But still, maybe if I had known somehow, how tiring it would be. How mentally un-invigorating it was. Maybe if I’d known that it would make me want to sleep for days, or drink for weeks, or consider taking several illicit drugs at once, maybe I could have prevented my mental instability in the first place. Then again, it’s not like you can explain the pros and cons of creativity versus insanity to a three year old. But it’s a nice idea, to think about what it might be like to have a life where you are not constantly drained of energy and life force. To have a day when you aren’t scrambling to figure out what your own brain is thinking, or where your own thoughts are going. To have a day where you remember what your agenda was, and how to do difficult tasks like walking in a straight line, or breathing through your nose. It’s a challenge just to stay employed when you would rather be playing video games, or watching cartoons on TV while you remain in your pajamas all day and eat nothing but ice cream and pizza. And maybe a bowlful of Doritos. It’s a bit of a stretch to answer questions like “what’s wrong?” or “how are you doing?” when you honest-to-god don’t know the answer. How do you explain to people that you are just a ten year old in a forty year old woman’s body?
So back to the exhausting part. God I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. People have commented on how bad I look this week, which is always flattering, and even though I’ve felt sick and wondered about having the flu, I reckon it’s mostly lack of sleep. And my therapist says I have dark circles under my eyes that she’s never seen before. Of course she has only known me for about a year, so she isn’t familiar with this routine. The insomnia. The monthly cycles of sleep/don’t sleep; stay up ‘till the Wicked hours of the night, then sleep ‘till noon; go to bed early and wake up too soon and not be able to fall asleep at night. She doesn’t know about these familiar habits; or at least we haven’t emphasized them much to her. She seems to think we need to take our meds, and see our doctor, and maybe that will help. I tried to tell her. I tried to explain that what I needed was a good pint of tequila, or a shot of whiskey, or even just a couple of beers. She laughs. “No, that won’t be good for work,” she says. Who said anything about work? I said BEER. I’m sure I enunciated it properly. B-EE-EEE-R.
I don’t know why they haven’t come up with a discount rate for insomniacs or crazies, verifiable by one’s therapist. I’d like to present a coupon to my nearest liquor store worker: “This Coupon entitles the Bearer to the largest possible bottle of Tequila on the Premises. Said Bearer will receive a 25% discount on purchase of such Bottle, owing to a lack of mental awareness which only said Tequila can replenish. Please consider this a Medicinal Purchase, and Frequent Drinker Miles apply. In dire situations, Beer of choice may be substituted for Tequila, but must then be accompanied by several packs of cigarettes or containers of Hookah tobacco. For any questions regarding the validity of this coupon, or the seriousness of the Bearer’s insanity, first
1. Look at Bearer of Coupon.
2. Notice dazed look on face and vacant expression in eyes.
3. Note the rocking back and forth motion as Bearer re-counts money in pocket for a fourth time.
4. If all else does not convince you, ask for card and number of therapist and call immediately.
wow. what ever happened to this thing called LOGIC? or COMMON SENSE? or PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT ASSHOLES AND TRY TO BLAME EVERYONE ELSE FOR ALL THEIR SHORTCOMINGS. (this includes YOU lawyer!!!)
today is an Egyptian Day.
according to Nigel Pennick’s research, today (June 22) is a somewhat unlucky day. don’t worry, he lists a good many of them in his book, so it’s not a SPECIAL unlucky day, just a regular one.
but i started off today feeling rather wonky. out of body. swirly. my sister said i needed to go hold a stone, so i climbed the stairs, sat on my bed, and held a large crystal rock i was given. i had visions. and journeys. and hunger pains, so i went down and ate some Cheerios. but i did feel better.
then i went to work. now, this is what Nigel is saying in his book: if you can at all, don’t do that. don’t go to work on an Egyptian Day. or, you know, win the LOTTO the day before so you don’t have to. but i didn’t. win the LOTTO that is, so i DID have to go in to work. and while i was there the computer’s crashed so that customers couldn’t help themselves and had to wait in line for us, and we had to do everything old school style: sans online software. whew. not ideal.
but then, to add more excitement to the picture, i rolled over the top of my friend’s foot with the chair and potentially broke her toe. to this she exclaimed in true French fashion. so i ran to get ice. but of course, there was no quick-break-ice-pack in the medic box, so i had to go up 4 flights. and that doesn’t sound bad, except that the speed of our elevator is sort of like my Grandma when she was leaving church with her walker that she called “Ethel”…slow . but finally i did get to the floor i needed, and still no ice bags. so then i had to crack open ice from the ice trays and fill a baggie (which of course i couldn’t find in the first four drawers).
but finally – friend in ice and computers coming back from hibernation – i saw a cute patron and all seemed like it might right itself. but wait! the day is still not over! the final ‘guest’ of the day runs in to pick up something and gets into a lengthy conversation with a co-worker, while the other workers are breathing like dragons down my neck and security is turning all the lights off. and by now i’ve been twitchy for several hours (feeling the need to shift personalities) and i’m hungry and dreaming of liquid beverages you can’t get in a vending machine.
which i consumed upon coming home.
(after i drove around for 1/2 an hour trying to get a pizza, getting cash, avoiding people going to a baseball game, avoiding the three cop cars hanging around the middle of the street and the two on the corner whose occupants were wrestling a drug addict on the ground spouting blood from his face)
so yeah, next time just stay home.
i love these little … whatever they ares. got them during my birthday bash weekend for less than a buck each. they are so cute, and have been handy so far for ice cream (better portions than when i use a cereal bowl!!!) and also MARGARITAS!! LOVE THEM
though i have to admit my mind isn’t really on the great colored glass when i’m putting down the margaritas. and lately it seems like even just one of these little glasses is enough to make me topple-overy. is it just that i’m getting older? does everyone become a severe light weight with age?
it’s Fat Tuesday! yay, time to suck down some sugar and lard in order to get ready for some serious self sacrifice!
the history of Fat Tuesday is shrouded in mystery: did it originate with the Polish, who made too many Panczis one day, and decided on a random Tuesday to have a blow out sale? was it initiated by the Pagan-cum-Christians, who were eager to fit into the church (so as not to be burned) but reluctant to set aside their partying ways? or did it all really begin in New Orleans, spear-headed by some crafty politician that knew shiny beads, alcohol and sugary treats meant debauchery, drunkenness and increased tourism capital.
any way you look at it, kafillions of people observe Fat Tuesday before buckling down for the more strenuous Lent. eat, drink and be merry today, for tomorrow we must not have chocolate. or soda. or smoking. whatever your vice is.
i don’t think this is a bad thing. i’m not against it in any way. i’m also not a Christian (any longer) so i can choose to observe or not observe this time of year. the thing that is interesting to me is the giving up of something for Lent. i’ve heard of people giving up red meat, sugar, junk food and alcohol. i’ve heard people say they are going to give up Facebook for Lent. how is this really honoring Christ’s sacrifice? i mean, if he goes for a month without food or water, he’s delusional and dehydrated, malnourished and exhausted, then crucified on a cross for not doing anything wrong, how does giving up french fries equate to that sacrifice? is it really on the same playing field? – hypothetical question, that.
instead of trying to make myself feel better for having indulgences and vices by ignoring them for a stretch of days, i’d rather try to incorporate new things in my life. if, as Christians proclaim, Jesus came to give us life, and free us from sin, why are we spending all this time sacrificing something that won’t help anyone? Jesus doesn’t need my soda. or my damn good Taco flavored Doritos. me offering them to him isn’t going to do him any good, or me. it would just make me super cranky to not have my caffeine. instead of focusing on what is bad in us and what should be expunged, what if we all embraced life? what if instead of focusing on my eating habits, i helped feed the poor? what if instead of giving up time on the internet, i worked with Habitat for Humanity to get someone a new home? what if i bought someone a cup of coffee instead of giving up my own?
it seems to me the world might be a brighter place if we spent more time helping one another – at ANY time of the year – rather than beating ourselves on the head for eating yummy foodstuffs.
you know that old song “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it, then you’re face will really show it…lalalalalala”
i’m trying to think what that song would sound like if you’re an old, tired, grumpy, jaded person who doesn’t have the energy to clap or smile, and is really looking forward to something more like falling down in a dead drunk sleep and drooling all over the pillow while simultaneously avoiding alcohol poisoning by a hair.
haven’t quite come up with it yet, but i’ll let you know.
people like to celebrate their heritage in different ways. some people might go back through their lineage, find their family’s coat of arms and display it in the house. others might trace their ancestry back to their country of origin, and take a trip with their family to find any relatives, or roam over the stomping grounds of a great-great-great lost uncle, grandparent or ex-communicated patch of cousins.
me, i like to do things differently. i have my own ways.
for instance, a few years ago i discovered that i was mostly Czechoslovakian (if a pretty-much-mostly-mutt can be “most” of something). it appears my way of celebrating this heritage is by growing lots of hair where i don’t want it. wonky eyebrows that refuse to participate in beauty class, goofball stray hairs that seem to think i live in the arctic and need to protect one hair follicle on my cheek, or two follicles on my chin. (wtf?) and of course my legs think i need a built in pair of boots to keep me warm at all times. thanks, Czecks!
i seem to celebrate my Native American heritage by being poor and having a tendency to enjoy alcohol and pills too much.
i think we are part Irish, though i might be making that up, but just in case, i do love a good potato, so i have that duly covered. and in case there is any Romanian in me i do tarot readings, so i’m full of the celebration there as well.
all in all, i feel i’m representing my people groups as best i can.
It is windy today, the day after a small storm blows through the town. The branches have been wrested off of trees, and lay in random configurings throughout the park, on the street, in the dirt. It is sunny, and blue, and warm today. But not too warm. Not muggy like it was yesterday, just before the storm hit. Not swealtery. It is a perfect summer day, with a slight breeze, and a slow, unconcerned ticking of the hands on the clock. This day could last forever. All of eternity might exist in this one meandering day of summer.
Not like last night, when the wind picked up speed, and shook the telephone poles, and forced strange worried sounds out of the trees. Not like the flurry of activity that occurred as people ran into houses and buildings, trying to escape the fierce breath of the wind forcing against them, making them feel like they are walking on treadmills, rather than out for an evening stroll.
The dirt from the road construction beats against the early evening walkers, pelting their eyes and faces with speckles of sand. Grit and grime cling to the walkers as the rain smatters the earth. Lightning flashes, electricity sparks, and the sky grows dark far too quickly. “We must press on,” the two tell each other in loud voices, trying to be heard over the distant cries of fire trucks and ambulances. “We must continue to move”. On they travel, faster now, trying to reach their destination before they get caught in the destructive force of the sudden storm. And finally reaching the rendezvous point, they make the drop, exchange the goods, and head out again into the face of certain doom. And yes, the world is a darker place now. Now that they have acquired the package. The surrounding environment seems heavier, bleaker, more kissed by the lips of city than it was just a moment ago. But still they press on, this time headed for a different destination. A safer place. A quieter place. Somewhere they can finally rest.
And once at the safe destination, the travelers are finally able to think about the morrow, and the hope of the shining sun. Perhaps they WILL survive the night, now that they have risked lung and limb to acquire what must be had. And so finally, our two weary sojourners collapse in heaps, open the precious parcel, and withdraw the potentially dangerous goods. “Ahhhh,” says the one to the other, “this is so what I needed”. And drowning herself in her Blue Moon, she forgets about the long day, and the hard life, and the inner turmoil, and floats away on a river of tasty hoppiness. Accidental hoppiness, perhaps. And she drinks herself silly, and determines that all will be well in the morning.
And it is.