Daily Archives: November 28, 2015

The Days of Yellow

And so the days of yellow are upon us, finally. All week long the afternoons blend into night. All I see are harsh lights bearing down on me from the other side of the road as we pass each other, both of us staring straight ahead into the  watery eyes of winter evenings, seeing nothing.

Small hazards await, crouching ahead of me as my feet, metallic, turn, and turn the pedals. The specks of glass, wet leaves, small stones sit with relentless patience for my cowardly tyres. I see nothing of this, of course. I ride on inert to the risks ahead, staring only into the glare of safety of the buses, cars – and sometimes bicycles – that sweep by on the way to destinations my fantasies can only envy.

Image result for cyclists and cars in the dark

I press on, regardless. Regard – less. Aware only of my gloves on the top of the handlebars, or touching the brakes, or clicking through the gears as the hills heave upwards.

It’s like this that the dark guides me.

Past pedestrian hazards stepping out in front of my wheel. Past lines of patient traffic at the lights. The eye: red, amber … green. I have to react, lift my foot from the road to the pedal, and turn, turn. Regard – less. The cars press my back. Resigned to my fate, movement, I climb the flat road ahead.

My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,

Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

Are beautiful as days can be;

She loves the bare, the withered tree;

She walked the sodden pasture lane.

 

Her pleasure will not let me stay.

She talks and I am fain to list:

She’s glad the birds are gone away,

She’s glad her simple worsted gray

Is silver now with clinging mist.

 

The desolate, deserted trees,

The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

She thinks I have no eye for these,

And vexes me for reason why.

 

Not yesterday I learned to know

The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell her so,

And they are better for her praise.

Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

 


The Days of Yellow

And so the days of yellow are upon us, finally. All week long the afternoons blend into night. All I see are harsh lights bearing down on me from the other side of the road as we pass each other, both of us staring straight ahead into the  watery eyes of winter evenings, seeing nothing.

Small hazards await, crouching ahead of me as my feet, metallic, turn, and turn the pedals. The specks of glass, wet leaves, small stones sit with relentless patience for my cowardly tyres. I see nothing of this, of course. I ride on inert to the risks ahead, staring only into the glare of safety of the buses, cars – and sometimes bicycles – that sweep by on the way to destinations my fantasies can only envy.

Image result for cyclists and cars in the dark

I press on, regardless. Regard – less. Aware only of my gloves on the top of the handlebars, or touching the brakes, or clicking through the gears as the hills heave upwards.

It’s like this that the dark guides me.

Past pedestrian hazards stepping out in front of my wheel. Past lines of patient traffic at the lights. The eye: red, amber … green. I have to react, lift my foot from the road to the pedal, and turn, turn. Regard – less. The cars press my back. Resigned to my fate, movement, I climb the flat road ahead.

My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,

Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

Are beautiful as days can be;

She loves the bare, the withered tree;

She walked the sodden pasture lane.

 

Her pleasure will not let me stay.

She talks and I am fain to list:

She’s glad the birds are gone away,

She’s glad her simple worsted gray

Is silver now with clinging mist.

 

The desolate, deserted trees,

The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

She thinks I have no eye for these,

And vexes me for reason why.

 

Not yesterday I learned to know

The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell her so,

And they are better for her praise.

Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

 


The Days of Yellow

And so the days of yellow are upon us, finally. All week long the afternoons blend into night. All I see are harsh lights bearing down on me from the other side of the road as we pass each other, both of us staring straight ahead into the  watery eyes of winter evenings, seeing nothing.

Small hazards await, crouching ahead of me as my feet, metallic, turn, and turn the pedals. The specks of glass, wet leaves, small stones sit with relentless patience for my cowardly tyres. I see nothing of this, of course. I ride on inert to the risks ahead, staring only into the glare of safety of the buses, cars – and sometimes bicycles – that sweep by on the way to destinations my fantasies can only envy.

Image result for cyclists and cars in the dark

I press on, regardless. Regard – less. Aware only of my gloves on the top of the handlebars, or touching the brakes, or clicking through the gears as the hills heave upwards.

It’s like this that the dark guides me.

Past pedestrian hazards stepping out in front of my wheel. Past lines of patient traffic at the lights. The eye: red, amber … green. I have to react, lift my foot from the road to the pedal, and turn, turn. Regard – less. The cars press my back. Resigned to my fate, movement, I climb the flat road ahead.

My November Guest

My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,

Thinks these dark days of autumn rain

Are beautiful as days can be;

She loves the bare, the withered tree;

She walked the sodden pasture lane.

 

Her pleasure will not let me stay.

She talks and I am fain to list:

She’s glad the birds are gone away,

She’s glad her simple worsted gray

Is silver now with clinging mist.

 

The desolate, deserted trees,

The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

She thinks I have no eye for these,

And vexes me for reason why.

 

Not yesterday I learned to know

The love of bare November days

Before the coming of the snow,

But it were vain to tell her so,

And they are better for her praise.

Robert Frost (1874 – 1963)

 


Even in my dreams, I am a neurotic

Just woke up awhile ago from some FUBAR dream..But in it a guy asked me out and because he was a friend of my sister’s…I kept shunning him cos I didn’t trust him not to blab, plus he used to date my sister’s friend who is um, way too sexually liberated and I didn’t want to really…Um. Yep. I can’t even dream like a normal person. Even asleep I have to be a neuroses laden fucked up mess. Yay me. Though in all fairness it reeks of my reality. Everyone in this town knows everyone and has slept with everyone and EWWW. Nope. I don’t just have trust issues, I have “not even with a body condom” issues. Let ladytown gather some more cobwebs, ain’t that desperate.

Can’t. Even. Dream. Right.

Blargh.

What I did do right last night was…feed spawn and myself, I showered, she got a bath, then we watched Garfield’s Thanksgiving together. It was cute. She said, “This was made in the fifties, wasn’t it?” Um…1989, actually. Stupid computer animation has made children forget the wonder of old school cartoons, for fuck’s sake. And frankly, the special effects ruined The Hulk for me. Give me back the Lou Ferigno/Bixby days that weren’t so overdone. Cripes.

Following being a “good mom” I went in search of fiction soup for the soul on Hulu. (Home of video buffering that you PAY for!) Then the impossible happened. I found a comedy I WANTED to watch.

Of course, it was a parody of Breaking Dawn called Breaking Wind, but since Vampires Suck (Twilight parody) is one of my all time faves, I thought, what the hell…

And I laughed. and laughed. I laughed so hard I peed a little and my sides hurt and iced tea shot out of my nose. OMG. Over the top mockery of so many pop culture inanities and it was fucking hysterical. I even loved the part where they mocked Johnny Depp and I like him but honestly, he takes on some bizarre roles and they’re usually over the top. (Except Scissorhands, will always love that one.) I’ve never even watched Breaking Dawn (I went old school and read the book) but wow, this parody was intoxicatingly funny. Generally not a fan of the infantile “fart” humor but in this movie, it worked cos ya know, title, it applied. Wow. Been a loooong time since a movie made me laugh that much. Think actually it was two years ago when Bex finally twisted my arm into watching The Heat. Yeah, that movie was funny as hell, too.

So while my humor is definitely a very dim pilot light in the dark…It’s still there. Not my fault if film makers turn out drivel that doesn’t tickle my funny bone. Frankly they’re not churning out much that holds my attention anyway, even at my most Focalin-ed up. I did watch Alex Cross the other day, grudgingly, cos Morgan Freeman wasn’t playing Cross anymore. (Tyler Perry was in the role and I cringed and gagged, but…he wasn’t so bad.) The irony is, this movie is the book I am have been reading in ten minute jaunts waiting to pick up my kid at school. I am only halfway through the book,but let’s just say…The movie butchered up the book and bastardized it to the nth. The Butcher character is supposed to be this hottie with long hair, instead he’s this short creepy bald dude who screams “serial killer, run for your life, bitches!”. Cripes, Hollywood. WTF. Did James Patterson need the money that bad he’d let you rape is work that way?

Ah, that’s the writer in my coming out.  “Editing” is a filthy word in my world. (Like buffering.) I get rather bent when I’ve read a book and then see the movie and go, what the fuck, did a paper shredder churn this script out? Creative license is one thing. Frankenmovies suck. Make it true to the book or don’t fucking bother, fucksnarts.

It’s another wet cold gloom filled day here in Armpit, midwest. Weatherbug says it will be this way until Tuesday when at long last the sun will peak out and dry everything up. Yes, it is a wonder why my moods are so low when I am living in fucking Seattle here. (Oh, god, it could be worse, there could be grunge music playing, arrghhhhblurhh).

Aren’t I the ultimate enigma? I hate sun cos it hurts my eyes and gives me headaches yet my moods are such shit when it’s gloomy I crave the sun. (And no, assclowns, happy lights are not remotely the same.) If nothing else the sun warms the trailer up. It turns out you can “fix” things up but if it was made back in 1970 and is falling apart…It’s still gonna be ten degrees colder than a newer place. Sunshine warms the place up. Whereas during summer, gray days cool the place and that’s welcome.

We’re all mad here, said the cat.

The place is at critical biohazard seven, not even ebola would live here. And still…responsible mommy brain says, get off your ass and do it…depressed brain says, let it all BURNNNN. Seriously, heat kills germs, right? Meh. I will get to it. I even tried to bribe myself with thoughts of, “If you get X, Y, and Z done, you can have a guilt free Mangorita tonight.” Ha. Not even that is working. I can only imagine the fit my mom would have. There have been times when aside from a minor catbox smell (five cats, duh) and some dust, she declared the place unfit for a kid. Ha. I’ve outdone myself this time. No clean bowls or cups or forks. Four loads of laundry behind. Carpet growing new species of sabretooth cats. (Again, I’m taking vacuum donations, not like I enjoy feeding even more critters and sabretooths eat a LOT.) 

Way I see it is…My kid has been bathed. The fridge is full of food, including apples and celery. She has apple juice to drink. Her mom spends time with her. If the dust bunnies and dirty dishes are a deal breaker…There are gonna be lots of orphans being placed in foster care. I don’t get the world’s fixation on “cleanliness and godliness”. Seriously, if you buy the bible line, well, they didn’t even have indoor plumbing to bathe regularly and they sure as hell didn’t have Swiffer and Mr. Clean and anti bacterial wipes for every surface and orifice. So was God filthy? Yeah, I am harping on it again but I make a valid fucking point.

Oh and Fark.com lead me to a news story about two kids being removed from a home that had “cockroaches in every room.” Yeah, the naked mom passed out on the couch and only baloney in the fridge for the kids to eat weren’t the kicker. It was some roaches. Guess what? Even good clean people get roaches. God knows I have tried everything short of a nuke to get rid of mine. And the landlord is prepping the next door trailer for new residents so he had Orkin there, which means…the ones that don’t die will come to my place. I am fighting a losing battle here and I have to feel like a scumball every single day over something thats not my damned fault. Maybe I should just go all Grissolm from CSI and turn the roaches into pets, get me my own cockroach racing gang. Cripes.

Ya know, when I start these posts…I usually only mean to do three paragraphs. But then…yeah, scumbag brain lets loose. Oh, well. It wouldn’t be my blog if it weren’t all ranting and rambling.

I am gonna ponder clothes I didn’t sleep in (but these fleece line sweat pants are so warm and comfyyyy!) and the “cleaning” thing. Tragic H8te ball says not to hold your breath.


Gratitude Journal: The Bipolar Edition

Well, this post is a little late for Thanksgiving, but I’m nonetheless thankful for a number of things (and people) I tend to take for granted the rest of the year. Here are a few of them:

I’m thankful for stability, which in all the time I’ve been actively battling bipolar disorder, I never thought I’d find. It may not be perfect, and some days I still struggle with a bit of anxiety and/or depression, but it’s NOTHING compared with the nightmarish episode I was in a little over a year ago. Then again, almost everything is better than it was a year ago…I still have my husband and he’s healthier now than he was for some time. We’re also no longer on the verge of homelessness, we are warm and comfortable, and we don’t ever have to move again if we don’t want to.

I’m thankful for my medications. I finally got over resenting the fact that I needed them to feel “normal” when I realized I would never be normal, but I could manage and even enjoy my life if I stuck with them. Now I just take them and forget about it until it’s time for the next batch.

I’m thankful that we have a newer car and reasonable payments. Our Ford Taurus was a good car that lasted us for eight years, but age finally caught up with it and our son-in-law came to the rescue in the nick of time, helping us finance another car before we had to say good-bye to Old Faithful. He told us awhile back that he and our son wanted to take care of us; and by gosh, he’s been as good as his word. I’m still having trouble getting used to this thanks to my old trust issues, but I’m oh so grateful for the help!

I’m thankful for the magic of the Internet. I miss my daughter Mandy and her family something fierce, but even though they’re physically in Vermont, she’s really only a text or a Facebook post away. I also get to “chat” with my other daughter who’s half a world away in Afghanistan. Plus, I can (and do) reach people all over the globe with this blog. I’m not always a fan of what modern technology brings us—Top 40 “music” and the Kardashians come to mind here—but I honestly don’t know what I’d do without the World Wide Web.

Mostly, I’m thankful for life, family and friends. I love being with my “boys”, and knowing there is no shortage of folks ready and willing to have me in their lives makes me wonder why I ever wanted to end my own. Not even on my “down” days does that even come up as an option. Granted, there’s always the possibility that I could bottom out like I did last fall, but I’m learning not to anticipate the worst-case scenario, while at the same time being mindful that I have a chronic illness which can sneak in and slap me flat with any or no provocation.

And now it’s only a week until we leave the clouds and the cold for our Caribbean adventure. Yep, I’m pretty thankful for that too!

 

 


Upcoming DBT Graduation

The Emotional Regulation module in Dialectical Behavior Therapy contains two skills designed to separate actions from emotions.  The first, Opposite to Emotion, is about doing things you don’t feel like doing.  Feeling fear?  Approach the situation that scares you.  Feeling guilt?  Repair the transgression.  Feeling shame?  Do what makes you feel ashamed.  Feeling sad?  Do […]