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just me

Today it is me here
lying on my porch
face to the sky as I
listen
to the wind
sweeping through my
neighborhood
and nudging the trees,
encouraging them to
talk to me
once again.
Today it is me here
sharing space with
the world
as I study my trees
which have already begun
to change
into colors so vivid
my crayon box cannot
replicate them.
Today it is me here,
and I’m not vying for
this body
and it is only me for now
and this precious moment
is unique because
of the singularity
of voices
I hear inside.
Today it is me here
and I revel in this day
to myself
in the quietness of
the hour
and the stillness
of my usually
too chatty
soul.

the dunder dictionary

I have a hang up with words. I don’t mean to be this way, but words mean more to me than maybe your average person. My sister likes to talk in conceptual ways, offering me the grand scheme of things, or an overall picture when we are in the middle of a discussion or argument. When recalling a movie, she will remind me of the director, the actors, and the plot.
“Is that the one where the guy is out running around in the streets, and it’s all dark and rainy, and the city looks like it’s somewhere in central Europe?” I ask.

Because I am not a plot person. I am a scene person.

I remember pictures and moments and specific emotions.

Words color the ideas, like crayons filling in a coloring book. Sometimes people like to use words that cover a lot of ground. Like ‘Tired” for instance. If someone says to me they are tired, I can relate. But what do you mean, really? Are you tired as in sleepy? Are you physically worn down from doing too much? Are you bored, and therefore tired of your situation? Are you depressed and tired of your job, which is maybe leaning more toward despondency? I mean, sure you can get out a big blue crayon, and color the person in the coloring book blue, for “waaaahhh”. Or you could use Cerulean Blue, and Indigo, and Cornflower.

I know this makes me a difficult person (along with all the other issues I have that make me difficult. wait, i’m trying to convince myself i am challenging, interesting and colorful rather than difficult. so COLORFUL is what we’ll go with today) I know this means I’m annoying to people at times, asking them to specify the meaning of their phrase so I can more clearly place their emotional outburst in the right filing drawer.

But words are important to me.

In fact, I create my own words because I often find my own language just slightly lacking in some expressions I need. Or maybe it isn’t the language, maybe I just don’t remember the words I’m looking for, so spontaneously make up something to act as pinch hitter for the missing word that won’t surface in my brain. In junior high I used “honkin’ ” a lot. Everything was honkin’ big. I used this expression especially when making fun of my drama teacher, Mr. Serafino. I actually adored the man, but he was an interesting character, and kids often picked on him for his strange, passionate, intense ways (Italian), his large nose and his need to wear disco pants. But he was my favorite teacher. Still, I had to chime in once in a while and pick on “Serafinose” for his “honkin’ big nose”. I swore I made that expression up. Obviously I didn’t make up the word, because people have been honking their horns for forever. But to describe a large object, I was sure it was a phrase I’d coined. Yet decades later I heard the expression in a movie.

“They stole my word!” was all I could think.

So this blog is for sharing my words.  I tend to tag these entries under “denelleiopedia” but my sister doesn’t approve of this word.  So “dunder dictionary” is what it’s becoming.   I’ll likely amend the list later, or create another when I’ve amassed more. But in case these words ever become a part of culture, I’m claiming them as my own, so you heard it here first. (or read it. whatever)

DUNDER:

1. To question or consider something or the meaning of something

(i/e: what do you think is behind the gate in the Lion’s Gate symbol at the beginning of the movie?)

2. A question or hypothetical situation proposing an idea or seeking further information.

(i/e:  if you were trying to open that gate, would you use pliers, or a crowbar, or like one of those big hefting things they used to batter down doors in the old days?)

3. An annoyance.

(i/e: Denelle, can you just watch this movie and shut up?)

VOMITATIONOUS:

1. Something that creates or causes a sense of disgust.

2. Vomit inducing.

3. Utterly gross or disgusting.

(Her sweater is so vomitationous. I’m surprised he can even LOOK at her when she’s wearing that, let alone kiss her.)

(“Ewww, that chili cheese dog was too much.” “Dude, don’t get all vomitationous on me”)

TIMERIZE:

1. To set a timer to record a television show. In most households this might commonly be called “programming”. Other adjectives include DVR, tape, record.

(“Hey will you timerize that show so we don’t forget to watch it?”)

SNUGGY:

1. A horrible commercial for a ridiculous product that is really a blanket with arms. (which we happen to own in Michigan State University theme)

2. A blanket for old people (and people who get funny gifts from their family).

3. Warm, safe and comfortable.

4. Yummy feeling.

5. Warmth inducing item.

SCRITCHY:

1. An unpleasant texture.

2. Coarse, rough material.

(ewww, those socks are all scritchy)

3. Undesirable emotions.

4. Unstable and dangerous frame of mind or state of being. (“I’m feeling a little scritchy today”, she says as she drives the car into a tree)

SCHLOMPY:

1. A slovenly, bad postured person.

2. In disrepair.

3. Disheveled.

4. A person with a distinctive “ick-factor”.

5. Kafuffled. (I think L.M. Montgomery coined this word in Anne of Green Gables. I could be wrong)

KAFUFFLED:

(I imagine this is what she meant by the word)

1. At a loss. (I’m all kafuffled, I don’t know what to say)

2. Verklempt.

3. Taken off guard.

4. Emotionally ruffled.

ZEN*DO*DA: (zen-doo-dah)

1. A relaxed, gentle state of being.

2. Philosophies and belief systems that create a sense of Zen wisdom.

3. A phrase that reveals jealousy or disdain for those people who do not get “ruffled” by life’s antics.

4. Casual categorization of spiritual matters that seem too lofty or advanced for the speaker to reach, attain or achieve.

VOLUMIZER:

1. A remote control device that increases the volume of entertainment equipment and gadgets. Commonly referred to as “the clicker” by some, or “the remote” by others.

(Can you find the volumizer for me? I can’t hear the T.V.)

EASILIER:

1. The most easiest thing.

(more to come sometime, stay tuned)

DIDieness:

when describing the issues, feelings, and surrounding energies of having Dissociative Identity Disorder (also Multiple Personality Disorder)  .  pronounced like “giddiness”, the stranger “DIDieness” would be used like this:   “I didn’t know anything about my DIDieness until I was in my late twenties.  Well, officially anyway”.

DIDie, or perhaps DIDy:

one who has DID, i/e Multiple Personality Disorder

TICK~TOCKERY:

some things that fall into the Tick~Tockery category are as follows, but not limited to:  gadgets, gears, clockwork, ornamentation, James Bond type toys and Mission Impossible style undercover work, pretty fastenings, old machinery, and Steampunk stylings, keys, fobs, chains and such goodies.

for more on Tick~Tockery see   https://accidentalhappiness.wordpress.com/2011/06/14/denelleiopedia-tick-tockery/

TUMPED:

1. To be knocked over or knocked down.  To fall over on one’s own accord or volition.

“that fat boy with the big nose tumped me over on the playground”  or “don’t make me tump you over”

YUMMTH DEGREE:

the infinite degree of yumminess allowable known to man

(for previous entries, see   https://accidentalhappiness.wordpress.com/2010/07/29/the-dunder-dictionary/            or         https://accidentalhappiness.wordpress.com/?s=denelleiopedia&submit=Search

a little person in all of us

 

In the eighties it seemed like the in thing was “therapy”. I remember living in California in my late teens and early twenties, and everyone talking about their therapist. The catch phrase at the time was “inner child”. Everyone seemed to have an “inner child” that needed to be gotten a hold of. At the time I thought it was a strange notion, a little kid trapped inside a giant adult body. Was this like the old commercials they used to play? “Inside every fat person is a skinny person trying to get out”? I imagined my little child in there, longing for the crayons as I walked around the grocery store buying only adult foods, like diet soda and salads and wheat toast. And here is my inner child, trying desperately to force my legs over to the aisle with the coloring books and stickers and markers. Really though, understanding myself a bit better now, it sort of IS like that. I do sometimes have little ones vying for their own time.

My view of my condition is sort of like driving in a carpool. Have I said this before here? Because I sometimes forget. So let’s say there are a bunch of people in a car – a bunch of me, for example. Someone has to do the driving – get me to work on time, pick up some beer on the way home, remember which house to go into. It used to be that whomever was driving the body was the only one I knew about. If I “shifted” from one personality to the next, there was no one else to really understand or observe this. Or at least, no one I was aware of. I left one personality, spent some time at a “wiping clean” place, and then went from there. I might go into this more later because it probably doesn’t make much sense unless you’ve read books about this kind of thing, but basically, most of the people in “my car” were unaware of each other. Like a bunch of kids in the back seat, fast asleep, while someone else drives along. Over time, more of my personalities have become aware of each other, and now it’s more like a Chinese Fire Drill, or a team effort to get things done.

This all probably sounds pretty weird to you, and hey, it’s weird on this end as well. But I’m getting used to it. Still, there is a lot of adapting I have to do. I need to get to know these different personalities, and their individual quirks. Like the person who tries to throw me down the stairs whenever she is out. I’ve had a number of falls down stairs because of this, and frequently miss a few steps at the end of the staircase when I’m not paying attention, because she seems to be into the whole Alfred Hitchcock murder scene or something. I have to look out for the resident klutz as well, as she can trip over extra long carpet fibers and dangerously protruding dust bunnies. I don’t want to say that this personality isn’t bright, but definitely not terribly aware of her surroundings. I have a grumpy girl, who frowns more often than she blinks; a gasping girl, who sounds like she might die if she has to use her own energy to go into the kitchen to get a glass of water; a giggly girl, a tomboy, and Tiger.

Not that there aren’t more than that, but Tiger is the one that really sealed the deal. For a while I was struggling with this whole idea of MPD. Though, if you’ve read my other blogs you’ll know that I was actually previously diagnosed, about fifteen years prior to the more recent diagnosis. Still, one of the me’s out and about didn’t believe there were more me’s than just me. She thought we were making it up. Or trying to get attention. Or crazy. Just crazy in the way that would make you invent something like MPD and pretend that you had it for some reason.

Then one day, on the way to therapy, something troubled me. A car of stupid youthful boys drove by, with their annoying and thumping music blaring so loud that the windows of the nearby fast food restaurant shook and clattered. I was already feeling a little peevish, and that seemed to be the last sudden straw. I started to growl at the car. I furrowed my eyebrows, lowered my head, and began growling a little guttural snarl at the youthful offenders. I growled as we drove alongside them, frowning my eyeballs toward them. I growled as we passed them, and turned down another street. I growled down the road, and past the street lights, and changed my growl to a Cat Woman meow as we drove past a police car (men in uniform. even as a multiple, I still have a unified appreciation for the opposite sex). I growled the entire car ride to my therapist (my sister was driving) and didn’t stop even in my session. My sister went with me to this session, because – obviously – I couldn’t talk for a while. I was too busy growling.

Eventually something made me laugh, and I started to come out of that personality, Tiger. Tiger is just a little scratch of a thing. My father started calling me Tiger I don’t know when. But he used to prop me up on a table when we were out at a restaurant or coffee shop, and call me Tiger, and ask me what I was. And I would growl, and snarl at him, “Rawwrr, I’n a Tiger”, because I couldn’t have been more than two or three. Anyway, Tiger really existed. Probably one of my first personalities, if not THE first. I don’t know. But because I’d already heard these stories from my dad, I knew about Tiger. And here she was one day, growling out of my face.

On some level, it seemed other of my personalities were aware of this. Aware that the physical body was growling, and that someone else had hold of the body, and was making it growl. But the conscious personalities, that might be thinking, “hey, that cop has a pretty nice ass”, couldn’t seem to communicate to Tiger. Tiger couldn’t hear any of these other thoughts people. I suppose maybe it’s like the devil on one shoulder, and the angel on the other. You might want to do something, but doubt you can do it, and then yell at yourself for being a weenie. Your mind can take on a devil’s advocate within itself. My mind seemed to want to snap myself out of this silly growling. If you do something silly in front of people, you mentally scold yourself, saying “crikies, THAT’S not going to go over well”. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from being this little animal. This frowning, grumpy, snarling little kid that didn’t seem to think it odd at all that a grown woman was emitting these noises in a professional office building.

And that’s when it happened. I finally admitted it. I am a Multiple Personality. And really, being a little tiger isn’t so bad. I’m kind of cute. And finally, after all these years, I’m figuring out how to manage my life. So I guess, despite all my eye rolling and nay saying, getting in touch with your inner child isn’t such a horrible thing after all.

just me

 

Today it is me here

lying on my porch

face to the sky as I

listen

to the wind

sweeping through my

neighborhood

and nudging the trees,

encouraging them to

talk to me

once again.

Today it is me here

sharing space with

the world

as I study my trees

which have already begun

to change

into colors so vivid

my crayon box cannot

replicate them.

Today it is me here,

and I’m not vying for

this body

and it is only me for now

and this precious moment

is unique because

of the singularity

of voices

I hear inside.

Today it is me here

and I revel in this day

to myself

in the quietness of

the hour

and the stillness

of my usually

too chatty

soul.

white rabbit’s pocket watch

Sometimes I worry that I have started my life too late.

I started loving too late, and have missed out on all the good love, standing in line waiting for the “right one”.

I started being too late, and spent most of my life in fear, hanging out against the wall, counting the flowers in the wall paper and muttering to myself that it is too cold to go outside and play, and maybe instead I’ll just stay in here by myself and watch another episode of The Twilight Zone that I can already quote by heart.

I started feeling too late, and tucked away most of the colorful crayons that draw pictures like love and passion and brilliance and creativity, and instead played with the grey chalks that sprinkled a dusty, feathery hue of aloneness all over the canvas of my life, leaving me solidly entrenched in the walls of my castle, where I could color by myself, in my little grey hues, day after day, and not have to worry about whether some boy could ever find me beautiful, or wonder about love, and why it makes my heart pound so hard, and makes my eyeballs a sprinkler system.

I started seeing too late, the world being a flat and cardboard life until one day it burst into 3-D in front of my face, and suddenly I was living in a pop-up book, where I began to realize I was actually IN the story, not just reading about someone else. This is ME in here, and I’m actually alive.

And I guess that’s it: I’m actually alive. Finally.

And yes, it took so long. And in the space of time it took me to finally wake up from the bad dream that has been my existence, I could have learned to fly a plane, or solved world hunger, or discovered a new solar system. I could have healed the lame, or kissed the unlovable, or mastered some difficult martial art that only the chosen know.

But really, I guess it is wonderful and important for one person to come fully into their life. And so I must decide to agree that time is not my enemy, and finally set aside my pocket watch.