I’m not much up for typing today as my finger is and will be recovering for a couple of weeks, but I DO have a superfantastic song for you (as I do everyday).
“Aways On My Mind” lends itself to many renditions and covers. Personally, I’ve found something different in the three main ones. Elvis sings it soulfully and warmly. Willie’s version was the only reason I wanted to see him in concert. It moved me to tears. I’ve possibly never seen someone who puts so much heart into what he sings. Then there’s my PSB. You have something meaningful, but there’s no saccharine. You have Neil Tennant’s very British, eager voice. And baby, you have Chris Lowe giving us some of the best synth-pop ever recorded (and I know what I’m talking about).
This one has been s favorite since 1987. It never fails to make me smile and it was on my biking mixtape in college, which became my “fun drive” mixtape after that. The Pet Shop Boys are ALL ABOUT FUN. And while I can’t use my finger, I need some fun.
Today I tried to spell “gem” to Andrew with a J like “Jem and the Holograms.” Mother of the year.
I did not have a Coke float from Sonic today. Things just weren’t the same. Yes, I have come to love them. It is an off-menu item. I’ve still managed to lose 15 lbs.
On another note (this whole post is another note), the most fun game ever to play is dodge the cars driving aimlessly through the doctor’s office parking lot.
For some reason I agreed to be a Nielson TV household for a week next month. They said my results will be used to determine broadcasting. Hope y’all like Martha StewartBakes and Seinfeld reruns. Really, I read that they’re going to make a few new episodes of AbFab next year and I can’t wait. How can you not love a show in which a character says about being sober, “worst 8 hours of my life”?
I say that and I’m not a big drinker, despite what graphics may appear on this blog and on CNN.
I wear waterproof mascara because I tend to have allergy-watery eyes. Anyway, I use this waterproof mascara remover and it doesn’t list the ingredients, but I’m pretty sure it’s Crisco, because this is the greasiest stuff on Earth and I can’t see after I use it and I tripped over a pair of shoes by my closet after leaving my bathroom.
Can I write a run-on sentence or what? You’d never believe I was an English Ed major. You’d probably believe that I dropped out of college after 3 and a half years. I did. It was a good decision, made a lot of people proud. Made myself happy.
You know what the impressive thing I learned from my college advisor was? That “awkward” is the most satisfying word to type or spell out loud. Shout out to Fran! I may have told you this before, but at the award ceremony (or whatever it was) for my major, Dana and I won tennis lessons with Fran. We didn’t cash that prize in.
I learned how to make an em dash on my Mac (—). You’d probably just call that a dash, but no, it’s an em dash. This will change my life.
In case you’re wondering, it’s called the “em dash” because the character is the same width as an M. It’s a unit of measure in the world of typography. Of course I would know that. There is also an “en dash.” Guess how wide that one is. I’ll wait.
Recently I read an essay condemning the use of em dashes. It pissed me off (as things tend to do). The author said using it leads to less efficient writing. I’ve never met a writer who questioned if their work was efficient. Good, relevant, smart — yes. Besides, if the punctuation was good enough for Billy Shakespeare and Em-dash Dickinson, it’s good enough for me.
I do not want to go back to the dermatologist for a long time. My finger is still completely numb from today’s visit.
Confession: I watch the Food Network when nothing else is on, thus I have it on a lot. I miss Rachael Ray because I loved watching her gather all of the ingredients and things she’s going to use at the beginning of the show because I’m waiting for her to drop something. She piles up things like crazy and carries 20 things at once. She is bound to drop something on one episode. This is the same reason I watch ice skating. I like the falls. Yes, I am a horrible person.
By they way, the Winter Olympics are next month. Yay — falling skaters!
Today’s song is “All Day Today” by Hospitality, a fun little band. The lead singer has a nice distinct voice. I like them.
I was stung by a wasp last night. We get wasps in Casa Faler. The bug company can’t explain it because there are no wasp nests. I believe they come from our neighbor’s house because we have better iced tea. Anywasp, I was stung. I ran around yelling substitute curse words I’ve written here before; “Flip Wilson” being my go-to substitute curse word when kids are around. Sidebar: my youngest is 12 — how long do I have to keep the stake cursing up? It’s not like he hasn’t heard me curse before. Like last week. He was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to finish dinner after the sting. I did.
I’m also still dealing with this stupid finger that makes it useless. I can’t sign my name. I can’t write. It’s more than annoying.
None of that has anything. To do with this post.
So, last night I felt woozy after getting stung. I assumed since I’m allergic to everything else, I’d have to go to the ER — but thank God, I was ok. So, I was lightheaded and dizzy, but not sleepy. I stayed up watching Psych. A million thoughts going through my head, but I couldn’t capture one. That was only partly due to the sting. After I was diagnosed Bi-Polar 2, my psychiatrist asked me a bunch of questions and as a bonus, I also have ADD. Not the H part, because the Lord knows I’m not the least bit hyper. Except for my brain.
My brain can be a scary place. Maybe not scary, but maybe if my brain were split down the middle for people to look into. I envision the brain like that. Like a Barbie Dream House. It looks fine and pretty on the outside, then you open it up and it’s dissected straight down the middle. Once it’s open you see the kitchen, the bedroom, living room, some other room, and of course the elevator on the side. Everything is pink and bright and Barbie is smiling and Ken is doing his best sitting on the chaise lounge. But hmmm, Ken isn’t really sitting because he doesn’t bend that well and he can’t bend his legs enough to where his feet hit the floor. And Barbie only has a twin plastic bed and she can’t hold most of her kitchen utensils because her fingers are fused together.
On the outside Barbie’s house looked fine, then you open it up and most of it is unusable. Kind of like my brain.
If you opened up my brain you’d see many drawers. Open a drawer and see what you find. There is a big drawer of art. Painting, typography, Photoshop and Illustrator. Another drawer is full of art and scrapbooking supplies. Open that drawer slowly, there is glitter in there and open paint tubes.
That’s the thing about my brain and its drawers: you don’t know what is in each drawer because they’re not labeled and they’re filled to the top. Things may fall out when you open them. One drawer is for recipes; some I’ll never try, but they’re there because I have the aspiration. One huge drawer for music. Bands and hundreds of lyrics and trivia about those things. Records, iPods, the old Mtv, cassettes, mix tapes I carefully put together and those from friends in the late 80s and early 90s. Concerts and concerts. Memories I associate with different people and moments.
Another drawer of books and collected works. Old books, even older books, new books, collected poems. Lines from novels that have stuck with me for years and decades. Characters that are old friends. Places that seem so real I can see them.
A quarter of my brain is dark and twisty. The drawers would be labeled “doubt” and “self esteem” and “hate.” Yes, hate. There would be “things you’ll never do” and “things people have said about you for the past 30 years” and “regret.” Don’t open “the truth” or “things you can’t tell anyone” or “things you can’t forget” or “wait until they find out you’re a fraud.” Don’t open that drawer. In fact, stay away from that whole section.
The other quarter of my brain is jam packed full of drawers with memories and conversations. I’ve said it before, but I have this weird kind of photographic memory where I remember every conversation I’ve ever had. My husband calls it total recall (I don’t think he loves it). If I’m doing something while talking to you I may miss a name or confuse one person for another, but otherwise, I could write out our whole conversation. I could tell you what someone said about a dress I wore in 1991. It’s quite odd. And it’s nothing that will become useful one day, except for my own memories, which brings me to this:
I routinely can’t remember things. Not the conversations, but other things. I believe it’s more that when you walk into a room and can’t remember why you walked in said room. It’s forgetting a thought before I get to another or one thought interrupting another. It worries me.
It worries me because of the things I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget what the person said about the dress in 1991. In the cross-section of my brain it looks like papers falling out of those drawers and I want to gather them all up and put them in a binder and store them away. Because I don’t want to forget the protagonist of my first (unpublished) novel was Kara Bennet. I don’t wasn’t to forget that the first album I ever bought with my own money was “I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll.” Or that the first Beatles song I ever heard was “Norwegian Wood.” I don’t want to forget my grandmother’s hands. That I looked for Elvis’ ghost in each of the rooms and places on the tour at Graceland. Or birthdays. Or when we moved another friend’s car to the other side of the mall. Or the time someone and I went somewhere only we know.
So, I’m doing my best to catch those papers and stuff them back into their drawers. I’m doing well. I don’t think I have the early signs of dementia or anything. Maybe it’s part of having ADD, I don’t know. I’m chalking it up to that. Yeah, that’s what I’m doing.
Attention Deficit Disorder. Yes.
The song for today is “Somewhere Only We Know” by Keane. It says a few things. Good song.
A line from another Counting Crows song, Good Time,” goes “C’mon and take a spin oh, I got a brand new set of wings. I really do love those red haired girls, I’m just like all the boys from Texas.”
I’m just trying to get myself some gravity and I got a brand new set of wings.
NOTE: I will be publishing posts that were in the draft folder of the ol’ bloggy blog. Some make me laugh. My drafts unfortunately aren’t dated (dammit, WordPress), but I’ve married this one down to 2009.
Tuesday was my eye appointment day. Lately I’ve noticed things are a little blurry — the Guide on DirecTv, street signs, the flamingoes at the front door of a neighbors house — the usual. I’ve worn reading glasses since I was 17, but this is something different.
This is what I told my eye doctor and she said “this is sometimes what happens when we reach our late thirties.” Excuse me? I am not in my late thirties — I am 36 for two more months, lady. She told me I was old. After my exam, my doctor tells me I can either use two pair of glasses, one for reading/computer/whatever, one for distance OR I could go the bi-focals route. EXCUSE ME (again)? Bi-focals. Like my grandmother. Like Jessica Fletcher on Murder She Wrote. Like old people. I said “let’s hold off on the Mammaw look and go with two pair of glasses.” I’m old.
Then she scared me to death.
After she looked at my eyes up close with the thing I had to put my chin on (which is not made for people with boobs, because I could barely mosey on up to the thing), she asks “when you were diagnosed with high blood pressure was it super high?” Yep, uh huh, it was super high. “The blood vessels in your eyes show that. Normal blood vessels look like this (she makes a smooth movement with her hand). Your blood vessels look like this (she moves her hand up and down like a conductor at the orchestra really fast). You’ve had an eye stroke.” She says the medical name first, but I heard “eye stroke.”
So, add that to the list of crazy ass conditions I have had.
The song today is “WTF?” by one of my favorite bands, OK Go with my man Damien Kulash. This song is right for so many occasions.
NOTE: I will be publishing posts that were in the draft folder of the ol’ bloggy blog. Some make me laugh.
This post is unfinished from 2012 when Megan and I were in the middle of ScrapFest. ScrapFest was the scrapbooking retreat we owned in Mandeville, LA. I have no idea why I titled this “kerry fahrvergnugen.” I wrote this 6 years ago.
A $20 bill falls out of my notebook.
An employee of the venue guy who had been annoying the the eff out of me the entire time picks it up.
No, I didn’t know Megan had put the $20 in my notebook.
Mike picks it up and says, “you dropped a $20.”
He hands it to me, I stuffed it in my bra and said “must have fallen out from the club last night.”
His jaw hits the floor. I walk away — laughing — in front of a bunch of croppers.
I never finished this series. I should have but didn’t. The truth is someone told me to turn it down, but I couldn’t find a way to write without doing that. I want to honor that request because that’s is the person I am. So, this post is the last in the series. For those not familiar, there is a link to the beginning in the menu.
My release date came. Wednesday. Noon. My husband would be there to pick me up. My things were packed in the paper sack given to me on my first night in the hospital. I took one of my books by Nick Hornby and stuck an envelope with a twenty dollar bill in it with a note to Jem because I knew he was being released Friday and had no shoes because he came to the hospital from the ER, which didn’t send his shoes. I said to get a pair of flip flops for his ride home and enjoy his sister’s wedding.
I wished everyone all the best. About half had no idea when they’d go home or what their living situation would be once they were released. One person admitted they were not taking the Xanax he was administered and was keeping it on him. I’m naive, so I didn’t know how someone could get away with that. It’s not as if we could request little baggies to hold medication. I’m guessing he put them in a folded paper towel and kept it in his pocked.
The new woman who had started ECT the day before would remain for at least 30 days because that was policy. The grumpy old man having ECT had already had it, so I had no idea how long he would stay. He was so angry, perhaps the most angry person I have ever met. In the previous posts I said he was Mean Doc Pomus (look Doc up). I new what some of his anger came from — PTSD — and losing a lot of friends he considered brothers. His wife had left and he lost a child. His anger came from pain. I’ve prayed since leaving the hospital that he would find peace and I hope he has.
I was called to the desk and my husband was there. He took my brown paper bag and we left. I felt so ugly without my hair done and makeup. I don’t know why that bothered me knowing where I had been for six days. My husband told me I shouldn’t worry about it and we could go for lunch. I wasn’t up for that yet.
The first few days at home were hard. I worried what my kids think. I wondered what everyone would think, knowing so many people I know view suicide is taking the easy way out. That it’s selfish. That you’re not thinking of your family. But having been to the point of attempting suicide and I have my own perspective. Suicide is not the easy way out. It’s the only way to relive the pain a person is in in. When you aren’t on the right medication for your particular illness. Here’s the thing most people who aren’t in my club don’t realize and in my infinite wisdom, I’ve figured something out: it’s not Prozac or Xanax. With the billions of pharmaceutical commercials on every 12 minutes per one hour television show, you’d think depression or anxiety is so easy to get rid of (yes, people think many disorders only last for a little while and your cured). I’m likely to be on a medication (ha! one — my medication list looks like a grocery list).
The other thing is that it’s hard to get properly diagnosed. This has turned into a primer for mental illness, but a lot of people — even people I’m close to — don’t know much about it. So, here’s how it goes (this is only my experience and mine alone)
Someone close to you notices and says something to the effect of “I’m only saying this because I’m concerned…” and suggests you get help.
You start noticing the things that person said and you ask around to find a psychiatrist.
You start seeing a psychiatrist, you’re diagnosed, you’re prescribed a couple of medications. You’re in and out in 20 minutes. Most people think it’s a long appointment with a ton of questions, but it’s quite the opposite.
At some point you don’t think any of the meds you tried aren’t working and think about getting a new psychiatrist. Most people don’t stay with the same psychiatrist forever. I’m on my third.
The new psychiatrist might re-diagnose you.
The new psychiatrist changes your meds again and again. And again.
From this point on I’ll talk about my personal experience. None of my medicines helped. I sunk into a deep depression and I couldn’t climb out. I attempted suicide and ended up in facility for 6 days. My psychiatrist changed most of my meds and changed the dosage on another.
When I first got on my floor they asked for a list of people I would accept phone calls from. I gave my list. Most called. The person I wanted to hear from most didn’t. After the first few days I knew they wouldn’t.
A good friend of mine messaged Scott and filled him in on what to do and expect when I came home. She was right and my husband was great. Everything was too much. I couldn’t get dressed. I couldn’t wash a dish. My family and friends were pretty great. I love them.
I got better.
Last spring I had a severe rare reaction from a migraine preventative coupled with one of my psychiatric meds. I grew extremely depressed and got to that deep dark place. I called my doctor he said to come in the next day. He instantly knew it was the new medicine — I was to taper off over two week. I was better within a couple of days. Sometimes having a psychiatric disorder makes life horrible, but when you have the right doctors, therapists, and medications you can manage. Not only manage, you can be fantastic. That’s my goal everyday. I miss the mark often, but I know I have it in me. I have a great life. And I won’t stop.
Oh, the song is by Bob Schneider and is called “Bicycle vs. Car (Its not the end of everything. It’s just the end of everything you know)”. It was/is a great song that has helped. As my readers know, music can be medication.
And with this post, the series is over. Onto something new.
The things that you learn.” – The Lemonheads (song below)
I’ve wanted to write about this subject for a while now, but I was afraid of offending people, but who cares? No one has to read my nonsense. The subject today: first world problems.
A couple of us (my amazing friends) call it something else that has its own acronym: PWWP. If you guess that you win all the change in my purse.
Here are the PWWP my friends I have discussed : I’ll just use the universal “I” as to not implicate anyone
1. The maid putting things where I can’t use them.
2. I don’t know how to use liquid blush.
3. I can’t find my skinny jeans.
4. Starbucks never spells my name right.
5. My grill isn’t in the right place on my patio.
6. It’s too dark and cold for this sport my kid is playing.7. It’s too hard to find a good Icee.
8. My head is too big for hats.
9. My kids eat all the food in my house, so I have to go to the store everyday.
10. I finished binge watching this show on Netflix and now I’ll have to watch the new episodes each week like a caveman.
11. My iPhone isn’t loud enough when I get a call.
12. Someone actually called me to say something the could have texted.
13. My cat is a jerk.
14. I have more craft stuff but I can’t rid of anything because I might need it.
15. I don’t know where to put this decorative thing I bought.
16. The maid is coming tomorrow so I have to invent something to do.
17. I don’t have the energy to take down the Christmas tree.
18. I went to Target and they didn’t have my lipliner.
19. Madison Reed can’t get my hair color right.
20. The restaurant is rented out on the night we wanted to go.
21. My kids won’t play PlayStation on the upstairs tv because the screen doesn’t have the graphics as downstairs.
22. We don’t have a Caine’s, we only have a Zaxby’s.
23. I put all the Christmas decorations up and I found a random ornament today.
24. There are so many Mexican restaurants I don’t know which to go to.
25. This person won’t stop asking me to pass this thing on in Facebook Messenger.
OMG YALL! After searching for this clip for — no lie — at least 15 years, I HAVE FOUND THE SUGAR GLIDER EPISODE OF MARTHA STEWART LIVING! I’ll break it down for you: a tiny animal called a sugar jumps on Martha’s head. It’s amazing.
Jump to the 12:30 mark. If it doesn’t make your day I’ll give you your money back (except that I won’t).
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