What a f***in’ joke


An orange dot on the upper right hand side of the WP screen alerted me to the fact that today is my two year anniversary on this blog-o-sphere. Whoop-de-doo. The occasion should be marked by stating unequivocally that I’m in a better mental state now than when I began. Still don’t know if I’m “happy” or not, but at least I’m not miserable.

Ear specialist appointment today. No slicing or dicing, thankfully. But odd. Had a hearing test first with the nurse. Twenty minutes later I was being congratulated by the doc for ‘having the hearing of a 10 year old kid’. Really? This is good? You people are deaf. Have a prescription for extra strength nose drops (should create an excellent momentary sense of drowning; really looking forward to using them – not). Told to see a special physiotherapist, someone who (apparently) can manipulate my jaw to help any built up pressure from scar tissue formed by my RA. Ach! Another one? More money out? Seriously? And I’m supposed to wait an additional 6 weeks before making another appointment – and then it will only be to set up a further appointment for “therapy” and “counseling” to deal with the continual ringing in my ears. Like I bleeding need therapy to deal with my hearing!

In other words, I still got my bionic hearing and no one can figure out what I’m bitching about.

Story of my life.

The radio drama is out and I’ve already received notification that they’ve got it. Also feel the fool. Noticed on my writer’s email account a tiny, dark grey number by the spam folder. Yeesh. There were the two replies from the competition answering my requests for a submission form. Took me half an hour to figure out how to get them out of the spam folder, and I’m still working on letting go of feeling a right ASS for not noticing it sooner.

Brutal appointment with my physiotherapist. I asked for it, and I got it. He hit a point by my tailbone that was sore, and he began with his usual gentle touch. I was quick to point out he shouldn’t be afraid of hurting me and within half a second I was almost regretting telling him that. Bore down on the area with his full weight. OW! But for the first time he got a deep crack in the area, and my back’s felt better ever since.

Getting back to gym time. Not easy with my hearing complaint. I can’t submerse into sound with my iPod; it doesn’t sound right to me, and the high end is ALL wrong. But I can’t keep using that as an excuse. My angry outburst the other day proved that to me beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I am just done making excuses for myself. The truth is, I’m a woman of extremes. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually. Always tried to prevent it, always tried to tread the middle path. Doesn’t work for me. And I’m tired of trying. It is what it is. I push more, feel more, think (and doubt) more than most, believe weird things, and apparently have the hearing of a pre-nubile goddess. At 51.

What a fuckin’ joke.


One Year Old


Sometime this week I passed my one year anniversary on WP. Don’t know exactly when; all my notice says is ‘more than two days ago’ (brilliant. getting the date to show was just too much, eh?). It’s kind of like my birthday: worth noting, but not worth shouting about. At least not anymore.

So roughly one year ago I began this experiment of writing my thoughts out to try and help myself. And although there have been times when I’ve typed out ‘I want to die’ or something similar, on the whole I’ve been better. Better able, at least, to communicate what’s bothering me and that’s making a big difference in my life. The entire phase of arguing with my bro over petty shit because I haven’t sat down to figure out what’s bugging me is gone. The color therapy has done its work, too. Not that it prevents me from feeling depressed. It doesn’t. If I’m doomed to go down (or determined to be depressed; I haven’t quite figured that one out yet), down I go. But it helps a little. All my little helpers add up to one big Self Care Package.

The problem with self care, I’ve found, is that you have to give a damn about yourself before you can really follow through with any of it. And there’s the hitch, because when you’re down on yourself the last thing you want to do is cut yourself some slack. I’ve only been able to be semi-successful at this because of the people around me. My brother, the friends I’ve made here on line. The people who really care when they ask ‘how are you?’, the people who hang with me as I message back and forth about how shitty I feel. I credit it all to you. Because when I’m really down I can’t do it for myself. I HAVE to concentrate on how shitty my depression is making it for other people. Me, I could care less about. The people around me, I treasure, and I wouldn’t hurt any one of them for anything. Makes me work double hard to find a way out.

Thank you, if I haven’t said it. Thank you very, very much.


The people I care about aren’t as lucky as me. Just heard from J; his disability has been denied again. Haven’t heard from a few online friends in many days, and I know it’s because they’re having a rough time of it. It’s hard to feel good when the people you care about are in a bad situation. I feel so damned HELPLESS. I don’t even have a salary to scrimp on so I can send them some money. All I want to do is rush in and save them. Fly to wherever they are, grab them and a suitcase full of clothes, and bring them here. Find a place in this tiny two bedroom to house more guests. Soothe their ills, comfort their pains, and see them smile again. The fact that I can do NONE of that eats at me.

Doing my best to keep focused on what’s in front of my face. The only hope I have of helping my friends is to make sure I’m in a place financially, physically, and mentally, to help them. Been paying off debts and saving where I can, taking walks and getting exercise, and working to stay positive. Started playing with Power Point to help me with my Dutch and developed some presentations my teacher is now using. That’s a double win; I learn by working so much with the language, and he gets a new teaching tool that he’s jazzed about. I know I look like a swot. I AM a swot. I like learning, and when I have a teacher who’s sympathetic and kind I really respond. I’ve also finally heard back from the theatre group. I’ve volunteered to work on make-up backstage, something I find fun, I’m good at, and doing it won’t hurt my RA. Looking forward to having a schedule to stick to, places to go and people to talk to.

That’s a lot to keep me focused. Keep me in the now.

The puzzle box that is the Dutch language is really beginning to unlock for me. Maybe it’s the extra work on Power Point; maybe I’ve just been seeing the same words enough that they’re beginning to stick in my brain. But I’ve noticed I’m reading subtitles faster, understanding more nuance, having that click in my brain when I say ‘aha!’ more often. I’m also watching SpongeBob Squarepants every afternoon – WITHOUT subtitles – to push me into listening more. I know it’s my weak point, and I’m determined to do better. There are a few phrases and words that, when I hear them, I just understand. I don’t have to translate it into English. The rest…seems I’m always five minutes behind, my brain tackling some phrase and figuring it out while more dialogue goes on. But hey! It’s a colorful cartoon so it keeps my interest going on that level, at least. And it’s better than Alvin and the Chipmunks. Ugh!

Frankly, the more I have to do in a day the less time I have to be mopey. I don’t think about my bad thoughts when I have a project to tackle. My head is all about the steps I need to take. I know all too well it’s all about balance. Becoming a steam roller and pushing through life is as bad an idea as becoming a bump on a log. It seems I’ll have an opportunity this summer, a little micro-encapsulated time, to try out a new balance in my life. Get involved with the theatre group, do more with the language. Put my arrows OUT while remembering to take care of myself and see what happens.

That’s not bad for my one year anniversary. To move from Ms. Grumppants to Ms. Interaction.

Hi, I’m Beeps. And I’m one year old.