Daily Archives: February 6, 2016

Other People

I  hate people sometimes.  We had arranged for a friend to come over and play with my youngest daughter–they’ve played together several times, been to each other’s birthday parties, etc.  We don’t know the parents very well.  We were waiting for them to come drop the friend off when the friend called and said she couldn’t come.  I said, “I’m sorry” with a question in it, expecting an explanation.  She just repeated herself and said she couldn’t come over  and play with my youngest this afternoon. I said again I was sorry and hoped they could get together soon.  And she just said bye and hung up.

I couldn’t believe it.  If it was an emergency of some kind, I would have expected the mom to call and explain.  But to lay it off on a ten-year-old who does not have the social skills for this?  My daughter was crushed.  I may not have done the right thing, but we had talked earlier that day about how her tops were getting too short for her, so I took her shopping for clothes in place of the playdate.  So appalled.  I couldn’t think of what else to do–there’s not a good kids movie out right now or we would have done that instead.

What I hate about people is how they are inconsiderate of others.  The friend did not sound happy to be calling, so I am wondering what actually went down.  Around here it’s hard to arrange playdates because everyone has soccer and karate and dance and slow-pitch softball and every other activity known to man arranged on a weekend, often months in advance.  You have to luck up to have the same weekends free.  This had been set up for several days.  I just don’t know what to think.

 

 


Other People

I  hate people sometimes.  We had arranged for a friend to come over and play with my youngest daughter–they’ve played together several times, been to each other’s birthday parties, etc.  We don’t know the parents very well.  We were waiting for them to come drop the friend off when the friend called and said she couldn’t come.  I said, “I’m sorry” with a question in it, expecting an explanation.  She just repeated herself and said she couldn’t come over  and play with my youngest this afternoon. I said again I was sorry and hoped they could get together soon.  And she just said bye and hung up.

I couldn’t believe it.  If it was an emergency of some kind, I would have expected the mom to call and explain.  But to lay it off on a ten-year-old who does not have the social skills for this?  My daughter was crushed.  I may not have done the right thing, but we had talked earlier that day about how her tops were getting too short for her, so I took her shopping for clothes in place of the playdate.  So appalled.  I couldn’t think of what else to do–there’s not a good kids movie out right now or we would have done that instead.

What I hate about people is how they are inconsiderate of others.  The friend did not sound happy to be calling, so I am wondering what actually went down.  Around here it’s hard to arrange playdates because everyone has soccer and karate and dance and slow-pitch softball and every other activity known to man arranged on a weekend, often months in advance.  You have to luck up to have the same weekends free.  This had been set up for several days.  I just don’t know what to think.

 

 


So Long, Pluto

By one of those curious twists of the state of time, space, and matter, it seemed good in my eyes on Thursday night to seek the reliable shelter of a State Park, in which to interrupt my trajectory while hurtling across the awe-inspiring hugeness of the State of Texas.
_________________________

A Texan went to visit Ireland.

He saw an Irish farmer out working in his potato field, got out of his rented Cadillac and approached the fellow, and hollered:

(Texas accent): Say, pal, is this your land?

The Irishman cuts the engine on his ancient tractor, removes his battered hat, scratches his balding red head, mops his pate with his tatty handkerchief, jams his hat back on.

(Irish accent, with pride):  Sure and it is, Mester.  Been in my family for a hunnerd years. (Beams, gap-toothed, at the Texan, who is now standing in the dirt road in his cowboy boots, dove-grey Western suit, string tie, rocking with his thumbs hooked over his tooled leather belt with its garish silver buckle.  Door of Cadillac stands open.)

Texan:  Why, that’s mighty fine, mighty fine.  How much land have you got, if you don’t mind my askin’ ? (Chews a toothpick)

Irishman, with pride:  No, I don’t mind a wee bit, sence you’re askin’.  You see that tree stump off there in the distance?  Why, our land goes all the way from that stump, back aways past the house and farmyard, barns, horse pasture, to that stoon fence, ye can just barely see it from here.  (Scratches head again.)

Texan:  I declare.  That’s a right purty leetle piece.  You know, Farmer, back in Texas where’n Ah come from, Ah kin git in mah truck an drahve from sunrise to sunset, and Ah will still be drahvin’ on mah own land.  (Air of superior self-satisfaction)

Irishman: (Shaking head sadly)  Ach!  I had a truck like that meself, once.
__________________________________

The twist of fate is made curious by a happenstance: the first Texas State Park I spied on my map happened to be full, but the sweet and adorable Mescalero Apache ranger at the park office told me that there was plenty of room at the next park down the road, which happened to be right down the road again from the famed McDonald Observatory, home of the second biggest and most scientifically unique telescope in the world.  Yowie zowie, I love space stuff!  And my knowledge base is terrible, so I got all hot and sweaty at the thought of increasing it in such a majestic way.

I scuttled down the ranchy road, reaching the park just about closing time.  Picked myself out a choice spot and settled in, nervous about the javelinas (pecaries, a nasty species of wild pig that stinks and had it in for dogs) and wild boars, that can tusk up a dog or small human faster than you can say “Old Yeller.”  We have seen a lot of their poop, fresh, in our campsite, and if they only come sniffing around of a night, that’s fine, as long as they respect the rules.

The next day I mounted Old Jenny and climbed up the twisty road to the Observatory.  They were having a program on Sun Spots, but since I regularly check the Solar Weather I wasn’t so interested in that.  I wanted Deep Space.  Wormholes, Dark Energy, you know, cool space stuff.  I wanted to see the giant telescopes, but the next available date is a couple of weeks from now and I don’t plan to be here then.  Plus it costs $115, which would be money well spent, but that’s a week’s worth of camping money, so.

But they have “Star Parties,” interpretive viewings of the heavens both aided by normal size telescopes, and with the naked eye, so that one comes away with greatly augmented knowledge of celestial bodies and visible galaxies and nebulae (one, beside the Milky Way: the Orion Nebula.  I was hoping to get a glimpse of the Horsehead Nebula, but you need a higher power telescope for that).

The McDonald Observatory is located on top of a mountain situated above the Sonoran Desert, and is one of the darkest places in the world (at night, and not a cave).  Thus, I was tremendously exited at the prospect of guided stargazing in that spectacular location.  I bought a ticket for $15 and returned to my campsite to do a bit of dog hair mitigation and await the appointed hour.

We got there early (“we,” unless otherwise noted, means my dog and I) and cooled our heels till show time.

Big tour buses pulled up.  I noted them, then blocked them out of my consciousness.

With the approach of show time, I took Atina out for a potty break and put her in the van, ignoring her rueful expression.  It’s tough being a dog.

When I entered the lobby my heart went splat on the floor, then went into a run of sinus tachycardia.  Panic attack. 

Hundreds of lovely young people wearing Texas Tech and University of Texas and Texas A&M sweatshirts milled and shouted in the lobby.

I bailed into the gift shop, which was geared toward children, with book after book after book on the constellations…fer krissake, how many books on the constellations do they need?

I perused the wall charts, the glow in the dark universes that I stuck on my erstwhile son’s ceiling, to give him something to do while he wasn’t sleeping….and noticed something odd.

There were only eight planets.

That is wrong.  There are nine.  Everyone knows there are nine planets!

Then I remembered: Pluto has been decommissioned as a planet, because it is made of frozen water and no rocks.  You have to be made of rocks to be a planet.

It’s not fair.  Other planets are made of weird shit, so why, after all this time, could they not make Pluto at least an HONORARY planet?

I bought a placemat of the Periodic Table, which has picked up a number of new elements since the last time I studied it, and bolted for my van.

The rest of the evening was devoted to doctoring my crushing panic attack.

It wasn’t merely the prospect of standing in loud lines with droves of college students.

It was the sudden realization that I, too, have been decommissioned, like Pluto, and for the same reason: lack of a solid core. 

In our last bitter conversation, my son made it clear that I am not the mother he wanted…or, in his opinion, needed.  He needed stability.  He needed a rock core, not just some object made of frozen gasses.

Pluto and I are no longer welcome in his universe.

Well.

Since I have cried all the way across the enormous state of Texas, I have very clean eyes.  It seems that tears do not simply run out.  The body just keeps making more.

And since my decommission I have had plenty of time to reflect on the universe of mistakes I have made in my life.  Mistake after mistake after mistake.

And all boiling down to what?

Well, at least I have money, for a couple more years, to pay my expenses.  That’s a plus.

See, me and Pluto just keep going around and around and around, but the end is interincluded in the beginning, so there is no getting off this particular merry-go-round.

So me and Pluto and Atina will go ’round until it all winds down and it’s time to bail out.  That’s what happens to stars before we blow up and become Something Else.


So Long, Pluto

By one of those curious twists of the state of time, space, and matter, it seemed good in my eyes on Thursday night to seek the reliable shelter of a State Park, in which to interrupt my trajectory while hurtling across the awe-inspiring hugeness of the State of Texas.
__________________________________

A Texan went to visit Ireland.

He saw an Irish farmer out working in his potato field, got out of his rented Cadillac and approached the fellow, and hollered:

(Texas accent): Say, pal, is this your land?

The Irishman cuts the engine on his ancient tractor, removes his battered hat, scratches his balding red head, mops his pate with his tatty handkerchief, jams his hat back on.

(Irish accent, with pride):  Sure and it is, Mester.  Been in my family for a hunnerd years. (Beams, gap-toothed, at the Texan, who is now standing in the dirt road in his cowboy boots, dove-grey Western suit, string tie, rocking with his thumbs hooked over his tooled leather belt with its garish silver buckle.  Door of Cadillac stands open.)

Texan:  Why, that’s mighty fine, mighty fine.  How much land have you got, if you don’t mind my askin’ ? (Chews a toothpick)

Irishman, with pride:  No, I don’t mind a wee bit, sence you’re askin’.  You see that tree stump off there in the distance?  Why, our land goes all the way from that stump, back aways past the house and farmyard, barns, horse pasture, to that stoon fence, ye can just barely see it from here.  (Scratches head again.)

Texan:  I declare.  That’s a right purty leetle piece.  You know, Farmer, back in Texas where’n Ah come from, Ah kin git in mah truck an drahve from sunrise to sunset, and Ah will still be drahvin’ on mah own land.  (Air of superior self-satisfaction)

Irishman: (Shaking head sadly)  Ach!  I had a truck like that meself, once.
__________________________________

The twist of fate is made curious by a happenstance: the first Texas State Park I spied on my map happened to be full, but the sweet and adorable Mescalero Apache ranger at the park office told me that there was plenty of room at the next park down the road, which happened to be right down the road again from the famed McDonald Observatory, home of the second biggest and most scientifically unique telescope in the world.  Yowie zowie, I love space stuff!  And my knowledge base is terrible, so I got all hot and sweaty at the thought of increasing it in such a majestic way.

I scuttled down the ranchy road, reaching the park just about closing time.  Picked myself out a choice spot and settled in, nervous about the javelinas (pecaries, a nasty species of wild pig that stinks and had it in for dogs) and wild boars, that can tusk up a dog or small human faster than you can say “Old Yeller.”  We have seen a lot of their poop, fresh, in our campsite, and if they only come sniffing around of a night, that’s fine, as long as they respect the rules.

The next day I mounted Old Jenny and climbed up the twisty road to the Observatory.  They were having a program on Sun Spots, but since I regularly check the Solar Weather I wasn’t so interested in that.  I wanted Deep Space.  Wormholes, Dark Energy, you know, cool space stuff.  I wanted to see the giant telescopes, but the next available date is a couple of weeks from now and I don’t plan to be here then.  Plus it costs $115, which would be money well spent, but that’s a week’s worth of camping money, so.

But they have “Star Parties,” interpretive viewings of the heavens both aided by normal size telescopes, and with the naked eye, so that one comes away with greatly augmented knowledge of celestial bodies and visible galaxies and nebulae (one, beside the Milky Way: the Orion Nebula.  I was hoping to get a glimpse of the Horsehead Nebula, but you need a higher power telescope for that).

The McDonald Observatory is located on top of a mountain situated above the Sonoran Desert, and is one of the darkest places in the world (at night, and not a cave).  Thus, I was tremendously exited at the prospect of guided stargazing in that spectacular location.  I bought a ticket for $15 and returned to my campsite to do a bit of dog hair mitigation and await the appointed hour.

We got there early (“we,” unless otherwise noted, means my dog and I) and cooled our heels till show time.

Big tour buses pulled up.  I noted them, then blocked them out of my consciousness.

With the approach of show time, I took Atina out for a potty break and put her in the van, ignoring her rueful expression.  It’s tough being a dog.

When I entered the lobby my heart went splat on the floor, then went into a run of sinus tachycardia.  Panic attack. 

Hundreds of lovely young people wearing Texas Tech and University of Texas and Texas A&M sweatshirts milled and shouted in the lobby.

I bailed into the gift shop, which was geared toward children, with book after book after book on the constellations…fer krissake, how many books on the constellations do they need?

I perused the wall charts, the glow in the dark universes that I stuck on my erstwhile son’s ceiling, to give him something to do while he wasn’t sleeping….and noticed something odd.

There were only eight planets.

That is wrong.  There are nine.  Everyone knows there are nine planets!

Then I remembered: Pluto has been decommissioned as a planet, because it is made of frozen water and no rocks.  You have to be made of rocks to be a planet.

It’s not fair.  Other planets are made of weird shit, so why, after all this time, could they not make Pluto at least an HONORARY planet?

I bought a placemat of the Periodic Table, which has picked up a number of new elements since the last time I studied it, and bolted for my van.

The rest of the evening was devoted to doctoring my crushing panic attack.

It wasn’t merely the prospect of standing in loud lines with droves of college students.

It was the sudden realization that I, too, have been decommissioned, like Pluto, and for the same reason: lack of a solid core. 

In our last bitter conversation, my son made it clear that I am not the mother he wanted…or, in his opinion, needed.  He needed stability.  He needed a rock core, not just some object made of frozen gasses.

Pluto and I are no longer welcome in his universe.

Well.

Since I have cried all the way across the enormous state of Texas, I have very clean eyes.  It seems that tears do not simply run out.  The body just keeps making more.

And since my decommission I have had plenty of time to reflect on the universe of mistakes I have made in my life.  Mistake after mistake after mistake.

And all boiling down to what?

Well, at least I have money, for a couple more years, to pay my expenses.  That’s a plus.

See, me and Pluto just keep going around and around and around, but the end is interincluded in the beginning, so there is no getting off this particular merry-go-round.

So me and Pluto and Atina will go ’round until it all winds down and it’s time to bail out.  That’s what happens to stars before we blow up and become Something Else.


Facebook, Why You Gotta Do Me Like That?

Dreams

I don’t know about anybody else, but Facebook makes me feel like SHIT! It used to be like, oh!  My friends!  I can keep up with them and how they’re doing!  Now it has devolved into a mess of fucking memes (just because it’s a meme, doesn’t make it true), people trying to make their life look perfect, and people trying to be gurus.  You know that old adage, comparing other people’s outsides with your insides?  Well, it’s an adage to me.  Comparing other people’s outsides with my insides makes me feel like a LOSER!  I am not out living the fabulous life!  I’m not out having wine in Napa Valley, at the opening of a play, laying out in Hawaii or Mexico (but you can bet your ass I will post Florida beach pictures every fucking day I’m there) or meeting the President or a Kardashian (those fuckers are EVERYWHERE!).  I also am not living the dream like all those fucking memes say I should be.  I’m just living this little Bipolar life, trying to get through each day with some tiny accomplishment, maybe showering, exercising, or writing a blog post, and that is not sexy or Facebook-postable.  When did people stop being real and start with the shit show on Facebook?  I don’t know.  Maybe in 2012. But I keep reading it and it keeps making me feel like shit!!  Who’s the dumbshit now??

Poop

I have deleted Facebook off my phone countless times, only to add it back two hours later. I’m addicted!  What IS it??  I have to admit I DO watch those quickie recipe videos, they’re like fucking magic!  Poof!  That might be the only good thing.  Or, Demaryius Thomas.  Ok, I love him.  He’s just so beautiful!  Other than recipe videos and Demaryius Thomas, Facebook is sucking my will to live, just a little.  Let’s just rename it MemeBook!  I’m sick of memes!  I made these two special memes, just for you, to illustrate how stupid they really are.  I hope you enjoy them and I hope you have a fantastic weekend. GO BRONCOS!!!!!


Filed under: Bipolar, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Facebook Is Sucking My Will To Live, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

Oh, Thank the Sacred Pegacorn I’m Not Really *that* whiny

Having reread some of this week’s posts…I cringed. Normally, I am not so trigger sensitive, especially with the emotional sound proofing called lithium. I was baffled wy so many tiny things were wounding me when half the time I am so oblivious I don’t even notice when being deliberately insulted.

This morning’s oompa loompa ovary pains and backache and pain induced inertia explains it all. Shark week has commenced. I’m not hypersensitive. I am hormonal! Yay! Which means in a few days I will be  back to my normal apathetic self. Which is good because my kid seems to devour any weakness in me. Once a month she gets under my skin good, she causes pain.

This, too, shall pass and then…muhahaha. She wants mean strict mommy, I shall introduce her to that version of me.

Seriously, this is a big relief to me. All the stress brought shark week on earlier than usual but that has become the norm, so while I was caught off guard slightly…Now that all the fussy whining “woe is me, my feelings are hurt” is explained and only temporary. To think this might be my new baseline horrified me.

I do want to toss out an apology for all my lithium griping. It’s just one of those necessary evils that has great benefit for me yet the pitfalls become such an overpowering part of daily existence, you want to scream and vent so it doesn’t build up. I can’t take the new atypicals as they don’t work and make me even sicker, so…lithium and I are gonna have to learn to get along better. I’ma talk to el shrinko when I see him next, maybe he has an idea or two. Ha ha ha.

I am gonna do fuck all today as I am in serious pain. In fact, I dragged the laptop to my bedroom crypt, farrrr away from the living room sunlight, after being in there all week in an effort to do that “light therapy” bit. Now I am gonna do “I feel like crap, let me have my darkened comfy crypt” therapy.

Hopefully, I will get caught up on everyone’s posts. I am reading and stuff, and without a spawn interrupting every five seconds, I may get to visit everyone at last and bestow upon the some of my sparkling wisdom. Okay, my sardonic caustic wit, whatever.

 


crash test dummy

“I have a feeling that you’re riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall.” —The Catcher in the Rye I crashed. Of course I crashed. I woke this morning and the bright, yellow sun was blazing already. I felt leaden and full of fear like wings flapping; I’ve read bloggers calling them birds and moths … Continue reading crash test dummy

Submission: THE GIFT OF EMPOWERMENT: A LOVE STORY- Jocelyn Fryer

Ok, so it’s not a Wednesday but I don’t always save appreciation for one day alone… Today I would like to thank an artist and friend for his contribution to […]

Less Than Zero

I am describing my self esteem. Less. Than. Zero.

My kid decided, overnight, that she wanted to spend the weekend with my dad and his crew.

Yesterday she had a crying fit and begged me not to make her go with them because she wanted to spend time with me.

WTF?

I took her to the store with me today and she did her normal “want want want gimme gimme” bit. Then she talked to the cashier to the extent he couldn’t ring our stuff up right and I politely corrected her four times…to no avail. Outside I told her to straighten up and show some respect or I’d spank her.

I’ve spanked her maybe three times in the last year.

My drama llama put on a show at Dollar Tree, asking SIX times, loudly and in front of people, “Are you gonna spank me?”

She kept asking for stuff. And wonders why I do my errands without her.

I told her she was grounded- no computer, no Uno, none of the things she likes. I even told her, “As your punishment, you HAVE to go to the truck show with poppy for the weekend.”

That was when she threw me a spiked curve ball and said she WANTED to do that.

I have washed my hands of her drama and let them have her for the weekend.

For five seconds earlier she let me feel good by saying, “I want to spend time with you, Mommy.”

The instant I chastised her for being disrespectful, she wanted away from me.

I asked her why she hates me so much. She said, ” Because you always say no.”

It’s kinda my job as a mom to say NO YOU MAY NOT PUT A FORK IN THE ELECTRIC OUTLET! NO YOU MAY NOT STRANGLE THE CAT BECAUSE YOU THINK IT IS FUNNY!

I feel dejected. In my head I keep hearing my idget mother snapping GROW UP!

It’s not a maturity thing.  It’s a “I am busting my ass to do right by this child and nothing is ever good enough and I feel hopeless and inept!”

I try to be tough, to be strong, to not let it get me down cos I AM the adult…But ya know what?

Adults still have human feelings and it fucking hurts to put yourself on the line for the good of another only to have them tell you a thousand times you’re not doing well enough. ESPECIALLY when there’s an absentee parent involved and the child(ren) give them far more credit than they give you. It’s not even about credit. It’s about being appreciated for all that you do as opposed to being castigated for the few times you miss the mark.

I am sure the childless would be happy to sneer, “If you weren’t tough enough to handle how kids are, why’d you have one?”

Were it so easy as “I had a kid and I’m not tough enough to handle their demanding needy nature.”

I think most parents, and single moms/dads especially, feel every reminder of failure like a machete to our hearts.

Or I am just PMS-y.

I don’t know anymore.

I know right now the evening lithium has made me nauseated and since I am kid free…I think I am gonna wash away this day and all its bullshit and curl up in bed. Sleep doesn’t cure but it can rejuvenate and help build up strength for the next catastrophe.

Hopefully I sleep before I throw up.

Stupid fucking lithium. How can something work so fucking well yet make you wish you were dead due to the constant side effects?

 


My Booty Is A Measure Of My Mental Health

So I got to thinking today, as I rode the damn recumbent bike for forty minutes, wearing my shit-colored glasses…that all this work day in and day out is really chiseling down the ol’ booty. Could it be that the better I am mentally….the better my ass is?  I mean, I have Super-SAD, a new variant of SAD I have identified that means it’s extra-sucky.  So I totally have an attitude every time it snows, the temperature goes below 40°, and/or the sky is grey.  I’m basically constantly on the verge of being a very hot mess, but I’m still exercising!  Every day!  Even though I cuss myself out as I drive to the gym, because I don’t FEEL like it!  But this “Feel Like Shit But Do The Right Thing Anyway” dynamic is brand-new to me, and I think it *may* mean that I’m getting a little better!

Then my brain went BAZINGA! You had a great ass when you were manic as hell! JUST RUINED A GREAT THEORY.  God damn it!  But you know what, I still had to kind of go with it, because who can mess with a title like this one?  It’s just too good!  I find saying something extremely stupid, extremely seriously to be extremely gratifying.

I have to remind you of my post the other day and say, Let’s Be Great and keep participating in our little blogosphere.  So many great people out there!  Disjointedly, BPOF!


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Exercise, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, My Booty Is A Measure Of My Mental Health, Psychology, Reader