So, here it is 5 AM and I've been up and getting ready for work for over an hour now. I'm pretty sure it's a new anti-depressant I am taking which gives me energy during the day ... and night. My cats woke me up at 4 AM and no matter what I tried I couldn't go back to sleep. Which is unfortunate because when I went to bed at 9:30 my thought was "instead of staying awake getting things done, I'm going to listen to the signals my body is sending me and go to sleep because I am tired now." Except, that, thanks to the new medication, I couldn't fall asleep, either! I tried every technique I have learned over the years, including my fool-proof method of listening to music at such a low volume it takes all of my concentration just to hear it. That always makes me fall asleep. So, basically, I think I got about five hours of sleep. I don't feel that tired right now, but I'm a little worried about my afternoon energy level. Since I have some extra time, and because I'm thinking about sleep, here are some thoughts:
I've been trying to use positive thinking and meditation to help myself feel better. I spent a few nights ago telling myself over and over again, "I am safe. I am safe. I am safe." Suddenly, I pictured myself on a tight-rope suspended high above a canyon (I am terrified of heights). It seemed so ludicrous for someone to tell me I was safe at that point! I don't know how to walk a tight-rope! I have terrible balance. I was wearing the wrong shoes, for crying out loud! As I looked around, in my mental image, I saw everyone else walking their own tight-ropes. Some seeming to not even notice they were on a tight-rope; casually pacing back and forth across the chasm, hands in pockets and whistling a tune. All I wanted to do was get down on my hands and knees and cling to that rope for dear life, or just go with the inevitable and release all that built up tension by tumbling over. And, there I was, chanting, "I am safe. I am safe," when obviously, I am not. Why couldn't anyone see that I needed help? patience? understanding? A hand?
What would I do to cure myself of these feelings? of these fears?
I keep thinking about this picture I saw on facebook the other day. It has a heavier guy in jogging clothes walking on a path. The caption said, "Just remember, you are lapping all those people on their couches." What a great sentiment! Every little bit helps. Every effort is worth it. Every small, timid step across the tight-rope is one step closer to learning how to balance. One step closer to feeling safe.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Angels or Demons?
So, here are some pictures of my sweet angels.
They cuddle and groom each other and sleep so peacefully ...
Or, do they? Behold, Little Demon Shits:
Just look at those teeth. Demon.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
So, a certain person in my life informed me that I need a creative outlet, and that writing should be it. I promised I would write at least one post, of at least two sentences, before I saw this person again in two weeks. I would actually like to write more. At one time in my life, I wanted to write all the time. So, I dug around in some of my old writings to find this specific piece I wrote four years ago - yes, FOUR years ago - for a creative writing class. This is just to bring me, personally, a little inspiration. And, maybe, I'll write a little more than just this one post in the next two weeks.
Why I write.
I attended a concert last night. I'm not sure I'd actually call it a concert. What do you call listening to a garage band practice? The, okay, concert was held across the street from one of only two local bars; a one-room building with a capacity of 49. Though, counting all the performers, their wives and children, and an occasional parent, I only counted about 20 people.
This wasn't my scene. I'd been dragged by my love-struck sister whose current interest was the booking agent/doorman. My 80's Love-Songs Sister had been every night, through the country, heavy-metal, and, tonight's specialty, technica. Oh, what some people will do for love, and others for lack of anything better to do.
The show started fifteen minutes late. A frantic sound manager knocking out cords as fast as he could plug others in. When, finally, he decided the sound was as good as it was going to get, the first act stepped onto the stage. Really only wide enough for two people, let alone instruments and speakers, the stage was demarcated from the rest of the room as a foot-high wooden box in one corner.
The opening act was a rapper, and as his first speedy words rushed out crackily I folded my arms across my chest, scrunched down in my chair, and started preparing for a LONG night. Man, this kid was rapping about a frog. Yep, frog raps. I rolled my eyes at my sister. Oh, not just a frog, a frog who wanted to fly with the birds. A frog that wasn't going to take nature as an answer. A frog who was going to fly.
And, oh heavens, I was smiling. And sitting up. And, heavens-to-Betsy, I think I was singing along to the audience-anticipation section. Maybe it was the self-deprecating humor. Or, maybe just the sheer earnestness. Or, the real-life, current-events parallels of our poor frog hero and this obviously nervous rapper. I was actually enjoying the show!
After a few more songs, the rapper stepped down from the stage to sit cross-legged in front of it and watch the next act. And I sat in my seat flabbergasted. I don't like rap music. I don't like low-budget, indie music. I didn't want to be there. I had been putting on a really good job of being mad for being dragged to my sisters date. So, why had I enjoyed it?
This is why I write. I wouldn't say I'm a good writer. I wouldn't even say that I am persistent. In high school a paper I wrote was used as an example of common writing mistakes to avoid. One of my journalism professors told me I had too definite of a voice in my writing. English professors tell me I don't know the rules. A creative writing professor told me not to quit my day job.
My mom tells me I can do anything I want to, and be anything I want to be.
And so, I write. I write because I would never stand up in front of, yes, twenty complete strangers and perform for them my life's work. I write because I heard an absurd story about a frog who wanted to fly with the birds. I write because, in the end, I am on a stage too small for my backup and my gear, with a sound system that is cutting in and out, and, in this moment, I am absolutely terrified, and absolutely alive.
Why I write.
I attended a concert last night. I'm not sure I'd actually call it a concert. What do you call listening to a garage band practice? The, okay, concert was held across the street from one of only two local bars; a one-room building with a capacity of 49. Though, counting all the performers, their wives and children, and an occasional parent, I only counted about 20 people.
This wasn't my scene. I'd been dragged by my love-struck sister whose current interest was the booking agent/doorman. My 80's Love-Songs Sister had been every night, through the country, heavy-metal, and, tonight's specialty, technica. Oh, what some people will do for love, and others for lack of anything better to do.
The show started fifteen minutes late. A frantic sound manager knocking out cords as fast as he could plug others in. When, finally, he decided the sound was as good as it was going to get, the first act stepped onto the stage. Really only wide enough for two people, let alone instruments and speakers, the stage was demarcated from the rest of the room as a foot-high wooden box in one corner.
The opening act was a rapper, and as his first speedy words rushed out crackily I folded my arms across my chest, scrunched down in my chair, and started preparing for a LONG night. Man, this kid was rapping about a frog. Yep, frog raps. I rolled my eyes at my sister. Oh, not just a frog, a frog who wanted to fly with the birds. A frog that wasn't going to take nature as an answer. A frog who was going to fly.
And, oh heavens, I was smiling. And sitting up. And, heavens-to-Betsy, I think I was singing along to the audience-anticipation section. Maybe it was the self-deprecating humor. Or, maybe just the sheer earnestness. Or, the real-life, current-events parallels of our poor frog hero and this obviously nervous rapper. I was actually enjoying the show!
After a few more songs, the rapper stepped down from the stage to sit cross-legged in front of it and watch the next act. And I sat in my seat flabbergasted. I don't like rap music. I don't like low-budget, indie music. I didn't want to be there. I had been putting on a really good job of being mad for being dragged to my sisters date. So, why had I enjoyed it?
This is why I write. I wouldn't say I'm a good writer. I wouldn't even say that I am persistent. In high school a paper I wrote was used as an example of common writing mistakes to avoid. One of my journalism professors told me I had too definite of a voice in my writing. English professors tell me I don't know the rules. A creative writing professor told me not to quit my day job.
My mom tells me I can do anything I want to, and be anything I want to be.
And so, I write. I write because I would never stand up in front of, yes, twenty complete strangers and perform for them my life's work. I write because I heard an absurd story about a frog who wanted to fly with the birds. I write because, in the end, I am on a stage too small for my backup and my gear, with a sound system that is cutting in and out, and, in this moment, I am absolutely terrified, and absolutely alive.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Weddings, Cats, and Haunted Houses
I know, I know. Posting once a year is probably not considered a blog. It's like ... random commenting. Anyway.
A lot has changed in my life over the last little while. I bought a house, which required moving to a new city on the other side of the county, adopted two adorable and possibly lethal (we'll talk about this in a later post) kittens named Leo and Benny, and my sister who I've been living with is getting married (tomorrow actually).
These last few weeks, though, I've started realizing that I need to take more enjoyment in the moment. So, the other night I played hide-n-go-seek with my two kitties - and I was the one hiding. Actually, they may have just thought I'd suddenly gone crazy and was streaking through the house for no reason. They follow, though, because food might be involved.
After moving into my new house, I discovered all kinds of things I hadn't noticed before purchasing it. For instance, the dishwasher isn't actually secured to anything. So pulling out the top drawer and placing a single plastic cup on one of the pegs causes the entire machine to tip forward. It would crash to the floor except that the back hits the underside of the counter. The washing machine "walks" no matter how much or how little clothes I put in it. The vents in the living room either blow ice cold or hell-fire hot. The master bathroom toilet leaks when you push the handle, and the carpet that meets the linoleum in the kitchen is no longer stapled down (thank you kitties for bringing this to my attention).
For some reason Leo (who is named for Leo the Lion - he looks like a big fluffy white lion with a fat gray nose) keeps siting in front of the cold air return vent in the kitchen and dragging his claws down it. He sits there scraping at it over and over and over again. The other night, I was in the living room talking on the telephone when I could hear him start up again. I looked around for my spray bottle (I can never find it when they are doing bad things, which is probably why they continue to be disobedient LDS's -- Little Demon Shits). Getting up to look in the bedroom for the spray bottle, I realized neither cat was anywhere near the vent. Benny and Leo were each across the kitchen from the vent staring at it with wide eyes. Creepy.
So, this is my new blog "About Me" statement: I am a young woman living alone in my very own haunted house, complete with two Little Demon Shits (for protection -- from whatever). I spend my days drudging through complex federal banking regulations, and my nights enjoying a good ghost story (not experience!) or two.
Here's hoping October continues to be an ... interesting month.
A lot has changed in my life over the last little while. I bought a house, which required moving to a new city on the other side of the county, adopted two adorable and possibly lethal (we'll talk about this in a later post) kittens named Leo and Benny, and my sister who I've been living with is getting married (tomorrow actually).
These last few weeks, though, I've started realizing that I need to take more enjoyment in the moment. So, the other night I played hide-n-go-seek with my two kitties - and I was the one hiding. Actually, they may have just thought I'd suddenly gone crazy and was streaking through the house for no reason. They follow, though, because food might be involved.
After moving into my new house, I discovered all kinds of things I hadn't noticed before purchasing it. For instance, the dishwasher isn't actually secured to anything. So pulling out the top drawer and placing a single plastic cup on one of the pegs causes the entire machine to tip forward. It would crash to the floor except that the back hits the underside of the counter. The washing machine "walks" no matter how much or how little clothes I put in it. The vents in the living room either blow ice cold or hell-fire hot. The master bathroom toilet leaks when you push the handle, and the carpet that meets the linoleum in the kitchen is no longer stapled down (thank you kitties for bringing this to my attention).
For some reason Leo (who is named for Leo the Lion - he looks like a big fluffy white lion with a fat gray nose) keeps siting in front of the cold air return vent in the kitchen and dragging his claws down it. He sits there scraping at it over and over and over again. The other night, I was in the living room talking on the telephone when I could hear him start up again. I looked around for my spray bottle (I can never find it when they are doing bad things, which is probably why they continue to be disobedient LDS's -- Little Demon Shits). Getting up to look in the bedroom for the spray bottle, I realized neither cat was anywhere near the vent. Benny and Leo were each across the kitchen from the vent staring at it with wide eyes. Creepy.
So, this is my new blog "About Me" statement: I am a young woman living alone in my very own haunted house, complete with two Little Demon Shits (for protection -- from whatever). I spend my days drudging through complex federal banking regulations, and my nights enjoying a good ghost story (not experience!) or two.
Here's hoping October continues to be an ... interesting month.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure
This is my problem with the blogsphere: I want to say something important. Something meaningful, and timeless, and profound. I want to put something of meaning and value and substance out there. And, considering the only readers I have at this point are my sisters, it's not like it really matters. Yet, when I sit down and try to think of what I want to publish, what I want to put out to the world, I want it to be big; I want it to be powerful. But, there isn't usually anything big to say. And, I don't have the words to express my power - at least, not right now.
I think I've lived most of my life giving away my power. Letting it slip through my fingers like water, barely noticing as it slips down the drain. I say what others want me to say. I do what others want me to do. I smile when I'm supposed to smile. Laugh, act polite, find a way to agree. I live in a completely controlled environment, of my own devising. I had a writing teacher once who told us to "turn off our inner editors." I never could do it. I analyze and consider every possible option before I do something. And you know what? It's never the right decision. Not because the right thing didn't happen, but because I didn't happen.
I think I've lived most of my life giving away my power. Letting it slip through my fingers like water, barely noticing as it slips down the drain. I say what others want me to say. I do what others want me to do. I smile when I'm supposed to smile. Laugh, act polite, find a way to agree. I live in a completely controlled environment, of my own devising. I had a writing teacher once who told us to "turn off our inner editors." I never could do it. I analyze and consider every possible option before I do something. And you know what? It's never the right decision. Not because the right thing didn't happen, but because I didn't happen.
I am not a quiet person. I am a quiet person.
You are what you do, everyday.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Beauty
Jen wanted to watch an inspirational movie today. Of course, her first choice was Into the Wild. Not sure how that's "inspirational." I finally convinced her to watch Last Holiday. It's a little cheesy, definitely predictable, and I normally do not like chick flicks, but I really kind of like this movie. And, I gotta tell you, I am feeling inspired.
You know those girls who always seem to be put together? You know, they could be wearing mismatched socks and a stained shirt and still make beauty look effortless? Well, that's not me. I mean, I wash up pretty good, but the party better be over within four hours 'cause I am guaranteed to have spilled something somewhere, make-up starting to drip down my face, and hair that's looking a little prehistoric.
I'm not really making a statement about beauty here. Actually, I'm trying to say the opposite. I don't want to be remembered as the pretty girl who never said/did anything. I want to care a little less about what the world sees and care a little more about the journey.
I talked last time about New Year's resolutions. I have three that I am (yes, am) working on this year. They are: to be healthy mentally, emotionally, and physically. And with that thought in mind, may I quote a line from the movie: "it is not how you begin that's important, it is how you finish."
You know those girls who always seem to be put together? You know, they could be wearing mismatched socks and a stained shirt and still make beauty look effortless? Well, that's not me. I mean, I wash up pretty good, but the party better be over within four hours 'cause I am guaranteed to have spilled something somewhere, make-up starting to drip down my face, and hair that's looking a little prehistoric.
I'm not really making a statement about beauty here. Actually, I'm trying to say the opposite. I don't want to be remembered as the pretty girl who never said/did anything. I want to care a little less about what the world sees and care a little more about the journey.
I talked last time about New Year's resolutions. I have three that I am (yes, am) working on this year. They are: to be healthy mentally, emotionally, and physically. And with that thought in mind, may I quote a line from the movie: "it is not how you begin that's important, it is how you finish."
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Second Tries
Okay, so it's New Year's time (a little late), but it's always a good time to start new resolutions. I thought I had set my resolutions a month ago. I figured out a couple of goals I wanted to work on and wrote them down. Wrote down a whole plan of what I wanted to do and how I was going to get there. And then, I dunno, life happens -- starting New Year's Day.
My first resolution for 2011 was to have, and follow, a 'nighttime routine'. This included: preparing lunch for the next day, reading for 15 minutes, and going to bed at a specific time (my family says I'm grouchy when I don't get enough sleep, so this resolution was supposed to appease all). My very first night (after all the partying on new year's), my sister calls at 1 AM to say that her car has broken down and she needs me to drive three hours away to come pick her up.
I still could've had my routine the next day. I could have tried again the day after. But I didn't. One little thing out of place and the whole plan goes down the drain. See, right now, as I'm writing this it is two hours past my 'nighttime routine' goal. And heaven knows I could use more sleep.
The point is, back in May I had decided to start this blog, with the intention that I would occasionally write - maybe three or four times a month. It didn't happen. I don't know exactly where it went wrong (perhaps the vague timeline for posts had something to do with it), or what the misstep was that lead to me forgetting the name of the blog, but this is what the New Year is really all about. It's a time to remember what we want from life and recommit to making things better.
Here's to a new Year. Hope it's a good one.
My first resolution for 2011 was to have, and follow, a 'nighttime routine'. This included: preparing lunch for the next day, reading for 15 minutes, and going to bed at a specific time (my family says I'm grouchy when I don't get enough sleep, so this resolution was supposed to appease all). My very first night (after all the partying on new year's), my sister calls at 1 AM to say that her car has broken down and she needs me to drive three hours away to come pick her up.
I still could've had my routine the next day. I could have tried again the day after. But I didn't. One little thing out of place and the whole plan goes down the drain. See, right now, as I'm writing this it is two hours past my 'nighttime routine' goal. And heaven knows I could use more sleep.
The point is, back in May I had decided to start this blog, with the intention that I would occasionally write - maybe three or four times a month. It didn't happen. I don't know exactly where it went wrong (perhaps the vague timeline for posts had something to do with it), or what the misstep was that lead to me forgetting the name of the blog, but this is what the New Year is really all about. It's a time to remember what we want from life and recommit to making things better.
Here's to a new Year. Hope it's a good one.
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