Thursday, May 13, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Tuesday Morning
So I have been sick for awhile, but that is not the point of this blog. (Just so you know.) Anywho, I was off to yet another doctor, this time out in Colton. (I had finally just decided to go and see the people I had been going to since I was born.) But in order to get a same day appointment, I had to call EXACTLY at 8:00am, risk being put on hold for thirty minutes, and then findding out all of the available appointments for that day had been taken by the people who had somehow gotten miraculously connected before I did.
I set my alarm for 7:58, knowing I would be sleepy and probably need a minute before my eyes could focus on the numbers of my phone. Worst case scenario, I didn't get an appointment and I would just go back to sleep. 7:58, my cell phone buzzes me awake, and I groggily wave my hand around my night stand reaching for my phone to make it stop. I tap in the numbers and wait for it to ring. Now, I have done this before and if you don't call EXACTLY at 8, you get a voicemail and have to call back. But to my surprise, I was put through right away. The receptionist at the switchboard asked how she could connect me, I said, "Dr. Bourne's office in Cooley Ranch" she said "One moment please" and we were go for launch. Here again, I expected to be put on hold, but I spoke to person right away. Dr. Bourne didn't have an appointment until 2:45, but Miranda Lynch (sp?), his nurse practitioner, had one at 9:30, did I want to take it? It was 8:03 now, it would take me a little less than an hour to get there. If there was traffic (and there is ALWAYS traffic) I might be screwed. I took the appointment and jumped out of bed.
Nineteen minutes later, I walked out the door, no make-up, Trader Joes blueberry scone in hand. Crap, what day is it? Tuesday. Where did I park? I replayed getting home last night, and realized I was on the wrong side of the street; street sweeping takes place every Tuesday at 8am. Excellent, another parking ticket. Whatever. But as I veered right and approached my car, there was no little annoying white slip of paper waiting to greet me. Shocked at my luck (because I have very BAD luck with parking tickets), I got in my car as quickly as possible to drive away before the ticketing gremlins came. And as I drove off towards the 55 freeway, I passed the street sweeper just coming up the other side-- I had escaped in the nick of time.
Now to battle traffic. Little GPS on my iphone, what does my future hold? As I searched routs on my map to Colton, and navigated my lane of traffic on the 55 (I AM the driver your mother warned you about), I clicked the little "show traffic" bar and made a distinct subconscious association with "Show me the beast!" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I had clicked that button thousands of times since getting my iphone and never before thought this. I smiled and made a mental note to tell Whitney later. She is the only one who might even possibly appreciate that parallel.
As I analyzed my traffic options, I realized the 91 (the shortest distance-wise) was a sure failure. What about the 57? It was a little out of the way, but never as much traffic. I scanned the map on the my little screen, glancing up occasionally to make sure I didn't hit any cars, but I couldn't find the 57 icon on any of the freeways. I zoomed in and out of the map, knowing decision time was coming. I either had to go 5N and commit to the 57, or stay and go the rout of impending doom. Then finally I zoomed in again, and there it was, the path green the whole way. I lane surfed a few lanes to the right, and way one my way.
Fifty-four minutes later I was off the freeway and headed to the office. Crap, wrong turn. It was exactly 9:30, (I was AMAZED it was exactly 9:30), but I had come so far to be late now. Figure it out Mel, left on Mt. Vernon. I called and told the receptionist I would be about four minutes late. I found a spot right by the front sliding doors, parked and walked in. I told the lady my name and who I was there to see. The other receptionist looked up and smiled, recognition that she had been the one I spoke to when I called. It was 9:34. I had made it.
From the waiting room I tweeted, "Good morning! It is only 9:40, and I have already escaped the law and outrun the traffic demons!"
I sat amazed at how things had worked out. For all intents and purposes, it was a good morning.
I set my alarm for 7:58, knowing I would be sleepy and probably need a minute before my eyes could focus on the numbers of my phone. Worst case scenario, I didn't get an appointment and I would just go back to sleep. 7:58, my cell phone buzzes me awake, and I groggily wave my hand around my night stand reaching for my phone to make it stop. I tap in the numbers and wait for it to ring. Now, I have done this before and if you don't call EXACTLY at 8, you get a voicemail and have to call back. But to my surprise, I was put through right away. The receptionist at the switchboard asked how she could connect me, I said, "Dr. Bourne's office in Cooley Ranch" she said "One moment please" and we were go for launch. Here again, I expected to be put on hold, but I spoke to person right away. Dr. Bourne didn't have an appointment until 2:45, but Miranda Lynch (sp?), his nurse practitioner, had one at 9:30, did I want to take it? It was 8:03 now, it would take me a little less than an hour to get there. If there was traffic (and there is ALWAYS traffic) I might be screwed. I took the appointment and jumped out of bed.
Nineteen minutes later, I walked out the door, no make-up, Trader Joes blueberry scone in hand. Crap, what day is it? Tuesday. Where did I park? I replayed getting home last night, and realized I was on the wrong side of the street; street sweeping takes place every Tuesday at 8am. Excellent, another parking ticket. Whatever. But as I veered right and approached my car, there was no little annoying white slip of paper waiting to greet me. Shocked at my luck (because I have very BAD luck with parking tickets), I got in my car as quickly as possible to drive away before the ticketing gremlins came. And as I drove off towards the 55 freeway, I passed the street sweeper just coming up the other side-- I had escaped in the nick of time.
Now to battle traffic. Little GPS on my iphone, what does my future hold? As I searched routs on my map to Colton, and navigated my lane of traffic on the 55 (I AM the driver your mother warned you about), I clicked the little "show traffic" bar and made a distinct subconscious association with "Show me the beast!" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I had clicked that button thousands of times since getting my iphone and never before thought this. I smiled and made a mental note to tell Whitney later. She is the only one who might even possibly appreciate that parallel.
As I analyzed my traffic options, I realized the 91 (the shortest distance-wise) was a sure failure. What about the 57? It was a little out of the way, but never as much traffic. I scanned the map on the my little screen, glancing up occasionally to make sure I didn't hit any cars, but I couldn't find the 57 icon on any of the freeways. I zoomed in and out of the map, knowing decision time was coming. I either had to go 5N and commit to the 57, or stay and go the rout of impending doom. Then finally I zoomed in again, and there it was, the path green the whole way. I lane surfed a few lanes to the right, and way one my way.
Fifty-four minutes later I was off the freeway and headed to the office. Crap, wrong turn. It was exactly 9:30, (I was AMAZED it was exactly 9:30), but I had come so far to be late now. Figure it out Mel, left on Mt. Vernon. I called and told the receptionist I would be about four minutes late. I found a spot right by the front sliding doors, parked and walked in. I told the lady my name and who I was there to see. The other receptionist looked up and smiled, recognition that she had been the one I spoke to when I called. It was 9:34. I had made it.
From the waiting room I tweeted, "Good morning! It is only 9:40, and I have already escaped the law and outrun the traffic demons!"
I sat amazed at how things had worked out. For all intents and purposes, it was a good morning.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Emotional Writer's Block
I am sitting here trying to write my paper and I can't because I am too upset that no one in my life ever told me my thoughts about things mattered.
I learned today that my thoughts DO matter. And I was going to write a very happy blog post about how I was so happy after therapy today, but now I am upset. I have wasted SO MUCH TIME PLEADING WITH OTHER PEOPLE TO JUST LOVE ME when there was nothing wrong with me in the first place. There was never anything wrong with me.
If I had known that, I would have made so many different choices over the past four years. I would fucking be somebody else. I think she would have been happier. I am a weird mix of sad and angry right now. I don't know what my therapist would call that emotion.
I hate that all we can do is move on. We can't go back and fix what has already happened. I hate that.
In other news, I learned today that my thoughts about things matter.
Writing this piece is hard because it is making me think about who I was, and I don't want to think about that anymore. I don't want to mull over bad habits. I want to keep moving forward and doing new things. I want to leave the past behind me. And because I have to write this piece I cannot do that.
This is disgusting and I want to leave and not write anymore and not think about it. But I have to.
I learned today that my thoughts DO matter. And I was going to write a very happy blog post about how I was so happy after therapy today, but now I am upset. I have wasted SO MUCH TIME PLEADING WITH OTHER PEOPLE TO JUST LOVE ME when there was nothing wrong with me in the first place. There was never anything wrong with me.
If I had known that, I would have made so many different choices over the past four years. I would fucking be somebody else. I think she would have been happier. I am a weird mix of sad and angry right now. I don't know what my therapist would call that emotion.
I hate that all we can do is move on. We can't go back and fix what has already happened. I hate that.
In other news, I learned today that my thoughts about things matter.
Writing this piece is hard because it is making me think about who I was, and I don't want to think about that anymore. I don't want to mull over bad habits. I want to keep moving forward and doing new things. I want to leave the past behind me. And because I have to write this piece I cannot do that.
This is disgusting and I want to leave and not write anymore and not think about it. But I have to.
Br.oken
I have an unhealthy affinity for broken things.
Because I think that if I can fix it I am worth something and if I can't, I am not good enough.
NOT.TRUE.
I am beginning to hate the fact that I am programmed this way and am resenting all the time I have wasted.
I had a good revelation earlier today that I will write about later, but needed to get that thought out in the meantime.
Because I think that if I can fix it I am worth something and if I can't, I am not good enough.
NOT.TRUE.
I am beginning to hate the fact that I am programmed this way and am resenting all the time I have wasted.
I had a good revelation earlier today that I will write about later, but needed to get that thought out in the meantime.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
So please hear these simple truths
Be strong in the Lord and,
Never give up hope,
You're going to do great things,
I already know,
God's got His hand on you so,
Don't live life in fear,
Forgive and forget,
But don't forget why you're here,
Take your time and pray,
Thank God for each day,
His love will find a way,
These are the words I would say
Never give up hope,
You're going to do great things,
I already know,
God's got His hand on you so,
Don't live life in fear,
Forgive and forget,
But don't forget why you're here,
Take your time and pray,
Thank God for each day,
His love will find a way,
These are the words I would say
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Elizabeth
My therapist would be so proud of me.
Today, I am sad.
I am not angry (no more energy). I am not in denial (too much clarity). But what really matters
...is that I no longer think I can change it. No more formulas, patterns of behavior, clever combinations of words, periods of time, inflections, glances, hairstyles, witticisms. There is no longer an order I should be doing things in, a solution for me to figure out. All options have been exhausted, sucked dry, tried and reused, painted a different color, buffed and shined. But the horse is dead. I have sat next to a dead horse willing it to be alive for four years.
I wonder how Elizabeth Kubler Ross knew so much about loss. I wonder if she has a compelling or moving life story.
But I have finally...finally stopped bargaining. And I have moved on to the second D of DABDA. Depression. The D also stands for Dirty. Depression is a Dirty word.
This is the worst part of all of it. Because here you are absolutely helpless. In Denial you don't know any better; Anger you can get people on your side and yell a lot, and Bargaining you can try to FIX. And the wall between bargaining and depression is where I stop. I hit the wall, refuse to continue, and most times revert back to anger. Anger feels like you are accomplishing something, even though you are not.
When you are angry you are hurting yourself. And guess what?
The situation has not changed.
So today I am sad.
My therapist would be proud.
Today, I am sad.
I am not angry (no more energy). I am not in denial (too much clarity). But what really matters
...is that I no longer think I can change it. No more formulas, patterns of behavior, clever combinations of words, periods of time, inflections, glances, hairstyles, witticisms. There is no longer an order I should be doing things in, a solution for me to figure out. All options have been exhausted, sucked dry, tried and reused, painted a different color, buffed and shined. But the horse is dead. I have sat next to a dead horse willing it to be alive for four years.
I wonder how Elizabeth Kubler Ross knew so much about loss. I wonder if she has a compelling or moving life story.
But I have finally...finally stopped bargaining. And I have moved on to the second D of DABDA. Depression. The D also stands for Dirty. Depression is a Dirty word.
This is the worst part of all of it. Because here you are absolutely helpless. In Denial you don't know any better; Anger you can get people on your side and yell a lot, and Bargaining you can try to FIX. And the wall between bargaining and depression is where I stop. I hit the wall, refuse to continue, and most times revert back to anger. Anger feels like you are accomplishing something, even though you are not.
When you are angry you are hurting yourself. And guess what?
The situation has not changed.
So today I am sad.
My therapist would be proud.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Little Men with Bad Breath
So it has occurred to me in my Aprodine state of mind that I am once again off track. The ECF mentioned here was the trigger. And only now am I realizing the tailspin it sent me into.
The past few days, the entry way to my house has smelled like bad breath. How does a part of a house with no furniture or fabric have such a distinct smell, especially one so bad? Are there little men with halitosis standing there breathing when no one is home and moment I come to the door they scamper away?
The clicking (or ticking I suppose is the correct term) of this clock behind me is highly irritating. Or it would be if this new antihistamine I was on did not make me so placid. I never understood the appeal of clocks that tick. Is it one of those sounds people find comforting because it reminds them of their childhood? It does not remind me of my childhood. My grandma actually gave each of her three kids, my dad and his two older sisters, identical gold analogue clocks, and my dad either hid his or threw it away because he hated the ticking so much. He also hated his mother, but thats another story. Maybe my dislike of the noise is genetic. My mom hates ticking and dripping noises too. It's a good thing I am on aprodine.
So I have never read Catcher in the Rye. I know, I know, it's like cardinal sin numero uno for any literary fanatic/writer. But that's not even why I have decided to read it. I am reading it (and I am on chapter 7) because the ending has already been ruined for me. Donald Miller ruined it for me. I actually began reading his book "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years" so he could tell me how to live a more exciting life, and there in the first chapter he tells me Holden Caulfield is sitting there telling his story to some therapist in a mental institution. (Sorry if you have never read the book and I just ruined it for you. But now you know how I feel. And really, I would blame Don.) So after having the ending ruined for me, I figured that this is a book everyone and their mother has read, and that there are probably tons of literary allusions made to this book that I have been completely missing over the course of my literate life. And I decided I should fix that. So now I am on chapter 7. And its weird because now that I am reading it, I find myself thinking in the stilted, repetitive way he talks. It is very strange. I don't read as much as I should, but when I do I think I become very involved. It happens when I watch movies too. I am overly empathetic and too easily influenced by my surroundings.
Which brings me back to the beginning of this, when I first sat down to start writing. I have no personal goals. The minute I began to, the ECF occurred and only now am I beginning to resurface. (The ECF served as a catalyst for much deeper problems as well, as Small Things almost certainly always lead to Bigger Things.) I think I need to reconnect with myself. That sounds so meditative and zen. And is actually one of those gross sentences that makes you gag when other people say it, except for the fact that I mean it.
I hate being alone. I hate it hate it hate it. But when I am not alone, even my inner psyche is distracted. I just get off track. And then I find myself doing meaningless things and hating myself for it. The downward spiral is all very interesting really.
As always there is more to say, but I am sure the tone of the rest of my blogs from now on will be all about how I want to reinvent myself, so that should be fun.
Actually...yes, it will be fun. I can do this.
The past few days, the entry way to my house has smelled like bad breath. How does a part of a house with no furniture or fabric have such a distinct smell, especially one so bad? Are there little men with halitosis standing there breathing when no one is home and moment I come to the door they scamper away?
The clicking (or ticking I suppose is the correct term) of this clock behind me is highly irritating. Or it would be if this new antihistamine I was on did not make me so placid. I never understood the appeal of clocks that tick. Is it one of those sounds people find comforting because it reminds them of their childhood? It does not remind me of my childhood. My grandma actually gave each of her three kids, my dad and his two older sisters, identical gold analogue clocks, and my dad either hid his or threw it away because he hated the ticking so much. He also hated his mother, but thats another story. Maybe my dislike of the noise is genetic. My mom hates ticking and dripping noises too. It's a good thing I am on aprodine.
So I have never read Catcher in the Rye. I know, I know, it's like cardinal sin numero uno for any literary fanatic/writer. But that's not even why I have decided to read it. I am reading it (and I am on chapter 7) because the ending has already been ruined for me. Donald Miller ruined it for me. I actually began reading his book "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years" so he could tell me how to live a more exciting life, and there in the first chapter he tells me Holden Caulfield is sitting there telling his story to some therapist in a mental institution. (Sorry if you have never read the book and I just ruined it for you. But now you know how I feel. And really, I would blame Don.) So after having the ending ruined for me, I figured that this is a book everyone and their mother has read, and that there are probably tons of literary allusions made to this book that I have been completely missing over the course of my literate life. And I decided I should fix that. So now I am on chapter 7. And its weird because now that I am reading it, I find myself thinking in the stilted, repetitive way he talks. It is very strange. I don't read as much as I should, but when I do I think I become very involved. It happens when I watch movies too. I am overly empathetic and too easily influenced by my surroundings.
Which brings me back to the beginning of this, when I first sat down to start writing. I have no personal goals. The minute I began to, the ECF occurred and only now am I beginning to resurface. (The ECF served as a catalyst for much deeper problems as well, as Small Things almost certainly always lead to Bigger Things.) I think I need to reconnect with myself. That sounds so meditative and zen. And is actually one of those gross sentences that makes you gag when other people say it, except for the fact that I mean it.
I hate being alone. I hate it hate it hate it. But when I am not alone, even my inner psyche is distracted. I just get off track. And then I find myself doing meaningless things and hating myself for it. The downward spiral is all very interesting really.
As always there is more to say, but I am sure the tone of the rest of my blogs from now on will be all about how I want to reinvent myself, so that should be fun.
Actually...yes, it will be fun. I can do this.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I think my new antihistamine has weird side effects!
Sometimes I wonder why I care so much! Nothing is even that big of a deal! Time for bed!
Monday, May 3, 2010
The Shoe
Shoe crisis averted. That stressed me out. I love when I need space, my roommate gives me the wrong shoe so I can leave it in your car, forcing me to talk to you MORE. Oh basket of shoes by front door that I do not even use, why must you cause me such strife?
I am learning I need to stop making my long distance life happen and instead only focus on what is directly within my reach. I grope and grasp for the past because it is familiar, but in the meantime I do not invest in the present. My need for stability and comfort that I believe to be found in some past life I never led and in making that past a reality is what is keeping me from seeing the blessings I have right here, right now. (Run on sentence!!)
So past, leave me be! When you decide to be a part of my present, I will see if I want to invite you back. But that is YOUR choice. Come back if you like, but for now, I will look side to side and forwards. Backwards no more!
This post makes little sense.
I am learning I need to stop making my long distance life happen and instead only focus on what is directly within my reach. I grope and grasp for the past because it is familiar, but in the meantime I do not invest in the present. My need for stability and comfort that I believe to be found in some past life I never led and in making that past a reality is what is keeping me from seeing the blessings I have right here, right now. (Run on sentence!!)
So past, leave me be! When you decide to be a part of my present, I will see if I want to invite you back. But that is YOUR choice. Come back if you like, but for now, I will look side to side and forwards. Backwards no more!
This post makes little sense.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Boldness-- quote stolen from Leanna
"Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe's couplets: Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it."
~W.H. Murray
~W.H. Murray
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