Samsara, you’re soaking in it

I am having a very difficult time personally. I also have a severely problematic situation at home. Last night the stress was so bad I only had 2 hours of sleep, only to go to work and have my client stroke out on me. I feel so very strange. I hate my life at the moment. This could mean I lose my job. Samsara is a superbitch.

On not going tharn

Decisions have been made and plans are being enacted. The great year long experiment of trying psych meds is over. I quit.

Well, to be scrupulously honest, I am quitting the systemic Buproprion and keeping the as needed Ativan. I have designed my step down program (and was told I was being too meticulous and to hasten) to get it out of my system. I will be done in fourteen days or less. (As opposed to the twenty-one days or more I had proposed).

So in future, while I still may be snotty, I will have the opportunity to experience other emotions as well. Which is all “hurrah for me”, as having a totally flat affect except for anger and anxiety was really, really, harshing my mellow, cramping my style, and all those other, turd in the punchbowl, type euphemisms, analogies and metaphors.

Now to be again, perfectly honest, I am being encouraged to try a different approach once my system has cleared out and normalized. Cymbalta was suggested. I have to admit that those commercials give me the green envies. All that “depression hurts” (yes, yes it does,) “Cymbalta can help” (Oh really? Ya promise?) does tweak my “I wish this was just fixed already, deep down, Stepford is bliss, can’t this be simplified so I can just do my bills like a normal person” jones.

I am however, taking a wait and see approach. Because as much as I am terrified of withdrawal from this fairly innocuous script, I am really terrified of SSRI’s. There are few things worse than coming down and/or withdrawal. It just takes all the fun out of drugs.

Insider Jesters

I guess It must be official that I’m a high powered blogger now.

Lord I gots the vapours

I had a most unusual (for me) experience yesterday at work.
The track drapes in the front room were mussed and the folk asked me to try to fix that. So I got up and took a look, and determined that the hooks on two of the folds were out of the little plastic part of the track. Incidentally I absolutely HATE those kind of curtains. Why oh why do we need to make something as simple as a piece of fabric mechanical? You will never find those in any house I live in, ever!

Anyway, I had to go behind the curtains to try to fix that. That’s when I realized I was dizzy with the kind of dizziness one gets occasionally from standing up too fast. I was talking it through, that I felt dizzy, that I was going to wait a second, then I would reach up again, get dizzy again, all the while still talking about what I was experiencing.

Suddenly I heard a whooshing noise, then a loud a loud clunk, only realizing when my head started to hurt that it had been my head hitting the floor. I was really confused as to how the floor had reached up and smacked me in the head. I sat up and I seemed trapped in some weird cave of white light, white walls and white curtains. I was trying to fight my way out of miles of unending dusty curtains. I was quite disoriented.

I finally got disentangled. I could see the nice, normal, living room. But man did I feel surreal. Poor Mrs. Folk was pretty wigged out. She has pretty severe verbal difficulty due to Alzheimer's so she was having a lot of trouble expressing her discomfiture. Old Mr. Folk seemed to take it pretty philosophically however. Eventually we laughed and laughed, Mrs. Folk and I. Probably because it made her extremely nervous, and aside from the surreal feeling I continued to have for a couple hours, I was really terribly embarrassed. So what to do but laugh?.

I find it odd that embarrassment was the overweening sensation. How could one possibly find anything embarrassing about something as unexpected and uncontrolled as fainting? But that is exactly what I felt, kind of stupid, clumsy, and idiotic. Embarrassment, what a strange, social construct. In retrospect I realize that I spend an awful lot of time either feeling or reliving it. And I hear it’s even worse in some other cultures. I sure wish there was a pill for that.

Gen-somnia

I have a classic picture of the old man. He is clearly sitting on a couch, cast a little sideways. One arm is up laying along the back of the couch. His chin is on his chest, and he is totally out. Of late this is me most evenings in Nigel’s big comfy chair as well. Then, about one twelfth of the time, when I finally can get up and go to bed, I have insomnia. So did he.

I’ve always had very strange sleep. Up to about age eleven I never wanted to. I remember when I was about six or seven, my mom burst into my room at three in the morning to ask me if I couldn’t, perhaps, polish and rearrange the furniture at a more reasonable hour. I then basically slept straight through eleven and twelve. I discovered serious partying at thirteen and never wanted to sleep again ‘till I was about twenty-six. All during the latter I became almost narcoleptic. I would fall asleep, uncontrollably, inappropriately, and often inconveniently, at the drop of a hat. I basically only took naps for thirteen years. Naps being anywhere from three seconds to 4 hours. I also invariably begin to dream instantaneously. This constant waking and dreaming has always made for much confusion between the worlds.

I now have fairly decent sleep hygiene. I really do. I take little to no caffeine. I get up pretty much at the same time every day. I nap (intentionally) pretty sparingly. I don’t take the evening dose of one of my meds because it can disturb sleep. I (mostly) use the bed only for sleeping. One reason being that the feeling of that full body stretch when one first goes horizontal is just, so, delicious. But this year I have struggled more and more with sporadic insomnia. I suspect it’s genetic.

We seem to be saddled with more than our fair share of lousy genetics in my family. It has become almost a game to see with whom which traits will pop up next. Like instead of Bing-O it’s Crap-O. Don’t get me wrong, we have a few really good genes like serious brains, some particular beneficial sensitivities, my hair, umm, hmm, - that’s really all I can think of off hand.

I think I’m about up to A. On this side of aging I feel the P & O looming. I’m sure that they’ll pop soon. Which of course leads up to the question, what then is the prize? I’m damn sure it’s not money, could it really be wisdom or is that just old folky, trying to feel compensated, claptrap?

Swimming With the Sharks

I get really annoyed with the bloggers who don’t blog. I then assume (project) that you’all are annoyed with me. Well:

• My muses are apparently occupied elsewhere, (I wrote a couple songs last week).

• It was Oliver’s Birthday and the small, but nice and lengthy soiree wore me out.

• The illness ( and chemo like doses of antibiotics) were causing me to nap up to four times a day and suffer from both enervation and ennui for weeks.

• While sick, I have been hustling, preparing to hustle, and planning several hustles.

This drive to get, and keep, some money is pretty strong at the moment. I spent a solid week while sick in bed anyway, going through approximately 5000 “Magic The Gathering” cards I have had packed away for about 15 years.
So if you know anyone crazy enough to really, really, want “Time Walk” and “Time Twister” in near mint condition, I’ll let them have both for 600 bucks.
Or if their pockets are a little shallower and their tastes a little more to the exotic I have a lovely “Sharazad” and some nifty efreets and djinns.
No really, if you or your loved ones like the game, I have thousands of cards which retail from .13 cents to 500 big ones I’d love to sell ya.....

We also have started the process of preparing for The Big Yard Sale. Now if the weather will just cooperate we’ll get that party started this weekend or next. I’m thrilled. Really, I am simply thrilled. I just love sitting, hungry, thirsty and in dire need of a pee in the backyard for hours on end selling my bits for pennies on the dollar. However, getting the basement emptied is a real incentive. And in this weather hanging out down there is not the worst thing one could do. The cats find it fascinating anyway.

These and other schemes are taking some mental, emotional, and physical effort. Of which I am still slightly limited at the moment. So while I await my MRI and the subsequent results I’ll be hustling my bustle and scheming my dreams. I’ll let you know how the life of the fabulously wealthy turns out.

What now?

The inside of my mouth has been “peeling” for a couple of weeks now. It’s not painful, just really, really, weird. Little strips, like a sunburn.
Has anybody ever heard of such a thing?
And yes I am taking into account the 8 million cigarettes I’ve put it through.

And into the home stretch

When I go back tomorrow finals start. Seems like I just finished midterms. Oh wait that’s because we JUST finished midterms. Fuck it seems like it never ends. So I’m being a fairly good kid and trying to stay abreast as it were. I’ve basically completed two major projects either on time or ahead of time and only have two more major projects and a recital to complete by the eighteenth, both projects I am starting as soon as I finish this and read the Sunday paper.

I am tired though. Still sick and just really over it all. Next semester will be tough (math again) so I need to be rested and ready. I’m already ready already for winter break. I need more sleep. Apparently cats don’t believe in people sleeping, only themselves.

Scrofulous Humours

Well-
Uncle Bunny is back in the hospital
Little ghee ended up at the vet with fever
I’m in bed waiting for gross things to come spewing out of my stomach

I get just tired of labs and offices and waiting rooms.
Pills and doses and needles.
I’m tired of bed
sick of tired
Waiting waiting waiting

Migun love you long, long time

OK then. Third session on the bed. I cleverly took ibuprofen first. This time because my lumbar/sacrum was so sore, I tried the abdominal program face down. Great, not as hard to take although the heat got hot in the crotchal area and made me a little nervous. So that was a 20 minute program, then I turned over and did the manual program on my back. That way I could stop the rollers when they got close to the sore spots.
It seems that you get to a point where everything starts flowing and suddenly you’re wide awake. Circulation is a great thing. I also am convinced that it’s breaking up the lymphatic congestion in the abdominal/pelvic areas due to all the surgeries. I also think that, when I can stand it, letting the lumbar/sacrum process happen does a similar thing as the yogic exercises that open your hips which I had suspected were all closed in as a protective/reactive measure from the surgeries as well. I’ll go again tomorrow, I’m going to give this a serious shot. I know there are theories at each end of the spectrum. The “no pain no gain” and then the “it should never hurt “ ones.
I think it’s a case by case issue and for me the stuff that hurts seems to be more effective rolfing, tattooing, migun, etc. I’m no masochist at all but I think the damage is severe and the pain of the fix pales in comparison to when the damages were occurring.

"Who knows what evil lurks in the mind?"

Because I have Diabetes I have a really weird syndrome. Apparently every diabetic has their own glucose release cycle from the pancreas, So at some fairly regular time during the day there is a release, and a time when they are running a little short just prior to that. Ok that’s the part I sort of, understand. We think we’ve figured out that mine is just around dawn based on 2 things, one being that I always have really high morning sugars, which then somewhat normalize throughout the day. The other being that I usually have really fucked up dreams right before I wake up. They are not exactly nightmares but are usually full of stress, aggra, and anger. A lot of the time there is a lot of me yelling at people who I’m fairly pissed off at in real life.

Today it changed from weird to furious in short order, something about freaky dogs, a creepy basement and a refrigerator box, moving quickly to me fighting with a whole group of people I’m having an issue with, and I’m pulling hair, slapping faces and calling people pussies and jerks. I’d like to try to be philosophical about it, and say to myself;
“see, this is a great example of how NOT to handle this situation and how it accomplished NONE of your desired outcomes.”
But I have to admit that what it mostly does is make me kind of depressed that I still have these kinds of situations in my life needing to be handled at all, and that the shrieking, bar brawling, kicking ass and taking names, Stella is still right here, uncomfortably nearby, ready to go it. It seems a little ludicrous that she should be so close to the surface as it’s been years since I’ve been in a physical altercation.

People express such shock and disbelief when I say I’ve been clinically depressed since the age of six, or that I just got out of the hospital again, or that I’m a person just brimful of hatred and anger. And that, man, I am just an evil, grudge holder.
I’m always hearing the likes of;
“But you look so wel"
"But you’re always so cheerful"
"But you’re always trying to be helpful, kind and funny.”
I’m not wanting to be thought of as a big fake or two faced Janus type. (Who would?) But I’m certainly not about love, light and unicorns. I'm just trying really, really hard to not take it out on say, the retail public, or the people nonchalantly hanging round when the jerk almost runs me over in his SUV, on the cell phone, when I had the walk sign and he was turning. Because expressing it as rage, out loud, is cancerous and I know it. Given the chance, that shit spreads like lymphoma. We all know it, and we all live examples of it everyday.

So I guess Im just wanting to acknowledge that when you are polite, friendly and reasonable to me, that I really, really appreciate it. Because I SO very well know how difficult that can be to keep up. And that, my friends, is why I so loved it when Kosmo Kramer said;
“Manners are the oil that greases the wheels of civilization.”

"And everythings a dollar in this box"

“besides, I never talk to strangers anyway”
Tom Waits


When I was first starting to write songs I prayed that I could be like Tom Waits. Please tell me, if Leonard Cohen has a pulitzer, why doesn’t he? Recently I was making a Tom Waits collection for my friend/lawyer/employer Lizard Breath and I realized that between David Bowie and Tom Waits, just the 2 of them alone, have written probably 40% of all my favourite songs.
If I had to pick one song each, this year it would probably be “A Soldiers Things” by Tom Waits and “Eight Line Poem” by Bowie.

I used to wish that I could ever do anything remotely as genius as Tom. I was deep in the throes of “A Foreign Affair” and the “Tom Waits Anthology” at the time and “Burma Shave” and “Somewhere” were just slaying me. To this day his version of “Somewhere” will break me down on the spot, (I’m not much of a weeper, I’m more a leaker). For some reason, which is as muddled as any of those evocatized memory triggers we all have can be, it makes me think of the relationship I both had and didn’t have with my Mom as she was dying for 13 years. Tell me that wouldn’t kick anybody's ass.
Anyway, as I was wishing, praying and cogitating on just what made him so very exceptional, I began having great difficulty singing. In retrospect I know that the most likely reason is that I was working a phone job, as well as performing and rehearsing a lot without having had any formal training. I get this, but I find it really amusing looking back, that for all that wishing, what I ended up with was - singing like him. For two years I had chronic laryngitis. Luckily Evil Pete had been on the road for the Vertical Pillows and had learned a remedy for when the show just had to go on.

Here tis:
Separate an egg
feed the yolk to the cat or something
Stir the white and add a few drops of peppermint or wintergreen oil
Sip whenever necessary to vocalize clearly, it really works.

Here’s the drawback, as can be surmised, it tastes like holy hell. Also, I can assure you that throwing a little dark beer in only makes matters worse. For two years I had to steel myself to it on a regular basis. Gahhh. It also gives you the most peculiar peppermint burps. Of course nowadays most people are sensible enough to NOT EAT RAW EGGS on the advice of some TWIT on the inter web AREN'T THEY?

So there you have it, and I think its worth a dollar, my advice is to NEVER, EVER eat raw eggs except when you’re eating raw eggs.

"It’s a thin line between love and hate"

“She opens up the door and lets you in,
never once asks where you‘ve been”

Here’s the thing about me and caffeine.
In the early 80’s I was, among other things, a serious tweaker. I have noticed this trend, ecto-morphs who use tend to become Junkies, meso-morphs who use tend to become tweakers. Cerebretonics seem to be fair game to all kinds of things but frequently it turns out to be sex.

Why did I become a tweaker? Well, I always suspect it was due in large part to my relationship to caffeine. I adore caffeine. I am highly allergic to caffeine. To this day I have not been able to kick caffeine right out of my life. Imagine my dismay when in ‘93 I went to visit my dying Grandmother in Seattle, and found a cappuccino machine in a Burger King. This was my first foreboding of the caffeine culture soon to reach across the country and now the world. It feels very much the same as being a nondrinker in this alcohol fueled culture. (Which is, for the most part, also one of my struggles).

So, given that I needed to work 3 jobs and party incessantly, and that caffeine compromises my immune system and severely aggravates one of my genetic illnesses, what other recourse did I think I had at the time?
Needless to say it was another in a series of really bad ideas.
I had no idea at the time that crank is the very devil, that one only has to smell it to know that it comes straight from the pit and that putting something in your body that looks, smells and tastes exactly like you scraped it off the bottom of the cat box is inestimably stupid. But it wasn’t caffeine, and it was so much stronger! How exciting was that?

I did gain one, single, boon from it, in an indirect manner, I met Uncle Bunny because of it.
I was sent to him by my friends who said to me;
“Stella, darlin’, you’re psychotic, and we think you should go talk to this guy who can help you. Tell him what idiot shit you’re up to and he’ll sell you some supplements to counteract that and you’ll feel and behave ever so much better.”
They were right.

I probably can’t get away with saying what he suggested, and what worked for me or the FDA will arrest me or something. But once I was assisted to stop being psychotic, I realized that caffeine, for all it’s problems was at least a known toxin. So I gave up the other and never went back. However, it didn’t end there, as I discovered that among other things my metabolism was now supremely fucked. It takes years to recover from that stuff. I still have some issues and its been what, over 20 years now.

So given those extremes I have decided that known toxins are generally the better choice. Like sugar. I happen to be a chocoholic diabetic. How pathetic is that? Its the caffeine thing again also, only in chocolate its the double whammy. When I work at the store, I stand right next to a huge stack of super-fudgy, chocolate-chocolate chip brownies, some of which I’ve found to weigh over a half pound, made at the restaurant by the fantastic baker. And, they just reek of chocolate. It’s like being madly in love with a married man, that you have to see socially, who doesn’t love you, but who occasionally uses you for sex.

But, in my distrust of Nutra-sweet, Splenda, other chem-sweets and chemicals, at least I know where I stand when I go back for more chocolate and tea. I’m making that perfect cup of properly brewed, black tea with milk, with my eyes wide open.
Someday I'll get what I want out of this relationship, someday it won’t hurt like this.
Then there’s tobacco.....