Daily Archives: March 16, 2013

Flop

Now that the week is over, I feel drained. I’m wiped out, feeling slightly edgy, and it feels like I can’t open my ‘mouth’ online without inviting annoying people. Add in the fact that I’m in dire need of a bath… well. *chuckles* I’ll manage to muster one tomorrow, if only for the sake of my appointment on Monday. I always feel a need to present some semblance of functionality… which probably works against me. But in my head, one cannot take another seriously if they don’t make the effort, yanno?

But yeah, floppy and somewhat resigned to… something something. Fate? It wearies me to think about what could come out of the appointment; I’m pretty sure that their infrequency adds to this. But it’s not like I can demand more appointments really if I don’t technically need them, right? Okay, I think I’m supposed to technically be in talking therapy as well, but considering that section of the local health care proviso lied to me about my appointments and have since refused to contact me, not much I can do about that (and, admittedly, I don’t want to either. I’m confident I’m the 30% that doesn’t respond to such a set-up based on family therapy-related experiences growing up).

Anyhoos, I’m going to go drink my coffee, try to relax, try to think about double-checking and adding to my notes, and all in all doing to best to make the most of doing little-to-nothing. :)

<3

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fuck lithium

hey y’all.  :: waves ::

sorry i haven’t written.  i’ve been busy emulating super woman.  i don’t mean to boast (but i’m going to do it anyway), but in the last week-ish, i graded 195 essay questions, 65 participation assignments (also essay), submitted abstracts to three conferences, and finished part 2 of a manuscript that is now about 50 pages (with an easy 10 more coming before it’s done), ran 12 miles, went grocery shopping, bulk cooked, and re-watched all episodes of the walking dead.  on top of a 4 day trip to california, where i drank lots of wonderful champagne and IPA.  i feel like a million bucks.

i haven’t been this successfully productive in a very long time, but i have been working hard to get life back in order.  including losing the 20 (!) lbs i gained while taking lithium.  i’ve been working on it since january 2.  with few results.

lithium weight is now my arch nemesis.

to be fair, i was estimating a rate of success based on my experience 2 (short…sniff) years ago, when the south beach diet took 12 lbs off my frame in a month.  it was magical.  it was fantastical.  it was the most rewarding experience EVER.

i did the same thing starting at the beginning of january, and the scale Did. Not. Budge.  i considered the possibility that one night every week or two, going out to drink might have been the culprit.  but not with the restricted diet i was on!  there’s no way!  i started incorporating exercise (which i did NOT, i repeat, did NOT have to do before).  still nothing.

i refuse to accept the possibility that “aging” is a factor.  it was two years ago for fuck’s sake.

then i had to get an emergency root canal and follow up surgery, and being high on percocet is not conducive to a healthy lifestyle.  i got in some solid hours on far cry 3 though.  (ah-may-zing!).

so, here i am.  it’s mid-march.  i’m none-the-lighter.  i’m ready to pull my hair out.

when visiting my family in california, i felt like the fucking michelin man.  my 50-year old mother kicked my ass on a 5 mile run.  yeah, that awkward moment.  over half of the pictures we took are banned from the public because i look like a fatty mcfatfat.

there’s nothing to do but try again.  with vengeance.  and if this shit doesn’t start coming off quick status i am going to blow a gasket at my next pdoc appointment.  i am going to send the dab who coerced me to take it hate mail.

the worst part of all of this is… i can’t even console myself with cookies and milk.


No, This Is Not Jerusalem. It’s Somewhere Else.

The first time I found myself in Jerusalem, in 2005, I knew This Was It.  I Was Home.  Why?  That can only be explained by my Adopted Sister KupKake’s explanation, which I will explain as follows:  Someone did an experiment with clams (yes I know they are not kosher but neither is this post).  Everyone knows that clams open and close in sync with the tides, right?  Well you should.  So they took clams from the East Coast Atlantic (yes, of America, where else) and planted them in the West Coast Pacific (yes of course they gave them expensive sunglasses).  And sunovabitch if the little fuckers didn’t open and close, not on West Coast Pacific tidal times, but right exactly according to the East Coast Atlantic tide tables of the place from which they were plucked (if you live on the coast you get the tide tables, which tell you when is the optimal time to go clamming, and when is the optimal time to drown.)giant-clam

So according to KupKake, the reason both she and I feel so awesome good when we’re in Jerusalem is that our clams are opening and closing at the right times.  Get it?  I didn’t expect you to.  Never mind.

So when I was called back to Amerika to take care of important family duties, at first I couldn’t get over the clam business.  My clams were clamoring to be back HOME.   I was bereft, and bawled every day for days on end.  Like about 365 of them.  Then I cut back to every other day, then three times a week.  Then my shrink upped my med doses, and now I don’t give a flying fuck about anything at all so I rarely cry for the loss of my Jerusalem.

Nevertheless I think about her all the time.  Jerusalem is a crazy place to live.  It is truly the only place I feel at home, even though my hermetic habits do not change there (the federal disability judge recently issued an official statement proclaiming that I am a Recluse.  I guess that makes me an OFFICIAL recluse.  I always wanted to be a recluse, so there.  If that muggle judge couldn’t see with his own eyes that I’m an Alien, well, well….it doesn’t matter.)

 

SCAN0001

Anyway.  When I am in Jerusalem, cozied up in my house, not going out except to the shuk (public market) which is my favorite place in the entire world, full of noise and noisome smells like rotting vegetables and rancid meat and aging fish and dead cats and stale beer and bad cigars and B.O., and delicious smells like freshly baking pita and Turkish coffee and ripe fruit and fresh spices and Moroccan soups cooking and the wet leaves of fresh celery, when I am not going anywhere except the transports of the magic carpet ride of my favorite sunken-in once-overstuffed but now-understuffed chair, I can close my eyes and listen to the boisterous National Religious youth singing passages from Psalms about Jerusalem, shouting when they get to “Yerushalayim,” which is Jerusalem in Hebrew;  or the Mizrachi (Middle Eastern Jewish) youth singing the same line from Psalms in a whole different tune and shouting when they get to Yerushalayim;  or the Yeshivish youth, much more conservative and much more drunk, singing yet another tune to the same Psalm and shouting when they get to Yerushalayim.  And then there are the American youth, drunker than all of them put together, doing the same thing.  All of this I hear from my Magic Carpet Chair in my home in Yerushalayim, which sadly I have lost because I have had to be in Amerika so long.

Machane Yehuda Shuk 1

Machane Yehuda Shuk 1

On the other hand.  What am I here for?  I ask that daily, for it is very important to ask and to answer that question daily.  I am here to be part of my father’s last days.  I am here to fix some things that were broken, that were neglected, that were threatening to be lost.  These too are likely to bring tears, even in my placidly drugged state.  That is good, as it shows that I am still somewhat alive after all, even though I am a legally official Recluse.alien woman head

From my magic carpet chair above the waterfall beneath my window, I float from here to there.  I cannot go to the Shuk to regain equilibrium; the river is now my Polaris.  I look to the River for orientation.  The music of the river must needs take the place of the hoards of boisterous youth shouting Psalms.  If I listen quietly I can hear them in the roar of the waterfall beneath my window.  I can go out and freeze on my deck above the falls and have every thought swept away by the thundering water, even Yerushalayim.  And that is scary, to think that for one moment I could lose Her to a mere body of water crashing over rocks.

But maybe it’s not that way at all.  Maybe this IS Yerushalayim for me, here, now, because this is what it is, and this is where I need to be, and ought to be, and must be.  And Yerushalayim is where she is, and she is here too, in this rushing water, and in this Magic Carpet Chair with my little Lhasa Apso tucked under my right elbow, as usual.