Daily Archives: March 17, 2015

So here are Will and I, house-sitting for our son and son-in-law while they’re off on a cruise vacation for the next couple of weeks, with a large house full of food and conveniences at our disposal. Just like in the old days when we had plenty of everything! They also have a trash compactor, a Keurig coffeemaker, and Netflix, none of which we had in our past life. And TV…..oh Lord, how much I’ve missed TV. I didn’t even know there was a new season of Dancing With The Stars, but we were able to catch it live. Don’t get me wrong, I like our new home and am grateful beyond words that we have a roof over our heads, but it is nice to spread out a little.

The fun part so far has been figuring out how things work, including the computer I’m typing this post on. It has this wireless mouse that you literally have to bend in the middle to make it work. Weird. I also have access to my son’s laptop if I want it. In the meantime there’s the keyless deadbolt that scared me half to death this morning when I locked it and then couldn’t unlock it again for a few minutes. I could just imagine calling Ethan—he’s in Houston waiting for his connecting flight to Florida as of this writing—like he could do anything but give me the passcode again. I STILL have trouble remembering stuff like that. I did manage to unlock it after a few frantic attempts, but you can bet I used the old-fashioned door lock when we left for Will’s doctor appointment later.

The downside to all of this is, we are also dog-sitting. And fish-sitting. And snake-sitting. (Thank God we don’t actually have to DO anything with them.) One of the dogs is diabetic and we have to give her insulin shots, which is an adventure all in itself. It’s a two-person operation—you  need one to hold the dog and distract her with a treat, while the other grabs her by the scruff of her neck and pokes the needle in before she can turn around and bite. We get to perform this trick twice a day. Dogs are not the easiest of patients, so this ought to be interesting to say the least.

But we can’t knock it—in a way it’s like a “stay-cation” for us, and we’re even getting paid for it. What could be better? Well, a Caribbean cruise…..:-)

This just tickles me so much I have to share.  Now I’m a George Ezra fan for life.

♥

“It was nerve-racking trying to act beside him,” George said later.  “I’m not an actor, and he’s phenomenal.”

But look how smooth they both are in the “Behind the Scenes” stuff.

♥

I nominate George as an honorary Lothlórian.

This time, After Midnight made me do it. Um okay, vaguely suggested it and I was all over it like mud on a rhino.

Welcome to the spread the love meme machine, baby.

Disclaimer: no condoms were burst, or soap operas produced in the making of this post.

Here are the rules:
Grmfmutter rules.

1. Write 10 four-word sentences about what love means to you.
Agápe, éros, philía, storgē.
(Bro, sex, friend, family.)
Amo, amare, amavi, amatus.
Happiness real when shared.
Making love when fucking.
It shouldn’t be selfish.
Willing to work it.
Let go if asked.
Hold tight if not.
Life aches for love.

2. Share your favorite quote on love.

“I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands/and wrote my will across the sky in stars.”
(T.E. Lawrence, Seven Pillars of Wisdom: A Triumph)

3. Nominate 10 other bloggers to join in.
Noooooooo. You should all do it. *Barry White voice* mhm spread the luuuuuurve … ooooohhhh girl … spread … on the bread, in your bed … oops whut who said that?!

If it ain’t your raison d’etre, wtf is?

After shopping at Riverchase Galleria, we went back to the hotel for rest and relaxation before the girls had to be at the theater they were performing in by four o’clock.  Around three, we started dressing Rachel and getting her ready.  My fifteen-year-old decided to take pity on me and after I got my youngest one’s hair up in the bun, she took over spraying it, putting in the bobby pins, and doing her makeup.  She also decided she would rather be backstage with the other dancers and keeping the youngest one in performance condition instead of me doing it.  So that was a big load off my shoulders–all I had to do was go and enjoy the competition.

That turned out to be harder than I thought.  Bob and I sat through five hours solid of “jazz”, hip-hop, modern dance, and a very little ballet.  My ears were ringing from the noise, and my nerves were frayed for our girls’ chances at winning anything.  They were up against some amazing competition. Finally our girls did their first number “Tutus and Tennis Shoes” and did well enough they were nominated for an audience appreciation award you could vote on with your smartphone.  Much later, Rachel’s group came out and performed “20th Century Girl” and the younger ones performed “Slumber Party”.  Finally our other troupe performed “Chocolatte”.

All of our groups ranked at Gold or High Gold Awards at the end of the competition, while “Chocolatte” won a second place award in their overall category and “Tutus and Tennis Shoes” won a fifth place award.  So we were proud of the girls and how well they did.  I held up pretty well through the whole thing; Bob’s nerves finally got frayed at the end of the award ceremony and since Rachel was seated with us in the audience, we left early to let them get to bed by 11 p.m.

All in all a positive experience for the girls and for us.  We came home Sunday and rested since we didn’t have dance practice that afternoon.  So it was  good trip oven with my bundle of nerves about the hair and all the hoopla associated with the competition.

In a bizarre twist of that wondermous (not) part of cyclothymic bipolar…I circled the drain for hours last night. Waiting, praying, for the moment the sun would go down, the spawn would go to sleep, and I could just fade into the nothingness of unconsciousness.
Then I got what I wanted except…I was no longer in the sleep/die mode. I was in the “why won’t my brain shut up” mode.
Two out of three ain’t bad, as Meatloaf says.
In true hypocrisy mode, after swearing not take any calls, I did answer one from my dad last night. Only because if I miss calls they tend to get freaked out, like “Oh, god, did she finally go batshit and eat her kid?” Then they have people calling and coming to my door and it’s not worth it. Sad part is, no one gave a damn if I was living or dead until I had a kid. They’d go weeks without seeing me or talking to me and it was probably then when I was at my rock bottom worst and needed the intervention.
Ass trash.
But I am proud of myself. I’d just finally gotten to sleep, after several false starts of drifting off, and the phone rang at almost ten p.m. It was R. And I hit “ignore” on the phone and promptly recoiled into sleepy land. Fuck him. He only calls when he wants something.
I am so sick of people who only have use for you when it suits them but if you need something, well, you’re out of luck. Assholes.

I woke up repeatedly during the night, nothing new there. And we are on day 12 of my kid not staying in her own bed at night so I don’t even get peace in my fucked up sleep.

I did not want to get up today. It’s still dark out when the alarm goes off, does not motivate me. But I did get up, shot some loud music into my brain, and we watched Mike and Molly as her reward for getting up, dressed, eating, and brushing her fangs.
Then I took her to school.
Now I have quiet time. I am gonna watch Castle. I am a wild woman that way.
I feel rather…drained. But not as absolutely devoid as I did yesterday.

There’s something I’ve noticed about bipolar that I don’t think has ever occurred to others.
It’s so much more than a simple “I’m in a bad mood.”
It’s this all encompassing mentality, like your brain has been draped in some dark scratchy fabric and the more you try to escape, the more enveloped you become. Kinda like trying to escape a spider web.
I mean, I cooked a big pan of chicken noodles yesterday. It sounded so good. And yet come time to eat…The mood had crashed and I barely had an appetite and the noodles may as well have been styrofoam packing peanuts.
It’s not simply a bad mood.
It’s a bad brain.Kind of like taking a sleeping pill then trying to shake off the resulting sleep. It’s an altered mental status. And it passes when it wants to, not when you bully yourself or tell yourself to suck it up or try to snort kittens and rainbows and anything that might cheer you up. Bipolar gives all that sunshine spewing self therapy the middle finger.
That simple crash in mental state ruined a meal I bothered to cook and was looking forward to a few hours before. I was going to try writing. Again, robbed of that.
It really was survival by the skin of my teeth.

I also don’t think anyone realizes the resulting anxiety that comes with bipolar two. You want so desperately to not be this way, but you can’t change the imbalance and that just causes rising panic. Why can’t I snap out of it? What is wrong with me? Lots of people have it much worse so what is my malfunction?
Much like a hallucinogen altering your perception, mental illness is the same way. And until it wears off and leaves your system, you’re its bitch.

I swear at this point if it would help, I’d go old school Beavis and Butthead and lick toads just to get out of this mind state.