Tuesday, May 10, 2011

How is it that we never run out of love? Sometimes I think my heart will burst with happiness and that I could never love my dear family and friends more than I already do. But then somehow my heart makes room for more people to love, makes room for love to grow deeper. Allows me to open up one stitch at a time.
I even do this when people abuse me. Somehow I find myself trying to see the world through others' eyes, to discover what makes them act the way they do. I want to love a person even if they're hurting me, even though they're not making sense. People who hurt others are almost always just scared little children inside. They are acting out of fear. They are afraid of abandonment and of abuse to themselves. They believe that they can somehow control their fear without dealing with it directly, or even acknowledging it. And thus they are caught in a cycle where they can never escape what haunts them. So ultimately, I feel bad for these people, even when they hurt me.
There is so much to be happy about. So many people to love. So much to enjoy and relish while we still have time. My heart grows larger every second.

Monday, May 9, 2011

It's amazing how life only gets more complicated.

Future-tripping is a term I made up that means to trip ballz while thinking about a future of unknowns. It's a technical term really.

Friday, April 22, 2011

The Elephant Vanishes

I've been reading this awesome book of short stories called The Elephant Vanishes. I think short stories might be my favorite thing to read. Short stories can't do all the things novels can do (because they're short) but their lightness makes them wonderfully easy to pick up and digest at a moments notice. They're also easy to read three times in a row really quickly. The first time I read "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" by JD Salinger I did that. I read it, and then I immediately went back to the beginning and read it again. And there was another one I remember doing this with... maybe it was by Flannery O'Conner, it was about a family in a car, then they're on the side of the road and some criminals are going to kill them. "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" - that's it. Bananafish might be my all time favorite though. It's just so... good. It's not that long, but the universe created in just that one short story fills my mind and keeps expanding.
The first creative writing course I took was at TCC a few years ago. Our prof, Lu Vickers, had just finalized her novel, Breathing Underwater. She was a great teacher. I talked with her after class about reading "A Perfect Day for Bananafish" and how much I loved it. She offered to assign it to our reading and let me lead the discussion that day in class. I was thrilled! It was exactly what I (thought I) wanted to do for a living - teach! But leading a class of students just there for an easy A through one of my favorite short stories was less fun than I thought it would be. I realize now, it's just much more fun to talk about such things with people who also enjoy them.
Why is it that so many fail to appreciate a sad story? They think if it is sad, it can't be good, because who would want to read about sadness? I'll tell you who: people who have been through it and come out the other side. After that, there is always a taste of nostalgia in tragedy.

Anyway, we've been so slow at work that I have been able to read a lot lately (I got Moby Dick AND The Brothers Karamazov on my Kindle for FREE yesterday!). Maybe while Aaron is out of town this weekend I'll dive into some novels.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Today is my darling best friend Liz's birthday! I miss her so much! She moved back to her home state of Michigan last fall and since then, Tallahassee has felt a little empty. It's just easier to be some place when people you love fill that place. Communicating via telepathy will just have to suffice.
Sometimes, I say words like suffice (or exacerbate) and I wonder if I made them up. They just sound funny in my head and it seems impossible that I could just read a word a few times and know it through context. It's amazing how human language works.
Or maybe I mean how human knowledge works. I read an article about how we convince ourselves we are being logical when we decide what we believe, but really we can never fully take our prior beliefs out of the equation. It turns out, the strong convictions you already have shape the way you interpret evidence when it is presented. So if someone wholeheartedly believes that the earth was created 6000 years ago by God, when you present them with evidence for the theory of evolution they are going to evaluate said evidence through creationism colored glasses. I guess this is sort of obvious, but it's always neat when science proves common sense. And I do love epistemology.
In other news, I wish I could just quit my job, become a suicide girl, sell shit on etsy, and silently make my living off the internet... It's just too much to ask of me to have to talk to people all the time... one of my supervisors told me today that in the last 20 days I've taken over1500 calls. Last month, when I was the only operator, I took about 3500 calls in 30 days... that's over 100 calls a day. I apologize to people for things that I have nothing to do with. I let people yell at me and then say "give me just one moment" before transfering them... then I cross my fingers and hope the person I've just sent them to isn't out at lunch or in the bathroom. A woman called yesterday and started yelling at me because her 18 year old son had an ingrown toenail and needed to be seen immediately! Who are these people and how are they even competent enough to look up our number in the phone book?!
I promise I don't really hate people... when I complain about my job I know that's what people must think, but I don't. I love a lot of people actually. Which is what really truely makes me want to quit my job: I want to work with people I love. Or at the very least, with just myself. I don't think it'd be too bad to have to be with just myself every day.

Monday, March 21, 2011

I really wish I could bring my dog with me to work. Not only would he have a calming affect on me, but I'm pretty sure his pugly face would warm a few cold hearts around my office. I seriously love my dog. Also, I wish I could bring my sewing machine, various crafting supplies, my uke and personal computer. Oh the work I could get done if I could craft at my office job... really that should read, oh the crafting I could get done if I didn't have to work, haha.
I'm thinking about moving to a new place a lot lately. And I'm getting excited. I'm beyond ready for something new. I really want to go out on a limb and try making Etsy my full time job... It sounds crazy, but I really think I could do it... I realize I should have started saving months ago and to do it would most likely mean relying on Aaron more than I already do, but I just can't shake the idea. Now that it's in my head that I could work from home I think about it every hour I sit here at my desk at DOH. I could be waking up at home, answering emails, sewing, posting, getting up to go to the bathroom without having to email anyone about watching the phones for me...
I just need a plan.

Monday, March 14, 2011

Mothering my Mom

This past weekend was a much needed respite from the craziness that ensued after my Mom was in the hospital. A week ago, my Mom went to the hospital because of a bad reaction to her RA (rheumatoid arthritis) medication (methotrexate). Of course any time she has to go into the hospital this interferes with all her other meds... that means she didn't have her lithium... and a Bipolar person without their lithium just becomes a fucking crazy person. She wasn't straight up hallucinating like last fall when she was in the hospital, but she was definitely manic. What some people don't realize about manic episodes is that sometimes the person just gets intensely happy. In the hospital, she was so excited! She just kept talking about plans and getting healthy and how I was going to have two little girls (she tells me that she dreams of my two daughters and asks me what I'm going to name them...). The doc at the hospital told us before we took her home that she needed 24-hour supervision until she saw her psychiatrist. This was on a Wednesday night. So the next day, I left work early and went with her and Juliet to two doctors appointments.
First was her psychiatrist, Dr. Monasifi. We were worked in on short notice so I can understand why we would have to see a nurse practitioner instead of her normal doctor. What I don't understand is how this NP, who claims she sees my mom when her doc can't, didn't even know my mom's name. She kept calling her Mary, which is my mother's legal first name, but no one, I mean no one calls her that. When my sister said to the NP (Evelyn) "Her name is Elizabeth," we were met with a rude stare and a sigh. While I'm sure Evelyn is super duper busy, is it so much to ask someone who works in a psychiatric office to take a minute and learn the name of the patient they are about to perscribe mood altering substances too?! Especially since my mom's lithium levels were toxic when she was admitted into the hospital. Needless to say, Evelyn was less than helpful and told us my mom would continue to need 24 hour supervision. We asked her how long mom might need to be supervised. "Well I can't read the future..." We asked her how long until mom would adjust to the new med she gave us to try out. "I just don't know, I can't read the future..." We asked her if there were any services that might be able to help us. "There are no services that are going to provide what you need..." The appointment felt like a big waste of time. At one point I was telling Evelyn what the doctor at the hospital had told me about mom's meds and she said to me, "well he's not a psychiatrist..." Uhm, in case you hadn't noticed, you're a damn nurse practitioner!
The second appointment totally made up for the first. At her RA doc office, it seemed like every single person we saw knew my mom and asked how she was and made small talk. My mom is on a first name basis with her Rheumatologist, Cheryl. Cheryl was patient, sweet and more than happy to answer all of our questions. She told Julie and I she had heard all about us. She offered to contact the hospital and get details on my mom's reaction to the methotrexate she prescribed. Cheryl, if you're out there reading this: you and your staff really gave us renewed hope that we can make this work. I can't even describe my happiness at seeing mom treated like a regular person. I felt like we dealt with everything that's wrong with mental health care at the first appointment, but the second one showed me that it doesn't have to be that way.
So for now, mom has leveled out some. We're keeping a close eye on her, but we just can't supervise her 24 hours a day. Frequent visits will have to do. Her mood is good, she's eating, that's all we can ask for.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


I'm really struggling to have a glass-half-full kinda day. In my worst moments of weakness, I become terribly pessimistic. Nothing matters. Everything is fucked. There is no silver lining.

Since I was having an awesome day earlier, I'm going to will myself to remember that feeling. To let it fall over me. Just because there is one little part of me that resists this happy change doesn't mean that I can't be happy right now. Ok maybe I can't be *happy* right this second, but that doesn't mean I have to reach into the depths of depression.

I'm going to enjoy every quiet second at work. I'm going to reflect on things I could do better. I'm going to say I love you. I'm going to drink a home-made peppermint mocha latte.