Thursday, October 7, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
turning around to see - ending up in a dance
**WARNING** There is quite possibly writing in here that could trigger someone into doing self-destructive things. If you are not in a good place mentally and this is an issue for you, please don't read it right now. It'll still be here later. I'm not trying to heal myself by triggering others or giving other people ideas for self-harm shit. It's a horrible, painful addiction and I will be quite terribly upset if I learn that my words have caused someone else any hurt.**
And lay it out for everyone
Exactly how it was before any of this happened
And why I can't leave it behind"
-- Conor Oberst, "A New Arrangement"
I moved recently. It was probably 3 weeks ago that I began discussing my current situation and I guess about 2 weeks ago that I actually moved in. There were 5 days in there where I was not here, but up in Fargo with my family paying my respects to Grandma Quick's life and seeing her burial in tiny and all-but-barren Starkweather, North Dakota. Other than those 5 days away, I have been fully immersed in learning the ropes around this house, unpacking and rediscovering treasures from my storage unit, and adjusting to life in the countryside.
It just now occurred to me that it's been a lot longer than the 10 months of storage that I've not seen a few of my tangible memories. In the years prior to leaving Jason, now a little over 10 months ago (holy crap!), I didn't delve into many of these items. I left books on shelves and music in cases for many years without acknowledgement. Some of these things were untouched for so long because I was trying to let go, stop dwelling on painful subjects, and heal. I also left many items unexplored while I was falling in and out of love with my husband, which took probably 3 years. Half of me didn't want to focus on anything but my relationship with him and half of me wasn't allowed to retain memorabilia from my shrapnel-filled past without extreme measures taken to induce guilt, fan my self-hatred, and block any possible fond memories of Life Before Jason.
I no longer have most of my photos from any previous romantic relationships (except for a few copies my parents still had -- like formals from high school. He hated those photos.), I got rid of several CDs and tapes of and from ex-entanglements that I now crave (the music, not the entanglements), and I no longer have any paintings, drawings or sculptures made of me or for me by any male that I've ever kissed. That's sad to me. I've kissed some talented men and probably the only common thread amongst them is how their creativity moved me in some manner. Those tugboats of emotion are now gone. Sad!
I managed to escape my marriage before my journals were censored by a big fat marker or fire pit. Such heretical acts were on the docket to take place any minute for almost a year. I put up with a TON of shit as a result of "procrastinating" on this request, but it was worth every insult and mind-fuck and argument and sneer and threat that came at my stubborn resistance to erase all proof that I had a life prior to meeting the man I married. It was worth it, but I'll never put up with THAT shit again.
Gyah -- that really sucked.
The quote from Conor at the beginning of this post is from the song "A New Arrangement" on "Every Day and Every Night" by Bright Eyes. It recalls nights spent alone in my Powderhorn Park apartment when I lived in Minneapolis and driving to and from my job at the Heart Association, the last full-time job that I held, over my lunch hours when I needed to hurt out loud. I only went home over lunch if I wanted to cut my forearms or play with my unlit fire swings in my living room. Jeff Buckley was great for doing both, but mostly dancing with my swings. I learned that a few minutes of getting my heart to speed up with oscillating arms increased the blood flow and somehow made my purging of pain in the form of blood just that much more effective. Conor's music was always good for urging on the anguish, pushing me past a point of resistance until I felt real. Alive. Involved in someone else's pain instead of the crushing solitude of my own.
Hearing this particular music again ----- I'm looking forward to a summer filled with writing. Maybe not on this blog so much, but for my memoir. To finish the healing process and give legitimacy and create proof beyond my scars that I have been to Hell and I made it out. Turns out it shares the same physical space as Heaven, as well as Mediocrity, and our experiences within this life are entirely determined by how we see the world both inside and outside of ourselves. I used to hear those four lines:
"Baby, when I call for you, I want you to come
And lay it out for everyone
Exactly how it was before any of this happened
And why I can't leave it behind"
and in my mind I was singing about "how it was before any of this happened" meaning how life was before my mental illness hijacked my brain and "why I can't leave it behind" because I was trapped, completely engulfed in hot blistered soul sores.
Tonight I heard these four line and in my mind, "any of this" was now my current living situation -- the serendipitous events and souls who have changed my world for the better -- and I now can't leave "it" (my years of living hell) behind because I meant it when I vowed to do what I could to help anyone else who suffers like I have, and I think that if I can somehow explain what it was like and what I did to find my happiness - I think it could possibly help someone. It's worth writing for that possibility alone. If anything, it'll help ME, so there's my one person. :)
So yeah. Looking forward to delving back in, from a new perspective. I hope that down the road I'm able to share the full story with all of you.
<3
~Q~
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Dude. Whooping Cough? Really?
Hey there internet - all 4 of you -
I have apparently been the biggest slacker of all time when it comes to my writing this past month. It would be one thing had I been working on the memoir, and that's why I've been remiss in writing for the blog, but no. That is not the case. I just haven't been writing much at all for the past month.
Maybe that's part of the problem with my "trapped, icky, panicky feeling" that I attempted to fight off all day today, with little success. It's that feeling that I would do just about anything to escape. I contained it pretty well in front of others, but it was definitely creeping today.
I went back to Open Door today - the sliding fee medical clinic here in town. I've been sick since Valentine's Day, when I woke up with a sore throat but powered through to sing that duet with my friend Ocho at the Hope Interfaith Center that day. After that, however, my voice got all raspy and funky and I really haven't been able to sing since. I tried to do karaoke a few times maybe 2 weeks ago, but by the time I was on the last song I had chosen, my voice was pretty much a cracking mess. That was that. Maybe 1 1/2 to 2 weeks after the day I woke up with the sore throat, I went to Open Door for the first time. I was told I had an acute upper respiratory infection and prescribed some pretty hardcore antibiotics for 10 days to kick it out.
It refused to vacate.
I'm on probably week 5 of this illness now, and it's moved completely from my head to my lungs and although I don't feel terrible, my cough is quite impressive. I went back today, at the request of my parents, and was told that I now have pneumonia in my left lung - but the right lung sounds clear. The doctor seemed puzzled that the 10 days of augmentin didn't fix things, and she actually "suspects whooping cough", so I'm now on the Z-pack - another 5 days of a DIFFERENT antibiotic.
Whooping Cough? Didn't that disease die before I was born?
Apparently not.
The biggest bummer is not that I'm still sick, because honestly - I really don't feel all that physically awful. Perhaps I'm simply used to feeling off, as it were, so this is no big deal to me. The biggest bummer is actually that it's March and it's wet out, which means Lyric's pasture has plenty of mud for him to roll in, which means there is almost always a handsome yet crusty mud coated horse when I go see him to brush out. Anyone who has ever brushed mass amounts of dried mud out of an animal, particularly such a tall one, knows that the dust from the animal being groomed will inevitably be all over the person doing the grooming. I've never had a problem with this fact - I quite enjoy the smell of the ponies. My lungs, however, are not pleased with the inhalation of the small but potent clouds of horse dirt I deliver pretty much every day.
Since I didn't get out to see my man Lyric yesterday, I really wanted to make sure to see him today. He's a sensitive guy and gets quite hurt and offended if I don't see him for 2 days in a row. Seriously. I've never met such an expressive horse. Not only do I get the rump pointed at me if I fail to live up to his expectations, but he will also refuse to walk next to me AND he refuses to eat my treats that I offer. When I missed seeing him for 4 days in a row once, and I tried to make it up to him with food, I got the VERY DISTINCT message from him that he did not care so much about the peace offering. In my head I heard "I don't want your damn treats. I want your TIME. You cannot buy my love, lady. Where the hell have you been?"
I have not missed many days since then, although it does occasionally happen. Anyway - I did not get a chance to see him yesterday, but the previous several days we had been getting closer and closer, so I didn't want to risk another set back with his trust. I promised my mom that I would not groom him and that I would come home after the barn (instead of the open mic that I wanted to go to tonight), and I went out to hug my horse.
In my world, there is nothing more soothing than the sound of Lyric munching his hay, the feel of his inquisitive and tactile lips searching for the treats he knows are in my hoodie pocket, the sight of those giant hot chocolate eyes and the smell. The glorious smell of hay, shavings, leather and horse. It's most definitely the cure for almost everything that ails me.
Oddly enough, it didn't really work so well tonight. He was happy to see me, and he drooled water on my pants and sweatshirt after every sip he took while I was there, and he tousled my hair when I crouched down with my face in my arms, crying for no discernible reason. It actually made me cry harder. I don't even know why I was crying in the first place, much less any reason that his love would intensify that overwhelming sadness in my heart.
Is it easier for me to let down my guard when I'm with him instead of any bipeds? I honestly don't have an answer, or even a solid inkling. I want to believe that I cried in Lyric's stall because it was the best place for me to release my emotions - a place I always feel safe. That doesn't quite feel correct though. I mean, I absolutely do always feel safe in his stall with him, but that doesn't really hit home for tonight for some reason. I've only cried in front of him one other time, and that was the night he was gifted to me.
I have no memory of any tangible thoughts that were swirling through my brain at that time. I was curious and vaguely concerned to find him sweaty when I got there, even though it wasn't hot and he had been inside for probably an hour by then. That certainly wouldn't cause tears, though. All I remember is being flooded by that horrible feeling. The sensation that I was drowning, that no matter how healthy I get or how far I've come - I'm still crazy at my core. I still struggle to keep the self-destructive urges at bay. I still have bloody images flash through my mind when I'm having a hard day and I catch a glimpse of one of my arms, full of old scars, or I realize that I've once again been absentmindedly tracing the X's I carved into my chest above my heart several years ago.
Most days, my scars and memories don't trigger me or even bother me in the least. There are still times, however, when a memory overtakes my current situation and pulls me back to my apartment in Powderhorn Park, or my house in Montgomery, or my ex's apartment near Loring Park in Minneapolis. That was the apartment where my wrist was broken and only a few hours later I was curled up next to him, sore wrist propped up on the pillow in front of my tear-streaked stoned face. My apartment was the scene of so many cuts, several breakdowns, and horrible fights. The house in Montgomery. Absolute Hell.
I suppose it's to be expected that I will continue to have rough days. This is one of the ongoing issues I've struggled with, actually, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm sincerely surprised. I am though. I realized years ago that my memory for feelings is pretty shitty. In my mind, when I'm living in Hell, I cannot for anything in the Universe remember what it feels like to be happy, content, or even neutral. I'm learning to intellectually remember that I've felt otherwise, but it never convinces my soul when I most need it. Likewise, when I'm living in euphoria or am even vaguely happy, I have zero memories of that painful burn that runs from the center of my chest down to the deepest hidden cavern in my gut. Even reading my own words from other times in my life doesn't usually remind me that I've been through these cycles repeatedly and that it's quite possible that this is going to continue for the rest of my life.
Wow. To live this way is truly NOT for the meek. It's pretty exhausting and intense, actually. If I had any sort of choice in the matter, I don't know that I'd choose to be me. Maybe I'd surprise myself and pick to be Q after all, but I'm not confident about that. I know I exhaust people at times. I know for a fact that I've scared the shit out of several friends and made so many damn men nervous. Is there really any wonder I have huge abandonment issues? I think the only person that I've talked to consistently, that I've lost my shit in front of (many, many times), who has NEVER taken a break from me is my mother. Dad has never put me on even hold either, but it's Mom that I unload on most of the time. It's not easy being someone that many others can only ingest in carefully measured doses. They get to go home and return to less intensity. This shit is pretty much a constant in my brain. The only actual breaks I get from my barrage of crazy are when I'm sound asleep or high.
I AM EXHAUSTED.
And now I have the freaking whooping cough, or pneumonia at the very best. I did some superficial research on this whole whooping cough thing and apparently I'm maybe half through the course of the sickness at best. Great. That's another entire month at least that I'll be struggling with this cough. I hope these new antibiotics kick some major illness ass.
I suppose I should go to bed then, eh?
Love,
~Q~
I have apparently been the biggest slacker of all time when it comes to my writing this past month. It would be one thing had I been working on the memoir, and that's why I've been remiss in writing for the blog, but no. That is not the case. I just haven't been writing much at all for the past month.
Maybe that's part of the problem with my "trapped, icky, panicky feeling" that I attempted to fight off all day today, with little success. It's that feeling that I would do just about anything to escape. I contained it pretty well in front of others, but it was definitely creeping today.
I went back to Open Door today - the sliding fee medical clinic here in town. I've been sick since Valentine's Day, when I woke up with a sore throat but powered through to sing that duet with my friend Ocho at the Hope Interfaith Center that day. After that, however, my voice got all raspy and funky and I really haven't been able to sing since. I tried to do karaoke a few times maybe 2 weeks ago, but by the time I was on the last song I had chosen, my voice was pretty much a cracking mess. That was that. Maybe 1 1/2 to 2 weeks after the day I woke up with the sore throat, I went to Open Door for the first time. I was told I had an acute upper respiratory infection and prescribed some pretty hardcore antibiotics for 10 days to kick it out.
It refused to vacate.
I'm on probably week 5 of this illness now, and it's moved completely from my head to my lungs and although I don't feel terrible, my cough is quite impressive. I went back today, at the request of my parents, and was told that I now have pneumonia in my left lung - but the right lung sounds clear. The doctor seemed puzzled that the 10 days of augmentin didn't fix things, and she actually "suspects whooping cough", so I'm now on the Z-pack - another 5 days of a DIFFERENT antibiotic.
Whooping Cough? Didn't that disease die before I was born?
Apparently not.
The biggest bummer is not that I'm still sick, because honestly - I really don't feel all that physically awful. Perhaps I'm simply used to feeling off, as it were, so this is no big deal to me. The biggest bummer is actually that it's March and it's wet out, which means Lyric's pasture has plenty of mud for him to roll in, which means there is almost always a handsome yet crusty mud coated horse when I go see him to brush out. Anyone who has ever brushed mass amounts of dried mud out of an animal, particularly such a tall one, knows that the dust from the animal being groomed will inevitably be all over the person doing the grooming. I've never had a problem with this fact - I quite enjoy the smell of the ponies. My lungs, however, are not pleased with the inhalation of the small but potent clouds of horse dirt I deliver pretty much every day.
Since I didn't get out to see my man Lyric yesterday, I really wanted to make sure to see him today. He's a sensitive guy and gets quite hurt and offended if I don't see him for 2 days in a row. Seriously. I've never met such an expressive horse. Not only do I get the rump pointed at me if I fail to live up to his expectations, but he will also refuse to walk next to me AND he refuses to eat my treats that I offer. When I missed seeing him for 4 days in a row once, and I tried to make it up to him with food, I got the VERY DISTINCT message from him that he did not care so much about the peace offering. In my head I heard "I don't want your damn treats. I want your TIME. You cannot buy my love, lady. Where the hell have you been?"
I have not missed many days since then, although it does occasionally happen. Anyway - I did not get a chance to see him yesterday, but the previous several days we had been getting closer and closer, so I didn't want to risk another set back with his trust. I promised my mom that I would not groom him and that I would come home after the barn (instead of the open mic that I wanted to go to tonight), and I went out to hug my horse.
In my world, there is nothing more soothing than the sound of Lyric munching his hay, the feel of his inquisitive and tactile lips searching for the treats he knows are in my hoodie pocket, the sight of those giant hot chocolate eyes and the smell. The glorious smell of hay, shavings, leather and horse. It's most definitely the cure for almost everything that ails me.
Oddly enough, it didn't really work so well tonight. He was happy to see me, and he drooled water on my pants and sweatshirt after every sip he took while I was there, and he tousled my hair when I crouched down with my face in my arms, crying for no discernible reason. It actually made me cry harder. I don't even know why I was crying in the first place, much less any reason that his love would intensify that overwhelming sadness in my heart.
Is it easier for me to let down my guard when I'm with him instead of any bipeds? I honestly don't have an answer, or even a solid inkling. I want to believe that I cried in Lyric's stall because it was the best place for me to release my emotions - a place I always feel safe. That doesn't quite feel correct though. I mean, I absolutely do always feel safe in his stall with him, but that doesn't really hit home for tonight for some reason. I've only cried in front of him one other time, and that was the night he was gifted to me.
I have no memory of any tangible thoughts that were swirling through my brain at that time. I was curious and vaguely concerned to find him sweaty when I got there, even though it wasn't hot and he had been inside for probably an hour by then. That certainly wouldn't cause tears, though. All I remember is being flooded by that horrible feeling. The sensation that I was drowning, that no matter how healthy I get or how far I've come - I'm still crazy at my core. I still struggle to keep the self-destructive urges at bay. I still have bloody images flash through my mind when I'm having a hard day and I catch a glimpse of one of my arms, full of old scars, or I realize that I've once again been absentmindedly tracing the X's I carved into my chest above my heart several years ago.
Most days, my scars and memories don't trigger me or even bother me in the least. There are still times, however, when a memory overtakes my current situation and pulls me back to my apartment in Powderhorn Park, or my house in Montgomery, or my ex's apartment near Loring Park in Minneapolis. That was the apartment where my wrist was broken and only a few hours later I was curled up next to him, sore wrist propped up on the pillow in front of my tear-streaked stoned face. My apartment was the scene of so many cuts, several breakdowns, and horrible fights. The house in Montgomery. Absolute Hell.
I suppose it's to be expected that I will continue to have rough days. This is one of the ongoing issues I've struggled with, actually, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm sincerely surprised. I am though. I realized years ago that my memory for feelings is pretty shitty. In my mind, when I'm living in Hell, I cannot for anything in the Universe remember what it feels like to be happy, content, or even neutral. I'm learning to intellectually remember that I've felt otherwise, but it never convinces my soul when I most need it. Likewise, when I'm living in euphoria or am even vaguely happy, I have zero memories of that painful burn that runs from the center of my chest down to the deepest hidden cavern in my gut. Even reading my own words from other times in my life doesn't usually remind me that I've been through these cycles repeatedly and that it's quite possible that this is going to continue for the rest of my life.
Wow. To live this way is truly NOT for the meek. It's pretty exhausting and intense, actually. If I had any sort of choice in the matter, I don't know that I'd choose to be me. Maybe I'd surprise myself and pick to be Q after all, but I'm not confident about that. I know I exhaust people at times. I know for a fact that I've scared the shit out of several friends and made so many damn men nervous. Is there really any wonder I have huge abandonment issues? I think the only person that I've talked to consistently, that I've lost my shit in front of (many, many times), who has NEVER taken a break from me is my mother. Dad has never put me on even hold either, but it's Mom that I unload on most of the time. It's not easy being someone that many others can only ingest in carefully measured doses. They get to go home and return to less intensity. This shit is pretty much a constant in my brain. The only actual breaks I get from my barrage of crazy are when I'm sound asleep or high.
I AM EXHAUSTED.
And now I have the freaking whooping cough, or pneumonia at the very best. I did some superficial research on this whole whooping cough thing and apparently I'm maybe half through the course of the sickness at best. Great. That's another entire month at least that I'll be struggling with this cough. I hope these new antibiotics kick some major illness ass.
I suppose I should go to bed then, eh?
Love,
~Q~
Monday, February 8, 2010
You Could Be Mine
The opening scene of the movie that is my life this very afternoon.
I went on a walk with Tyra this afternoon again. Yes, it's really cold out and yes, there was more snow on the ground. The good thing about being out in this particular weather is that you are far less likely to run into another human being whilst dancing around in an "empty" park, to music that only you are currently privy to.
The above photo was actually taken maybe 2 days ago, but I basically looked just like this again today. :) White hoodie though. 'Cause you know - I'm spicy like that with my flashy wardrobe.
Hey look - it's me again.
Ok. So back to my story. When we get to this, the most glorious part of the walk, I take Tyra off of her leash and let her have at the snow banks. She is never more happy than when she is able to sniff any piss spots unhindered by me, the leash, and my concept of "walking". We don't necessarily have the same behavioral patterns when it comes to this concept, so when we're both unhinged and able to meander near one another, things work even better for us.
It's freezing cold outside. As in 5 degrees, negative 6 degrees "Real Feel". I left the house at 4:00, so I bet it was maybe 3-4 degrees warmer, but still. By the time I left the park, I was quite aware of the feeling of my stiff jeans - the ones two sizes too big for me - touching my red frozen thighs underneath. Those of you who have experienced this pre-frostbite feeling know what I'm talking about. It's weird. I didn't even feel when my phone vibrated in my back pocket to tell me I had received a text message. That's one frozen ass. Brr.
Anyway. Since I'm quite recently obsessed with Guns 'N' Roses all over again, with the acquisition of their "Greatest Hits" album, I was of course doing the snake dance all through the park, with a less dramatic version for those parts of the walk that take us through neighborhoods and prying windows. The front half of the park is pretty much all wooded - not with the massive pines like they have up north, but the ones that host the prettiest colors each and every autumn. There are a few trails through there that I like to mosey on through. Something about the woods - maybe I was a wood fairy in a past life. :) Or Paul Bunyan.
I also quite enjoy the big ring around the open field at the other end of the park - especially where there are again trees. It just occurred to me that I really am, literally, a tree-hugger. How did I not realize this before now? Hm. Interesting.....interesting...........
But maybe not as interesting to you, so I'll try better to stay on track with this story. Tyra is following her nose from pee-spot to pee-spot, I'm listening to "Civil War" through my headphones and dancing my ass off down the powdered path. I wish I would've brought a camera. You could see my slippery dancin' footprints in the snow behind me.
As I'm singing harmony along to one of Slash's many guitar solos and alternatively pretending to be Axl Rose, complete with arm movements and swinging hips, to accompany the oh-so-rockin' vocals. Because - let's face it, people. One cannot properly rock out to Guns 'N' Roses without plenty of dramatic facial expressions, dancing, screeching, and half-whispered phrases like "patience..." or "what's so civil about war, anyway?" On a good day, I can even do the whistling. It's a bit more difficult when your face is frozen.
So there I am, completely in my own world, twirling about, singing like I was either alone in my room, or singing karaoke with my friends who are generally rocking along from their chairs. Mid-twirl, I notice there's an older gentleman on the path just ahead of me. Brown Carhartt jacket, one of those sweet grandpa hats with the ear flaps - down even - and a walking stick of some sort. He had obviously seen me before I noticed him. I wonder how long I had been amusing this guy.
I put Tyra back on her leash to pass him, and pulled one of my earphones out of my head, so I could also hear if he said anything to me. It occurred to me that in the past, I would've been quite embarrassed in a similar situation. Simultaneously, it also occurred to me that I sincerely was not. Not worried about it in the very least. I may have appeared strange to this guy who was probably nearing his 70's, but I doubt very highly that my singing and dancing was disturbing to stumble upon during a walk. I would love that, if I had run into it. Can you imagine? A world where we all wander around singing and dancing if the mood strikes? Sweet.
As I passed the man who has lived more than twice as long as I have, I made eye contact and we smiled at each other. I said "you're one of the brave ones - to be out in this". He smiled bigger and replied "you are too - one of the brave ones". Maybe it's just me, but I don't think he was talking only about the weather.
I grinned back at him and put my other headphone on just as "You Could Be Mine" came through. There was no need to pause and discuss - just two human beings, sharing a few smiles as we both continued on our respective paths. It was cool. Thought you might like that story too.
Love,
~Q~
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Unexpected Reaction
February 2nd and I'm finally moving into the room I'm technically occupying. That's only - what - five and a half months of couch surfing in my mom and dad's home, where I grew up?
Not too shabby, Q, not too shabby. :)
I worked for probably five and a half hours, listening to the Cirque du Soleil soundtrack for "Varekai", which is achingly beautiful in a way that flies high above the various languages it speaks. I cleaned off the big dresser, which was definitely my sister's and before that I believe was my Grandma and Gran'pa Nelson's. Up until today, it had served primarily as a dumping ground for unopened mail, various hats, and a few things that Emily didn't move out with her when she left home many years ago. Now, it's much more in line with me. I also cleaned my highboy dresser, I cleaned the corner shelves and put all my books away, cleaned off the desk and even put several photos in new frames.
I'll post photos of my reorganized room when I get to that point. Right now, half of the room is in that awful middle stage, where things are strewn all over the middle of the floor. Mostly paperwork. :)
When I started this blog post, several hours ago, I was needing a break. I made the mistake of filing through a file folder entitled "Jason". My first Love got a Xerox box for all the 5 1/2 years of our sentiments. Jason got a file folder. A fat one, but not a box. It's either the 3 years vs. the 5 1/2 years, or perhaps I stopped collecting every little thing as I got a bit older. My husband and I actually lived together, too, so there wasn't nearly as many letters or notes to document our relationship.
Anyway - the point is -- that file folder: I wasn't expecting the reaction I had while looking through it. The times I'd go through the original break-up box, which generally happened about once a year, whenever I'd be getting ready to move -- my heart would ache and I'd generally end up crying. I don't really have many of those things left, as I was guilted into throwing away so very many things that had to do with my life prior to meeting Jason. Naturally, a similar sadness would be a reaction I would maybe expect from my first time really sifting through my estranged-husband memorabilia. What happened, however, was much more unexpected.
I literally and quite physically got nauseous. I had to put the folder away without quite finishing the perusal, close my eyes and breathe slowly and deeply so I didn't upchuck all over the carpet. Ew. I did not see that one coming.
Nor did I expect faint waves of sickness to return at the very thought of the things I read tonight. Gotta go - making curtains & watching "When Harry Met Sally". Much less volatile.
Love to you all,
~Q~
Not too shabby, Q, not too shabby. :)
I worked for probably five and a half hours, listening to the Cirque du Soleil soundtrack for "Varekai", which is achingly beautiful in a way that flies high above the various languages it speaks. I cleaned off the big dresser, which was definitely my sister's and before that I believe was my Grandma and Gran'pa Nelson's. Up until today, it had served primarily as a dumping ground for unopened mail, various hats, and a few things that Emily didn't move out with her when she left home many years ago. Now, it's much more in line with me. I also cleaned my highboy dresser, I cleaned the corner shelves and put all my books away, cleaned off the desk and even put several photos in new frames.
I'll post photos of my reorganized room when I get to that point. Right now, half of the room is in that awful middle stage, where things are strewn all over the middle of the floor. Mostly paperwork. :)
When I started this blog post, several hours ago, I was needing a break. I made the mistake of filing through a file folder entitled "Jason". My first Love got a Xerox box for all the 5 1/2 years of our sentiments. Jason got a file folder. A fat one, but not a box. It's either the 3 years vs. the 5 1/2 years, or perhaps I stopped collecting every little thing as I got a bit older. My husband and I actually lived together, too, so there wasn't nearly as many letters or notes to document our relationship.
Anyway - the point is -- that file folder: I wasn't expecting the reaction I had while looking through it. The times I'd go through the original break-up box, which generally happened about once a year, whenever I'd be getting ready to move -- my heart would ache and I'd generally end up crying. I don't really have many of those things left, as I was guilted into throwing away so very many things that had to do with my life prior to meeting Jason. Naturally, a similar sadness would be a reaction I would maybe expect from my first time really sifting through my estranged-husband memorabilia. What happened, however, was much more unexpected.
I literally and quite physically got nauseous. I had to put the folder away without quite finishing the perusal, close my eyes and breathe slowly and deeply so I didn't upchuck all over the carpet. Ew. I did not see that one coming.
Nor did I expect faint waves of sickness to return at the very thought of the things I read tonight. Gotta go - making curtains & watching "When Harry Met Sally". Much less volatile.
Love to you all,
~Q~
Friday, January 22, 2010
Weekly Reader + the Usual (ramblings)
Well, well, well.
So it seems that once you sincerely figure out what it is in life that will help move you towards happiness - AND (here's the kicker) actually rely on yourself and go after that elusive state of being - holy crap kids - apparently it's real.
WaitWhat?
I know, right? How else can one explain how my entire existence got so flipped upside down and inside out in such a short period of time. For awhile, after leaving the mr., I felt guilty. Not that I did anything wrong - I didn't. I finally took care of my own well-being and it's been the best damn idea I've ever followed through with to-date. No - I felt guilty for NOT feeling guilty for leaving my husband. I was happy and grateful and beyond finished with that entire way of living. Still - I always thought divorces were so sad, and no matter how "not-quite-perfect" the relationship was, it would always be really difficult.
I've changed my mind. Getting to the point where leaving was a preferred option - that was one of the hardest things I've survived. I mean - wow. Just when I thought I'd hit bottom and things wouldn't get worse -- yep.
"Just kidding! You thought THAT sucked!?! Wait 'til we see what's behind door number 3!"
Once I had actually made up my mind that I needed to change my situation and change it FAST, it didn't suck as much as I had anticipated. It was actually quite freeing. I cut my long hair off, no longer concerned with his opinion. I reconnected with old friends. I walked through the nearest wooded park every day - particularly loving it when autumn came. I hung out with Tyra & my cats. After a few months, I started heading out again & I met the most incredible group of friends.
So ok - I'm still legally married, so I guess I can't say it was "easy" to finalize the divorce (since I haven't done that quite yet), but that's because I'm so busy creating -- music, words, memories, friendships, & the Life I actually WANT -- I forget I'm still legally bound to a man who I haven't spoken to in months. Basically, I'm just too uninterested in going through my finances to finish the paperwork and I don't have any international rendezvous planned before 2012 (hiking the Inca trail with Ro, Heather & her kids, & ????????) so I'm not in any giant hurry. The reason that travel plans even matter (just realized how random that previous idea must've seemed) is because my passport never did get changed from my maiden name to my married name, so I have to legally reclaim my Q before crossing any borders. Unless it's between counties. Or states. Or cities. Or social mores.
The point I intended to write about when I started is this: Just this past August, I was completely miserable. I was living in a tiny town in southern Minnesota, where the only person I actually knew was my husband. Throughout the previous 3-4 years, I had gone through a massive mental breakdown that landed me in the hospital more than a handful of times in maybe a year to a year and a half. I fell in love and married a man who enthralled me because his energy was even stronger than mine, and he joked that his crazy could out-crazy my crazy under the table.
Helpful Hint: When someone tells you something important like this early in a relationship - they mean it. You should actually believe that. Another one I've heard is "you should run from me right now. I forgot how cool you are and how much I don't want to hurt you, but I think I will". Good call dude. Hind sight is 20/20, it's almost true. In that case though - he freakin' TOLD me what was up and I completely overrode the warning in my gut. Oops. You mean he was serious? Hm. Who knew?
Since I've long been convinced that my eventual partner-in-crime will be either a crazy conductor or a mad scientist (perhaps somehow both?) - the crazy thing intrigued me. Not gonna lie - it still does. Something about hitting 30 though -- I don't want to be crazy my entire life and I know I'm not going to be in this life forever. Been there, done that - what's next?
So I'm writing. And some girl friends and I just recently started a band -- it's called That's What She Said and it's already clicking into place beyond expectations. And I'm riding again - with the bruises to prove it. I should take a picture of the one from Saturday, when one of the horses I teach lessons on -Buddy the paint Quarter Horse - he got a bit bored of going so slow (beginner lesson) - he reached around when I was adjusting stirrup leathers and grabbed onto my arm with his teeth. That hurt - I have this pretty black 'n' blue half-circle on my upper arm. Ok - let's see if this works.......
Yeah --------> OUCH.
It's alright though - it was completely worth it. I think back to before August 20th and how insanely different my life was then from my life now.
#1 - I'm happy. Never thought it could happen. Pleased to be wrong.
#2 - I don't have to hide any of my injuries, because they aren't frowned upon (either because they were given to me by someone who never should have laid an ill-hand on me - or self-inflicted cuts that only served as short-lived eyes in that crazy-ass hurricane of yours truly during those years).
#3 - I was GIVEN A HORSE. On the day that I met him, by some people that I had only met maybe 30 minutes earlier because he & I clicked that well. The previous owners wanted him to go somewhere where he would be just doted upon. They/he chose wisely. I certainly do that.
#4 - I was given a keyboard. A nice one. Within 30 minutes of me putting mention on facebook. I named her Eirene. I have awesome friends.
#5 - I have awesome friends.
I'm pretty sure that this post is even longer than my usual ramblings. If you've managed to read this far -- bravo. Lemme know if you'd be interested in reading my memoir when I get that one finished. It's looking to be quite interesting. At least to me. :)
Which reminds me. The ENTIRE purpose for this post, at least as I had originally thought: my great new friend, Esther Marcella, hosts this radio show on KMSU, where she interviews writers. She knows that I write, and when she found that I write this blog, she asked me to be on her show.
Sure! So I'm told it's 10 minutes of reading work of mine and 10 minutes of Q & A, and she's already asked my permission to question my reason for starting this blog in the first place. I said "most certainly and of course". Abusive relationships and mental health issues and really unhealthy ways of coping with the stress that we ALL struggle with at some level or another --- not talking about it when it's been so integral in who I am today would be remiss. I have no intention of wallowing for the rest of my life -- continuing to classify myself as a victim when I know damn well that I am just as strong, just as brilliant, and just as beautiful as you are. Yeah you. We all are strong, brilliant and beautiful. So yes - I will talk about it openly. And I will NOT be returning to re-experience that chapter in my life ever again.
Wrap it up, Ms. Minnesota-Good-bye............
Alright. Later Gators. :)
Love you all,
~Q~
So it seems that once you sincerely figure out what it is in life that will help move you towards happiness - AND (here's the kicker) actually rely on yourself and go after that elusive state of being - holy crap kids - apparently it's real.
WaitWhat?
I know, right? How else can one explain how my entire existence got so flipped upside down and inside out in such a short period of time. For awhile, after leaving the mr., I felt guilty. Not that I did anything wrong - I didn't. I finally took care of my own well-being and it's been the best damn idea I've ever followed through with to-date. No - I felt guilty for NOT feeling guilty for leaving my husband. I was happy and grateful and beyond finished with that entire way of living. Still - I always thought divorces were so sad, and no matter how "not-quite-perfect" the relationship was, it would always be really difficult.
I've changed my mind. Getting to the point where leaving was a preferred option - that was one of the hardest things I've survived. I mean - wow. Just when I thought I'd hit bottom and things wouldn't get worse -- yep.
"Just kidding! You thought THAT sucked!?! Wait 'til we see what's behind door number 3!"
Once I had actually made up my mind that I needed to change my situation and change it FAST, it didn't suck as much as I had anticipated. It was actually quite freeing. I cut my long hair off, no longer concerned with his opinion. I reconnected with old friends. I walked through the nearest wooded park every day - particularly loving it when autumn came. I hung out with Tyra & my cats. After a few months, I started heading out again & I met the most incredible group of friends.
So ok - I'm still legally married, so I guess I can't say it was "easy" to finalize the divorce (since I haven't done that quite yet), but that's because I'm so busy creating -- music, words, memories, friendships, & the Life I actually WANT -- I forget I'm still legally bound to a man who I haven't spoken to in months. Basically, I'm just too uninterested in going through my finances to finish the paperwork and I don't have any international rendezvous planned before 2012 (hiking the Inca trail with Ro, Heather & her kids, & ????????) so I'm not in any giant hurry. The reason that travel plans even matter (just realized how random that previous idea must've seemed) is because my passport never did get changed from my maiden name to my married name, so I have to legally reclaim my Q before crossing any borders. Unless it's between counties. Or states. Or cities. Or social mores.
The point I intended to write about when I started is this: Just this past August, I was completely miserable. I was living in a tiny town in southern Minnesota, where the only person I actually knew was my husband. Throughout the previous 3-4 years, I had gone through a massive mental breakdown that landed me in the hospital more than a handful of times in maybe a year to a year and a half. I fell in love and married a man who enthralled me because his energy was even stronger than mine, and he joked that his crazy could out-crazy my crazy under the table.
Helpful Hint: When someone tells you something important like this early in a relationship - they mean it. You should actually believe that. Another one I've heard is "you should run from me right now. I forgot how cool you are and how much I don't want to hurt you, but I think I will". Good call dude. Hind sight is 20/20, it's almost true. In that case though - he freakin' TOLD me what was up and I completely overrode the warning in my gut. Oops. You mean he was serious? Hm. Who knew?
Since I've long been convinced that my eventual partner-in-crime will be either a crazy conductor or a mad scientist (perhaps somehow both?) - the crazy thing intrigued me. Not gonna lie - it still does. Something about hitting 30 though -- I don't want to be crazy my entire life and I know I'm not going to be in this life forever. Been there, done that - what's next?
So I'm writing. And some girl friends and I just recently started a band -- it's called That's What She Said and it's already clicking into place beyond expectations. And I'm riding again - with the bruises to prove it. I should take a picture of the one from Saturday, when one of the horses I teach lessons on -Buddy the paint Quarter Horse - he got a bit bored of going so slow (beginner lesson) - he reached around when I was adjusting stirrup leathers and grabbed onto my arm with his teeth. That hurt - I have this pretty black 'n' blue half-circle on my upper arm. Ok - let's see if this works.......
Yeah --------> OUCH.
It's alright though - it was completely worth it. I think back to before August 20th and how insanely different my life was then from my life now.
#1 - I'm happy. Never thought it could happen. Pleased to be wrong.
#2 - I don't have to hide any of my injuries, because they aren't frowned upon (either because they were given to me by someone who never should have laid an ill-hand on me - or self-inflicted cuts that only served as short-lived eyes in that crazy-ass hurricane of yours truly during those years).
#3 - I was GIVEN A HORSE. On the day that I met him, by some people that I had only met maybe 30 minutes earlier because he & I clicked that well. The previous owners wanted him to go somewhere where he would be just doted upon. They/he chose wisely. I certainly do that.
#4 - I was given a keyboard. A nice one. Within 30 minutes of me putting mention on facebook. I named her Eirene. I have awesome friends.
#5 - I have awesome friends.
I'm pretty sure that this post is even longer than my usual ramblings. If you've managed to read this far -- bravo. Lemme know if you'd be interested in reading my memoir when I get that one finished. It's looking to be quite interesting. At least to me. :)
Which reminds me. The ENTIRE purpose for this post, at least as I had originally thought: my great new friend, Esther Marcella, hosts this radio show on KMSU, where she interviews writers. She knows that I write, and when she found that I write this blog, she asked me to be on her show.
Sure! So I'm told it's 10 minutes of reading work of mine and 10 minutes of Q & A, and she's already asked my permission to question my reason for starting this blog in the first place. I said "most certainly and of course". Abusive relationships and mental health issues and really unhealthy ways of coping with the stress that we ALL struggle with at some level or another --- not talking about it when it's been so integral in who I am today would be remiss. I have no intention of wallowing for the rest of my life -- continuing to classify myself as a victim when I know damn well that I am just as strong, just as brilliant, and just as beautiful as you are. Yeah you. We all are strong, brilliant and beautiful. So yes - I will talk about it openly. And I will NOT be returning to re-experience that chapter in my life ever again.
Wrap it up, Ms. Minnesota-Good-bye............
Alright. Later Gators. :)
Love you all,
~Q~
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Dabbling - fun to say AND fun to do! Doesn't pay too well though....
Can I just be a professional dabbler? Because I'm extremely satisfied and content and happy with basically everything that is going on in my life, but I don't get paid for almost any of it, and at this rate, I'll still be living with my poor parents when I'm 35. Maybe 40. Um....not ideal. For any of us.
It's not that I'm not productive - I'm quite active in my dabbling. You should see my planner - it looks like I actually work and have meetings and other non-interesting-type things. The only thing is - all of MY events are all interesting things I have planned for myself but only one of these weekly events pays me any money. Trust me - it's not enough to live off of.
So how do you people do it? How do you make enough money to support yourselves and not want to slit your throats from obligations and the sense that you aren't living life the way it was meant to be lived? Or is that even a problem for anyone else but me? Money is not even the slightest bit motivating for me in its own right. I have zero interest in dropping any of my hobbies, but I also can't imagine also picking up a "real job" while still being able to maintain #1 - my new-found sanity and #2 - all these awesome activities and events and interests I'm dabbling in. There are just so many hours in the day and this lady also really enjoys sleeping.
Dabble. Dabble. Dabble. That's a funny word. I like it.
Here's a sampling of what I've got various toes dipped in at the moment:
* Lyric -- my amazing, wonderfully intelligent, incredibly sensitive horse who was gifted to me maybe 6 weeks ago. He & I have been hanging out as often as possible, and the ONLY time he didn't hold it against me when I missed a day of visiting him was when I had that terrible cold for a solid week or so AND I made a point to visit him while still partially sick, so he would comprehend why I had gone AWOL for so long (meaning like 3 days in a row). Any other time I've missed even a single day, I've gotten the rump when I go to see him again and he gets stubborn about quite a few things. Like walking next to me. Or letting me hug him. Or even accepting my treats. I'm not joking - he's got SUCH a personality and the guy is maybe even more sensitive than me. Maybe. :)
* Tyra, Trinity & Maya -- I feel bad lumping them all together when Lyric got his own category, but for the sake of brevity, that's just how it shall be. The point is, the other animals that call me "mom" also need daily attention. They're more forgiving than the horse, but I feel bad when I can't spend as much time with Tyra. I've brought her to the barn a few times, which she quite enjoys, but the cold isn't too kind on her aging bones, either, and she becomes quite the 80 pound lap dog around Lyric, which would make riding quite difficult. The cats only really get pissy with me if I stay out all night, since night is when we always cuddle. They let me know when they're mad though, either by throwing up, peeing on my clothes, meowing loudly at me and weaving around my legs upon my return, or a combination of all of the above.
* Writing -- In addition to the MASS quantities of journaling I feel remiss without engaging in, there's also the memoir I'm working on. My writing group meets once a month, so that keeps me more on task, but I still have quite a bit of work to do on that bad boy. Quite a bit. Then there's this blog, which I also don't keep nearly as updated as I would like to, at least in an ideal world, where I'm not ONLY Superwoman, but also Queen Goddess of the Universe in Q-form.
* Music -- I'm pretty good at supporting all my musician friends by attending many of their performances, but even that is getting to be more difficult, with so many of my friends BEING musicians and therefore having shows at conflicting times & dates. I can only be in one place (at least physically) at once so.....it's a juggling act at times. My weekends are insanely busy. Then - the big commitment in this category is the band a few of my girlfriends and I have recently started -- That's What She Said. I have much music writing to accomplish and I want to get it all done yesterday. :) Oh then there's the cello I've been craving. I found a probable teacher in South Minneapolis, but due to a lack of funds, I have to wait until at least next month to be able to rent a cello and start learning my souls-instrument. Boo.
* Friends! -- Before leaving my husband and moving back to Kato, I sincerely believed I had no friends. What? Why? I know -- it seems insane now. I don't really even have enough time in a day to keep updated on all that is going on with everyone that I care about, much less keeping tabs on which of my friends know what about my life and keeping all interested parties updated. I apologize to you guys for being so scattered - life is speeding up at an exponential rate and I can barely keep tabs on all that's going on in my own life. Good thing I'm blissfully happy (since almost everything keeping me busy are things that I truly want in my life) or I'd most likely be back in the hospital with at least one new batch of scars.
* Riding lessons -- This is the one that actually pays me. Far from being enough to live off of, it does help keep my animals in treats and me in "going out to see my friends play live music and going out to coffee or lunch" money. So that's good. I teach beginner riding lessons to two lovely college-age ladies each Saturday - it's fun and I think I'll be adding at least one other student in February.
* Physical health -- I've been working out with my mom several days a week - she utilizes the treadmill and I rock the elliptical. I would really love to run the inaugural marathon in Mankato next fall......so there's that. I've been dropping weight since moving home, but I think I've hit the plateau of what's just going to melt off due to happiness vs. misery. Time to actually watch what I eat and exercise. Oh - which reminds me -- fire swings. :) I am now part of the Good Cooks dance company, and we're looking at putting on a show in June, and part of the show will consist of fire-swinging. I've been swinging fire now for probably 5-6 years, but I had quite the hiatus in there when my wrist was broken, so I need to muscle up on that and practice on a much more regular basis.
* I know I'm forgetting things. Oh - the divorce. Duh. That still hasn't happened and it needs to. Grad school application and all the financial paperwork that goes along with that. My finances. Don't get me started because I'm almost-successfully avoiding this train of thought and tonight is not the time for me to delve into that one. The dozen books or so that I'm in the middle of reading. The fact that the government is beginning to push me to get my ass back to work sooner vs. later -- I'm working with a local employment agency so I don't get booted off of my disability before I'm ready and able to deal with that. Being a good friend - friendships take time to nurture and I'm all about it.
That's enough, right? I may even be forgetting more things I'm working on, but that list alone is enough to push me close enough to the edge of the "icky panicky feeling" that notoriously sets me off down the path I'm trying so hard to steer clear of. (That would be the path of self-destruction, if you were wondering.)
Hm. Alright - well - 2 a.m. and I'm wide awake (since I took a several-hour nap this evening), so perhaps I'll dabble in something quiet and yet productive. Memoir it is. :)
Dabble.
Love to you all,
~Q~
It's not that I'm not productive - I'm quite active in my dabbling. You should see my planner - it looks like I actually work and have meetings and other non-interesting-type things. The only thing is - all of MY events are all interesting things I have planned for myself but only one of these weekly events pays me any money. Trust me - it's not enough to live off of.
So how do you people do it? How do you make enough money to support yourselves and not want to slit your throats from obligations and the sense that you aren't living life the way it was meant to be lived? Or is that even a problem for anyone else but me? Money is not even the slightest bit motivating for me in its own right. I have zero interest in dropping any of my hobbies, but I also can't imagine also picking up a "real job" while still being able to maintain #1 - my new-found sanity and #2 - all these awesome activities and events and interests I'm dabbling in. There are just so many hours in the day and this lady also really enjoys sleeping.
Dabble. Dabble. Dabble. That's a funny word. I like it.
Here's a sampling of what I've got various toes dipped in at the moment:
* Lyric -- my amazing, wonderfully intelligent, incredibly sensitive horse who was gifted to me maybe 6 weeks ago. He & I have been hanging out as often as possible, and the ONLY time he didn't hold it against me when I missed a day of visiting him was when I had that terrible cold for a solid week or so AND I made a point to visit him while still partially sick, so he would comprehend why I had gone AWOL for so long (meaning like 3 days in a row). Any other time I've missed even a single day, I've gotten the rump when I go to see him again and he gets stubborn about quite a few things. Like walking next to me. Or letting me hug him. Or even accepting my treats. I'm not joking - he's got SUCH a personality and the guy is maybe even more sensitive than me. Maybe. :)
* Tyra, Trinity & Maya -- I feel bad lumping them all together when Lyric got his own category, but for the sake of brevity, that's just how it shall be. The point is, the other animals that call me "mom" also need daily attention. They're more forgiving than the horse, but I feel bad when I can't spend as much time with Tyra. I've brought her to the barn a few times, which she quite enjoys, but the cold isn't too kind on her aging bones, either, and she becomes quite the 80 pound lap dog around Lyric, which would make riding quite difficult. The cats only really get pissy with me if I stay out all night, since night is when we always cuddle. They let me know when they're mad though, either by throwing up, peeing on my clothes, meowing loudly at me and weaving around my legs upon my return, or a combination of all of the above.
* Writing -- In addition to the MASS quantities of journaling I feel remiss without engaging in, there's also the memoir I'm working on. My writing group meets once a month, so that keeps me more on task, but I still have quite a bit of work to do on that bad boy. Quite a bit. Then there's this blog, which I also don't keep nearly as updated as I would like to, at least in an ideal world, where I'm not ONLY Superwoman, but also Queen Goddess of the Universe in Q-form.
* Music -- I'm pretty good at supporting all my musician friends by attending many of their performances, but even that is getting to be more difficult, with so many of my friends BEING musicians and therefore having shows at conflicting times & dates. I can only be in one place (at least physically) at once so.....it's a juggling act at times. My weekends are insanely busy. Then - the big commitment in this category is the band a few of my girlfriends and I have recently started -- That's What She Said. I have much music writing to accomplish and I want to get it all done yesterday. :) Oh then there's the cello I've been craving. I found a probable teacher in South Minneapolis, but due to a lack of funds, I have to wait until at least next month to be able to rent a cello and start learning my souls-instrument. Boo.
* Friends! -- Before leaving my husband and moving back to Kato, I sincerely believed I had no friends. What? Why? I know -- it seems insane now. I don't really even have enough time in a day to keep updated on all that is going on with everyone that I care about, much less keeping tabs on which of my friends know what about my life and keeping all interested parties updated. I apologize to you guys for being so scattered - life is speeding up at an exponential rate and I can barely keep tabs on all that's going on in my own life. Good thing I'm blissfully happy (since almost everything keeping me busy are things that I truly want in my life) or I'd most likely be back in the hospital with at least one new batch of scars.
* Riding lessons -- This is the one that actually pays me. Far from being enough to live off of, it does help keep my animals in treats and me in "going out to see my friends play live music and going out to coffee or lunch" money. So that's good. I teach beginner riding lessons to two lovely college-age ladies each Saturday - it's fun and I think I'll be adding at least one other student in February.
* Physical health -- I've been working out with my mom several days a week - she utilizes the treadmill and I rock the elliptical. I would really love to run the inaugural marathon in Mankato next fall......so there's that. I've been dropping weight since moving home, but I think I've hit the plateau of what's just going to melt off due to happiness vs. misery. Time to actually watch what I eat and exercise. Oh - which reminds me -- fire swings. :) I am now part of the Good Cooks dance company, and we're looking at putting on a show in June, and part of the show will consist of fire-swinging. I've been swinging fire now for probably 5-6 years, but I had quite the hiatus in there when my wrist was broken, so I need to muscle up on that and practice on a much more regular basis.
* I know I'm forgetting things. Oh - the divorce. Duh. That still hasn't happened and it needs to. Grad school application and all the financial paperwork that goes along with that. My finances. Don't get me started because I'm almost-successfully avoiding this train of thought and tonight is not the time for me to delve into that one. The dozen books or so that I'm in the middle of reading. The fact that the government is beginning to push me to get my ass back to work sooner vs. later -- I'm working with a local employment agency so I don't get booted off of my disability before I'm ready and able to deal with that. Being a good friend - friendships take time to nurture and I'm all about it.
That's enough, right? I may even be forgetting more things I'm working on, but that list alone is enough to push me close enough to the edge of the "icky panicky feeling" that notoriously sets me off down the path I'm trying so hard to steer clear of. (That would be the path of self-destruction, if you were wondering.)
Hm. Alright - well - 2 a.m. and I'm wide awake (since I took a several-hour nap this evening), so perhaps I'll dabble in something quiet and yet productive. Memoir it is. :)
Dabble.
Love to you all,
~Q~
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Balance, moderation....I'll get it one of these days
Alright, alright, alright.
So last night, I had the fantastic idea that I needed to stay off of the internet for awhile, as I feared that I was quite addicted and should thus rein that in ASAP. I was initially thinking that perhaps two days away would suffice my need to e-detox, but through discussing this plan with one of my very best friends, it was strongly suggested that nothing less than one full week would get this particular toxicity out of my system. I asked such questions as: "what about my divorce? can I work on my divorce?" (The paperwork is all generated online) and objected with "but what if something really important is emailed to me?".
Since I've procrastinated on the divorce paperwork for..........a long time now, really - would one more week make that big of a difference? Well......no............but.........
And are there any important emails that you are expecting in the next week, that you can't wait a week to respond to? Well.............I emailed the cello guy about lessons, and I want to hear back from him as soon as he replies, but.............not really life-threatening, I suppose.............I have no job applications out or anything.....................
*sigh* It was the sense of that icky-panicky feeling in my gut that I used to get when coming to the end of a bag of the green stuff, or when I had no more pop and no money to get more, or when anything I really passionately (if not desperately) desired was so obviously NOT happening in a timely enough fashion for me --- I got THAT feeling at the thought of being cut off from the world at large via the internet and so I figured that meant I was obviously addicted and needed to cut myself off cold turkey.
Of course, I went and immediately took all the necessary steps to bully myself into STAYING offline the full week. I told everyone on facebook what my plans were, I emailed a few people to let them know of my plans, and I even set up a "vacation response" to let anyone who emailed me know that I would be offline until next Tuesday, January 12th. I logged off last night around 12:30, just pleased as a pony in an apple orchard with myself for being so "healthy" and making this difficult decision.
Oh. My. God.
And then I woke up today, but refused to actually fully open my eyes and sit up until Mom came home for lunch at noon. Got the morning down - good job, Q.
I had lunch with Mom, read the Free Press, cheered out loud when I read that the bill that was passed last year requiring mental health parity from health insurance companies (meaning, mental health and addiction treatments are now covered in the same manner as physical disorders --- a HUGE step) is now in effect here in Minnesota, and talked to my beautiful dog Tyra.
By 1:00, I was down here in my cavern, writing in a journal (too unsure of my self-control to even turn on my computer so I could type), and by 1:30? I was in tears and having just the WORST time of things. All the old coping scenarios ran through my mind, none of which are actually helpful for longer than maybe 20 minutes. I wanted to talk to my best friend Ro, but with the geographic distance between us, I can't afford to phone her but once a year (on her birthday -- not until August). What I normally do when I need her input is to write to her - long, descriptive narratives that are the closest I can get to calling her up or heading over to her house for a hug and a vent session. I then also realized that even though basically everyone else in my life could simply pick up the phone and call me if they wanted to reach me, she couldn't. She calls ME once a year, on average, as well, and my birthday isn't until July. What if she needs to hear from me in the next week? Or am I simply being that self-important to think she'd perish or suffer without me to correspond with for 7 entire days?
I then started in with the "holy crap - you can't even go 24 hours without the internet? That's so pathetic, Q. Get a grip. Get a(nother) new hobby. Read one of the 15 books you have delved into that are littering this room, page corner bent down, book mark holding your spot, or book simply lying flat open, so you don't lose your place. Get on the treadmill." That last one exhausted me with just the formation of those words in my mind.
"I caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan't" my other internal voice whined. Me, myself & Q all know that what that really means is "I don't WANT to and you can't MAKE me - so piss off."
The silliest part of this whole predicament is that I did this entirely to myself. It was my idea. Once I had the situation set up so that I would feel obligated into following through - I freaked out. I KNOW this about myself and I STILL do it! I have joined probably 3 or 4 different health clubs in my life, thinking to myself -- "well, if I'm paying a monthly fee, I will certainly make myself go so I don't feel guilty for wasting the money".
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!!!!
Oh if only that worked. That tactic has the exact OPPOSITE effect on me. Once I feel the pressure to go to the gym, I refuse. I shut down and won't even discuss it with myself any further. I WILL NOT be forced into working out, just because of the money. I even pull out the economic concept of a "sunk cost" -- you know, where the money is already gone, either way, so why add additional pain and suffering of doing something I don't want to do? That just increases the total cost, overall.
Guilt is really an extremely ineffective motivational tactic. So is obligation or pressure -- from society, from family, from your peers, or from yourself. It's like forcing an addict into treatment. Even if that addict jumps through the required hoops and stays sober for the duration, graduating with flying colors at the end of his/her stay ---- if it isn't something personally desired, none of that will stick or be assimilated within. It's pointless.
Anyway - I discussed this predicament with my mom and then later on, with my dad as well, and they both said the same thing: "Who is running your life, anyway?"
Ummmm.....me?
"Isn't this another example of your black and white approach to life?"
Oh......
So through these discussions, I realized that I was not accomplishing the intended goal by staying offline for a full week. It isn't the internet that is such an issue for me. There are completely beneficial uses for the internet. Staying logged on to crackbook 24/7, even though I always have 3-4 other tabs open? Yeah - that's a bit much. A lot much, actually. I also realized that going cold turkey - banishing all internet from my life for 7 full days -- that's not really in line with the whole "balance" or "moderation" concept I'm working on. As Mom said, "that's like putting yourself on a diet and allowing ZERO cookies the entire time. Of course we all know what happens -- you deprive yourself, you crave it more, and then you either scrap the diet with a box of cookies, or once the diet is over, you then eat the box of cookies." It's really self-defeating.
As it turns out -- I DID have an email waiting for me from the cello teacher - one I'm happy to have received today instead of next Tuesday (as he asked about setting up an introductory lesson next Tuesday evening) AND I also got an important email from RoRo -- one I'm glad I received today instead of next week.
The new and modified plan, therefore, is to attempt to set boundaries for myself with the crackbooking. I will do what I need to do and want to do while online, but I will not keep myself logged in "just because". Let's see how this whole "moderation" concept plays out.........Never a dull moment!
Love you all~
~Q~
So last night, I had the fantastic idea that I needed to stay off of the internet for awhile, as I feared that I was quite addicted and should thus rein that in ASAP. I was initially thinking that perhaps two days away would suffice my need to e-detox, but through discussing this plan with one of my very best friends, it was strongly suggested that nothing less than one full week would get this particular toxicity out of my system. I asked such questions as: "what about my divorce? can I work on my divorce?" (The paperwork is all generated online) and objected with "but what if something really important is emailed to me?".
Since I've procrastinated on the divorce paperwork for..........a long time now, really - would one more week make that big of a difference? Well......no............but.........
And are there any important emails that you are expecting in the next week, that you can't wait a week to respond to? Well.............I emailed the cello guy about lessons, and I want to hear back from him as soon as he replies, but.............not really life-threatening, I suppose.............I have no job applications out or anything.....................
*sigh* It was the sense of that icky-panicky feeling in my gut that I used to get when coming to the end of a bag of the green stuff, or when I had no more pop and no money to get more, or when anything I really passionately (if not desperately) desired was so obviously NOT happening in a timely enough fashion for me --- I got THAT feeling at the thought of being cut off from the world at large via the internet and so I figured that meant I was obviously addicted and needed to cut myself off cold turkey.
Of course, I went and immediately took all the necessary steps to bully myself into STAYING offline the full week. I told everyone on facebook what my plans were, I emailed a few people to let them know of my plans, and I even set up a "vacation response" to let anyone who emailed me know that I would be offline until next Tuesday, January 12th. I logged off last night around 12:30, just pleased as a pony in an apple orchard with myself for being so "healthy" and making this difficult decision.
Oh. My. God.
And then I woke up today, but refused to actually fully open my eyes and sit up until Mom came home for lunch at noon. Got the morning down - good job, Q.
I had lunch with Mom, read the Free Press, cheered out loud when I read that the bill that was passed last year requiring mental health parity from health insurance companies (meaning, mental health and addiction treatments are now covered in the same manner as physical disorders --- a HUGE step) is now in effect here in Minnesota, and talked to my beautiful dog Tyra.
By 1:00, I was down here in my cavern, writing in a journal (too unsure of my self-control to even turn on my computer so I could type), and by 1:30? I was in tears and having just the WORST time of things. All the old coping scenarios ran through my mind, none of which are actually helpful for longer than maybe 20 minutes. I wanted to talk to my best friend Ro, but with the geographic distance between us, I can't afford to phone her but once a year (on her birthday -- not until August). What I normally do when I need her input is to write to her - long, descriptive narratives that are the closest I can get to calling her up or heading over to her house for a hug and a vent session. I then also realized that even though basically everyone else in my life could simply pick up the phone and call me if they wanted to reach me, she couldn't. She calls ME once a year, on average, as well, and my birthday isn't until July. What if she needs to hear from me in the next week? Or am I simply being that self-important to think she'd perish or suffer without me to correspond with for 7 entire days?
I then started in with the "holy crap - you can't even go 24 hours without the internet? That's so pathetic, Q. Get a grip. Get a(nother) new hobby. Read one of the 15 books you have delved into that are littering this room, page corner bent down, book mark holding your spot, or book simply lying flat open, so you don't lose your place. Get on the treadmill." That last one exhausted me with just the formation of those words in my mind.
"I caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan't" my other internal voice whined. Me, myself & Q all know that what that really means is "I don't WANT to and you can't MAKE me - so piss off."
The silliest part of this whole predicament is that I did this entirely to myself. It was my idea. Once I had the situation set up so that I would feel obligated into following through - I freaked out. I KNOW this about myself and I STILL do it! I have joined probably 3 or 4 different health clubs in my life, thinking to myself -- "well, if I'm paying a monthly fee, I will certainly make myself go so I don't feel guilty for wasting the money".
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!!!!
Oh if only that worked. That tactic has the exact OPPOSITE effect on me. Once I feel the pressure to go to the gym, I refuse. I shut down and won't even discuss it with myself any further. I WILL NOT be forced into working out, just because of the money. I even pull out the economic concept of a "sunk cost" -- you know, where the money is already gone, either way, so why add additional pain and suffering of doing something I don't want to do? That just increases the total cost, overall.
Guilt is really an extremely ineffective motivational tactic. So is obligation or pressure -- from society, from family, from your peers, or from yourself. It's like forcing an addict into treatment. Even if that addict jumps through the required hoops and stays sober for the duration, graduating with flying colors at the end of his/her stay ---- if it isn't something personally desired, none of that will stick or be assimilated within. It's pointless.
Anyway - I discussed this predicament with my mom and then later on, with my dad as well, and they both said the same thing: "Who is running your life, anyway?"
Ummmm.....me?
"Isn't this another example of your black and white approach to life?"
Oh......
So through these discussions, I realized that I was not accomplishing the intended goal by staying offline for a full week. It isn't the internet that is such an issue for me. There are completely beneficial uses for the internet. Staying logged on to crackbook 24/7, even though I always have 3-4 other tabs open? Yeah - that's a bit much. A lot much, actually. I also realized that going cold turkey - banishing all internet from my life for 7 full days -- that's not really in line with the whole "balance" or "moderation" concept I'm working on. As Mom said, "that's like putting yourself on a diet and allowing ZERO cookies the entire time. Of course we all know what happens -- you deprive yourself, you crave it more, and then you either scrap the diet with a box of cookies, or once the diet is over, you then eat the box of cookies." It's really self-defeating.
As it turns out -- I DID have an email waiting for me from the cello teacher - one I'm happy to have received today instead of next Tuesday (as he asked about setting up an introductory lesson next Tuesday evening) AND I also got an important email from RoRo -- one I'm glad I received today instead of next week.
The new and modified plan, therefore, is to attempt to set boundaries for myself with the crackbooking. I will do what I need to do and want to do while online, but I will not keep myself logged in "just because". Let's see how this whole "moderation" concept plays out.........Never a dull moment!
Love you all~
~Q~
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