throwback

“The thing about Pepsi.”  Unlike all my previous posts which were spawned from extremely cerebral literature, this is launched from that disco Pepsi Cola commercial.  Growing up in the 80’s, I remember Pepsi being “the choice of a new generation.”  Michael Jackson did their crazy, expensive commercials.  And, despite that marketing blitz, my sisters and I were never allowed drink it.  Due to our mother’s adherence to strict healthy food rules, we rarely had any kind of soda – save 7-up for upset bellies.  Thus, I didn’t like the taste of cola all through my childhood.  This all changed in high school.  Funny how much my love affair with soda changed my life.  This notion returns me to dealing with my personalty’s addictive nature.  Chewing my fingernails, having to be the best-most-obsessed-with-whatever-I’m-into-at-the-moment-thing, falling in love, spending, eating, etc…these are the things that I have wrestled with over the years.  Throw soda and smokes into the mix, and wow, that is an intense battle zone.

There were times when I was free of all my addictions.  Spending time with my 18 month old niece and my thirty-something sister helped to remind me of this.

Tonight was a perfect Midwestern summer’s night.  The sun was out at 7:30 p.m. with birds still fluttering and chirping in the trees.  My sister was nestled into the sofa, exhausted from her mothering duties.  My niece was sitting in total quiet on the floor playing with crayons and a coloring book.  I was holding the coloring book for her.  The way the air smelled, all fresh following an afternoon of showers, the glint of the light reflecting from water droplets clinging to leaves, and the sounds of nature carrying on in the suburbs despite the giggles of neighborhood children running in the nearby yards and a lawn mower buzzing off in the distance, all combined to recreate a moment from my past.

Many, many years ago we were sometimes sent to bed before the sun had set because we had swim lessons early the next morning.  My sister and I shared a room back then.  We would snuggle under our Sesame Street sheets wearing the light-weight summertime p.j.’s, and experience an absolutely identical evening to tonight’s….save the 18 month old.  On nights like that, she and I would talk about getting married, having our own families, and how we couldn’t wait to have our own homes – with our own rooms.  We would plan to have picnics with all the family bringing food like a pot-luck.  We promised that one-day we would stay up late and go on our own vacations together.  The future held all kinds of possibilities and that gave us plenty of fodder to stay awake imagining.  It was great!

Funny how much of that has come to pass.  Funny how as much as we were in such a rush to get to this, now time moves so increasingly fast, we can’t do anything to slow it down.  So in such a simple moment as tonight, my senses threw me back to previous simple moments.  Those were times to remember for the freedom, the innocence, and the optimism.  Those throwbacks to happy, simple, dreamy summer nights!

I came home at 10:30 and updated my Twitter account, checked two email accounts, returned about five text messages on my cell phone, paid three bills online, tuned into “your weather on the 8s” on TWC, and set my iPod alarm clock for tomorrow morning.  Crap, technology has changed my summertime scenery.  I think I will challenge myself to once-again “unplug.”  This is a really hard challenge, but it must be tackled.  I must attempt a “throwback” to summer night’s free of cable tv, computers, cell phones, and air conditioning.  I need to re-experience sweating in my sheets, reading a fun book by flashlight, and falling asleep to my happy, wandering, positive thoughts.  Who needs more than that?

As I usually add some random thought on the end I will go on the record to claim that actor James Purefoy (spelling?) makes me happy.  Maybe it is his accent, or the crinkles on the corners of his eyes when he smiles, or his scruffiness, but there is something about him that I like.  I am excited he will be on NBC’s new show, but I doubt that he will impress me as much as he did with his role in HBO’s “Rome.”  He was awesome…as was Kevin McKidd (who is now on ABC).  I think I just really liked Rome.  Okay, enough on that.  Time to throw myself into some sleep.

particles and waves – a paradox?

“But the only realities are what we observe; everything else is conjecture, hypothetical models which we construct in our minds, and with our equations, to enable us to develop a picture of what is going on….A particle is something that is well defined.  It exists at a point in space, it occupies a small volume and has some kind of tangible reality, in terms of our everyday experience of the world.  But a wave is almost the opposite.  A pure wave stretches on forever, so there is no sense in which it can be said to exist in a point.  It may have a very well defined direction – it carries momentum.  But there is no way, even in imagination, that you can put your finger on it and hold it still while you look at it.” – from John Gribbin’s The Search for Superstrings, Symmetry, and The Theory of Everything

I listened to WGN’s Milt Rosenberg last night.  He and his guest were discussing the possibilities for a “Multiverse” versus a single universe.  Because the idea that our universe is potentially expanding without end, versus collapsing back in – that is, “the big crunch,” the question is “Why is there a universe at all?”  I liked this part of the discussion?  The Big Bang suggests that our universe came from nothing.  There was nothing, then, bam, there was something.  Since we have not ever seen anything outside of our universe then the assumption is that our universe is all that there is, right?  Well, Milt and his guest were suggesting that a universe could be born from other universes.  If this is so, then the idea of quantum physics gets very, very interesting.  Something from something seems a little more believable than something from nothing.  Of course all of this flies in the face of my hard core Catholic upbringing.

The above quote works to tie in these thoughts on the science side of things, but all kind of speak to life as well.  When I read it, I immediately got the metaphor.  Leave science out and imagine this as an explanation of “the soul” and one’s “life experience.”  If your soul is indeed eternal, that is like “the wave” since you can’t see it or understand the totality of it at any one point.  The person you are with your life is tangible and thus parallels the particle.  Your physical body, the manifestations of your choices and actions, the occupation of your body in time and space here and now is the reality that you can observe.  Someone wise once explained that she saw life and eternity resolved as a conveyor belt.  The belt stretches on forever and is always moving.  Where you get on and get off is the sum of your life.  It is simple, so I like it.  So I asked, “where are you when you aren’t on the belt?”  She ansered, “in heaven, or some sort of spiritual pool of collective consciousness – whatever is that intangible energy of the soul…it goes somewhere.”  Ok, I’ll go with that.

So, then my atheist friend claims that the concept of “the eternal soul” is an evolutionary adaptive construct which allowed humans to exist in complex social systems whereby our sense of “being something ’special’ and not-animal” allowed us to individualize for survival.  I’m paraphrasing his rant so well.  “When I die, it is done…that is all.  It is done and nothing matters.”  He claims that there is nothing else past the point of physical existence.  I ask, why are sociologists able to point to evidence for a “collective consciousness” then?  Why will a little kids from England, New York City, Java, Siberia, and Tibet all draw a similar picture of the sun?  Why are religions so similar?  How do you explain people believing in angels, ESP, “the light at the end of the tunnel,” and all kinds of supernatural things.  How many times have I escaped death all thanks to what – quick reflexes???  My atheist friend would claim that, yes, it was quick reflexes, dumb luck, just chance.  Man, that is depressing.

Today I was making the easy drive to my sister’s house; three times I almost hit a critter.  First there was a large raccoon that darted out in front of me.  Then, there was a deer eating grass very close to the side of the road.  Finally, all of the traffic on a major highway was stopped while a bunch of little geese waddled across the road.  Any one of these simple machine verses critter encounters could have resulted in a mess.  Today, it didn’t – thank goodness.  What is amazing is when you really stand back and consider the miracle that being alive really is…the miracle of existence at all…it is mind blowing.  Had the universe been a teeny tiny bit more or less than it was at the moment of creation, then there might not have been this reality…this always amazes me.  How can anyone think that our reality is purely luck?  Even without subscribing to any one particular religion’s explanation, I have to admit that the study of science has only strengthened my spirituality.  Science only just begins to point to the awesome beauty of the unknown.

So where does this leave me?  Just swimming in thought – that is all.  Tangible stuff seems so dry at times.  Sometimes it is just great to grab a book like Gribbin’s and send your mind spinning.  I really just felt like throwing this together after listening to that radio show last night.  I think it is good to stretch one’s mind to consider the extremely tiny stuff of subatomic physics to the infinity of the vast cosmos.  Now I can slip back into watching some stupid stuff on late night TV.

The Soul of the World

From The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho:

“‘That’s the principle that governs all things,’ he said.  ‘In alchemy, it’s called the Soul of the World.  When you want something with all of your heart, that’s when you are closest to the Soul of the World.  It’s always a positive force.’  He also said that this was not just a human gift, that everything on the face of the earth has a soul, whether mineral, vegetable, or animal — or even a simple thought.  ‘Everything on earth is being continuously transformed, because the earth is alive…and it has a soul.  We are part of that soul, so we rarely recognize that it is working for us.’”

This book has been such a wonderful read for so many of my students, especially the boys.  I highly, highly recommend it for any 13-15 year old.  They “get it” and the message they are getting fantastic.  The quote reminds me of a discussion I had with a dear friend regarding the power of intention.  The power of intention maintains that when powerful thoughts and emotions are present in our consciousness, we create a certain self-fulfilling prophecy.  Thus, in theory, a person who dwells in constant fear of getting cancer may in fact push that into reality…getting seriously sick.  On the flip side, a person who constantly strives for success will become a successful person.  This seems really obvious.  Except, how does one explain when perfectly healthy and successful people get cancer and perfectly successful people wind up crashing an entire corporation amid scandal and fraud?  So, if this is true, then I must be screwed.  Funny, I used to just be worried about the Freudian notion of becoming my mom.  Now I have to also fear becoming my fff-ed up thoughts too.

I realize that I spend so much of my life sleepwalking.  Literally, I’m exhausted.  It is the weight, the medication, the thyroid, and television.  “Your parents were right, TV is slowly rotting your brain.  See, I just told you that and you are still watching….” – Dennis Leary for the Hulu commercial.  Seriously, I am just existing and not really living.  I hurt more and more each day.  I take less medication as I can’t stand it.  I could sleep right on through all of next week and be perfectly content switching bodies with my cat.  The idea of stretching out on my floor in a nice patch of mid-day sunshine is more appealing than sex.  God, sex….that is a whole other life ago.  It is really sad how I have murdered that part of me.  If I am indeed made up of a bunch of mini-personalities, than the really careless and lazy ones have been driving the bus.  Other “Me’s,” like “sexy girl” and “tough stuff” are on some permanent sabbatical.  What happened to that coy and lusty seductress?  Where has the fighter and gym rat run off too?  Heck, even an easy-going stroll-taker/bike rider would be a welcome relief to the piece of crap couch potato.  Where are you are hiding…I sure miss you’s??

Back to that Coelho idea about the Soul of the World.  If that notion is right, then if my intentions are clear and positive, I can achieve my goals….right?  Cool, so let me be clear.  I intend to get healthy, even in the face of utter exhaustion, pain, and a serious lack of internal motivation.  I want to finish writing something this summer.  I want to find a way to like tennis again.  I want to make my home feel more homey.  I want to get a handle on my finances.

That seems clear enough.  So how about this one?  I want to get back being a spiritually alive person.  Not a zealot, but inspired, connected, and grounded.  That might be the clue to all the above wants.  I can remember when I felt like that at one point.  I used to go for long bike rides in open fields, and then walks through the arboretum, and sit in a sandalwood-scented Buddhist temple meditating.  It was so wonderful.

“House” is an excellent TV show.  Hugh Laurie’s character is so extreme.  I think that anyone with an addictive personality would understand him.  He isolates, dominates, throws up walls, uses humor (scarcasm) to deflect experiencing other emotions, obsesses over work, and – of course – self-medicates.  I get it.  Although I do have Codine meds for pain, I opt for food.  The smell, the act of eating, feeling full…that is my medicine.  I’ve overcome it at times.  I’ve ruled out mindless bingeing.  But it has been a while since I’ve felt that way.  Lately, I just have nothing in the tank.  I need to ask myself, “is this a medical, mental, or spiritual issue?”  Probably a combination of all three.

There are times where I can leave behind all the nuerorses that disconnect me from the soul of the world.  There are times when I can shut my eyes, take a deep breath, float free of being trapped in a physical existence, and be so etherial that I touch that place.  In those moments I find that I’m smiling at something small, I’m filled with profound creativity, and that I want for nothing.  If only I could find that more frequently.

Today is Memorial Day.  Summer starts on Memorial Day with pools opening, parks full of picnics, and park district programs launching.  I feel a little differently about today.  I reflect on my Dad’s dad: Popo.  He was in the Army.  I miss him so much some times.  He was a hugh, handsome, strong, and tough German.  He never had the luxury of having a higher education, he worked as a pipe-fitter, he had only one son (who he loved so much), he had three grand daughters…he loved us too.  He was not a rich man, not even close.  He worked hard, lived frugally, and valued things like a nice crop of beans grown in his own summer garden.  I need to strive for that.  I need to remember that Popo’s spirit is alive in my Dad…and me.  If I can remember that, then I’ll stay on healthy path.  It is in the forgetting of him and in my believing that I’m soooo special and unique (and alone) that I wallow in my own despair.  I’m so lucky and blessed.  I am soooo lucky.  Thank you Popo.

For a non-religious man, it is ironic that Popo inspires me spiritually.  There is a stiff breeze stirring the trees outside.  I have to get off my butt and get outside to breathe it.

Ghosts in my photograph

From Sylvia Plath: “Years”

They enter as animals from the outer

Space of holly where spikes

Are not the thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,

But greenness, darkness so pure

They freeze and are.

O God, I am not like you

In your vacuous black,

Stars struck all over, bright stupid confetti.

Eternity bores me,

I never wanted it.

What I love is

The piston in motion –

My soul dies before it.

And the hooves of the horses,

Their merciless churn.

And you, great Stasis –

What is so great in that!

Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door?

Is it a Christus,

The awful

God-bit in him

Dying to fly and be done with it?

The blood berries are themselves, they are very still.

The hooves will not have it,

In blue distance the pistons hiss.

16 November 1962

_______________

I am a huge Sylvia Plath fan.  This poem strikes me in an odd way.  First of all, I am so completely out of it today.  I found a couple of older pictures of me and just stared at them until I didn’t recognize myself anymore.  I remember nights when I was in high school and college that I would do that too – find a picture and not see “me” in it – then I’d become consumed by a wash of all kinds of feelings, none of which I could latch onto, and just be left numb.  So, I was looking at a picture of me from 4 or 5 years ago.  I was cute and smiley and dressed up.  Yet, knowing that even then, I was medicated, faking a grin, and forced into going out by friends who had not yet given up on me.  I don’t recognize much in that photo…probably because the picture just captured me navigating another role in the up and down swing of things.

When I’m up – I’m way up.  I see photos from the obsessive, hypomanic, driven, energized me and can’t relate because those times are so out of control – behind-the-scenes.  Then most of the really down times aren’t even on photos because I’ve isolated myself right out of photo-type moments and don’t want to remember that stuff anyway.  Thus, as I look at photos, I come to appreciate that these historical pics of my past as all phony…how very Salinger of me.  But really, I can’t see many of those snapshots for anything real.  They are the highlight only samples of a person that I am so rarely walking on this earth as.  My standing on a ledge with Macchu Pichu sprawling below me is a snippet, and not the face I wear each day.  Posing on a rock that juts into the Pacific Ocean from Point Lobos is highly romanticized from the doldrums of my required and monotonus hum-drum, suburban existence.  So those faces become strangers in my mind’s eye.  I feel as if I am experiencing my own ghosts.

I am haunted.  I feel the ghostly presence of all the poorly attended choices I’ve made.  Lazy, frightened, angst-based reactions that did not testify to a spirit I pretend to posses.  I claim I am a fighter, that I am brave, and that I am strong.  Reality is, I am not…and if I’ve brushed those qualities, it was but for a moment and never sustained to the point of claiming any ownership.  I am in a shell, encased by the consequences of negativity.  There are no photos to capture that image.  Who would want to anyway?

So that guy called.  It was not the same…less snap and zing.  No outward flirting and certainly no professing any sort of “feelings” on anything.  Whatever.  I was still a stupid teenager and acting like an idiot.  I don’t know what to think about anything because the down time of vacation has rotted my managerial parts, and now I’m just operating with my reptile brain and limbic system: meager existence.  So the Plath poem…..”eternity bores me, I never wanted it.”  This is in fact what I mean…I get a dose of free time and I am bored, bored, bored!!!

My birthday is coming up.  I can’t reconcile myself to the idea of that number.  I still have so many unresolved youthful me’s in strife that there is no way I even feel the least bit like that number I am supposed to identify with.  Hell no, I won’t go!  I’m still so young in so many ways.  Just in how I act with guys – god, I’m an idiot!  I think that a 7th grader would out-class me in flirting.  I’m lousy with responsibilities like fish and houseplants.  They never make it with me as a caretaker…I’m more of an undertaker in those regards.  So whoopdee-friggin-dooo…happy birthday!

I finally tackled the disgusting chore of cleaning the gunk from my stovetop.  I like clean, but being a clean-freak is exhausting.  So that gunk had become quite the visual metaphor of my life, greeting me each day…caked-on, gross, dirty crap that needed attention.  I had to drop my house-cleaning service a little more than a year ago.  They were half-assed cleaners at best.  This meant that I was no the cleaning lady of my abode.  I tend to treat my house like I treat my health – I let it go because I am too busy for regular upkeep…then, when things get really bad, I’ll have to stop everything and devote 100% of my energy to fixing something overwhelming.  Overwhelming is how I roll, baby!

So here I am picking away at this grime using my finger nails, softscrub with bleach, and 401 spray.  It took me an hour and I am still not completely there yet.  I mention this as it is so symbolic.  Also, because if I was actually acting hypomanic, I’d still be cleaning now and not typing about cleaning.  I think that things have settled down a little bit – but is that a good thing?  Sometimes, I don’t think so.  I haven’t had any Kodak moments of late.

I’m wrapping this up even though I’d like to rant on and on about things.  Since I lack the energy, this will have to suffice.  More later of something that flew through my mind a moment ago but is gone.  Just like when you wake up and can partially remember a great dream…twenty minutes later it is gone forever, unless it happens to be a re-occuring dream…but how many people actually have re-occuring dreams of the “great” type?

I’m “dying to fly and be done with it.”

Misery loves company

This list is from http://www.realmentalhealth.com/bipolar/bipolar_celebs.asp?gclid=CLGdt_fn2JkCFQgNDQodozujXA

Here is a list of famous people or celebs with bipolar disorder.

• Buzz Aldrin (astronaut)
• Adam Ant (musician)
• Ludwig van Beethoven (composer)
• Napoleon Bonaparte (political leader)
• Tim Burton (artist, director)
• Lord Byron (poet)
• Dick Cavett (television journalist)
• Winston Churchill (politician)
• Charles Dickens (author)
• DMX, Dark Man X (Earl Simmons) (musician, actor)
• Robert Downey Jr. (actor)
• Richardy Dreyfuss (actor)
• Patty Duke (actress)
• Ralph Waldo Emerson (author)
• Emily Epler (poet, actress)
• Carrie Fisher (Actress, writer)
• Larry Flynt (publisher, activist)
• Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald (Writer)
• Connie Francis (singer)
• Stephen Fry (actor, comedian writer)
• Peter Gabriel (musician)
• Alan Garner (novelist)
• Matthew Good (musician)
• Philip Graham (publisher, businessman)
• Macy Gray (musician, actor)
• Graham Greene (English Novelist)
• Ivor Gurney (English composer, poet)
• Alexander Hamilton (politican)
• Linda Hamilton (actress)
• Mariette Hartley (actress)
• Jimi Hendrix (musician)
• Ernest Hemingway (writer)
• Hermann Hesse (writer)
• Abbie Hoffman (political activist)
• Kay Redfield Jamison (clinical psychologist)
• Daniel Johnston (musician)
• Chris Kanyon (wrestler)
• John Keats (poet)
• Rep Patrick J. Kennedy (politician)
• Otto Klemperer (conductor)
• Margot Kidder (actress)
• Patrick Kroupa (writer, hacker)
• Haydn Ledger (Heath Ledger’s Uncle)
• Vivien Leigh (actress)
• Jennifer Lewis (actress)
• Abraham Lincoln (president)
• Tina Malone (actress)
• James Marzilli (senator)
• Kristy McNicol (actress)
• Kate Millett (author)
• Spike Milligan (comedian, writer)
• Ben Moody (musician)
• John A. Mulheren (businessman, philanthropist)
• Edvard Munch (artist)
• Isaac Newston (scientist, mathematician)
• Florence Nightingale (nurse)
• Snéad O’Connor (musician)
• Susan M. Olmetti (artist)
• Ozzy Osbourne (singer)
• Cheri Oteri (actress)
• Jane Pauley (TV Journalist)
• Jimmy Piersail (baseball player)
• Jaco Pastorius (musician)
• Edgar Allan Poe (poet, writer)
• Charlie Pride (musician)
• Emil Post (mathematician)
• Barret Robbins (NFL football player)
• Clark Rockefeller (socialite, alleged criminal)
• Axl Rose (singer)
• Theodore Roosevelt (President)
• Cynthia M. Sabotka (author)
• Robert Schumann (composer)
• Frank Sinatra (actor)*
• Nina Simone (singer)
• Britney Spears (musician)
• Michael Spensieri (lawyer, politician)
• Robert Louis Stevenson (author)
• Ben Stiller (actor)
• Sidney Sheldon (producer, writer)
• Percy Bysshe Shelley (poet)
• Darryl Strawberry (baseball player)
• Sting (Gordon Sumner) (actor, musician)
• David Strickland (actor)
• Sara Teasdale (poet)
• Devin Towsend (musician)
• Nick Traina (singer)
• Timothy Treadwell (environmentalist)
• Margaret Trudeau (former spouse of politician)
• Ted Turner (businessman)
• Mark Twain (author)
• Jean-Claude Vn Damme (actor)
• Vincent Van Gogh (artist)
• Kurt Vonnegut (author)
• Pete Wentz (muscian)
• Scott Weiland (musician)
• Oscar Wilde (poet)
• Robin Williams (actor)
• Brian Wilson (musician)
• Virginia Woolf (poet, novelist

References Bipolar Disorder Today
Wikipedia
Other Internet sites
IMDB.com

So I have not posted in a long time.  Truth is, I was just that busy.  Although my therapist thinks that being in a constant state of “too busy” helps to keep me distracted from the anxiety I feel when things are actually quiet in my world.  Quiet time is tough because it gives my mind room to spin up.  I posted this list because it reminds me that I am not alone.  Well, I am actually quite alone…but this list is interesting.  I wonder why Heath Ledger’s uncle made the list, what is that all about?  Are they suggesting something there?  Okay, quick side note, what is the deal with the stupid monotone Comcast commercials that are always on TV?  One just popped up and I hate them.  Having once worked in commercial post-production I can’t even begin to imagine what torture that must have been to edit that.  Another thing, as SNL is on right now, how did Seth Rogan get so skinny?  I Googled it and was shocked that he claims that he isn’t trying to do a diet.  I wish it was even half that easy for me.  I really need to turn off the TV and read something intelligent.  SNL is painful tonight.  I used to love the show – especially in the 90’s.  Tonight’s has been lackluster at best.

So let me recapture the health issue.  I suffered vertigo really badly at the beginning of 2009.  I was out of work and sicker than I’ve been in a long, long time.  I threw up for two days and was taking anti-vertigo and anti-nausea meds for two weeks.  After that I had to play catch up at work and sweat the cuts that were made.  I survived!

This is a couple of days later now.  I’m enjoying some down time, but it is only limited.  I’ve found that I’m not good at having down time as I’ll either begin to do some project compulsively and/or sleep like it is my job.  This week, so far, I’ve done both.  Monday I was so out of it that when I woke up from a nap I couldn’t even move.  It was like I was paralyzed.  I need to get back on my thyroid medicine as I’m sure that is part of it.  The money has been tight and I’m not able to afford that prescription.  Also, I’ve been spring cleaning like crazy.  I’ve only finished the upstairs, but that took me awhile.  Now I’m just draggin from three hour long practices and extra time grading – god, I’ll never catch up with the grading.  I’m also slightly annoyed with a guy….oh, yes, there is that too.

I think that I can make a fair assesment that he was genuinely intrigued after catching up on the phone.  I laughed and was interested.  So I sent an email, per his request.  He doesn’t address anything that I wrote about, he doesn’t call, and he sends some terse email that is completely impersonal. Okay?  This is a guy that I would have wanted to try and have some sort of a relationship with…but, now??  Is it too selfish of me to think that?  Now I don’t even know how to tame the disappointment I have since he seems to have basically rejected me pre-emptively.  Whatever…it just sucks because he is/was cool – until something spooked him.  Is it this???  Is my mental stuff coming across yet again?

I read an article that Sylvia Plath’s son committed suicide.  Wow, that is sad.  http://bipolar.about.com/b/2009/03/23/son-of-sylvia-plath-commits-suicide.htm (that is the link to the article).  Here is the thing: my dad’s friend has a daughter who was REALLY bi-polar and not the II version…the real deal.  She is only a year younger than me and happily married with two kids, a house, and the life that I whine about not having.  Somewhere along the way her husband said, “ok, I know she has mental issues, but I love her and that is what matters,” or something along those lines.  I don’t think that there is any guy who will take me on those terms.  It terrifies me to think I’ll grow old alone – and as another birthday is looming a little over a week away…that fear feels ever more realized.  So shut up already….

Really, I’m so tired of living with fear, anger, and regret.  That is soooo unhealthy.  I’ve wimped out on my life a million times over and over again.  I can write a good deal and I can talk my way through one idea or motivational moment…I just can’t sustain it when the going gets really tough.  The exhaustion and pain just takes me down.  Which is why I kind of like those hypomanic moments.  I almost live for those times where the energy and ideas come so intensely and easily.  Now is not one of those times.  I’m just so physically and mentally spent.

I feel bad that this entry doesn’t capture the essence of the previous ones.  It is just where I’m at.

oh where, oh where can my neti pot be?

Sickness comes on horseback but departs on foot. ~Dutch Proverb, sometimes attributed to William C. Hazlitt

I bought a neti pot about a year ago and used it a couple of times early on. Now, in the throws of some crazy sinus thing, I can’t find the damn thing! I got sick a couple of days ago and blame it 100% on these immuno-suppressant drugs I have to take. I’m hurting. Seriously, a crow bar and pick axe taken to my forehead would do the trick. One often forgets the simple pleasure of breathing.

This brings me back to mindfulness. Which I shall continue in a little bit, I need to open a new box of tissue.

Ok, now I’m worse.  It is Thanksgiving day and I’m tethered to my vaporizer and pounding water “to thin the mucus” – thank you Web MD.  I am considering taking a bar-B-Q skewer and ramming it up my nostrils.  I haven’t been sick (like this) in a while and I’m out of practice for being a patient patient.

Anyway, nothing profound for today.  I’d be thankful to breathe without strain and a cough…oh yeah, and find that damn neti pot!

seasonality

“The wise man should surrender his words to his mind;
and this he should surrender to the Knowing Self;
and the Knowing Self he should surrender to the Great Self;
and that he should surrender to the Peaceful Self.”

- Upanishads

I have not written for a long, long time. I felt my words were done. So I rested. I took on other challenges and now there are new words. Maybe I am more in the mode of my peaceful self. There was so much anxiety, and now, on the other side of it, there is some peace. There is work to be done – much work. But there is also a sense of focus and new-found confidence in this self.

The election is behind us and huge political tests lie before us. The fear that gripped us gave away to the power of hope within us. For a moment, and in that moment, we were overwhelmed by greatness. Here, in Chicago, the energy was palpable. I cried. And now I dig my heels in and march into a future that has a renewed strength and ferocity to it. Let’s go!

The seasons have changed. The rank humidity of summer lifted and the crisp, refreshing dream of Autumn settled like a butterfly on a leaf, too beautiful and timid to last. Now the bitter bite of Arctic winds whip against my face, forcing tears to pool in my eyes, the generous application of moisturizer to my crumbly elbow skin, and the constant dream of having a remote starter for my car to possess me. Ah, winter.

In all of my many opportunities to live somewhere else, I remain here in the plains. Am I a sado-masochist? I think all Midwesterns must be to endure such blistering summers and blustery winters. Yet, I look forward to our first real snowfall. I like shopping for a nice winter coat. Hot chocolate only tastes its very best when your hands, face, and throat have almost succumbed to frostbite. And, what gives with high school boys wearing shorts to school still??? When did that become something that was okay with a daily high temperature of only 17 degrees? They are nuts!!! I can remember having a TA, an Anthropology geek, who only wore Birkenstocks – no matter what season. He would pull on a pair of thick, wool socks, with his ’stocks, and somehow manage the crazy weather of Champaign-Urbana? That was nuts! And me? I am just seriously opposed to hats. My ears might fall off before I put a hat on!

How did I get so far from such a powerful quote to this? Somewhere in Peru an ancient bronze bell tolls, the blue of the sky meets the teal of the sea, and a whispering Incan prayer sends an 82 degree warm breeze across the land.

cowardice

“To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil…that dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.” – Hamlet

I’ve been a coward. There have been moments in my life when I charged full-throttle into adventure, adversity, and action. Yet for every one of those times there are probably twenty times when fear drove me to cowardice. Irrational, paralytic, and projected fear.

I am dreamer on a grand scale. My dreams are so amazing and vivid. Often I’m overcome from them and do believe it to be my unconscious mind attempting to work out the mess that my conscious mind created that day. The science of dreaming is wonderful stuff. I’d love to learn more and teach myself to lucid dream all the time. Then, maybe, I’d find myself more satisfied.

I’ve only ever lucid dreamed a couple of times. The rest, dreams or nightmares, takes me on journeys into my imagination and past experiences so much that I can wake up and notice the marks on the palm of my hand left behind from my fingernails digging into my fists. One of my most enjoyable dreams was so simple and free. I felt like I was really jogging, very fast and free, all over the streets of San Francisco. It was a perfectly warm and sunny day. The wind smelled sweet and if I wanted to run faster I could without any trouble. I could hear the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the pavement. The city was clean and safe and wonderful. It was a fantastic dream.

I’ve also dreamed about flying. Once I was a kite flying high about the trees of my childhood home. Birds brushed against me as I bounced in the breeze. I’ve had the dreams of high school where I didn’t know what class I needed to get to, couldn’t find my way anywhere, and always forgot my locker combination. I’ve dreamed of tornadoes hitting my house, sweeping me away in my car, or plucking me from a rooftop lookout. I’ve had nightmares about getting killed in falls in particular. I’ve dreamed some pretty ridiculous scenarios, that after consideration, were highly insightful.

So why am I such a chicken in real life? Why do I shirk when things get a little bit tough? My dad once told me that my life lacks discipline. Does exerting discipline strengthen one’s resolve when faced with a struggle? Is discipline something that your born with – like the qualities of one’s temperament? I would like to work on my ability to exercise some discipline with my life. Then, with some well-earned strength, my dreams wouldn’t be the only place for me to feel fast and free for I am Hamlet.

Nightly Nietzsche

“True, we love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love. But there is always some reason in madness….I would believe only in a god who can dance. And when I saw my devil I found him serious, thorough, profound, and solemn: it was the spirit of gravity– through him all things fail. Not by wrath does one kill but by laughter. Come, let us kill the spirit of gravity!” – Friedrich Nietzsche Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Give me more madness! Love is madness as, for me, love is feeling out of control and making giddy choices that will only haunt me when I settle back down from the contact high. I understand Nietzsche here. How can you not? Laughter and Love are the good things in life. We crave happiness so very much don’t we? That is the first truth of Buddhism: all beings desire happiness. Love and Laughter. I crave that so much it drives me to acts of pure madness. Like what? You tell me. What is the craziest thing you have done for love? I’d lay my life down, I’d spend myself into a mountain of debt, I’d be humiliated, I’d give up on myself…I’ve given up on myself – at the hands of love’s madness.

I let love overwhelm and frighten me. Once, love lost its true nature and my addiction strangled the life out of it.

My love was swallowed in madness…fear, loss, regret, anger, despair. I saw my devil and never looked back. I gave up on myself and sank away into isolation, cutting away the very lifelines I needed to remind me of my own worth. I stopped laughing and I never even tapped my own toe to dance. I became my devil.

This makes for bad company. And, tucked away into my own little loneliness zone, I began to slowly die. Wracked with both physical and emotional pain, I gave up on life – I gave up on me.

This was nearly a year ago, and did not develop out of nowhere. It was so many things all at once seizing me in my struggles to survive. It was truly the most terrified I’ve ever been in my life. I could taste death it was that close and ever-present.

So, what now? I’m better. Not better off. I’m sick – very sick – and really that is what it is…so what? Everyone has their struggles. I can manage this even though I hate it. I have found hope enough to start believing in myself again – that is key.

I can’t say where, how, or when that happened – it was so gradual. All I know is that I want something more. “This is your life, are you who you want to be? This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be.” -Switchfoot. Answer: no! But I’m starting to remember some of my dreams and that means that I can feel those hopes and beliefs again. What a breath of fresh air that is.

My physical strife has been gravity. Luckily, I’m laughing now. And laughter truly is the best medicine.

burn burn burn

“and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn burn burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes, “Awww.” -Jack Kerouac On the Road (1957)

That is without a doubt one of my favorite Kerouac quotes. He pins my feelings exactly. Yet, so often we settle for so much less. I’m a mad to live kind of person. Today was a good example of that. I left my cozy burbs in order to venture into the city on a hot, muggy July day. I enjoyed the company of four good ‘ol guys. The kind of guys that are good for inside jokes, a little rough housing, and easy going enough to tolerate my idiosyncrasies. It was a Kerouac kind of day…mingling with the city, her crowds, her dirty lower level streets, and all the cars. We were free from a schedule and any expectations to be anywhere. Take away the cell phones and plasma t.v.s – we could have stepped back in time and been beatniks.

So that juicy quote, can’t leave it as I love it. The most hypnotic and powerful part must be the “burn burn burn” line. You know these people, right? Those driven ones that can’t sit still, look at everything deeply and open their mouths to say something so deep it takes your breath away or so funny that you end up ROTFLOL – (guilty pleasure using that, sorry).

I feel like we should all find a “mad one” and thank them for all the energy they bring to our lives. How wonderful is that bi-polar friend? What about that friend that is all about just one thing, tapping into their passion and oozing it in their sweat? Our memories of otherwise bland moments are transformed into fantastic, enduring stories for us to enjoy over and over again for the rest of our lives because they stepped into the picture lighting it up with their personality fireworks. On the Road is a wonderful story in and of Sal’s adventures on their own. But add Dean Morriaty to the mix and holy crap does the story produce that “Awww” factor. Dean was that “mad one” in every definition and we should all be so lucky to have a Dean.

I have mine.

My Dean is my best friend. A crazy, smaller framed nut-job who relishes his Italian heritage and blames it for all his best and worst personality traits. He blurts out “theories” on everything from cultural truths to psychological proofs. The antics range from innocent pranks to potentially dangerous stunts. He recognizes “the line” and tap dances right over it again and again. He challenges me on anything he judges to be a boring or a too complacent aspect of my life. He is loyal to a fault. His loyalty is as intense as his insanity, rage, and competitive nature. He is truly mad to live.

He was not with me on my Kerouacian adventure today. He was home with his new baby. Thus, I sought out the opportunity to baptize the newbies into the realm of “cool.” It was fun and educational. How often do you really cut loose and lay out one truth after another having fun playing pool while also sharing an honest moment of confessional conversation which you would have never thought would sneak out of your cerebellum’s P.C. vault? Those are the connections we need. We need to embrace our madnesses and seek out, welcome, and create a place for our friends’ madnesses to escape to as well. What is good food without the added spices?

This is short as I am wiped out. Returning from the city, I am certainly aware of all my comforts at home. The quiet. The order. The space. Our life is all about achieving a balance, so no wonder I am feeling grateful and more balanced after a long day of burn burn burning!