Ouch

In typical Only Me fashion - I have cracked a rib. So much for getting back onto the healthy horse - I can't breathe much less work out right now.

I think this is what pain feels like. Mommy! Someone maternal!

It Sounded Better in My Head

I was sitting on the beach the other day, enjoying a good book in the warm sunshine. All was well until the seagulls discovered that the gentleman behind me had left a plastic bag filled with snacks peaking out of his duffle bag. Cacophony ensued, the gulls fighting one another - and the Glad Plasticware corporation - to get at the tasty cashews and pecans. I decided to intervene.

Of course, the guilty Catholic conscience in me realized that I couldn't just go up and fiddle with another person's stuff. So, I looked over to a group of ladies sitting nearby and called out.

"You're my witnesses. I'm just tucking his nuts back into his sack."

Like I said, sounded better in my head.

Not ALL Fluffy Bunnies

And, just in case you go thinkin' I've gotten all fluffy bunny on you...

Another CBL story.

I do NOT know how this woman has made it to 4X years old - a VP no less - without me telling her how and when to breathe in and out.

I had mentioned, in passing, that there is a yoga studio just down the street from our office that has some classes I think she would like. The studio is literally across the street and down a block and half. You can Google it.

She called me today at 5:51. I was well on my way to catch the 6:10 train to Glostah. I did not answer. (Part of my newfound sanity is knowing when to call it a day.)

Transcript of Voicemail:

"Hi. CBL here. I've been trying to find Yoga Studio. I must have gone the wrong way. I've been walking for about 20 minutes. I'm up toward ... where am I? ... I don't know, but I don't see it. Maybe I'll just walk another block and then turn around. If you get this message, give me a call and tell me where I should be going. Okay. Um. Thanks. Bye."

Seriously?

All Hail Pharmacology!

You know the phrase "Lip Service?" Well, I have officially been giving lip to biological-based mental/emotional illness. I have enough family members and friends who have suffered at one point or another or forever from this and I have always agreed that sometimes medicine is a good thing, a useful thing. That sometimes you can't just "get over it" or that these things can and ofter are, biologically based. I said it, but the girl raised by a marine, who was brought up to believe you had to push yourself as far as you could go and then go ten steps further, didn't really believe it. Or, as I often say to the amazing Therapist, "I get it here (points to head) but not here (points to chest).

Now, I get it. I. Get. It.

No, this blog is not about to become all about my battle with depression or bi-polor or whatever the hell I've been diagnosed with. We can all read Dooce thankyouverymuch. But I do have to say, Universe bless the meds.

I went onto my new SSRI on Friday. And although it is supposed to take two to four weeks, I felt the switch flip on Friday night.

"It's a placebo effect, babe," says GoodBuddy.

I don't care if it's the poop in Glosta's pipes. I feel great.

I even had a two hour meeting with CBL and only gritted my teeth once.

That, my dear readers, is what I consider a victory.

Note to readers: for those wondering what an SSRI is - a selective seratonin reuptake inhibitor. Think of it this way. Seratonin is HappySerum for your body. Imagine it like happygas for your car. When you're under stress - constantly - all the gas in your car is getting diverted into a tank that keeps getting heavier and heavier. So now, your car has to keep working harder to go just as far and with less happygas. If this cycle keeps up, eventually, your car just ... stalls. SSRI's re-route the happygas back to your engine, so VroomVroom. So, no, it's not a perfect analogy, but you get the idea....

Yet again, only me

It's been a rough few weeks. I should have been posting but I just haven't had the energy or motivation...

I am going to be very honest with you, my readers. Here's the deal. I am depressed.

I don't mean that I have the blues or that I've been in the dumps or that things haven't been going according to plan. I mean depressed. Clinical. Biological.

I have enough family medical history to know the difference between having a bad couple of days and having your brain chemistry be off. And as much as I hate to admit it or give in to it, I think my brain chemistry is off.

I went 10 days with no booze, nine yoga classes, lots of meditation, beaucoup de journalling and a fair amount of energy work. And I still wound up laying in bed wondering if my generous life insurance policy was still effectiive in cases of suicide. Not that I want to kill myself. I'm just checking, is all...

Today, the amazing wonderful therapist confirmed that maybe looking into meds wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Conveniently, I have a doctor's appt tomorrow.

The ironic thing about all of this is - I had an AMAZING day with Good Buddy today. We went to the beach. We played in the water. We were goofy and fun and didn't dwell on the painful shit in either of our lives. We just enjoyed each other. Also, a friend from Philly visited and we had a great night. Not the best conversation of all time (Ralph, take note, you still win!) but good. A balanced, happy, centered human being would feel good about this. Point made.

So, yes, only me. I see all of the things that are happening that should make me happy. And I want to be happy. So desperately. So vigilantly.. But, right now I am afraid it just ain't happening.

Me and the Mo's

I seem to attrack Mormons like moths to a flame.

What? you ask? How random!

I offer the following evidence:

My first boyfriend - you know, the boy you "married" when you're four and playing kickball or flashlight tag out in the suburban neighborhood that is your great big world before you enter school? - was a morman. His mother thought I was a bad influence because I took ballet classes. Clearly, she knew of my demonic tendencies to plie and releve. (Tendu, anyone?)

One of my favorite movies, Latter Days, is about a gay Mormon boy.

I lived in Belmont just during the time the LDS temple was getting built. Can you imagine how many Mormons there were running around Belmont when that thing opened?

Earlier this spring, I was randomly in Harvard Square (I'm NEVER in Hvd Sq these days...), enjoying a slice of pizza at The Garage, when three Elders walked in and sat down at the table next to me.

On my way to Baltimore a few weeks ago, there was an entire HERD of them waiting at the baggage carousel.

And now, there's a cluster in Gloucester.

I kid you not. I saw two of them walking while I was bicycling to the Cape Ann Farmers Market last Thursday. I nearly bowled them over as the wandered along the side of the street without sidewlak.

"On your left. ON YOUR LEFT! ON! YOUR! LEFT!"

I should have added, "So far on your left you'll get whiplash if you even try to catch my eye."

But I didn't.

So, is this enough "Mo" to convince you of the random connection? No? How about this?

THERE ARE THREE MORMONS SITTING BEHIND ME ON THE TRAIN. READING SCRIPTURE. OUT LOUD.

Oy vey!

Northeast Corrider

Once again, it's been way too long since my last post. I don't even know where I would begin to fill you in, if I wanted to. I've been doing a lot of "inside work" lately - trying to hold onto the really good energy I'd cultivated while on vacation even as many things around me shift and shudder.

I've decided I am going to get a roommate. And it looks like it's down to two. In fact, if one of them calls me back this afternoon and answers some of my questions satisfactorily, it'll be down to one. This is going to be a major upheaval in my life, but I think the net/net will be for the overall good.


Speaking of good - GoodBuddy is falling apart at the seams but quick. Things in his life have been fairly out of kilter. After all the times he's been there for me - held me up and held me together - I really want to be there for him. It's just that I have no idea how. I'll say something thinking I'm being compassionate and he'll want me to make a joke. Or, I'll change the subject and he'll want to linger. As I said to my friend (forthwith to be called ChirpChirp), I know I can't make it any better. I just don't want to make it any worse.

And then, of course, there's work. As I type, I am sitting on the Acela Express to Philadelphia (or, as we called it growing up, FilthyDelphia.) I'll be there until Friday, then home for a weekend with the rents and my best friend, then home for a whopping 11 hours before I head to Boston for our "Team Meeting." (CBL - Fuck yea!). I've been putting in longlonglong hours at the office and logging back in when I get home. Still, I am able to approach the workload - and the interactions - with some semblance of peace and sanity.

These and various and sundry other things have kept me challenged over the last few weeks. But I am doing my best to keep the joys - small and large - in my mind for those times when it gets overwhelming. This week, we will celebrate my dad's birthday. A birthday we weren't sure he'd see. I saw the sunrise over the harbor this morning and smelled a thunderstorm rolling in. And, of course, the fact that yoga is available to me - to everyone - every day and every moment of our lives if we choose to practice it.

So, sorry for the ramble down randomness that this post has been. I will do my best to return to our regularly scheduled blogging. But, I felt it was important to get us all back on track. You know, since I'm on a train and all.... (ha ha ha ha I'm so damn funny.)

PostScript

Noticing that, on this, my birthday occasion, I am posting a lot about children and parenting.

I'm not sure if this indicates that somehow, someway my subliminal karmic biological clock is ticking or what...

But, never fear. I will not breed anytime soon.

The world does not need any more MiniMe's.

Trying Not to Judge

On the train home tonight, I had the pleasure of sharing space with one of the most obnoxious mother/child pairs I have ever experienced.

I didn't want to judge. Not the child. Not the mother. I'm not a parent, nor will I ever be. So how can I possibly understand?

But I will tell you this. I am in a LOT of therapy.

At first, I thought "Is this child's name Damien? IS he the antichrist?"

But then I listened.

The mother did nothing but tell this child what he would NOT do. "You will NOT hit me." "You will NOT sit on my lap." "You will NOT scream."

She gave the child no other options. No explanations for what he was feeling or what she was instructing him to do. She used very limited vocabulary and very negative terminology.

She also took three calls from her BabyDaddy - on speakerphone - and instructed him to, "Hurry. I put up with this shit. I'm going to hit this kid."

No, I do not have childre n. I understand that I will never understand the mortification of having a child screaming at full-lung volume in a public place and not being able to do anything about it. Hell, I was one of those kids. (Which is why I wound up in a therapist's office at age 3.) But I do know enough about therapy, parenting, humanity, and psychological development to know that this woman should never, ever be allowed to have kids.

Remember that the next time you ask me if I don't feel like my life is valuable without children.