Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Little Things and Big Things
I have to tell you what a relief it is to not have much to worry about anymore. It definitely came down to the wire, as we are leaving in less than two weeks, but we got the news Monday that we are going on two incomes, and man, that was nice to hear!
Toby's proposal didn't get completely approved, in that it will not be indefinite, but he did swing a contract through the end of August -- We'll take it! And I passed all the pre-employment processes with flying colors, and start my job May 31st -- which gives me a week-long vacation before I get to California! -- I'll take that, too!
Our "dining room" is floor to ceiling with packed boxes. I stayed home sick yesterday (getting over a horrible case of stomach flu or food poisoning, picked up during some of the weekend's going away celebrations, joy!), and managed to go through several years' worth of old papers that I was determined not to move this time. I shredded an embarrassing amount of them, but it was definitely liberating.
I have been experiencing some strange feelings lately. Right now, I am very excited, but in general, the last few weeks has been a rollercoaster. Last week, I cried like three days in a row, and couldn't pinpoint the reason. I guess because I don't know if I've felt this way before. It's been nearly seven years since I left for Seattle. Nearly 20 since I've been in Houston. A lot of things are different now.
UH is different. I took a walk the other day, and saw new buildings, and more new buildings where old things used to be, and one day, I was eating lunch in one of those new buildings, and I thought to myself, This place didn't even exist until a year or two ago, and it was almost like it was a fiction or something. Hard to explain. Many times before I had walked around, and even seen the students, and thought about how it's an entirely different generation. No one dresses anything like my friends and I did here back in the day. Sometimes it's like a completely different place.
But something has changed recently in the way I perceive the changes. I used to walk around and, the things that were the same, I would relive all these memories; and the things that were different, I would think, ugh, I'm still here. The other day though, for the first time it seemed more like a mirror. This campus isn't the only thing that's different. I'm different, and I have been for a long while.
As of today, I have five days left of work. Only five days left of this campus, this place I have wandered around since I was 12 years old. I don't just feel like I've grown up here, I have grown up here. Not just in Houston, but on this campus. My dad has worked here for as long as we've lived here. My older sister went here. I'd been visiting this place since long before I became a student, and then an employee.
Now, it's time for a real change. A new city. A new place to call home.
I'm sure I will feel lonely sometimes, but mostly, I'm not worried. Technology makes moving easier than ever. When I was a kid moving around, there was no easy way to stay in touch. Now there's cell phones and Skype, and email, Facebook ...
Besides, I'm old enough to know what matters to me. I'm old enough to know who matters to me, and proximity isn't going to be a prime factor in determining those kinds of things anymore. My best friends will still be my best friends.
I just had a conversation with my boss, and told her about how excited we are, and that Toby's contract went through. I also will be starting work later than I had planned -- the 31st instead of the 23rd -- so I will have a whole week to unpack and explore before I start my new job. And she said, "See? That's how you know it's meant to be, when everything is working out like that."
I am amazed at how into place everything seems to be falling, and so quickly; and unlike how I may have reacted in the past, I will not doubt it one bit. I am just incredibly grateful.
I have to tell you what a relief it is to not have much to worry about anymore. It definitely came down to the wire, as we are leaving in less than two weeks, but we got the news Monday that we are going on two incomes, and man, that was nice to hear!
Toby's proposal didn't get completely approved, in that it will not be indefinite, but he did swing a contract through the end of August -- We'll take it! And I passed all the pre-employment processes with flying colors, and start my job May 31st -- which gives me a week-long vacation before I get to California! -- I'll take that, too!
Our "dining room" is floor to ceiling with packed boxes. I stayed home sick yesterday (getting over a horrible case of stomach flu or food poisoning, picked up during some of the weekend's going away celebrations, joy!), and managed to go through several years' worth of old papers that I was determined not to move this time. I shredded an embarrassing amount of them, but it was definitely liberating.
I have been experiencing some strange feelings lately. Right now, I am very excited, but in general, the last few weeks has been a rollercoaster. Last week, I cried like three days in a row, and couldn't pinpoint the reason. I guess because I don't know if I've felt this way before. It's been nearly seven years since I left for Seattle. Nearly 20 since I've been in Houston. A lot of things are different now.
UH is different. I took a walk the other day, and saw new buildings, and more new buildings where old things used to be, and one day, I was eating lunch in one of those new buildings, and I thought to myself, This place didn't even exist until a year or two ago, and it was almost like it was a fiction or something. Hard to explain. Many times before I had walked around, and even seen the students, and thought about how it's an entirely different generation. No one dresses anything like my friends and I did here back in the day. Sometimes it's like a completely different place.
But something has changed recently in the way I perceive the changes. I used to walk around and, the things that were the same, I would relive all these memories; and the things that were different, I would think, ugh, I'm still here. The other day though, for the first time it seemed more like a mirror. This campus isn't the only thing that's different. I'm different, and I have been for a long while.
As of today, I have five days left of work. Only five days left of this campus, this place I have wandered around since I was 12 years old. I don't just feel like I've grown up here, I have grown up here. Not just in Houston, but on this campus. My dad has worked here for as long as we've lived here. My older sister went here. I'd been visiting this place since long before I became a student, and then an employee.
Now, it's time for a real change. A new city. A new place to call home.
I'm sure I will feel lonely sometimes, but mostly, I'm not worried. Technology makes moving easier than ever. When I was a kid moving around, there was no easy way to stay in touch. Now there's cell phones and Skype, and email, Facebook ...
Besides, I'm old enough to know what matters to me. I'm old enough to know who matters to me, and proximity isn't going to be a prime factor in determining those kinds of things anymore. My best friends will still be my best friends.
I just had a conversation with my boss, and told her about how excited we are, and that Toby's contract went through. I also will be starting work later than I had planned -- the 31st instead of the 23rd -- so I will have a whole week to unpack and explore before I start my new job. And she said, "See? That's how you know it's meant to be, when everything is working out like that."
I am amazed at how into place everything seems to be falling, and so quickly; and unlike how I may have reacted in the past, I will not doubt it one bit. I am just incredibly grateful.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Reds and the Blues
I feel as though I have been under a cloud for the last month or two. I work very hard to keep things in perspective, to keep on trucking. Still, sometimes things happen, and when they do, you have every right to be upset, you know?
It's just that I don't want to indulge in that right too much, because I suppose I am always afraid of stepping over the edge into depression. I wouldn't call what I'm feeling depression, simply because many times I have felt so much worse than this, but I am making a conscious effort to pay attention and keep my head above water.
I'm going back to therapy. I thought with everything that would help. Actually, it was before a lot of things happened that I asked my doctor to recommend someone. I went to see her about a month-and-a-half ago to follow up for my PMDD. Right before the wedding, we decided to raise the estrogen dose in my pills, because on the minimum I was having complications and was still in pain. Emotionally, though, the minimal dose proved to be very helpful. I'd never felt so balanced, so myself. The higher dose improved the physical symptoms but seriously made me feel crazy.
My doctor and I came up with two solutions. The first was that I begin taking Wellbutrin, and that maybe it would balance out the crazies caused by the Seasonique. She also went ahead and prescribed me a different brand birth control pill, to see if my body would do better on a monthly cycle rather than a three-month cycle. She said if I wanted I could take the Wellbutrin and see if it balanced the Seasonique, and if not, I can change to the other pills. I filled both prescriptions, and decided to take the Wellbutrin with the Seasonique first like she suggested.
I felt a difference for the better within a couple days, and then within two weeks for sure, when the medicine was supposed to begin taking full effect. I thought everything was going pretty well. The problem is that over the last month or so I've been experiencing depression and anxiety, but there are so many things going on in my life I honestly can't tell if it is external events or the effects, or lack of effects, of my medicines that is contributing to it.
When my father died and since, I have been feeling and thinking about a lot of things, so many that I couldn't really begin. I don't know if you'd call it the typical stages of grief, but I certainly have felt denial, anger, and sadness. I have felt and relived things I have been shutting out for a long time.
I have also been thinking about my Mom a lot. I looked back on my life and looked at things through another lens -- through what actually happened, what I remember, why certain things happened. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, from that moment, she became a saint in my mind. Really, she already was before that. When I would think about the years she spent working nights at the Chicago Tribune. When I would think about how courageous it was of her to finally leave my father. She really thought she would die if she didn't. When I thought about her taking typing classes and stuff just to get some secretarial skills so she could get a halfway decent job, and that somehow that led to her progressing and eventually editing proposals for NASA. When I would think about her not having any credit, and somehow providing for us with clothes, and everything we could want for Christmas and birthdays. When I would think about moving from welfare and foodstamps to one day owning a house in the suburbs. How I went from sharing a tiny room with both my sisters in Chicago, to eventually having my own.
But there are other things, things that everything else doesn't always cancel out, even when I want them to. Some memories still make me very angry, even some things my Mom has continued to apologize for well into adulthood.
I have memories that haunt me nearly every single day. Sometimes things don't go through my head for awhile, and then they hit me all at once, and I can't sleep for days. Generally, when that happens the most though, is during spikes in PMDD symptoms. I need to let go of a lot of things. But at times lately I am feeling angry and having realizations about things in ways I had not thought about them before. It is frustrating because I just want things to make sense. I just want to feel one way I guess.
In spite of the old things that I suppose have become especially raw in light of my father's death for some reason, there are still pleasant things in my life. I try not to sweat the small stuff. I love Toby and I love my dog, and our life together. I love my family, and my sister is in town, and my nephews -- seeing them has been wonderful.
I know that on days when my anxiety is high, I sometimes overreact. My husband could certainly attest to that. But there are other things that are in the back of my mind nearly every day: my mother's treatment and progress (they have extended her chemo treatments again, and she is very weak and is losing a lot of weight); my grandmother's health (she had her first treatment for the cancer yesterday, and says she has recovered nicely from the surgery she had); nervousness and anxiety over my plans for the next year (my graduate school application and the move we are going to make); dealing with my father's death ....
I think with all this stuff, it would be best to talk to a professional at this point. My number one confidante is my husband, but I can't put everything on him just like I can't put everything on my friends.
The thing about my life, and my friendships, and even writing these things for the few of you who read them, is that I don't know how much is too much or how little. I have held so many things in for so long that I'm afraid of saying too much.
This stuff's heavy, and everybody has their stuff. I'll be the first person to understand that. It is hard, though, when you have so many superficial surface level-friendships, and you have heavy things on your mind. For example, Joe's death. It's not like I'm going to go around telling people my father died. Most people don't even know the situation or history to begin with? How would anyone possibly understand if they don't know? And even if they did know, how would they understand because they did not live it?
I really don't want to come across as a pity party. That's not what I am feeling right now. Just evaluating. Trying to handle things. Trying to figure out whom to share them with, or even if it's worth it.
But like I said, is it this stuff or it it the PMDD or is it the changes in medication, or side effects in medication or all of it? Is it caffeine? I gave up caffeine again, but I'm tired all the time. I want a cup of coffee, but not if it's going to make me crazy and anxious and irritable. Am I working out enough? I'm trying to. I have realized that exercising is key to my mental health, so even if I'm physically not wanting to, I'm trying to get my exercise in at least a few times a week. Am I eating healthy enough? Probably should do a little better. I've gotten to be a little more relaxed about my eating habits lately.
When my doctor gave me the Wellbutrin, I said that these were things I noticed that I needed to do. I was feeling the crazies but I also hadn't been taking care of myself as well as I could. I really think I'm doing better at that, and not feeling nearly the level of craziness I was more than six weeks ago. The Wellbutrin really is helping. But with all these changes coming up and the few things that have been upsetting me, I hope and think seeing a therapist again will help. My first session is tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
I feel as though I have been under a cloud for the last month or two. I work very hard to keep things in perspective, to keep on trucking. Still, sometimes things happen, and when they do, you have every right to be upset, you know?
It's just that I don't want to indulge in that right too much, because I suppose I am always afraid of stepping over the edge into depression. I wouldn't call what I'm feeling depression, simply because many times I have felt so much worse than this, but I am making a conscious effort to pay attention and keep my head above water.
I'm going back to therapy. I thought with everything that would help. Actually, it was before a lot of things happened that I asked my doctor to recommend someone. I went to see her about a month-and-a-half ago to follow up for my PMDD. Right before the wedding, we decided to raise the estrogen dose in my pills, because on the minimum I was having complications and was still in pain. Emotionally, though, the minimal dose proved to be very helpful. I'd never felt so balanced, so myself. The higher dose improved the physical symptoms but seriously made me feel crazy.
My doctor and I came up with two solutions. The first was that I begin taking Wellbutrin, and that maybe it would balance out the crazies caused by the Seasonique. She also went ahead and prescribed me a different brand birth control pill, to see if my body would do better on a monthly cycle rather than a three-month cycle. She said if I wanted I could take the Wellbutrin and see if it balanced the Seasonique, and if not, I can change to the other pills. I filled both prescriptions, and decided to take the Wellbutrin with the Seasonique first like she suggested.
I felt a difference for the better within a couple days, and then within two weeks for sure, when the medicine was supposed to begin taking full effect. I thought everything was going pretty well. The problem is that over the last month or so I've been experiencing depression and anxiety, but there are so many things going on in my life I honestly can't tell if it is external events or the effects, or lack of effects, of my medicines that is contributing to it.
When my father died and since, I have been feeling and thinking about a lot of things, so many that I couldn't really begin. I don't know if you'd call it the typical stages of grief, but I certainly have felt denial, anger, and sadness. I have felt and relived things I have been shutting out for a long time.
I have also been thinking about my Mom a lot. I looked back on my life and looked at things through another lens -- through what actually happened, what I remember, why certain things happened. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, from that moment, she became a saint in my mind. Really, she already was before that. When I would think about the years she spent working nights at the Chicago Tribune. When I would think about how courageous it was of her to finally leave my father. She really thought she would die if she didn't. When I thought about her taking typing classes and stuff just to get some secretarial skills so she could get a halfway decent job, and that somehow that led to her progressing and eventually editing proposals for NASA. When I would think about her not having any credit, and somehow providing for us with clothes, and everything we could want for Christmas and birthdays. When I would think about moving from welfare and foodstamps to one day owning a house in the suburbs. How I went from sharing a tiny room with both my sisters in Chicago, to eventually having my own.
But there are other things, things that everything else doesn't always cancel out, even when I want them to. Some memories still make me very angry, even some things my Mom has continued to apologize for well into adulthood.
I have memories that haunt me nearly every single day. Sometimes things don't go through my head for awhile, and then they hit me all at once, and I can't sleep for days. Generally, when that happens the most though, is during spikes in PMDD symptoms. I need to let go of a lot of things. But at times lately I am feeling angry and having realizations about things in ways I had not thought about them before. It is frustrating because I just want things to make sense. I just want to feel one way I guess.
In spite of the old things that I suppose have become especially raw in light of my father's death for some reason, there are still pleasant things in my life. I try not to sweat the small stuff. I love Toby and I love my dog, and our life together. I love my family, and my sister is in town, and my nephews -- seeing them has been wonderful.
I know that on days when my anxiety is high, I sometimes overreact. My husband could certainly attest to that. But there are other things that are in the back of my mind nearly every day: my mother's treatment and progress (they have extended her chemo treatments again, and she is very weak and is losing a lot of weight); my grandmother's health (she had her first treatment for the cancer yesterday, and says she has recovered nicely from the surgery she had); nervousness and anxiety over my plans for the next year (my graduate school application and the move we are going to make); dealing with my father's death ....
I think with all this stuff, it would be best to talk to a professional at this point. My number one confidante is my husband, but I can't put everything on him just like I can't put everything on my friends.
The thing about my life, and my friendships, and even writing these things for the few of you who read them, is that I don't know how much is too much or how little. I have held so many things in for so long that I'm afraid of saying too much.
This stuff's heavy, and everybody has their stuff. I'll be the first person to understand that. It is hard, though, when you have so many superficial surface level-friendships, and you have heavy things on your mind. For example, Joe's death. It's not like I'm going to go around telling people my father died. Most people don't even know the situation or history to begin with? How would anyone possibly understand if they don't know? And even if they did know, how would they understand because they did not live it?
I really don't want to come across as a pity party. That's not what I am feeling right now. Just evaluating. Trying to handle things. Trying to figure out whom to share them with, or even if it's worth it.
But like I said, is it this stuff or it it the PMDD or is it the changes in medication, or side effects in medication or all of it? Is it caffeine? I gave up caffeine again, but I'm tired all the time. I want a cup of coffee, but not if it's going to make me crazy and anxious and irritable. Am I working out enough? I'm trying to. I have realized that exercising is key to my mental health, so even if I'm physically not wanting to, I'm trying to get my exercise in at least a few times a week. Am I eating healthy enough? Probably should do a little better. I've gotten to be a little more relaxed about my eating habits lately.
When my doctor gave me the Wellbutrin, I said that these were things I noticed that I needed to do. I was feeling the crazies but I also hadn't been taking care of myself as well as I could. I really think I'm doing better at that, and not feeling nearly the level of craziness I was more than six weeks ago. The Wellbutrin really is helping. But with all these changes coming up and the few things that have been upsetting me, I hope and think seeing a therapist again will help. My first session is tomorrow. Thanks for listening.
Labels: Abuse, Anxiety, Cancer, Change, Depression, Moving, PMDD, Seasonique, Therapy, wellbutrin
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Just a Sentimental Guy
I've always been a sentimental person. I've always held onto things. I tell myself it's so I can remember where I came from, except lately, I've begun to question what these things specifically remind me about where I came from that is worth remembering. While packing the last couple nights for my official moving in with the love of my life, here are some examples I found:
I. Old Jobs Stuff
While going through a dresser and suitcase full of clothes, I found not one uniform from an old job, but three: a Denny's shirt, apron, and nametag; Slick Willies Pool Hall T-shirts, as well as long-sleeve and halter tuxedo shirts, complete with Slicks aprons; and a plethora of Chuy's T-shirts and aprons, including two hideous Christmas tees they made everyone wear to sell gift cards.
Why do I hold onto these things? Well, above all, on the job front I've not burned many bridges, which explains while I haven't had the greatest jobs, I have almost never been unemployed.
That explains the Slicks uniform. Although the tux shirts are yellowed and I shudder at the idea of ever wearing that apron again, even for a couple hours, I know if they ever needed an extra hand at a moment's notice, and if I were to need it, I could slip them on, walk in with nothing, and walk out with some decent cash.
Then I ask myself, when is the last time I ever did that? I almost can't remember, and that is because I have not worked a single hour for Slick Willies since my car accident, and I don't plan to again for the rest of my life.
The Chuy's tees again I kept for a similar reason, and because I feel wasteful getting rid of t-shirts. But I quit working there a nearly a year ago, and haven't looked back either. I think it's time.
The Denny's one is more complicated, because of the emotional ties I have to that place. I worked there just after the accident, in one of my lowest points ever. I also reflected on another time while working there, since it was the same location and job I had the summer I was 17: the same summer the Goldeneye song is about; the same summer I fell in love for the first time; the same summer I wrecked the first car I ever owned; the same summer that somehow determined where my life went exactly -- for a little while.
It's a combination of remembering all that -- the reunion with the place, how I felt during both sequences of months, years apart, that weave in and out of each other creating something new; along with a painfully uncomfortable pang whenever I come across one of those aprons or my nametag -- that first lead me to question why I hang onto these things in the first place.
II. Old Scenester T-shirts
I found about a billion shirts bought at a concerts in moments when I felt quite certain they were the coolest articles of fabric I owned. I cut several of them up for this indie-emo-punk look, which I even shot myself wearing for my photo class. Now I look at them and think a) I can't believe I actually wore that in public; b) much less to a bar or to go running in; and c)no wonder I became jaded with the world and all the douchebags in it when I was dressing trashy and hanging out at even skeezier places. I try to tell myself I didn't know any better. I guess I'm still trying to reconcile that.
III. Clothes Which Do Not Belong to Me
Never really did the whole giving-stuff-back thing with an ex? I mean, if I have a couple t-shirts or whatever, it's not really worth calling a person, especially if it's been a while. Two options here: I can give something to a mutual friend, knowing I still might not get my end of things back. I also know by giving something back that may or may not be forgotten could also give that person the same unfriendly reminder I'd like to erase in the first place. Hmph. If I were a spiteful person, I could cut it up and wash a toilet with it like Kyra Sedgwick does in Singles, right?
IV. Albums
Onto the cool stuff. Needing something fresh and out of the ordinary to listen to while going through all this junk, I stumbled upon a couple records I did not realize were pretty golden.
One is this two-disc Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album someone gave me once. Two summers ago I was packing up Joe's car to leave for home from Elks Camp, guitar over my shoulder. The nurse's husband, also a fellow counselor's stepfather, comes up to me and says, "You like to rock?"
"Yes," I say.
"And you like to travel, like on the road?"
"Yes," I nod again.
"Listen to this!" he says, and hands it to me. Just like that. Took me this long to listen to it, but I say things like this are supposed to hit you when you are ready.
Same thing with this American Analog Set you sent me Randy, years ago. I thought I had listened to everything from that stash already: you've sent me Castanets and Ben Gibbard and Pinback and The Gerbils and tons of others. Somehow I missed that one but it's like Radiohead meets Jimmy Eat World meets Sufjan Stevens. I dig.
V. Clothes Handed Down to Me Which Never Once Fit
Yeah, you know when people give you clothes that are too small or too big? Or maybe you bought something and decided it was too small or too big after the fact, but they were always too nice to throw away?
VI. Expired Medications from Like 2006
This is just a reminder one should clean out the medicine chest once in awhile. Last time I was sick I didn't buy DayQuil because I thought I had some; then I didn't want to take it 'cause it had expired like three years ago. Check your medicine chest, yo!
The Places You and Things End Up
I'm keeping the albums. The nicer things are in a bag to donate. The rest is in a great mound of trash I will be taking out today. Somehow I am immensely proud of it.
I've always been a sentimental person. I've always held onto things. I tell myself it's so I can remember where I came from, except lately, I've begun to question what these things specifically remind me about where I came from that is worth remembering. While packing the last couple nights for my official moving in with the love of my life, here are some examples I found:
I. Old Jobs Stuff
While going through a dresser and suitcase full of clothes, I found not one uniform from an old job, but three: a Denny's shirt, apron, and nametag; Slick Willies Pool Hall T-shirts, as well as long-sleeve and halter tuxedo shirts, complete with Slicks aprons; and a plethora of Chuy's T-shirts and aprons, including two hideous Christmas tees they made everyone wear to sell gift cards.
Why do I hold onto these things? Well, above all, on the job front I've not burned many bridges, which explains while I haven't had the greatest jobs, I have almost never been unemployed.
That explains the Slicks uniform. Although the tux shirts are yellowed and I shudder at the idea of ever wearing that apron again, even for a couple hours, I know if they ever needed an extra hand at a moment's notice, and if I were to need it, I could slip them on, walk in with nothing, and walk out with some decent cash.
Then I ask myself, when is the last time I ever did that? I almost can't remember, and that is because I have not worked a single hour for Slick Willies since my car accident, and I don't plan to again for the rest of my life.
The Chuy's tees again I kept for a similar reason, and because I feel wasteful getting rid of t-shirts. But I quit working there a nearly a year ago, and haven't looked back either. I think it's time.
The Denny's one is more complicated, because of the emotional ties I have to that place. I worked there just after the accident, in one of my lowest points ever. I also reflected on another time while working there, since it was the same location and job I had the summer I was 17: the same summer the Goldeneye song is about; the same summer I fell in love for the first time; the same summer I wrecked the first car I ever owned; the same summer that somehow determined where my life went exactly -- for a little while.
It's a combination of remembering all that -- the reunion with the place, how I felt during both sequences of months, years apart, that weave in and out of each other creating something new; along with a painfully uncomfortable pang whenever I come across one of those aprons or my nametag -- that first lead me to question why I hang onto these things in the first place.
II. Old Scenester T-shirts
I found about a billion shirts bought at a concerts in moments when I felt quite certain they were the coolest articles of fabric I owned. I cut several of them up for this indie-emo-punk look, which I even shot myself wearing for my photo class. Now I look at them and think a) I can't believe I actually wore that in public; b) much less to a bar or to go running in; and c)no wonder I became jaded with the world and all the douchebags in it when I was dressing trashy and hanging out at even skeezier places. I try to tell myself I didn't know any better. I guess I'm still trying to reconcile that.
III. Clothes Which Do Not Belong to Me
Never really did the whole giving-stuff-back thing with an ex? I mean, if I have a couple t-shirts or whatever, it's not really worth calling a person, especially if it's been a while. Two options here: I can give something to a mutual friend, knowing I still might not get my end of things back. I also know by giving something back that may or may not be forgotten could also give that person the same unfriendly reminder I'd like to erase in the first place. Hmph. If I were a spiteful person, I could cut it up and wash a toilet with it like Kyra Sedgwick does in Singles, right?
IV. Albums
Onto the cool stuff. Needing something fresh and out of the ordinary to listen to while going through all this junk, I stumbled upon a couple records I did not realize were pretty golden.
One is this two-disc Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young album someone gave me once. Two summers ago I was packing up Joe's car to leave for home from Elks Camp, guitar over my shoulder. The nurse's husband, also a fellow counselor's stepfather, comes up to me and says, "You like to rock?"
"Yes," I say.
"And you like to travel, like on the road?"
"Yes," I nod again.
"Listen to this!" he says, and hands it to me. Just like that. Took me this long to listen to it, but I say things like this are supposed to hit you when you are ready.
Same thing with this American Analog Set you sent me Randy, years ago. I thought I had listened to everything from that stash already: you've sent me Castanets and Ben Gibbard and Pinback and The Gerbils and tons of others. Somehow I missed that one but it's like Radiohead meets Jimmy Eat World meets Sufjan Stevens. I dig.
V. Clothes Handed Down to Me Which Never Once Fit
Yeah, you know when people give you clothes that are too small or too big? Or maybe you bought something and decided it was too small or too big after the fact, but they were always too nice to throw away?
VI. Expired Medications from Like 2006
This is just a reminder one should clean out the medicine chest once in awhile. Last time I was sick I didn't buy DayQuil because I thought I had some; then I didn't want to take it 'cause it had expired like three years ago. Check your medicine chest, yo!
The Places You and Things End Up
I'm keeping the albums. The nicer things are in a bag to donate. The rest is in a great mound of trash I will be taking out today. Somehow I am immensely proud of it.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Sooo ... short and sweet
Something I've been thinking about: change. When I became vegetarian more than five years ago, a friend of mine told me it would help to think about all the new foods I was going to try instead of what I'd be "giving up." That way it would stay exciting and new and interesting, and the transition would be easier.
A few years later, one day I was in tears before I left for Seattle, and one thing that helped was when someone dear to me told me I wasn't leaving anything. Instead, I was only adding to my life. I would only add new people and places to my life. And she was right. I had only to add to my experience beautiful, lovely times I would remember forever. And people who would touch me forever, and the things they said to me also, long after they were gone.
I quit smoking several years ago, and then started again a couple of years later. But I quit again, nearly three months ago. And I am a nonsmoker. I know this now, because I have added to my life. I bike and run miles. I want to do long distance running, or a triathlon. Or be able to run without getting tired any time I want. To be able to keep up with puppies at the park and children at camp. To have energy to do the things I need to do and the things I love to do.
I also eat healthier. So I guess I've made a lot of positive changes. And physically, mentally, and spiritually it feels good. The difference is not what's been lost. Not you know, not smoking in itself, but waking up and going running, for example.
I think I would like from now on to look at all changes in this way. In a ... what is this going to add? way. Because then all change could be good, if you let it. All things lost would actually be creating space for something to be gained, rather than limiting it.
This just makes me so happy. It really does.
Newness is liberating. Learning and doing can keep you so young and curious. It's a wonderful feeling.
Something I've been thinking about: change. When I became vegetarian more than five years ago, a friend of mine told me it would help to think about all the new foods I was going to try instead of what I'd be "giving up." That way it would stay exciting and new and interesting, and the transition would be easier.
A few years later, one day I was in tears before I left for Seattle, and one thing that helped was when someone dear to me told me I wasn't leaving anything. Instead, I was only adding to my life. I would only add new people and places to my life. And she was right. I had only to add to my experience beautiful, lovely times I would remember forever. And people who would touch me forever, and the things they said to me also, long after they were gone.
I quit smoking several years ago, and then started again a couple of years later. But I quit again, nearly three months ago. And I am a nonsmoker. I know this now, because I have added to my life. I bike and run miles. I want to do long distance running, or a triathlon. Or be able to run without getting tired any time I want. To be able to keep up with puppies at the park and children at camp. To have energy to do the things I need to do and the things I love to do.
I also eat healthier. So I guess I've made a lot of positive changes. And physically, mentally, and spiritually it feels good. The difference is not what's been lost. Not you know, not smoking in itself, but waking up and going running, for example.
I think I would like from now on to look at all changes in this way. In a ... what is this going to add? way. Because then all change could be good, if you let it. All things lost would actually be creating space for something to be gained, rather than limiting it.
This just makes me so happy. It really does.
Newness is liberating. Learning and doing can keep you so young and curious. It's a wonderful feeling.
Labels: Change, Quitting Smoking, Seattle, Spirituality
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Hearts Gravitate
I miss people. Goddamn, I really, really do. I miss a lot of people. For some, it's a new missing. For others, it's old. And sometimes you can miss someone when he or she is right next to you, while others it can take months or years and years until it sneaks up on you like some horrible flu you can't shake.
Sometimes the missing can take hold of you so tight you don't know what to do with yourself.
Otherwise, it's just thoughts.
It's funny about people, connecting, disconnecting, and misconnecting. Because things are always so seemingly different from what meets the eye.
Like time, and how its relative. I'm learning about Einstein's theory of special relativity. It's tricky ... a sidebar, but not.
My heart hurts this moment, and I'm probably listening to the wrong music, but goddamn, sometimes you just need to feel, you know? Sometimes you can be so far past denial that you've come around the other end, like all the way around some Mobius Strip, and you've met yourself, and you're all inside out and queasy, but you are only you, same one in the mirror, nothing on the outside has changed but your insides are all flipped around, changed forever.
For what seems like forever ...
And sometimes forever means later, and sometimes forever means someday, and sometimes forever only means until tomorrow, and it's percentage-wise so hard to tell which is which.
I'm not sad, actually. Only when I think about this, I guess. Only it's even sadder that I've moved past sadness and denial to acceptance, and I cannot tell if that's a form of giving up or being realistic.
Time. All you need is time. All you need is time. All you nee-eed is ... time.
You know what's funny? How lyrics can enter your brain, or some song or quote like it's your own for only a few seconds, and how suddenly you come back into the world from wherever you've been and you realize they weren't your words at all ... another sidebar.
God, I've been thinking about last words a lot, last words that weren't known to be the last words, and neurotic tendencies and the neverending struggle for who gets the last words, and how sometimes last words are not words at all but silence, or sentiments, or memories repeating like songs, over and over.
Missing hurts so much. Right or wrong, it does. Sometimes you can miss someone and it's okay, because things are so much better, and you know they wouldn't be better if you were in any situation different from missing them.
Maybe that's where time comes in; it does help heal a little -- distance, and time.
I think everyone has them, though. I really do; even if they are just lying in the back of your brain taking a nap they are there to be woken up with the smallest, most random reminder.
I'm so tired. I'm so tired of missing. And suddenly I wonder what we really miss. The person, or the part of ourselves they brought out into the air never to be seen or heard from again.
(Then again, what's the difference?)
I think that's percentages too. Because people come along as much as they go, but the pieces always create a different picture, don't they?
It's fascinating, and bittersweet, all the same.
I miss people. Goddamn, I really, really do. I miss a lot of people. For some, it's a new missing. For others, it's old. And sometimes you can miss someone when he or she is right next to you, while others it can take months or years and years until it sneaks up on you like some horrible flu you can't shake.
Sometimes the missing can take hold of you so tight you don't know what to do with yourself.
Otherwise, it's just thoughts.
It's funny about people, connecting, disconnecting, and misconnecting. Because things are always so seemingly different from what meets the eye.
Like time, and how its relative. I'm learning about Einstein's theory of special relativity. It's tricky ... a sidebar, but not.
My heart hurts this moment, and I'm probably listening to the wrong music, but goddamn, sometimes you just need to feel, you know? Sometimes you can be so far past denial that you've come around the other end, like all the way around some Mobius Strip, and you've met yourself, and you're all inside out and queasy, but you are only you, same one in the mirror, nothing on the outside has changed but your insides are all flipped around, changed forever.
For what seems like forever ...
And sometimes forever means later, and sometimes forever means someday, and sometimes forever only means until tomorrow, and it's percentage-wise so hard to tell which is which.
I'm not sad, actually. Only when I think about this, I guess. Only it's even sadder that I've moved past sadness and denial to acceptance, and I cannot tell if that's a form of giving up or being realistic.
Time. All you need is time. All you need is time. All you nee-eed is ... time.
You know what's funny? How lyrics can enter your brain, or some song or quote like it's your own for only a few seconds, and how suddenly you come back into the world from wherever you've been and you realize they weren't your words at all ... another sidebar.
God, I've been thinking about last words a lot, last words that weren't known to be the last words, and neurotic tendencies and the neverending struggle for who gets the last words, and how sometimes last words are not words at all but silence, or sentiments, or memories repeating like songs, over and over.
Missing hurts so much. Right or wrong, it does. Sometimes you can miss someone and it's okay, because things are so much better, and you know they wouldn't be better if you were in any situation different from missing them.
Maybe that's where time comes in; it does help heal a little -- distance, and time.
I think everyone has them, though. I really do; even if they are just lying in the back of your brain taking a nap they are there to be woken up with the smallest, most random reminder.
I'm so tired. I'm so tired of missing. And suddenly I wonder what we really miss. The person, or the part of ourselves they brought out into the air never to be seen or heard from again.
(Then again, what's the difference?)
I think that's percentages too. Because people come along as much as they go, but the pieces always create a different picture, don't they?
It's fascinating, and bittersweet, all the same.
Labels: Bloc Party, Change, Relationships
Friday, April 28, 2006
Hi: A few things.
Feels like every time I want to write I don't have time or thoughts or privacy -- one of the three.
I've been writing regularly in my private diary, so I'm getting it out, but I haven't had the opportunity to translate all this shit into a blog.
Dig: I've been at this job for two months, so I've got plenty to say about that.
I've got plenty to say about lots of things.
Oh, yeah, and I've fallen in love. With a guy I believe I referred to as crazy on this thing a few months ago -- "or at least, on par with me."
Turns out we are crazy. But the good crazy. I believe there is good and bad crazy. And we're crazy about each other, and that can't be bad.
I feel like so much in my life has changed I wouldn't be able to begin, while so many things are, at least in the fact that they are somehow tangible to all the old things, the same.
I think about so many millions of things a day that I either stay up having long talks about them, or fall fast asleep and wake up unrested, like I've had nightmares, only I can never remember them.
I'm reading The Basketball Diaries. It's rad. And I think Jim Carroll is my hero in a way, even though he wrote it when he was a self-admitted junkie.
He says in the book he's doing all the junk, dope, codeine, uppers downers, grass, and drinking just to stay sane.
And I can relate to a lot of the things he is thinking, except I don't really do that stuff, and most of it I've never done. It's funny how people can come to the same conclusions through different experiences, while some can reach completely different conclusions through the same experience.
My sisters are my best and oldest friends. No one I will ever know in my entire life will ever know what we have known and experienced together. At least, I've felt that way in-and-out of years when I've seen friendships come and go that I thought would last, even years deep into them.
But as my dad was telling my boyfriend, Chris, the other day, we all grew up in the same house and came out completely different. With our own individual minds and opinions and quirks and hobbies and ideas and just, differences. Then Chris told me he saw it like maybe we all took different pieces of my mother with us in life. Something like that.
I do know that a lot of times I feel restless, and helpless. Like the world is so big and there's so much I want to do other than to get by. And I know there is so much more I want to do than copy someone's shit. Or The Man's invitation to a Gala so it can be copied and filed.
Or dropping some monkey paper trail crap into some secretary's inbox. And yes, I said "secretary." I know in some circles it's not proper to say that word in social circles.
I also never thought I'd know a secretary to turn down her nose at a mailroom girl.
Guess there's some sort of hierarchy in everything. A pecking order.
The other day this guy I work with quoted James Dean, or prolly misquoted him because this guy's a fucking idiot. But anyway, he said he had an epiphany, and asked us if we knew what an epiphany was, what the fuck, and then said he decided his purpose in life was to drive across the country and live like he was going to die tomorrow.
So this girlfriend of mine and I started joking about he could run a travelling hot dog stand. Hahaha, fuckin A.
Then he says, no, but that's what he's going to do. He just needs a few more years to plan for it first. Maybe somewhere around '09 he can start living today like he's going to die tomorrow.
Pfff. What a motherfucker.
Anyway, as you can see I'm a little jaded, but damnit if I don't find the humor in all this fake ass shit with all these self-important people who are just somebody's bitch. A spoke in the wheel.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how I ended up in this mess, and trying to forge a plan to not be like them. To see if that's possible, while reminiscing back about the time before I crossed some line and started thinking about insurance and evenings off and bonuses, when all I want to do is roll out of bed and shower and take a ride somewhere in my torn jeans with my wet hair dripping down my shirt like I just don't give a fuck.
I miss it, man.
Feels like every time I want to write I don't have time or thoughts or privacy -- one of the three.
I've been writing regularly in my private diary, so I'm getting it out, but I haven't had the opportunity to translate all this shit into a blog.
Dig: I've been at this job for two months, so I've got plenty to say about that.
I've got plenty to say about lots of things.
Oh, yeah, and I've fallen in love. With a guy I believe I referred to as crazy on this thing a few months ago -- "or at least, on par with me."
Turns out we are crazy. But the good crazy. I believe there is good and bad crazy. And we're crazy about each other, and that can't be bad.
I feel like so much in my life has changed I wouldn't be able to begin, while so many things are, at least in the fact that they are somehow tangible to all the old things, the same.
I think about so many millions of things a day that I either stay up having long talks about them, or fall fast asleep and wake up unrested, like I've had nightmares, only I can never remember them.
I'm reading The Basketball Diaries. It's rad. And I think Jim Carroll is my hero in a way, even though he wrote it when he was a self-admitted junkie.
He says in the book he's doing all the junk, dope, codeine, uppers downers, grass, and drinking just to stay sane.
And I can relate to a lot of the things he is thinking, except I don't really do that stuff, and most of it I've never done. It's funny how people can come to the same conclusions through different experiences, while some can reach completely different conclusions through the same experience.
My sisters are my best and oldest friends. No one I will ever know in my entire life will ever know what we have known and experienced together. At least, I've felt that way in-and-out of years when I've seen friendships come and go that I thought would last, even years deep into them.
But as my dad was telling my boyfriend, Chris, the other day, we all grew up in the same house and came out completely different. With our own individual minds and opinions and quirks and hobbies and ideas and just, differences. Then Chris told me he saw it like maybe we all took different pieces of my mother with us in life. Something like that.
I do know that a lot of times I feel restless, and helpless. Like the world is so big and there's so much I want to do other than to get by. And I know there is so much more I want to do than copy someone's shit. Or The Man's invitation to a Gala so it can be copied and filed.
Or dropping some monkey paper trail crap into some secretary's inbox. And yes, I said "secretary." I know in some circles it's not proper to say that word in social circles.
I also never thought I'd know a secretary to turn down her nose at a mailroom girl.
Guess there's some sort of hierarchy in everything. A pecking order.
The other day this guy I work with quoted James Dean, or prolly misquoted him because this guy's a fucking idiot. But anyway, he said he had an epiphany, and asked us if we knew what an epiphany was, what the fuck, and then said he decided his purpose in life was to drive across the country and live like he was going to die tomorrow.
So this girlfriend of mine and I started joking about he could run a travelling hot dog stand. Hahaha, fuckin A.
Then he says, no, but that's what he's going to do. He just needs a few more years to plan for it first. Maybe somewhere around '09 he can start living today like he's going to die tomorrow.
Pfff. What a motherfucker.
Anyway, as you can see I'm a little jaded, but damnit if I don't find the humor in all this fake ass shit with all these self-important people who are just somebody's bitch. A spoke in the wheel.
Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how I ended up in this mess, and trying to forge a plan to not be like them. To see if that's possible, while reminiscing back about the time before I crossed some line and started thinking about insurance and evenings off and bonuses, when all I want to do is roll out of bed and shower and take a ride somewhere in my torn jeans with my wet hair dripping down my shirt like I just don't give a fuck.
I miss it, man.
Labels: Change, Relationships, Restlessness, Writing
