The fact that I am in love with this book proves that I'm quite sick. It also proves that I have at least two equally sick friends. The one who recommended it to me, of course, and the other whom I immediately thought, "C just HAS TO READ THIS!!!!" before I finished even the first chapter.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I am sorry, I am quite open minded and try to be ecologically savvy and all, but this is just GROSS! It's a composting toilet. The shit stays in there and is electronically turned to compost instead of going into the sewer like it does after you use a "normal" toilet. It is touted as being odorless (hmmm....) but it says nothing about being leak-proof (which is important) and also there's the fact that you have to clean them out periodically (fun!), presumably to dump your transformed feces into your garden. No thanks. It would creep me out to a great degree to eat vegetables that had been nourished by my own (or worse, other people's) crap!
Plus, it's over $1,500 for a smaller model.
How many of these things do you think they sell, anyway?
And to whom?
Ten great things are happening for me right now!
1. President Obama made it safely through the inauguration. I didn't realize how worried about his safety I really am until I flinched badly when the cannons that signal his official enthronement went kaboom.
2. My friend with the insane girlfriend came to his senses and is single again, meaning that I will get to see more of him now!
3. Mushrooms!
4. A full case of Hopslam will be in my closet on Thursday, as will a case of the astoundingly tasty Dogfish Red and White!
5. Dancing, dancing, dancing!
6. Making my debut at a beer pairing dinner tomorrow night, which I am fully expecting to be fantastic!
7. I am fortunate enough to have the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and a husband who loves me enough to let me pretty much do as I please.
8. I have fallen madly in love with Maynard Keenan's newest band, Puscifer. He is one of the most intense musicians to ever grace the stage. I love him! (Thanks, N. This one had flown under my radar till you put it in my hand the other night. You're awesome.)
9. My son is just great. In every way.
10. Tortellini Gorgonzola. Yum.
and an extra little big thing, just to show that I am indeed a girl:
11. My new black boots are the most beautiful things in the world. They make me cry a little every time I see them.
Monday, January 19, 2009
I met a new girl this weekend.
She was crazy as a loon and mean as a snake!
I am utterly astounded that anyone would actually act so abominably in a group comprised of the nicest people I know, and completely amazed that one of the coolest guys I know is actually dating her. I will be shaking my head in disbelief for months over this encounter.
I should, in theory, be able to write an essay about all the berserk things this girl said and did during the 7 hours she spent at my home, but words are actually failing me. All that comes to my mind when I revisit the situation is:
Wow.
Just wow....
She was crazy as a loon and mean as a snake!
I am utterly astounded that anyone would actually act so abominably in a group comprised of the nicest people I know, and completely amazed that one of the coolest guys I know is actually dating her. I will be shaking my head in disbelief for months over this encounter.
I should, in theory, be able to write an essay about all the berserk things this girl said and did during the 7 hours she spent at my home, but words are actually failing me. All that comes to my mind when I revisit the situation is:
Wow.
Just wow....
Friday, January 16, 2009
Here are some reviews concerning our city's "Hottest New Club":
A pretentious space that is not conducive to dancing. The DJ booth and dance floor are too up front and center. You're not here to have a private experience with the music and discover great new song you're hearing for the first time. You're here to show off your pecs and your Armani or your new cleavage and $1,000 shift dress while pretending to accidentally spill your cosmo on the cutest person in the room. But if you want to marry a plastic doll, architect, engineer or a banker you should get your butt in here right now and start workin' it.
The guys were douchey, gel spiked hair and wannabe Armani black button up guys. Did I just teleport to the Jersey shore? My god the Aqua di Gio overwhelms the senses.
Servers are dressed revealing in black/ gray low cut lace corset tops and black hot pants. All of them seemed to be able to pull off the look. (Read my previous post for insight about how I feel about THIS.)
The reviews I read that were positive all cited the club's "hot, scantily clad girls" "guys with money" "long lines" (why on earth would this be a positive? Elbow to elbow shoving, bitchy, noisy crowds are horrible!) and "attractive decor." The attractive decor I will give them....you can see by the photo that it IS pretty. But add a teeming mass of humanity's dregs (which these types are, and no one will EVER convince me otherwise) and it all becomes cloying, pretensious and ugly.
If I wasn't already convinced, which I was, I must say that this place sounds like a true nightmare! I would be absolutely astounded if the music was worthwhile (little else matters when it comes to dancing.) But even if the sound happened to be tolerable, the fact that you have to wait HOURS to get in means the dance floor would be too packed to move. That said, the type of people described here usually - almost always - listen to total crap. I suspect it's Young Jeezy all the way. I will count myself very, very happy not to join the "in crowd" when it comes to this one.
Barf.
I don't want to take a shower.
I don't want to get dressed.
I smell bad - and I don't care!
(Because I am safe at home.)
I want to go dancing, but don't want the prep work and uncomfortable shoes that always seem go along with a night on the town. If I were a guy, I could wear jeans, a shirt, and tennis shoes. But because I'm the girl (ahem, the aging girl) that generally wears jeans, a shirt, and tennis shoes it puts me in the situation to often mess up the dancefloor....a thorn among roses. A thorn with an excellent sense of rhythm, mind you, but a thorn none the less.
Why do women need attention to the point where we make ourselves miserable to get it? Girls eye each other - wishing for her body, her hair, her clothes. Wishing for the confidence that she seems to have (but really doesn't, the poor bulemic wreck.)
An even more disturbing question is why (WHY??!) does a fairly unconventional, free-thinking person like me play dumbly along with society's stupid, stupid mind/ego games? I eye those girls, wishing for their bodies, their hair, their clothes, their confidence, their youth. We (women) imprison ourselves every day. Men help, of course, the poor primally-driven fools, but it is we women who perpetuate the majority of the bullshit. And, of course, I hate myself for sheepily following the masses, as I forever wonder why a serious, society-toppling female revolution never seems to actually happen. Oh, how I would love revolution to begin...first and foremost within my own heart.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Wow....what a difference three days makes.
I am now deeply, profoundly depressed.
Sure there are a couple of personal situations I'm dealing with that really, really suck, but nothing has happened that should pull me quite this deeply into this black pit of hopelessness. I can't eat. Have nothing to say. Am not even really thinking right now. I'm just wading through gray, thick, smothering air, trying to draw breath and hoping no one will notice that I am completely and utterly NOT okay (and haven't been for quite some time, honestly.) And just so I'm clear about where I stand in relation to my issues - I much, MUCH prefer mania to this awful emptiness. Even the out-of-control-I-am- trembling-like-a-leaf miserable kind of mania is still worlds better than depression.
PS: I guess it is somewhat normal that I am depressed just now.
According to all my books, a manic episode is almost always followed quite closely by depression. It is the normal order of the abnormal mind. Still, when I feel like this, there is always that haunting fear that this will never pass - not this time - not ever - and on the heels of that fear is the gnawing truth that if I have to feel this bleakness for very much longer, well, there are some things worse than death.
PPS: Yes, I am working on getting a new doctor and trying to get the first available appointment. The one I picked is an Indian lady with a caste mark on her head. Doesn't get much cooler than that, does it? Surely she, with all her eastern wisdom, will be able to help me. I have a huge thing for Indian people. I adore and trust them. Not sure why, but I do.
I am now deeply, profoundly depressed.
Sure there are a couple of personal situations I'm dealing with that really, really suck, but nothing has happened that should pull me quite this deeply into this black pit of hopelessness. I can't eat. Have nothing to say. Am not even really thinking right now. I'm just wading through gray, thick, smothering air, trying to draw breath and hoping no one will notice that I am completely and utterly NOT okay (and haven't been for quite some time, honestly.) And just so I'm clear about where I stand in relation to my issues - I much, MUCH prefer mania to this awful emptiness. Even the out-of-control-I-am- trembling-like-a-leaf miserable kind of mania is still worlds better than depression.
PS: I guess it is somewhat normal that I am depressed just now.
According to all my books, a manic episode is almost always followed quite closely by depression. It is the normal order of the abnormal mind. Still, when I feel like this, there is always that haunting fear that this will never pass - not this time - not ever - and on the heels of that fear is the gnawing truth that if I have to feel this bleakness for very much longer, well, there are some things worse than death.
PPS: Yes, I am working on getting a new doctor and trying to get the first available appointment. The one I picked is an Indian lady with a caste mark on her head. Doesn't get much cooler than that, does it? Surely she, with all her eastern wisdom, will be able to help me. I have a huge thing for Indian people. I adore and trust them. Not sure why, but I do.
Friday, January 09, 2009
I am happy to report that I am feeling a little bit better.
My brain isn't trembling inside my skull as much as it was, and I've been able to hold conversations without having to concentrate with all my might on what is being said. I am still engaging in strange behaviors behind closed doors, but I've been able to keep my quirks under lock and key so everyone doesn't see and think I'm off my rocker. I am a professional at maintaining a public face and a seperate, more private face.
Right now I'm listening to TV on the Radio's "Dear Science" and thinking about several tough situations that people I care about are dealing with right now. All around this past year has been a strange period of time for almost everyone I know. So much struggle and discontent. Even some of my friends from church (for whom nothing EVER seems to go wrong) are shoving 2008 away with glee and eagerly hoping that 2009 will be a kinder year.
I am in good health.
We have food, running water, and heat.
I have people who love me (a few of them, anyway.)
These are the foundations of contentment, all present and accounted for. I will spend the next year continuing to tell myself that I should be content and, because I just can never seem to get there, feeling like shit about myself. This is what I did last year, and the year before, and the year before, and the year before....etc.
My brain isn't trembling inside my skull as much as it was, and I've been able to hold conversations without having to concentrate with all my might on what is being said. I am still engaging in strange behaviors behind closed doors, but I've been able to keep my quirks under lock and key so everyone doesn't see and think I'm off my rocker. I am a professional at maintaining a public face and a seperate, more private face.
Right now I'm listening to TV on the Radio's "Dear Science" and thinking about several tough situations that people I care about are dealing with right now. All around this past year has been a strange period of time for almost everyone I know. So much struggle and discontent. Even some of my friends from church (for whom nothing EVER seems to go wrong) are shoving 2008 away with glee and eagerly hoping that 2009 will be a kinder year.
I am in good health.
We have food, running water, and heat.
I have people who love me (a few of them, anyway.)
These are the foundations of contentment, all present and accounted for. I will spend the next year continuing to tell myself that I should be content and, because I just can never seem to get there, feeling like shit about myself. This is what I did last year, and the year before, and the year before, and the year before....etc.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
This is what I spent my entire night thinking about. Lying in bed at 2 AM, and 2:30 AM, and 3 AM, and 3:30 AM, I couldn't get my mind off of....
No, not Christian Bale's 5% body fat, but the movie he best displayed it in.....AMERICAN PSYCHO. This film came up in conversation the other night - it tends to do this every few months without fail - and (as usual) I haven't been able to get it off my mind. It's one of the greatest films ever made (and no, I'm not being facetious.) It speaks volumes about our modern culture, doing for the 1980's what "American Graffiti" did for the 1950's.
If you haven't seen it, please do. Even if you don't care for slasher films (of which this is one of the best) you are certain to be enthralled with the brilliant underground humor, philosophy, and irony that makes the film a true masterpiece.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Obviously, my disorder is the thing first and foremost on my mind lately, considering the trouble it's been giving me. Here are some stats on bp....
2.8 percent of the general population have bp.
BP ranks 7th on the WHO's scale ranking causes of disability.
Life expectancy of a bp person is a full 25 years shorter than that of the general population.
25% of bp people have attempted suicide.
15-20% of these attempts are lethal. BP has the highest suicide rate of any mental disorder, more than 20 times that of the general population. About 50% of all suicide attempts can be attributed to bp.
BP was named in 1896 and was first called "Manic-Depressive Insanity." The term Bi-Polar Disorder was not used until 1980.
The average age of onset is 23, the average age of proper diagnosis is 40.
The average bp person waits 10 years to seek treatment for their condition.
75% of bp sufferers have been misdiagnosed at least once.
50% of those diagnosed with bp are not receiving treatment at any given time.
50% of bp people who seek treatment discontinue their medication because of the side effects.
Odds are 60/40 that a bp person will also struggle with substance abuse.
Alcoholism rates of bp men are 3 times that of the general population.
Alcoholism rates among bp women are 7 times that of the general population.
Divorce rates of bp people are twice that of any other psychiatric disorder and three and a half times that of the general population.
Mental illness accounts for four times as many emergency room visits each year as all other maladies/accidents/illnesses combined.
50% of all bp and schizophrenic people have no health insurance.
2.8 percent of the general population have bp.
BP ranks 7th on the WHO's scale ranking causes of disability.
Life expectancy of a bp person is a full 25 years shorter than that of the general population.
25% of bp people have attempted suicide.
15-20% of these attempts are lethal. BP has the highest suicide rate of any mental disorder, more than 20 times that of the general population. About 50% of all suicide attempts can be attributed to bp.
BP was named in 1896 and was first called "Manic-Depressive Insanity." The term Bi-Polar Disorder was not used until 1980.
The average age of onset is 23, the average age of proper diagnosis is 40.
The average bp person waits 10 years to seek treatment for their condition.
75% of bp sufferers have been misdiagnosed at least once.
50% of those diagnosed with bp are not receiving treatment at any given time.
50% of bp people who seek treatment discontinue their medication because of the side effects.
Odds are 60/40 that a bp person will also struggle with substance abuse.
Alcoholism rates of bp men are 3 times that of the general population.
Alcoholism rates among bp women are 7 times that of the general population.
Divorce rates of bp people are twice that of any other psychiatric disorder and three and a half times that of the general population.
Mental illness accounts for four times as many emergency room visits each year as all other maladies/accidents/illnesses combined.
50% of all bp and schizophrenic people have no health insurance.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Whoooooo!
Now that the obligitory happy crappy has been said, time for some
catharsis n. , pl. -ses . Medicine. Purgation, especially for the digestive system. A purifying or figurative cleansing of the emotions, especially.
I'm getting very tired of this feeling in my chest that my heart is in there shucking and jiving in ways that a heart really shouldn't. It steals my breath. Physically, I am perfectly fine. Mentally, I'm a mess. As time passes I have less and less control over my craziness. My docs have repeatedly warned me that my particular issue is a progressive disorder that, left untreated, gets continually worse over time. This worries me beyond measure. Institutions are full to overflowing with people just like me. I have tried to stay ahead of the curve by learning tricks to control and/or hide what's going on, but it's getting harder. The parts of me that I like best watch sadly, imprisoned and disconnected, the barrage of shit fly uncontrollably from my mouth and through my head. I'm weary of thinking and sick to death of the sound of my own voice. Most people don't understand what it's like to truly have zero control over their psyche. I've been told countless times to just snap out of it and have been encouraged that I can "choose" not to be this way. If only that were possible. I've tried. Trust me. Normal people (whatever that is) control their brains. I am controlled completely by the constant staccato sputter and sparks of mine.
It's very difficult to sleep in this state, yet lack of sleep induces ever higher levels of mania. I suppose I'll just have to wait until I completely run my batteries dry, which is bound to happen soon. I have been very tempted lately to go back to the doctor, but know too well that the few choices they offer aren't really options at all. I can't bring myself to sell my soul to make this chatter stop. The state of mind that meds have to offer is even uglier than this stupid whizzing and whirling. Maybe one day they will be the lesser of the two evils, but not right now. Not yet.
A couple of friends and I had a discussion about self-confidence last night. I woke up thinking about it. I have no perspective whatsoever on what it must feel like to just be "okay" with myself. That concept is as alien to me as what it might be like to see through the eyes of a dog or a bird - thinking their thoughts and processing the world as they do. Don't get me wrong....there are a great many beautiful things about me that I like just fine. It's when you put all the pieces together that the puzzle starts to look screwed up and looking at it becomes uncomfortable. Cram too many lovely roses into a vase and it starts to look tacky. Add some thorns and ugly, stinky carnations to the mix and you have a real mess. Sigh.
The utter self-absorption that is the bonus prize that goes hand in hand with the gift of mania isn't so great for one's self-esteem, either. When you cannot get out of your own head, it's almost impossible to be a good mother, wife, or friend. Knowing you often suck at the most important thing in life - loving others - is surely not good for boosting the feeling of self-love. Who in their right mind can tolerate for very long someone who constantly bounces between smirking grandiosity and self-flagellation? The ending of my last relationship says it best...sitting on concrete steps, head in trembling hands, tears quietly rolling, he said "I love you with all my heart and I always will. But you've completely worn me out."
Peace.
Love.
Serenity.
Excitement.
Passion.
Intensity.
My perfect self would have roughly equal measures of both the above attribute trios. I can see so clearly in my mind how awesome I could be (if only...) Have fun pie charting yourself, your friends, sometimes even people you barely know! Certain people simply ooze one list or the other out of every pore in their being. Other people have really well-constructed facades and it takes awhile to figure out what's going on underneath. Very few of us are well-balanced, the fact of which helps me go a little easier on myself. I love thinking about people....we are such an interesting species!
Whoooooo!
Now that the obligitory happy crappy has been said, time for some
catharsis n. , pl. -ses . Medicine. Purgation, especially for the digestive system. A purifying or figurative cleansing of the emotions, especially.
I'm getting very tired of this feeling in my chest that my heart is in there shucking and jiving in ways that a heart really shouldn't. It steals my breath. Physically, I am perfectly fine. Mentally, I'm a mess. As time passes I have less and less control over my craziness. My docs have repeatedly warned me that my particular issue is a progressive disorder that, left untreated, gets continually worse over time. This worries me beyond measure. Institutions are full to overflowing with people just like me. I have tried to stay ahead of the curve by learning tricks to control and/or hide what's going on, but it's getting harder. The parts of me that I like best watch sadly, imprisoned and disconnected, the barrage of shit fly uncontrollably from my mouth and through my head. I'm weary of thinking and sick to death of the sound of my own voice. Most people don't understand what it's like to truly have zero control over their psyche. I've been told countless times to just snap out of it and have been encouraged that I can "choose" not to be this way. If only that were possible. I've tried. Trust me. Normal people (whatever that is) control their brains. I am controlled completely by the constant staccato sputter and sparks of mine.
It's very difficult to sleep in this state, yet lack of sleep induces ever higher levels of mania. I suppose I'll just have to wait until I completely run my batteries dry, which is bound to happen soon. I have been very tempted lately to go back to the doctor, but know too well that the few choices they offer aren't really options at all. I can't bring myself to sell my soul to make this chatter stop. The state of mind that meds have to offer is even uglier than this stupid whizzing and whirling. Maybe one day they will be the lesser of the two evils, but not right now. Not yet.
A couple of friends and I had a discussion about self-confidence last night. I woke up thinking about it. I have no perspective whatsoever on what it must feel like to just be "okay" with myself. That concept is as alien to me as what it might be like to see through the eyes of a dog or a bird - thinking their thoughts and processing the world as they do. Don't get me wrong....there are a great many beautiful things about me that I like just fine. It's when you put all the pieces together that the puzzle starts to look screwed up and looking at it becomes uncomfortable. Cram too many lovely roses into a vase and it starts to look tacky. Add some thorns and ugly, stinky carnations to the mix and you have a real mess. Sigh.
The utter self-absorption that is the bonus prize that goes hand in hand with the gift of mania isn't so great for one's self-esteem, either. When you cannot get out of your own head, it's almost impossible to be a good mother, wife, or friend. Knowing you often suck at the most important thing in life - loving others - is surely not good for boosting the feeling of self-love. Who in their right mind can tolerate for very long someone who constantly bounces between smirking grandiosity and self-flagellation? The ending of my last relationship says it best...sitting on concrete steps, head in trembling hands, tears quietly rolling, he said "I love you with all my heart and I always will. But you've completely worn me out."
Peace.
Love.
Serenity.
Excitement.
Passion.
Intensity.
My perfect self would have roughly equal measures of both the above attribute trios. I can see so clearly in my mind how awesome I could be (if only...) Have fun pie charting yourself, your friends, sometimes even people you barely know! Certain people simply ooze one list or the other out of every pore in their being. Other people have really well-constructed facades and it takes awhile to figure out what's going on underneath. Very few of us are well-balanced, the fact of which helps me go a little easier on myself. I love thinking about people....we are such an interesting species!
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