were planning and how much he was looking forward to spending two weeks with her in Maine. I remember asking if they were camping and if they were going to go to Kennebunkport. My last question was if he was flying or driving. I logged out and didn't think much more about it. Tonight when I checked my email I found this message:
Carol,
As you know I am in a long term relationship that is extremely important to me. I think talking with you is inappropriate and therefore it is best that we no longer communicate through facebook or any other means.
Mike
I had a real wtf? moment. What was going on? What had changed? Was I inflaming his imagination and had become a threat. And did I care? After some thought I wrote back to him:
Oh my goodness. I had no idea we were doing anything more than light conversation. I never want to be a source of pain for anyone, male or female and hope I have not hurt Beverly or you. What a shame to lose an old friend, but I will respect your wishes.
Be well,
Carol
I have never entertained any sexual thoughts about this man. The fact that Beverly, who I always thought of with the highest respect was in love with him blew my mind. Believe me, he is not the gods gift to women. But people are strange, and maybe he created something that wasn't there except in his mind. I know it is not the first time someone has had a totally imaginary affair and as I don't want him to mess up his relationship with his girlfriend, I agreed not to contact him. I can accept almost anything if I can figure out a reason. I am sure I was one of those children who constantly asked why? The only problem I have with this whole thing is that by not contacting him again I cannot ask "Why? WTF?"
Since joining facebook, I have reconnected with many people from my youth. There are so many I do not recognize, not even their names. I have to ask myself why they want to know me now? That was another life, and it wasn't always happy. But I think some people come in and out of our lives for a reason that we can't always see, and I am happy that people want to be friends.
Michael, I did not miss you when we didn't communicate for thirty years. I wish you well. And in a strange and twisted way, thanks for thinking of me as a femme fatale. The mind is a terrible thing to waste! (Oh, and by the way...if you don't want your chat read by others...remember to clear your chat.)
Addendum: Was contacted by a friend who was contacted by this man and knows about several others. It isn't only me. Readers, be careful of who you deal with online.
Carol,
As you know I am in a long term relationship that is extremely important to me. I think talking with you is inappropriate and therefore it is best that we no longer communicate through facebook or any other means.
Mike
I had a real wtf? moment. What was going on? What had changed? Was I inflaming his imagination and had become a threat. And did I care? After some thought I wrote back to him:
Oh my goodness. I had no idea we were doing anything more than light conversation. I never want to be a source of pain for anyone, male or female and hope I have not hurt Beverly or you. What a shame to lose an old friend, but I will respect your wishes.
Be well,
Carol
I have never entertained any sexual thoughts about this man. The fact that Beverly, who I always thought of with the highest respect was in love with him blew my mind. Believe me, he is not the gods gift to women. But people are strange, and maybe he created something that wasn't there except in his mind. I know it is not the first time someone has had a totally imaginary affair and as I don't want him to mess up his relationship with his girlfriend, I agreed not to contact him. I can accept almost anything if I can figure out a reason. I am sure I was one of those children who constantly asked why? The only problem I have with this whole thing is that by not contacting him again I cannot ask "Why? WTF?"
Since joining facebook, I have reconnected with many people from my youth. There are so many I do not recognize, not even their names. I have to ask myself why they want to know me now? That was another life, and it wasn't always happy. But I think some people come in and out of our lives for a reason that we can't always see, and I am happy that people want to be friends.
Michael, I did not miss you when we didn't communicate for thirty years. I wish you well. And in a strange and twisted way, thanks for thinking of me as a femme fatale. The mind is a terrible thing to waste! (Oh, and by the way...if you don't want your chat read by others...remember to clear your chat.)
Addendum: Was contacted by a friend who was contacted by this man and knows about several others. It isn't only me. Readers, be careful of who you deal with online.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Going to the cabin
I am going up nort' to da cabin. My friend has invited me for a couple of days, we leave today and come back Thursday. No weekend traffic. If being unemployed is good for something, it is being able to take off in the middle of the week. There! A silver lining.
This is a real cabin, and the first time I walked in I had such a flashback to when I lived up in the mountains and rented a tiny house. It smelled the same. (I have an idea it might be dead mice...) There is a sleeping porch, and when I sat up in bed the first morning, there was the great outdoors. No windows, just screen and nature. Of course the call of nature had to interfere and off to the composting outhouse. It is not supposed to stink, but it does. There is a pump for fresh water, and electricity for the fridge and gas for the range. Not really roughing it, but not a modern place either. Generations of orphaned china, glasses and blankets have found their way here. Some great grannies wedding silver resides here, too. Yes and all the dull knives from various cousins kitchens too. But...there is also a toaster, microwave and coffee maker. Old games and modern music via a cast off stereo system. Someone with a bit of whimsy in their soul put up crazy Christmas lights. I recognize the chili pepper lights.
The last time I went up I experienced true relaxation. I didn't expect anything and there was no where to go. I slept and played cards and ate good food. I laughed and cooked and washed dishes in a pan with water heated on the stove. I don't think I want to live this way, but it is a lovely way to spend a few days, a peaceful interlude to break up the week. Look at the time! I have to pack (but I don't need much).
This is a real cabin, and the first time I walked in I had such a flashback to when I lived up in the mountains and rented a tiny house. It smelled the same. (I have an idea it might be dead mice...) There is a sleeping porch, and when I sat up in bed the first morning, there was the great outdoors. No windows, just screen and nature. Of course the call of nature had to interfere and off to the composting outhouse. It is not supposed to stink, but it does. There is a pump for fresh water, and electricity for the fridge and gas for the range. Not really roughing it, but not a modern place either. Generations of orphaned china, glasses and blankets have found their way here. Some great grannies wedding silver resides here, too. Yes and all the dull knives from various cousins kitchens too. But...there is also a toaster, microwave and coffee maker. Old games and modern music via a cast off stereo system. Someone with a bit of whimsy in their soul put up crazy Christmas lights. I recognize the chili pepper lights.
The last time I went up I experienced true relaxation. I didn't expect anything and there was no where to go. I slept and played cards and ate good food. I laughed and cooked and washed dishes in a pan with water heated on the stove. I don't think I want to live this way, but it is a lovely way to spend a few days, a peaceful interlude to break up the week. Look at the time! I have to pack (but I don't need much).
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Number at the Bottom and the Message at the Top
At the very, very bottom of the page there is a tiny widget called sitemeter. It records how many people check out my blog. This week it worked out to eighty-two visits. It doesn't record how many are repeaters, or who they are. Because no one ever leaves a comment, I have no idea of who is actually reading my blog. A dear friend sent me a personal note when I was depressed earlier. That really touched me. I had no idea she followed me. As I said, I really don't know who reads this (at times) drivel.
At the very top, next to my name is the message: next blog. Whenever I post or read another blog on Blogger I hit that link. It is always a surprise, always. Most time it is written in another language and sometimes in a different alphabet. Sometimes it is advertising or a business blog but more often it is personal. This is what someone in another part of the world is passionate about. I have seen travel blogs written in Japanese about bicycle trips through the Western United States and also travel blogs about bicycle trips through the wine country in California written by natives. Fans of Michael Jackson around the world were quick to post pictures and commentary in every language you can think of, and many you can't.
In America we do not get much global news if it doesn't affect us as a nation. I sometimes watch and listen to the BBC and find out about unrest or politics in far off places. I am sure it is not unbiased, but it is the best I can do for now. Once I was in a deli and saw Al-Jazeera TV. I was surprised at how balanced it was. I thought it would be Anti-American, but what I saw while I was there was not at all inflammatory. It was just a round up of stories; good journalism. The blogs are different.
Whether written in Cyrillic, Sanskrit, Korean, or Thai, I understand the pictures posted by proud parents and grandparents. I enjoy travel journals, or some one's teapot collection. Pictures are universal and I love seeing other's. I was a holdout against a digital camera until I could get a tiny one. Then I was scared to learn how to post pictures. I am a bit of a technophobe. The camera I bought last week intimidated me, hell the new Exilim, which I am familiar with, intimidates me but not as much. And as soon as I do learn how to use it, people all over the world can see my roses.
At the very top, next to my name is the message: next blog. Whenever I post or read another blog on Blogger I hit that link. It is always a surprise, always. Most time it is written in another language and sometimes in a different alphabet. Sometimes it is advertising or a business blog but more often it is personal. This is what someone in another part of the world is passionate about. I have seen travel blogs written in Japanese about bicycle trips through the Western United States and also travel blogs about bicycle trips through the wine country in California written by natives. Fans of Michael Jackson around the world were quick to post pictures and commentary in every language you can think of, and many you can't.
In America we do not get much global news if it doesn't affect us as a nation. I sometimes watch and listen to the BBC and find out about unrest or politics in far off places. I am sure it is not unbiased, but it is the best I can do for now. Once I was in a deli and saw Al-Jazeera TV. I was surprised at how balanced it was. I thought it would be Anti-American, but what I saw while I was there was not at all inflammatory. It was just a round up of stories; good journalism. The blogs are different.
Whether written in Cyrillic, Sanskrit, Korean, or Thai, I understand the pictures posted by proud parents and grandparents. I enjoy travel journals, or some one's teapot collection. Pictures are universal and I love seeing other's. I was a holdout against a digital camera until I could get a tiny one. Then I was scared to learn how to post pictures. I am a bit of a technophobe. The camera I bought last week intimidated me, hell the new Exilim, which I am familiar with, intimidates me but not as much. And as soon as I do learn how to use it, people all over the world can see my roses.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Getting What I Want
There are several ways of achieving satisfaction. One way is to do no research, go to the store and take your chance. Another is to meticulously research the subject and purchase the top rated item. Then there is my way, not always the best way, but as I say, my way. And that is to decide on an intangible idea and try to get the closest thing to it tangibly.
I lost my cute little Casio camera and had a three hundred dollar Costco rebate. I went to the store and got totally confused. I wound up buying a bigger Panasonic with a better lens. I am not happy with it. It is too big. So tonight, while most people are sleeping, I did research on the web. I am definitely going back to a smaller camera. Whether I do the Casio again I am not sure. But one thing is for sure. I am going back to my idea of what I want, a tiny light camera that I can carry with me all the time.
My roses are beautiful and I need to record their beauty to enjoy in the cold days to come. I can grow roses in pots. I cannot grow petunias but I can grow and enjoy roses. Having beautiful roses outside the door makes me very happy.
I lost my cute little Casio camera and had a three hundred dollar Costco rebate. I went to the store and got totally confused. I wound up buying a bigger Panasonic with a better lens. I am not happy with it. It is too big. So tonight, while most people are sleeping, I did research on the web. I am definitely going back to a smaller camera. Whether I do the Casio again I am not sure. But one thing is for sure. I am going back to my idea of what I want, a tiny light camera that I can carry with me all the time.
My roses are beautiful and I need to record their beauty to enjoy in the cold days to come. I can grow roses in pots. I cannot grow petunias but I can grow and enjoy roses. Having beautiful roses outside the door makes me very happy.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Getting stuff done
In my gussied up Fringe Festival Volunteer shirt last year
The pastor who counseled my friend Connie Greco before her marriage many years ago told her that she should make her bed first thing everyday. It makes the bedroom look pulled together and discourages getting back in bed. Good advice and thirty-four years later I am putting it into action. New linens always inspire me, but even without new bed clothes, I like the philosophy. Now, that doesn't mean I won't lie down on the porch, but it gets me out of bed. Today I am getting things done and that is always a good thing. I have made many phone calls and checked web pages. My bed is made, I am dressed, I have taken my meds, made plans for the evening.
Tonight is a Fringe Festival Showcase. Thirty acts in three minute intervals. I don't think I will volunteer for the Fringe this year. They have changed the policy and volunteers do not get to sit in on the shows they are working. Plus I cannot just give away the free tickets I get. I have to go with a punch card. Not volunteer friendly enough for me. As a volunteer coordinator I know you have to keep the volunteers happy and appreciated. This new policy does not do it for me. It makes the administration happy so we will go our separate ways. Going to the Showcase tonight will determine whether I see any of the full length shows. I admire anyone who puts themselves out there to be seen, who has faith in their talent and performance.
Depression is helped by taking action. Taking action is the last thing I want to do when I am depressed. It is a terrible conundrum and for today I am happy to be taking action and happy that I am not feeling the crush of depression. As my friend Michael says, blessed be.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Salt, Moonlight, Typing with a cat in my arms
When I got up and walked into this room I wondered what was causing the brightness outside. A neighbor's security light? Then I walked downstairs and the light was so bright it was casting shadows in the kitchen. Clear night, full moon, beautiful.
I had a hankering for sauerkraut and potato chips. You should see my ankles. Salt is not my friend.
Picture this, an open laptop on the table, a cat laid out before it with his head resting on my right elbow, back paws resting against left upper arm and me trying to type. I am feeling so guilty right now because this cat, Hunter, doesn't look so good and it is all my fault. He has thick white fur which covers all my furniture. I begged and begged Eri to shave him like she did her own cats. Finally she agreed but only got about half done because he was soooooo freaked out. I'm sorry Hunty Bunty. He knows how to play that guilt card and has been getting lots of extra love. I wonder what he will look like when the hair grows back?
That's it for now, from the night time rambler. I am feeling a lot better, but tomorrow is Saturday with the folks. Like a lotus I shall rise above it...yeah, that's the ticket.
I had a hankering for sauerkraut and potato chips. You should see my ankles. Salt is not my friend.
Picture this, an open laptop on the table, a cat laid out before it with his head resting on my right elbow, back paws resting against left upper arm and me trying to type. I am feeling so guilty right now because this cat, Hunter, doesn't look so good and it is all my fault. He has thick white fur which covers all my furniture. I begged and begged Eri to shave him like she did her own cats. Finally she agreed but only got about half done because he was soooooo freaked out. I'm sorry Hunty Bunty. He knows how to play that guilt card and has been getting lots of extra love. I wonder what he will look like when the hair grows back?
That's it for now, from the night time rambler. I am feeling a lot better, but tomorrow is Saturday with the folks. Like a lotus I shall rise above it...yeah, that's the ticket.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Celebrate Life
I had a facebook message from someone who attended the funeral of my friend's 19 year old son with me. She asked if I was alright because I didn't seem like myself. Yeah, I don't usually attend tragic events. I realize that this funeral was not a celebration of life. It was a marking of a senseless death, and that is a big difference. When my father-in-law Donald died we had a wonderful ceremony. We cried and we laughed and we celebrated the man we loved. We knew his death was a good thing, that his health had failed and he dreaded becoming a burden. We knew he was at peace, his affairs in order. He went quite quickly, the way we all want to go. It was time.
What do you say about a nineteen year old? He loved to fish and golf. He loved music and sunflower seeds and I can not help thinking he was just a sketch, the Creator had not filled in the lines yet, he was a work in progress that will go no further here on this earth. Now, I only know what I believe and what I know is that I don't know. Maybe he needed the next manifestation to progress to where he needs to go. I don't know. His parents and family are crushed. His friends are confused and his pastor, well, I just don't know what to say about his pastor.
I believe that Jesus was a very great spiritual leader who showed his followers how to experience the Creator within. I think since his death, his followers have taken his words out of context and created something Jesus would not recognize. I can't be a Christian because there is a huge disconnect for me. I just don't get what the Virgin Birth, the Crucifixion and Resurrection have to do with me. I don't see how God sacrificing his only son gives me eternal life. I don't get it. The church talks so much about eternal life, but what about THIS life? What about living the ideals Jesus set forth and preached about, charity and love?
The pastor talked about that friend the boy had in Jesus, who died so he could be reborn with him in heaven. How Jesus was waiting there as his best friend to welcome him. Someone said that the sermon was like Sunday school, maybe it was, I have never been. But what can you say about a teenage boy whose life was a barely written page? How can you comfort the parents and grandparents, siblings? What words of comfort are there? For a Lutheran pastor the words have to be the official church line, Jesus died for our sins and since this boy was baptised, he would have eternal life with his main homie, Jesus, and the crew in heaven. Believe me, this was not a celebration of life. I'm just glad that there was no condemnation for taking his own life.
The songs were of Salvation and I hope that those people who believe the official line have comfort. I pray for the peace that only time can bring for those that loved him. My friend will never be the same. The child's father will mourn quite deeply. This is a sorrow that I can only observe and hope not to deepen. What a damn shame.
What do you say about a nineteen year old? He loved to fish and golf. He loved music and sunflower seeds and I can not help thinking he was just a sketch, the Creator had not filled in the lines yet, he was a work in progress that will go no further here on this earth. Now, I only know what I believe and what I know is that I don't know. Maybe he needed the next manifestation to progress to where he needs to go. I don't know. His parents and family are crushed. His friends are confused and his pastor, well, I just don't know what to say about his pastor.
I believe that Jesus was a very great spiritual leader who showed his followers how to experience the Creator within. I think since his death, his followers have taken his words out of context and created something Jesus would not recognize. I can't be a Christian because there is a huge disconnect for me. I just don't get what the Virgin Birth, the Crucifixion and Resurrection have to do with me. I don't see how God sacrificing his only son gives me eternal life. I don't get it. The church talks so much about eternal life, but what about THIS life? What about living the ideals Jesus set forth and preached about, charity and love?
The pastor talked about that friend the boy had in Jesus, who died so he could be reborn with him in heaven. How Jesus was waiting there as his best friend to welcome him. Someone said that the sermon was like Sunday school, maybe it was, I have never been. But what can you say about a teenage boy whose life was a barely written page? How can you comfort the parents and grandparents, siblings? What words of comfort are there? For a Lutheran pastor the words have to be the official church line, Jesus died for our sins and since this boy was baptised, he would have eternal life with his main homie, Jesus, and the crew in heaven. Believe me, this was not a celebration of life. I'm just glad that there was no condemnation for taking his own life.
The songs were of Salvation and I hope that those people who believe the official line have comfort. I pray for the peace that only time can bring for those that loved him. My friend will never be the same. The child's father will mourn quite deeply. This is a sorrow that I can only observe and hope not to deepen. What a damn shame.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Feeling a great deal better
Well, Monday was a very sad day. I wrote as much in my blog. Today was some improvement. Made a list and did a few things on it, so that is good. But the best thing is I was able to talk to a friend who just listened. Then I spoke with Scott. I told him I was starting to look for an apartment. I told him some other stuff too and his response was that each day he wakes up wondering if he should just stick it out or kill himself. I said I thought about that too, or doing away with him. He reiterated to me that he wants to be fair and wants me to land on my feet.
Later I told him how shocked I was to hear him say that. I know thoughts of ending it all flit through MY brain, but I never thought he felt that way too. We agreed we must change the way things are going and I think we both feel better for having spoken.
So whether I buy something right away, and he is thinking I should get a house, not a condo, or just rent for awhile, I am going to try to move soon, by the end of the summer if not sooner. Anything to end the inertia.
On a serious note, tomorrow I will attend a funeral for a nineteen year old boy. I think it is a suicide, I will know more later. I remember going to Jerusha Kessler's funeral and telling Harriet about it. She said "She got confused." I always remember those words when I am despondent and think there is no use in going on. I will always remember that it is confusion that makes one feel that way. Confusion passes, death does not. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and I will NEVER cause my family the heartache it creates. This is a promise.
Later I told him how shocked I was to hear him say that. I know thoughts of ending it all flit through MY brain, but I never thought he felt that way too. We agreed we must change the way things are going and I think we both feel better for having spoken.
So whether I buy something right away, and he is thinking I should get a house, not a condo, or just rent for awhile, I am going to try to move soon, by the end of the summer if not sooner. Anything to end the inertia.
On a serious note, tomorrow I will attend a funeral for a nineteen year old boy. I think it is a suicide, I will know more later. I remember going to Jerusha Kessler's funeral and telling Harriet about it. She said "She got confused." I always remember those words when I am despondent and think there is no use in going on. I will always remember that it is confusion that makes one feel that way. Confusion passes, death does not. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and I will NEVER cause my family the heartache it creates. This is a promise.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Like a wave, watch out for the undertow
Unless you have experienced true depression, and I hope like hell you have not, you cannot understand what it feels like. Hopeless, helpless, and so very sad. It is like a wave that washes over and you have to fight the undertow because if you let it take you, you will die. It is hard to remember that life is beautiful. It feels like laughter is something that happened to someone else and joy is only a concept. When this happens to me, as it is happening now, there is only one thing that keeps me going. It is knowing that it will pass and like the tide, it will ebb.
As I sit here writing this, tears trickle down my face and I wipe them off and blow my nose. tomorrow is another day and I hope I can wake up and face it. I wish someone would come and help me make a list and give me direction. But I have to do it myself.
Many years ago I went on a retreat alone. I wished someone was with me but understood that ultimately we walk alone. It is nice to have a companion but I am the only one who can move my feet. Left, right, and left again. Do not retreat to the bed and hide under the cover. But now it is almost one and I will go to bed, maybe to sleep, maybe not, and hope to feel better soon.
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