With Desired Effects…

this weekend was legendary.  friday’s work was hard and annoying- mice turds, scummy tubs and christmas tree removal.  fears of last weekend’s blowout still ringing through my brain.  not one to be dissolved into misery, not anymore at least, i pasted a waxy smile to my face and reminded myself how short life is, and cautiously stepped into Friday Night.

when your partner of ten years takes mood altering medication, you never know what face you will see at the end of the day.  one weekend smiles.  next weekend you are homeless.  one weekend is hot and heavy, sex, sex, sex.  the next weekend you are face down on the floor, sobbing.  with the uncertainty of days of wine and song, or nights of hyperventilating sobs, weekends can be a scary place, and have lost most of the glittery dancing, cocktail clubbing,  Thank God It’s Friday-ing times i used to live for.  so it was with supreme eggshell-walking i planned on not planning out how my weekend would go and with trepidation i watched the clock.  i crafted.  i cleaned.  i failed at crochet again.  i wrote.  i read.  i texted.  i went to the gym.  i ate.  i filled time.  i was.  i sat.  i thought.  i worried.  i chewed my nails.  i picked my cuticles.  i texted.  i snacked.  i ate mindlessly.  i worried some more.  i panicked.  i flipped out.  i cancelled plans with friends.  i texted.  i pretended.  i faked that nothing was wrong.  i stared out the window until 2 AM when i saw his car pull up.  i froze.

clumpy snowy steel toed boots walked in.  boots came off.  wooly-socked little feet.  a “hey baby, how are you?” and a kiss.  i smiled, cautiously.  the weekend had officially begun.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/02/03/daily-prompt-copies/

Most Horrible String of Events to Date….

-i didnt salt my eggplant enough and had that back-of-the-throat-itchy-allergic-reaction-thing
-was so hungry and angry about not wanting to waste my eggplant that i ate it all anyways- which ended with me having flu-like symptoms
-was late for work because of all of the damn construction around West View
-my ipod shit the bed. like, it died a horrible death- “red X in a circle” icon of doom and everything
-my phone decided to shit the bed and crash when i went to look for a solution to my ipod’s “red X in a circle” thing
-my laptop crashed as i was looking up how to fix my phone’s problem that was caused by my ipod
-found my spare ipod and peer pressured myself to the gym, where my spare ipod decided it didnt want to work either, so i was forced to listen to the gym’s awful “Workout Motivating Mix”—which you have to know, was horrible, you guys.
-nearly FELL THROUGH AND OVER the stationary bike that i was trying to mount. i’m really short AS WELL AS fat, so getting onto equipment made for normal humans is ALWAYS a challenge.
-was too embarrassed to adjust the seat of my stationary bike, so i rode that fucker for 25 minutes awkwardly and in pain, knees knocking the handlebars. CLASSY AND AWESOME.
-left the gym not feeling exercised, but defeated and music-less.
-EXIT TO GET ME HOME WAS BLOCKED FOR NO APPARENT REASON so i was detoured around a shady neighborhood for 25 minutes, lost as fuck.
-found my way to where i needed to be, and was met with a WALL OF TRAFFIC. NO ONE LET ME MERGE, so i became murderous.
-stuck in traffic for 50 minutes having to poop and with a scratchy EGGPLANTY throat, with NO MUSIC except “Delilah After Dark”- hit 5th STAGE OF HATE
-stuck in traffic for 50 minutes having to poop and with a scratchy EGGPLANTY throat, with NO MUSIC except “Delilah After Dark” and “LOW FUEL” light came on.
-actually considered getting out of my vehicle and pooping on side of the road.
-traffic finally started moving before i pooped on the side of the road and started flinging my feces at vehicles because i officially hit 6th STAGE OF HATE.
-got home, thankful to not have pooped my pants, run out of gas, murdered anyone, or in jail.

this all happened to me yesterday. and this horrible string of events is PRECISELY why i suffer from agoraphobia and HATE leaving my house.
i thought i’d share.
i can always look back and say- “well, today might be bad, but at least it isnt as bad as that night i actually considered pooping on the side of a busy road”.

My Listy OCD

I do something I called PLANNED SPONTANEITY which is giving myself an agenda of listed tasks and sort of just allow myself to go about it in any way that I can to get the stuff done.

I’m a planner by nature. I make lists of lists. I am an uber multi tasker. I judge myself based on what I have accomplished during a day. I judge others on their inability to multitask. And yes, I have been known on occasion to add something to the bottom of a list only to immediately cross it out. It’s a completed task, isn’t it? It counts! It does!

My OCD is boundless, hence the task of going back to complete all of the DAILY PROMPTS from when I started these blogs. Sure, I could easily walk away and just start with the one that starts tomorrow- but what about all of those OTHER prompts? Those ones that were sent and I didn’t even attempt? WHAT ABOUT THOSE????? For the love of god there are so many!!!! But I must do them all! Even if it means not going to the gym, or the GROSSery store, or to the bar with my friends!!! And what if I do? What’s the point? The whole time on the treadmill all I’ll be able to think about is the ten or so DAILY PROMPTS sitting there in my inbox, taking up virtual space! Standing there at the bar, doing shots I will be thinking of how I haven’t vacuumed the living room for the sixth time this week…. WONT SOMEONE PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN????? You may think I am exaggerating, but alas, I am not. Not even a little. There I am, in the produce aisle, deciding between romaine or iceberg and trying to not acknowledge the niggle in my brain reminding me to make sure I update my ITUNES playlist and make sure I don’t have any duplicates in my music library. I am not kidding you.

You would think that this would make me super super productive. But it doesn’t. The reality is that I spend so much energy fretting about getting things done, that I waste time accomplishing very little. I say as I type up my fifth blog of the day while staring at my chipped nailpolish that I am obsessing over painting, while my wet laundry waits yet another couple of hours before going into the dryer and I completely ignore/avoid my taxes. But you know what? Tomorrow is another day. Thank god for procrastination. Thank effing god.

(cross posted from my other blog- http://tealshades.wordpress.com )

side effects

Celexa.  Cymbalta.  Prozac.  Lexapro.
Paxil.  Ativan.  Seroquel. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm….. there you go.

Just a few things I need, indeed, to stay up
Interesting to think I can be fed my moods, or lack thereof, in a cup.

Wellbutrin.  Zoloft.  Zyprexia.  Valerian root tea.
All served up and ready to produce an even better me.

The celexa gave me lockjaw so bad that I thought I had died.
Cymbalta didn’t do anything so I sat around and cried.
Prozac made me feel funky and all jittery with the shakes.
Lexapro I don’t remember much, but the horrible stomach aches.

cute and sugary coated like that rhyming poetry shit- that’s just not me.
my quirky doctor wanted me to write out how I was feeling and that was the first bunch of crap that just popped into my brain.
and it made me want to barf.  it made me actually feel worse than before i sat down to write it.

but the other part, the part that i wrote and DIDN’T SHARE?  was so much worse. 
and you never want to do something that opens yourself up for judgement by your therapist,
or allow them to see the basketcase that you really are.

On Writing

so, i have always loved writing. i always enjoy the control of it, the catharsis, the release, the power. i love the creation and evolution and even organization of written words. not to sound trite, but i have been writing as long as i can remember- even going so far as getting caught and BUSTED in 4th grade for a naughty illustrated short story called “HORNY MOANA.” but as life went on, reality and the BIGPEOPLE WORLD clouded my brain from ever becoming a successful writer. self doubt, improbability and the general PIPE DREAM of being an accomplished writer was squashed dead, like the proverbial cockroach. i can look back to a period of almost a decade where i believed writing to be such a farfetched fantasy that i didnt write ANYTHING AT ALL. no real surprising coincidence that it was about the time of my FIRST GREAT DEPRESSION….

something inside broke and i was unable to process any of my emotions which all seemed to be fighting to try and get out at once. i hated so much about my life, my self, my everything. i cried nonstop for days and days. my brain was short-circuiting and i couldnt figure out what to do, so i picked up a notebook and started to write again.

i remember writing for two days solid. it was dark and sinister, cruel and cold, and moreover, it was barely legible. but it didnt matter. words spewed forth and as if by magick, disappeared into the universe. so writing was back on the menu, and for awhile, was all the mental medication i needed. after awhile BIGPEOPLE life got in the way again, and started taking over my writing time, until it was little more than a scribbled sentence or two on a napkin.

once again, unsurprisingly, my depression hit back, and even harder this time, cracking me in the back of my skull with a diagnosis of “agoraphobia”, “acute chronic depression” and “social anxiety disorder.” great. add to that absolutely no self confidence, rotten self esteem and harshly critical unsupportive peers that said that writing was a ridiculous waste of time, even as a mere hobby. my writing career was over before it was even a seed in my brain.

many more braincloudy years passed, and i kept ticking down time, slogging through housewifery and reality television, until one day i rediscovered one of my old journals. it was if i actually could hear the light come on again, and i began to write again. i described my painful and lonely journey through depression and as before, felt myself blossoming back to life. in that moment, i realized that writing was one of the only things that made sense to me, and that it was something i had to do. i realized that i HAD to be a writer. that as a hobby, or dabbler or a full-blown best selling novelist, that by goddess, i had to write. that was almost a decade ago and since then, i have been making AND TAKING steps to living my fully realized dream; becoming a professional (and paid) writer.

this is a scary thing, a daunting task. an unbelievably, impossibly stupid goal uphill, both ways, in the snow.  and i realize this is the hokey schmaltz back-story of most writers, especially since i love what i write and i always have. HOWEVER, i rarely, until recently have ever shared my work, so based my confidence of my writing SOLELY on my own opinions. the times when i allowed others to read things, all have been very well received, with loads of compliments and pats on the back. but, i’m not that easily convinced and still doubt my writing ability. i have since named this “THE AMERICAN IDOL COMPLEX.” THE AMERICAN IDOL COMPLEX is when starry-eyed and naive people go on American Idol because their family and some people at a karaoke bar in a bo dunk town told them that they were “the best singer they ever heard.” they have unnecessarily and totally inaccurate assessments and opinions of themselves, and ultimately end up looking like idiots in front of the world. now, i never plan to publicly humiliate myself in front of millions of people, but the idea is the same.

i will say this, taking things painfully slow, spending months researching and planning seems to be working and finally paying off. i am finally gaining more confidence sharing my work and getting all of my little wordy ducks in a row. i am incredibly proud of myself, and all that i have accomplished, in the short time since i put my plan into action. i never listened to my mom too much because she wasnt much for sayings, but i’d like to think that if she said anything, she’d say “slow and steady wins the race.”

now, i still dont flatter myself to think that i will ever become a female David Sedaris like i always tell my son, but regardless, i am actually taking steps and accomplishing more than i expected thus far. and although i have been doin’ the whole “slow and steady” thing over a span of many, many years, i finally feel like i am gaining momentum, and have been writing my little heart out, now i am starting to get impatient. i found myself resenting my (paid) job today and all week, for that matter, because it was getting in the way of my writing. now, i’m not cool or conceited enough to believe that i dont need a paid job or income, in fact i have been lacking in the money department for a few months. winter is always a slow time for me; tis the nature of the beast, but years before, i always was proud of myself for powering through and getting myself back to good.

this year?  there is little motivation to have my own business; my focus and attention are all on writing.  and i know that my business is what gives me the luxury of having so much free time to write, but i feel that familiar creeping dread of “gotta go to work tomorrow” that i had with every other job.  i always prided myself on being happy to go to work, and not wasting energy like the rest of the 9 to 5’ers on being miserable.

“means to an end,” they say, and i’m going to keep on keepin’ on, but it was just what was on my mind today as i finished updating the zine and then trooped out the door to “make the doughnuts,” so to speak.  again, i don’t flatter myself that i am better than other hardworking people, least of all my boyfriend that works harder and more awful hours than most, but like i said, this was just the thoughts on the ol’ brain.  i would guess that this feeling is as much motivation that i need to keep me on my path.

my brain is on fire and once again words are fighting to get out, but this time, i am prepared.  i am ready!  the writing switch has been flipped.  no way i am going back now!  it’s full steam ahead, captain!  WRITING HO!