hi ho, hi ho...

i know that i'm lucky to have the opportunities that i have when it comes to work. i've gotten to go to a bunch of cool places while getting paid (like the world series and the super bowl), that i probably wouldn't have been able to otherwise.



i also get to go to places i would *never* voluntarily visit *cough* nascar *cough*.

however, this job can be brutal at times. i have to stand (which is hell on my arthritic, bone spur-racked, scoliosis-having back) look good, be sociable, annoy (and sometimes harass) total strangers, ask for personal information, hand out crap that some people don't want, lie and say "no, we will not sell your email address", get hit on by guys that are usually drunk and obnoxious, not take rejection personally, and withstand brutal temperatures (both hot and cold) for hours at a time.

i should be grateful to work at all, given the economy, but it is still extremely difficult, especially when the last thing you feel like doing is being social and bubbly. i hate that word. and you feel emotionally drained and physically abused at the end of it all.

i have now vented, no fixes or solutions, please. i am cleansed.

now off to a hot, epsom salt bath, darvocet, and the heating pad...

what happens when i forget to bring a book

i've been thinking about death a lot the past few days. i'm not saying that to be morbid or creepy, i've just been thinking about what really happens when you die, and realizing my own short mortality, i guess.

i was sitting in a lobby today, next to a woman, and for some reason, as i was looking at the back of her neck, i thought about how each person is a creation, a machine, all its own. the fact that we are comprised of billions upon billions of cells that work together to form one working organism is amazing.

i've been fascinated with the brain for a long time, in part because mine seems to be screwy when it comes to chemical composition and distribution, but also because it determines so much of who we are and how we act. the fact that our personalities, via our brains, determine our responses, actions, reactions? that, my friend, is why i majored in psychology.

i talked to my sister jennifer today, and she said something about our youngest sister, and how she will be lost when our dad dies. that is a thought that i can barely approach without getting upset, because i don't know what i'll do when he dies. i push it away whenever it creeps in.

not to be fatalistic, but to be realistic, no one lives forever. my dad means the world to me, and it's taken a long time for us to get where we are, and for me to realize and appreciate all of his good qualities. to lose him would be the greatest loss of my life, and one i can't comprehend.

when i was looking at that woman's neck, i thought about all of the natural growth and progression of her physical form as she has aged, the freckles and the way little chicken fluff hairs had escaped from her ponytail.

and how someday, she will die, and those freckles will fade, her hair will disintegrate, as will the rest of her, as the machine that is her body comes to a grinding halt.

this is what i was thinking about when i was waiting in line today.

this is why i always take a book...

mini-update

i don't really have anything to write about today, but i'm trying to write almost every day.

a little med update: my doctor increased the dosage of my semi-new med by 50%. i'm not sure how i feel yet emotionally; i'm still motivated, not laying around, but i feel like i have too much energy sometimes and i have no appetite. i ran five miles without stopping yesterday (without eating), and was so sick the rest of the day and night, i could barely move.

the 'not eating' part is really strange. i've hardly even thought of food for the past few days, it's almost like that part of my brain has been numbed. when i do think of food, it doesn't sound good, so i make myself eat at least three times a day. another side effect: i'm thirsty *all* the time; i can't get enough to drink.

i'm still somewhat dizzy and weak today, and slept more than usual. other than that, i put up my christmas tree, lights, and stockings. the thanksgiving break was good; this will be my last week of work until january. i don't know what i'm going to do with myself, other than read for my exams and attempt to keep grayson off the tree.

anyway, back to true blood...

the world doesn't need another cynic

since i read and keep up with celebrity gossip, i kinda keep track of when couples break up, make up, get together, or as is more common lately, cheat. technology has made it *so* much easier to cheat, what with texting, the internet, even facebook, people have all kinds of ways to covertly converse, find people from their past, and get away with a lot more. unfortunately, technology doesn't make people smarter or more loyal.

i used to think that people who cheated were lacking in moral character, horrible people, unethical, and heartless. unfortunately, i've come to the conclusion that that's not always the case.

granted, i don't know any celebrities, but i do know lots, yes *lots*, of people who have cheated on their significant others. it seems that at some point in their lives, almost everyone has been unfaithful.

for the most part, these people are kind, smart, thoughtful, and not-so-bad. do they cheat because they're unhappy in their relationships, or they want out, or they're dissatisfied with the status quo? if that's the case, GET OUT OF THE RELATIONSHIP!

i don't understand people who maintain a relationship in which they're clearly unhappy, yet they stay regardless. are they cheating in the hopes that their partner finds out and leaves first, saving the cheater from having to do the dirty work? are they afraid of confrontation? do they want to get a little action on the side? do they enjoy the thrill? are they too weak to stand up for what they want?

now, i'm not judging, just pondering this obscenely common phenomenon. i've been on both sides of this fence, and both sides suck. the grass is never greener, either. when i did cheat on someone, i was young and stupid, and as bad as this sounds, i did it to see what it was like. ah, capricious youth.

i have absolutely no excuse for being the other woman, a situation that has happened more times than i care to remember. i'm not immoral, stupid, or heartless, so why the hell did i do it? in one instance, the guy was an ex-boyfriend, and the fact that he was married didn't stop us from starting a relationship...and effectively ending his marriage. that is huge, i mean *huge*, and utterly stupid.

after his divorce, and our eventual break up, he jokingly referred to me as his "crowbar" because he would start things up with me again in order to get out of whatever unsatisfying relationship he was in.

wow, don't i feel special?
and incredibly stupid after realizing that he was using me for years.

as far as the other instances, there is nothing i can say to justify it, and yes, hindsight is 20/20. pick an excuse, any excuse: i was fool enough to believe lies that were told to me, i didn't respect the sanctity of the guy's marriage, i was just fucking selfish: i wanted what i wanted, regardless of the consequences. i think that not having good physical boundaries is another culprit. i let people get close to me physically when it wasn't appropriate because i didn't have the courage to respect *myself*.

i do believe in marriage, and i've been cheated on relentlessly. i *know* how incredibly difficult and hurtful it is. it's a behavior that i thought i would never tolerate, one that would immediately end my relationship with another. yet i stayed...for over six years. that will not happen again.

i never thought i'd be the one to aid the betrayer. looking back, i'm not sure why i chose to reverse that situation and be the vampire.

maybe i was tired of being the victim.

any given thursday

yes, yesterday was thanksgiving, and i know the typical route is to write about what you're thankful for.

this year (and last year as well), i spent thanksgiving with friends, rather than family. i don't think that calling them "friends" quite gives them the credit that they deserve. these people in my life have become my family.

let's say they are my family of choice, not blood.

i'm not entirely close to a lot of my family, but i have friends who have offered their hearts and homes to me, visited me when i was in the hospital, taken care of my kids when i went out of town, driven me to the airport so i didn't have to pay $100 for parking, and accept me for who i am, with love, generosity, and kindness.

there are many people who won't do so much for their family, much less their friends. i do have family who do what they can to take care of me, are always at the ready with a shoulder and an ear. well, pretty much my daddy, and there are others that i could probably count on in a pinch, but my closest relative lives 200 miles away (not counting my mother here).

i'm extremely blessed to have these amazingly supportive, loving, understanding individuals in my life.

i have friends who can commiserate with me when it comes to depression, medication, and less-than-perfect mothers (you know who you are).

i have friends who, although they are miles and miles away, share my love of music and all things pearl jam (damn it, they're back again).

they truly are my family (i just wish most of them lived closer).

a lesson learned...from a kardashian?

so, i was in my doctor's office today, reading a trashy magazine (not the one i prefer because i already have a subscription to that), but one that tends to have more human interest stories, less gossip, recipes. booooring.




anyway, there was an article about kim kardashian and how, despite having a multi-million dollar empire (i have *no* idea how she managed that), she's *sob* still single at 30.

boo...hoo.

i hate to admit it, but in the snippet from the book that she and her vapid sisters are putting out (god help us all), i learned something about myself. and i quote, "i used to think maybe i didn't attract the right kind of people because i didn't look the way they wanted me to. i hadn't figured out yet that the real reason was because i was such a people-pleaser. i wasn't strong enough to be the person i really am, and to insist on being with people who appreciated me in that way."

i can relate.

now, i never thought that i attracted the wrong people because of my looks. i'm not really sure what i thought about the people that i attracted, but i do know that when i didn't feel all that great about myself, the losers tended to flock to me like buzzards to a rotting carcass.

don't i paint a beautiful mental image?

i'm definitely a people-pleaser, once again mainly because i needed approval and love growing up (who didn't?), but i felt like i had to achieve certain goals, be a certain kind of person, follow the examples of the person who i wanted to love me. i also needed *attention*, on a consistent basis, and to not feel like an adult at the age of 5.

and this bled into my outside world. it used to be that i would give up my own freedom, safety, comfort, pleasure, and self-respect in order to make someone else happy, or to give them what they needed. and most often, i got absolutely nothing in return.

no acknowledgement.
no praise.
not even a thank you.

in the last few months or so, i've realized that i deserve to get back what i put out into the world. i believe in karma, but i *don't* think that you get back what you give if you're in the wrong situation or with people who take advantage of you. you will be sucked dry and left a husk of your former self. karma may take care of that idiot, but you still have to nurse your wounds.

i am trying to stop my people-pleasing, and i have learned to say no, to establish boundaries (slowly), and to demand (in a polite way) that i be respected just as much as i respect the people around me. i will definitely do for others, go out of my way, and be helpful, but not to my own detriment or downfall.

i don't think that's too much to ask, and if you do, don't let the door hit you on the way out of my life.

can i get a second opinion on this?

one of the unfortunate things (one of many) that happens when you take medications that are supposed to "fix" or stabilize your mood is that your ability to gauge how you feel is thrown off completely. the fact that i recently changed medications doesn't help, either.

i think some people are under the impression that if you take medication to alleviate depression, anxiety, etc., that you're just a ball of sunshine *all* the time. you wake up singing, skip to the shower, and treat the rest of your day as if you're the star in a broadway musical.





no, it does not look like this.
<------------------------------









medication is supposed to get you to a place (figurative, not literal. no all-expenses-paid trip to europe, or anything like that) where you can experience the average, every day range of human emotions, from sadness to exhilaration, and all the colors in between.

it's supposed to keep you from laying in bed for three days, doing nothing but eating twizzlers, crying, and refusing to shower. that's not what my depression looks like, just an example.

herein lays my problem: when am i just having a bad day, and when are my meds not working? i have no freaking clue. i'm not laying on the couch, watching tv in my pajamas all day, only to take a bath and put on a different set of pajamas (*that's* what my depression looks like). i may have depression, people, but i'm not an animal.

i've been emotional for the past few days, very ponderous, thinking about topics more important than 'should i use the lemon vanilla lotion, or the almond milk? what to do, what to do'. i've been thinking about relationships and family issues, but nothing more than what i would typically think of in a given day.

i think.
a lot.
don't forget those voices...

but i really *don't* know if i'm just having a crappy couple of days, or if my brain isn't doing what it's supposed to be doing. there's no real way to know, other than wait, see if i feel better, or if the floor drops out from underneath me.

so...here i sit...a ticking time bomb...living in the grays.

despite not feeling all that great emotionally, i'm still getting up every morning and running; a very good sign. i've been socializing; also good. i've been productive and busy, not laying on the couch for days, but i'm not happy. i'm not altogether sad, just meh. blah.

this can't be what the average, every day human experience has become, can it? if not (or if so, for that matter), what the hell's going on?

inquiring minds (well, my mind) want to know...

speaking of a broken heart...

i seem to have a history of getting involved in these relationships that are off and on, black and white, good or non-existent. i also have done a lot of what i call "recycling" when it comes to boyfriends. i'll explain: i date someone for a while, break up, get back together, break up, over...and over...and over again.
i know this is somewhat common in high school, but i've been doing it *since* high school.

if you break up with someone for a genuine reason, you need to stay broken up. people very rarely change, and if they do, it needs to be done for themselves, not in order to make someone else happy, or to get them to come back.

if you break up with someone just to test how much they love you, or to see what their reaction may be? once again, stupid. i've done it, but not in a long time. it does not end well.

the first relationship (if you wanna call it that) that i had consisted of me dating the same guy "off and on" for 17 years. that is ridiculous. at the point that i called it off, it had taken up almost half of my life, and the majority of it was a waste of time.

i'm not the type of person who has a boyfriend just because i don't want to be alone. i'm an only child for the most part, i'm used to my own company, and usually enjoy it. having someone around takes work, thought, relinquishing of the remote control, and finding a compromise on the thermostat setting.

it just occurred to me that i can't be the only one that does this stupid shit, because every time, there's been some dumbass guy who was along for the ride with me. so, multiple recyclers unite! no, don't really. what a mess that would be.

for some reason, i've been feeling really nostalgic the past few days, or should i say nostalgic about ex-boyfriends. not all of them; a few of them are too evil, despicable, and obnoxious to even pretend to think about. okay, only one ex fits that category, but there *are* some extremely narcissistic and selfish ones in there.

i don't know if i'm thinking about all this because i had a conversation about the "status" of my current/future relationship with an ex, or if i'm dredging up the past because i'm bored, and there is *nothing* going on in my romantic life currently. nothing. nada. zilch. zero.

i think you get the point.

i usually have someone that i'm crushing on, just to have a pleasant, boy-directed distraction. but right now? not so much, which sucks. i think this is the first time in my semi-adult to adult life that this has happened. for a while there, it was nice; no boy to worry about or wonder what he's doing. now it's just sad.

recently, a miraculous light has illuminated why i have this habit of recycling, and it's not because i'm concerned with the state of the planet (although i am).

as with everything that i seem to be discovering in my life (as far as patterns, behaviors, and choices), it goes back to my childhood and how i coped with what was thrown at me. i lived a very chaotic, black and white existence. things were really good or really bad. i was really good or really bad. no in-betweens, no grays, no take backs.

which is why i've approached my love life from that perspective. things were all right or all wrong, and when they were good, it was golden. when they were bad, i ran. eventually, the smoke would clear, i'd decide that maybe things weren't so bad, and off we'd go on the next round....except...sometimes they *were* so bad, i mean really, really bad.

this is also how my childhood mostly went. i was forced to stay in a less-than-ideal situation due to birth, and then i chose to stay in bad relationships after that because i didn't realize there was another way. *any* other way would've been spectacular - just the ability to have a choice.

i was never taught that some things you do to people *aren't* okay, and once you hurt someone, say the wrong thing, or break their heart, there's no going back. it's broken for good, despite your promises to never do it again. i was taught to scream the loudest, insult the best, and throw the lowest punch, and i learned well.

ironically, it wasn't until my worst, most painfully horrible relationship that i learned that there *is* another way, that words can't be erased, and if you take time to calm down and regroup, things look a lot clearer. this is another lesson that i learned very well. it provided me with a light in what was before only black. it illuminated the shades of gray that i have forced myself to become comfortable with.

maybe that was the reason for that boyfriend, as bad as he was.
he did give me one gift: regret.

in so many ways.

btw, i swear my ipod can read my mood. as i'm writing this blog, three songs in a row have come on for three different guys that i loved and dated.

ADD?

so, i've been thinking all day about what i want to write about, and i cannot keep one train of thought for more than two minutes, which has led me to wonder if i have adult onset ADD (attention deficit disorder), which led me to look at the symptoms, and further my distractions.

my findings were a little disturbing. you need to have at least 15 of the symptoms to be diagnosed, and i have a fair share. i would've counted them, but i didn't have the patience to do so (not a good sign).

while i'm looking up the disorder, i'm also writing this blog, when in actuality i sat down at my desk to grade papers, and within the next 10 minutes, i'll get up again to do *something*, *anything* to keep me from sitting in one place and only working on one project.

here are a few streams of thought from today:

- wow, obviously almost a new moon because people are acting like assholes.
- people are driving like maniacs.
- why didn't i get any mail today? did the mailman even come; because i didn't see his truck?
- grayson is going to be bigger than phoenix soon. that's going to be a problem.
- i wish i hadn't cut my bangs over the summer because they're driving me crazy now.
- do i really like the christmas cards i'm making? are they too boring?
- do i feel like i have a sinus headache because of my allergies, or because of my meds?
- why does the big walmart carry edamame, but the grocery store version doesn't? and why the hell am i shopping at walmart now?
- i need to stop procrastinating my reading for school.
- i'm never going to find anyone to spend my life with because i'm a handful: tattoos, phd, independent. i'm screwed.
- why does the ten club keep posting tempting things and then sell out in 5 minutes?
- there is a *lot* of sex in "true blood". sex would be nice.
- i'm craving salt.

granted, none of these are supremely interesting internal conversations, but each of these ran through my head, usually more than one at the same time. i've also been doing almost anything i can think of to avoid studying/reading for my exams.

- i've almost finished my christmas shopping; unheard of!
- i've got my christmas card list done.
- i'm *making* christmas cards.
- i already have my dad's birthday present ready.
- i took pictures on my laptop with my kids.
- i've been organizing my itunes.
- i cleaned my entire apartment last friday, instead of reading.

in addition to all this craziness, i also can't listen to any cd in its entirety; my ipod is constantly on shuffle. i haven't watched a movie at home in months because i can't sit through the whole thing, and i constantly have at least 3 things going on at once. even when i'm in the middle of doing something, i'm thinking of something else i could be doing, too.

so i make lists. there are about five lists on my desk, not to mention my phone, my planner, and the refrigerator door.

when i'm not writing lists, this is what my life looks like: i'm writing this blog, grading, and wondering if hulu has the next episodes of "true blood" that i want to watch. hulu only has clips, so i have to do a search to find free episodes to watch online because i can't wait 4 days to get the next dvd from netflix. oh, and my itunes is playing a song from "romeo and juliet", i wonder if i should watch titanic. no, not the same movie, but i went from leonardo dicaprio in r&j to him in titanic. i don't think i could sit still that long. plus, i'd have to get the dvds out, and set up the tv to watch it. and about my itunes, are there any new cds i want to download? i really want the new fistful of mercy, but i put the vinyl edition on my amazon wishlist, and i'm not sure if i'm going to get it. but if i have the vinyl, i can only listen to it at home, but i *do* have the software to convert an album to a cd. i'd have to find that software, install it, hook up my laptop to the stereo; what a pain. and why don't i watch that much tv anymore? i love tv, but it just isn't interesting to me. i can't think of anything else that is, other than reading magazines because i only have to focus for 5 minutes at a time, tops.

this could keep going for days, people. this is why i have to have the tv on when i go to bed: to drown out the f-ing voices in my head that won't let me get a moment's peace without making a list, thinking of a project, checking a book to see if my astrological sign matches someone i just met, looking at my planner to make sure i wrote down everything i need to do tomorrow.

needless to say, this is exhausting.

run like hell

i started running again last week. i haven't really done it on a regular basis since the summer of '09 when i was running about 20 miles a week. my entire life, i have *abhorred* running. it's not that i'm not active, it's just that i would rather have my legs shaved by a blind man with 4 fingers than to sprint more than 20 feet.

ah, shaving. my least favorite thing in the world to do. if i won the lottery, first thing i'd do (no vacation, no paying off bills): laser hair removal from top to bottom (no pun intended there).

i never understood what people got out of this seemingly masochistic activity, then i hit the two mile mark, and it all fell into place...the legendary runner's high. i started this mostly painful activity because after 3 semesters of working on my phd, it was either run, become an alcoholic, become an addict, or kill someone. those were the only plausible choices, and i didn't relish the idea of rehab, jail, or becoming a murderer.

i got my master's degree pretty much with my eyes closed. i showed up to class, i figured out from the discussion what was going on, i contributed, i went home and dealt with my psychotic boyfriend. at the end of each semester, i'd crank out three 20 page papers in a week, and ta da, here's your A.

i didn't read hardly *anything* except my holocaust books (because they were interesting), and i managed to get all As, and one B (in the freaking holocaust class, of all things!). during most of this i was dealing with said psycho boyfriend, flying to colorado once a month to see him, doing an internship/TA position 50 miles from my house (one way), taking 12 hours of school, and working two jobs.

but getting your phd, at least for me, is a whole other ballgame. although i had one shitty professor tell me that it's impossible to read all that you're assigned, i did it, so take *that*, jackass. every week for four semesters, i read, studied, worked, had no life, and wrote papers.

then i had a semi-serious meltdown and reading kind of fell through the cracks for a while. but running does help me...i need the stress relief, and it really works, despite my initial misgivings. bonus, it isnt' dangerous to myself or others...well mildly dangerous to me because i have to contend with the treadmill and manage to not fall down.

but i've been running outside lately, and i like that much better than the treadmill; fresh air, nature, not feeling like a gerbil is always nice. however, there's always the possibility of the rolled ankle, getting hit by a car, frostbitten fingers. whatever.

i've also found that my state of mind and music play a big part, so i have to psyche myself up sometimes, think about how good i'll feel after i'm not sore anymore, and pick great music.

and yes, taylor swift has been motivating me for the past week. what of it? i listened to pearl jam yesterday and this morning...needed a little mutual pain, anger, and frustration to drive me, not sweet, little, naive taylor.

real music, real passion, real energy. that's my boys.

it's just a broken heart

despite what you may think, i'm pretty particular about what i listen to (i think), but i also have a varied taste in music. for the past week, i've been running to taylor swift's new cd. now i realize that i'm not 14, but it's a guilty pleasure and it keeps me moving. her songs are all about good relationships gone bad, stupid choices (hello, john mayer), regret; all things i can identify with.

my musical taste does tend to gravitate toward the depressing love song; songs about ended relationships, betrayal, regret, "why didn't this work out", "why did you leave me", "i have to leave you, it's for the best". ya know, the brokenhearted variety. apparently, this is a genetic trait, as my dad listens to the same uplifting genre.

which made me wonder why pearl jam (yep, they're back) and their music mean so much to me. they don't really do a lot of "relationship" songs, not like the kind i was referring to. i'd say that they write a lot of songs that are "emotional", but they're about emotional pain; anger, abuse, loneliness. again, things with which i can identify.

the first pearl jam song that got me was "black". i had heard "alive", "jeremy" (hell, the kid who they based the song on went to a high school in my district and i remember when it happened), but those songs really didn't click. but "black", how could you *not* love this?





aw, young ed...what passion, what a voice. yes, he's beautiful, too. totally beside the point.

it wasn't until i heard "black", a song about a relationship that has ended, and the pain, loss, and regret that the singer feels, that i got the tape (remember those?) and literally sat for hours on my best friend deirdre's bed, trying to figure out the freaking lyrics.

because ed wouldn't be ed if he made anything less than challenging, especially when it comes to his personal experiences.

i listened to that song over and over, and my freshman year of college, i even had the lines
"i know someday you'll have a beautiful life, i know you'll be a star in someone else's sky. why can't it be mine?"
written in chalk on my wall.

my roommate probably thought i was nuts, but it was there for a reason, and for a person: the first person that i really and truly loved. he was, to date, the best boyfriend i've had, and when your best relationship happens at 18 years old, you, my friend, are fucked.

so, despite fact that the majority of pearl jam's lyrics aren't about lost love, they *are* about the human condition, and the struggles that (apparently) a lot of people feel. because i'm not sitting alone in those arenas, stadiums, and theaters. i definitely wasn't alone at madison square garden last may, with tens of thousands of people screaming and singing louder than the band.

i did a project about pearl jam for one of my classes, a storytelling project, and i had to interview 25 people and ask them 25 questions.

question #25 was this:

Which of these words, if any, have led you to Pearl Jam’s music because you can relate to these things and/or have experience with them: pain (emotional or physical or both), feeling like an outsider or misunderstood, dissatisfied, hopeless, alone, seeking a connection?

without question, all 25 people picked almost all of them.

so i'm not alone.

while love may have led me to pearl jam (and has kept me around), pain, dissatisfaction, and feelings of being misunderstood have kept me here, even though i'm part of a community that welcomes me with open arms. in that, i feel a connection.

elsewhere? that's a different story.

what the hell?

seriously, what the *hell* is wrong with guys today (and i mean in a metaphorical, not literal sense)? maybe it's because i worked the cycle show this weekend, nascar last, and the world series the week before that. i'm drowning in testosterone, and men have been insane lately.

to start with, my stalker is apparently telling his friends that *he* turned *me* down, and that i won't stop contacting him...that i've been trying to convince him to go out with me. dude, check a mirror and get off the crazy train. i really want to text him and say, "are you fucking delusional?" you're 42, twice divorced, with a receding hairline and a pot belly, not to mention an obvious problem with alcohol, but i'm into you? yep, totally plausible.

yes, i agreed to go out with him in a moment of weakness. maybe i was trying to do my good deed for the week? to be fair, i had only seen him outside, at night, when i agreed. my bad. and that was before i had the 65 text messages where he begged, pleaded, whined, complimented me, and acted like an all out psycho.

next up, the cycle show. the guys at the show weren't too bad, but the guy i worked for, who is 60 btw, was so inappropriate i wanted to punch him in the head. he spent two days asking personal questions about everything from sex, to boobs, to lesbians, to checking out girls' asses, to checking out my ass and boobs.

UGH! just because we're not in an office doesn't mean you can treat me with disrespect or like you hired me off a street corner. oh, and he complained that i wasn't showing enough skin in what i was wearing. excuse me for having self respect and managing to dress up without looking like a whore and/or objectifying myself.

and this dude may be 60, but he looks about 75, and spent the whole weekend telling me how much money he has, who he knows, how many real estate deals he's made, how many publications he's been in. right. which is why you live in ARKANSAS and you're sitting in a half-empty convention center, stumping your MOTEL that caters to BIKERS. quite the little empire you've set up for yourself. just give me my money and i'm out.

do i look like a slut, do i give out the impression that it's okay to be blatantly disrespectful and highly sexualized (inappropriately) in conversations? i don't dress like a tramp, nor do i pick up guys, or even discuss personal aspects of my life with anyone other than my trusted friends and family.

i do seem to get trapped in conversations and situations with men who are *clearly* insecure and intimidated by a strong, confident woman. because this seems to be the case with these two ass clowns.

if it's not this, it's guys who "like" me, who seem to think it's okay to come and go as they please, treat me with a lack of consideration, and expect me to fall at their feet when they apologize for the 15th time.

i'm working on my boundaries now in order to eliminate these inane, insulting conversations. my confidence and self respect are pretty much intact, but in honor of all the jackasses out there, this one's for you:



you know you've used a line...or three.

kids. furry, but mine

hmmm, what to post? i told myself i'd go to bed early because i've had one day off in almost two weeks, i started running again, and i'm exhausted. instead, i've been playing with photobooth and taking pictures of my children, who were less than amused.

here's one of each:





























i've worked a lot lately, and have been out of the house, so i wanted to spend some time with them, and part of that includes hostage-style photography.

despite the chaos and insanity that grayson brings to my life, and the fact that phoenix sometimes acts like he's taking a leisurely stroll when it's pouring down rain and i just want him to pee, i couldn't live without them.

phoenix is the best dog ever; loyal, smart, mellow, patient, and he cuddles when i'm sick, upset, or he's missed me. he doesn't eat his brother's food, he tells me when he needs to go outside, and he does this really cute jump in the air (with his paws pointed) when he wants a cookie.

grayson is a little terror, growing into a huge one, but he's also very sweet, affectionate, and smart as hell. he also had his balcony privileges revoked this evening when i saw him halfway over the wall. i live on the third floor, and it's a long way down.

i wouldn't know what to do without both of them. they keep me company, keep me entertained, and keep me active when i just want to sit and mope. i may complain about them sometimes, but i love them so much and can't explain how much they add to my life. i never feel like i'm alone when they're around, and i feel a void even when phoenix goes to the groomer's.

they are my world. : )

to the "anonymous" comment poster

i shouldn't even acknowledge you and your cowardliness by posting anonymously, but if you read my first post, i don't use capitals. deal with it, or don't; it's your call. as far as my sentence structure goes, i know how to properly construct sentences, paragraphs, and even 20 page papers. i seem to be getting through a phd program just fine.

if lower case letters make this too difficult to read, maybe you should go back to "see jane run".

btw, this is *my* blog, mine, mine, mine. if you don't like it, DON'T READ IT! and don't try and moderate how i express myself; that's like editing someone's diary. give me a break.

it's a mr. bubble kind of night

i'm soooo tired, so i probably won't write much, but i wanted to post that i'm doing much better. i feel okay today, emotionally and mentally, but my body is killing me. i ran about 2 and a half miles yesterday, and almost 3 miles today (plus arms), and i'm feeling it.

i also saw my therapist, and as i tend to do when i'm ready to work something out, i got through a crapload of mental garbage in my session today.

it was a beautiful, cool morning and it rained this afternoon. both good things. i'm trying to appreciate and realize the positives, and the little things, as much as i can. i had a good hair day, i got good news about those freaking medical bills, i got some laundry done, and i have a whole bunch of good stuff to watch on my dvr.

even though i've been struggling, i'm doing what i need to do: self care, socializing, not isolating, studying, working, getting up at 7 every day and not stopping till 9 at night. i will get through this; i feel hopeful, which is the best thing i can possibly feel.

and thanks to my daddy, who is always there for me, listens *any* time i need to talk, and more than makes up for being two parents in one. thank you, also, to my friends who have reached out to me, offered support, and helped me to feel less alone.

i'm going to take a hot bath, read a trashy magazine, and curl up in my chair.

life: 1 april: 0

sooo, i was going to try and write something upbeat, something happy to offset yesterday's postings, but i just...can't. i didn't sleep well, the cat decided to try and linebacker his way out of the laundry room all night, and i had weird dreams, which are part and parcel for me dredging up all this shit buried in my psyche.


despite having both coffee and chatting with a good friend, and then dinner with another friend, i still sit here crying, and i'm not sure why. which really concerns me.


is this because my old meds are out of my system and the new ones haven't fully kicked in? are the new meds not going to work? am i just having a bad day? is this normal?

i don't even know what that means. i also threw my body for a loop when i stopped taking my birth control pills about three weeks ago because 1. who needs them? (not me, that's who) and 2. i feel like a cesspool for chemicals. i'm gonna need a liver transplant before i'm 60 with all the shit, albeit 99% of it legal, that i've put in my body. so is this a response to the fact that i'm having hormone withdrawal? who the hell knows?!? that's a big part of the problem.

can i not just feel okay? i don't want this blog to turn into my day-to-day dealings with depression. if you want, i can give you 25 interesting facts about me; i started that blog last week. unfortunately, this *is* my day-to-day right now. feel free to stop reading.

compound all this with the fact that my memory is awful, i seriously don't know what day of the week it is, i need to read 100 books in the next 5 months, and my coordination is for shit. i can barely type. oh, and my eyes keep doing this weird thing where it feels like they're shifting from side to side super fast, so fast that i can't focus. sounds bizarre; it is, and that's the best explanation i can give. on the upside, i've lost 6 lbs. in 12 days.

i think part of the issue is that i'm lonely. i mean really, intensely, painfully lonely. i know that not everyone has someone, but i've been pretty much single for almost 5 years, that's 70% of this decade of my life. they say that things happens when you're not looking, and i haven't been...and nothing. i feel surrounded and supported by great friends, and i'm always busy, there aren't enough hours in the day, but someone to share all this with?

my dog. at least he listens when i talk to him.
usually.

that last part was actually more difficult to post than anything i've written on here. i've come to terms with having depression, but i can't come to terms with this.

not yet.

profanity, anger, venting? inquire within.

i probably shouldn't write while i'm upset, but i feel like this evening was another case in point of someone not understanding me and what i'm going through, and trying to sweep it under the rug because i asked for help that i really didn't want to ask for. every time i feel like i make some progress, someone makes it glaringly apparent that i'm a bother or that they don't think i'm really sick.

trust me, i don't want to think of myself as ill, or having a disease, but that's what this is. there's no 12 step program, no steps to work, no snapping out of it. it's a lonely, isolating, ongoing, day to day, step by step process to strive to be happy, and it is work.

happiness and feeling "normal" shouldn't be this fucking hard. there should be a few moments here and there when you can just...be. hell, i don't even know what happiness is exactly because i don't have the same gauge by which to judge it that other people do. at this point, i can't discern happiness from manic tendencies.

i'm sorry that i suffer from depression.
i'm sorry that i have massive monthly expenses to ensure my continued health and safety.
i'm sorry that my insurance sucks.
i'm sorry that i'm 37 and still need support at times.
i'm sorry if i inconvenience anyone with my illness.

i'm sick and fucking tired of feeling like a pariah, less-than-human, or unworthy of sympathy. i feel like i've made great strides in the past few months, and the only reassurance i get is from my therapist and my psychiatrist (other than my friends who have reached out here, and when i've asked for help).

DEPRESSION IS NOT A CHOICE!!! IF IT WERE, I WOULD'VE DROPPED IT LIKE A BAD HABIT YEARS AGO. IT IS AN ILLNESS. IF YOU DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT, FUCKING EDUCATE YOURSELF, BECAUSE I GUARANTEE SOMEONE IN YOUR LIFE SUFFERS FROM IT.

i've dealt with this for EIGHTEEN YEARS. can you imagine having an illness that has these limitations: you can't talk about it, you can't deal with it publicly, you can't ask for support, and it is used against you with the express purpose of hurting you, knocking you down, and breaking your spirit by people you trust, just because they're angry, guilty, and feel helpless themselves?

nothing says support and understanding like your own mother calling you crazy repeatedly, asking if you've taken your meds when you have a bad day (everyone has them, even when medicated) and referring to you as "having been in the loony bin". wow, thanks for the encouragement, especially since she has depression herself.

i'm also tired of my mother telling people in our family, friends, and mutual acquaintances that i'm crazy, a bad daughter, the root of all her problems, and a deal breaker for her marriage. i haven't so much as raised my voice to her or insulted her, called her a name, or tried to hurt her feelings in almost two years. the same can't be said for her, when (in june) she called me a fucking, g*ddamn c*nt REPEATEDLY in front of my neighbors, and said that she wouldn't "do anything to me (physically) because her husband was there. so you'd have hit me if wasn't there? when i asked her to please stop embarrassing me, she went up to a friend's patio and yelled it louder.

i had no intentions of writing about my mother in this blog, ever, but i would like my side of the story told so that people will stop judging me about things they have no knowledge of. i also want people to know why i have some of the issues i have, and some of the stress i've been under this year.

i'm tired of having to deal with this by myself, i'm tired of people being afraid that i'm contagious (i'm not), or that i'm going to up and lose my shit. i don't yell, i don't take my pain out on others (i reserve that for myself), and i try not to even bother people when i need help, which is what got me so far down this path last december.

i have not had a safe place and no one who has taken me seriously the few times i said i needed help and was afraid. i have been dumped at the ER after overdosing because the person who took me didn't want to wait it out, and she knew it "would take a while" for me to be seen. this isn't just anyone, this is my MOTHER. fantastic support. wouldn't want to inconvenience you.

and people continue to wonder why i struggle with this, how i have virtually no family support, and why i feel so helpless? i'm not normally angry, but enough with this "hiding-it-under the carpet" mentality. i have had enough.

nothing stresses me out more

i cannot *stand* stressing about money. today started out *fantastic*. i got up, worked out, got some things done around the house while listening to old school U2. grayson sat on the patio, refrained from destroying anything. then i check the mail on the way to campus and get not one, not two, but three medical bills, and one that's been sent to collection, even though i paid on it two weeks ago.

so i had the fun task of calling the creditor, who said that i've been paying regularly, and as long as i pay every month, i'm cool, but i had to call the hospital and figure out why i have five different accounts and what the hell is going on with them. i never got a statement of services, or any kind of benefits explanation; i've just been making payments for services (which ones?) for at least seven months. i also think i've paid more than my out-of-pocket, but the thought of calling blue cross to haggle about my benefits is almost worse than having to pay them.

this is another thing about depression, it's really freaking expensive. that's one thing that i don't think people recognize, and they definitely don't tell you at depression camp (that's a joke, people). it can make your depression worse, or at least cause a hell of a lot of anxiety, which really doesn't help.

not only do you have to pay for meds every month, you have to visit a psychiatrist on a regular basis, and you have to pay for therapy if you really want to get well. i'm paying $150 - $200 a month, *without* paying off these stupid medical expenses. and if you've traveled the road of mental health hell that i have, you have additional expenses to deal with.

this situation just sucks. i was in such a good mood today, and i know i shouldn't let this one thing get me down, but i hate worrying about money more than anything else. i feel helpless, and i've been emotionally all over the place the past few days.

i decided to do something to take care of myself because my mind, body, and chemicals have been used and abused for the past few weeks. i went to the massage school and got a massage. $30 for almost 90 minutes, and it was worth every penny.

yes, i'm broke but i lay on a heating pad for four hours every night, and for the past few weeks, it has felt like someone stabbed me in the lower back and the back of my neck. i have severe arthritis in my spine, scoliosis, scar tissue floating around from two car accidents, and frequent migraines. if i continue to take the narcotics that are prescribed to me for the pain, i'll have yet another issue to deal with, and rehab ain't my cup of tea.

i'm feeling very relaxed now, and oh so sleepy, if i can only keep this headache at bay...

milestone

this may not seem like a big thing to most people, but i achieved what, for me, was a milestone this weekend. i've been doing promotional work for almost four years now, but for the last year and a half, it's been really hard because of my depression that kicked in during the summer of '09.

i wasn't properly treated and medicated for this bout until last december, but even still, it's been really hard to function in some areas of my life. i know i have to go to school, and i've made myself do that, even when i could barely get out of the house. i also know that i have to show up as a teaching assistant, even though i really struggled during the fall of '09 due to a lot of health issues that were probably ralated to the depression.

another problem area has been leaving the house and/or hanging out with friends. leaving the house at night has been really hard because i have all day to think about the fact that i have to get ready, go somewhere, pretend to be okay, and not want to crawl into a fetal position on the couch. i'd spend the whole day counting down the hours until i had to get ready, not doing anything else because i couldn't focus on anything but the worry.

i've never had problems with social anxiety or anything like that, but with this round of depression, i've been really isolated, even when i feel better. i think it's taken so much effort just to feel okay that i haven't had the extra energy to share it with others, if that makes sense. i've been doing everything i can to get better, and sometimes that means i don't have time for others. i'm not doing it to be selfish, but so that i can literally stay alive.

i've also had problems working promotions because i haven't been able to talk to people when i do them. in the past, i'd approach *anyone*, be friendly, talkative, but i have dreaded this job for almost a year and a half because i just couldn't handle the socialization. it's also hard to promote something when meds have your brain so fried, it's literally difficult to speak, let alone remember all the freaking selling points.

so, this weekend was a milestone for me. i was scheduled to work nascar, friday - sunday, for a total of 21 hours, and i made it all the way through. i worked every day, i actually enjoyed it for the most part, and i did my best. that may not seem like a big deal, but the racetrack is an hour's drive from my house, i had to be there at 6:30 am one day, and 7:00 the next, and the first shift was 8 hours long. i also had to talk to thousands of people, survey them, ask for personal information, give out stuff, be charming, and get hit on by rednecks. not to mention the fact that it was 45 - 55 degrees.

it means a lot to me that i pulled this off, especially with the medication change/adjustment. i woke up the third morning, and really didn't want to go. it was really cold, it was really early, and i just wanted to sleep in, but i couldn't do it. i couldn't stay home; i got up and went to work.

i was, and am, really proud of myself.

comment settings...

i changed the comment settings so you don't have to have an ID to leave them (i think, this layout kinda sucks). let me know if you can post comments, or have problems doing so. thanks!

are you stupid or completely lacking in self-respect?

i really, really try to be a good person and treat others the way they want to be treated, but this issue with a guy i recently met is causing entirely too much trouble for me, and there's no escaping it since he lives 100 feet away.

i'm so annoyed and so frustrated, despite my attempts to let it go and take deep, zen-like breaths. breathe...breathe...breathe.

he keeps calling, i don't answer. he keeps texting, i don't answer. he finds out where i'm working, and (i guess he already had plans to be there, let's hope) tries to find me at work...and when he can't...calls, texts, then calls again.

also, he had some crappy, POS phone last week. now, all of the sudden he has an iphone. guess who else has an iphone? ME! coincidence? i think not.

i had originally agreed to go on a date, but he was so smothering, aggravating, and defensive in the first 12 hours that we talked, that i told him i couldn't go out with him because things should *not* be that hard when you first meet someone.

i finally called him tonight because ignoring him isn't working and i'm about to assign him his own ringer, the theme from psycho. i told him that i have given him *no* indication that i wanted to talk to, or receive texts from, him and that he has inundated me with both for the past week.

i was calm and to the point...and he pulled this wounded victim routine. was i blunt? yes. rude? no. but for the love of buddha, what does it take for the guy to get the picture?

and what a freaking drama queen. after i said my piece, he was like, "fine, i'll pretend that i don't even know you!" is that really necessary? can't you just act like the 42 year old man that you are, and have a shred of maturity?

mind you, my psycho sensor went off when, the day after i met him, he joked about stalking me. um, what? not a good thing to say to a girl that you like, who you've been supposedly wanting to talk to for a while, and who lives within spitting distance.

i will now be watching my car with an eagle eye in case of potential keying, and sleeping with a baseball bat under my bed in case of potential intrusion. at least you will know who to arrest when they find my headless corpse in some creepy sex dungeon.

can we please return to our regularly scheduled celebrity gossip?

"hi, my name is april and i love celebrity gossip."

yes, i'm working on my phd, and yes, i know that gossip is bad, usually untrue, but...it's sort of addictive. i'm usually pretty selective about what i read because i don't have a lot of time to read for pleasure. i know that what a person reads is usually indicative of who she is and what she likes, but...please don't judge. i'll explain.

everyone needs an outlet and a guilty pleasure. i don't drink, i don't do drugs, i don't gamble, i haven't had a boyfriend in __ years. so my guilty pleasure, or drug of choice, if you will is celebrity gossip. and i assure you, it is a drug. it's addictive, bad for you, and not something you discuss in mixed company.

i am forced, fine it's my choice, to read pages and pages of incomprehensible theory until my brain aches. it's essentially my job for the next thirty years.

mind you, i'm still selective about what i read/watch. i refuse to even look at the enquirer (because it's not a legitimate news source?). also, you could never convince me that bigfoot won the lottery after eating brad pitt's love child, and escaped via spaceship.

i do love us weekly; the stories are about actual people and have (semi)plausible stories. lindsey lohan having a meltdown and throwing her glass at her ex-girlfriend? that's something i could be convinced actually happened. i'm all over it.

oh yeah, i also watch e! news because my tv is on e! about 80% of the time. it makes for innocuous background noise that i can ignore and read through...and i'm also addicted to some pretty crappy reality *shows*, but that just feeds my celebrity addiction.

now, there's a trend in celebrity gossip mags lately that is annoying the hell out of me. while i do watch reality shows, i watch reality shows about *celebrities*, not random ass people who are famous for being genetic, or fertile, freaks. i know that celebrities are playing to the cameras, but these shows feed my need to know the dirt about hollywood.



so, this trend of having all these pseudo-celebrities on the cover/main story is stupid. that's it, just stupid. for one thing, putting the girls of '16 and pregnant' on a magazine isn't exactly a great message to send teenagers. "look, if i get pregnant in high school, i can be famous!" fantastic.

or if i get 15 fertilized eggs implanted in my uterus, i can get sponsorship from huggies and start a jewelry line. it's about that ridiculous.

i just want to read semi-trashy stories about people who are legitimately famous..."jennifer aniston and brad pitt were at the same benefit; oh no!" "christina aguilera's marriage is over because she's bisexual!" see, real cutting edge stuff. ist that too much to ask? you're not gonna get that on the 10:00 news.

bobcat or housecat? you decide...

i've never really been a cat person. i love dogs, and have had them for most of my life. i tend to treat my dogs as children. take phoenix for instance. i buy him birthday and christmas presents, and i insist that he's in another room when i wrap them so he won't ruin the surprise. okay, it's kinda weird, but i don't have human children, and ya work with what ya got.

despite gift giving, i'm not one of those annoying people that takes their dogs everywhere in a purse, dyes their hair funky colors, or dresses them in a different outfit every week.

fine, phoenix has been known to wear a sweater on occasion. for example:





doesn't he look *thrilled*?














but in my defense, his life usually looks a little something like this:




that's my bed. yep, rough life.














so, in order to keep my child occupied (because he's obviously not getting enough love or attention from me), i decided to get a cat: less maintenance than a dog, keeps to himself, poops in a box, acts like he's doing you a favor by petting him. you know, all the reasons why you'd want a cat.

two days after i decided to get one, a litter magically appeared in my mom's yard. it's kismet! to be clear, i did not pick my kitten. he picked me. so i took him home because that's what where i was going, and he was going with me. but really, how could you not love this face?



















i will tell you. he's obviously on a mission of some sort...a calling, if you will. i'm not sure who his puppet master is, or what agency he's working for, but that mission is obviously to drive me to the brink of insanity. yes, i suffer from depression, but i'm not crazy...yet. it's only been 5 months.

i haven't had a kitten since i was 16, and that cat, cassandra, was not your average bear. she was feisty but sweet, somewhat lazy, and affectionate. in a word: perfect. now i know that most kittens (and puppies) are playful. holy hell. playful does not even begin to describe grayson.

a sidebar about his name. when we found the litter, we gave each kitten a nickname so that we could identify them, instead of pointing and saying, "that one, with the hair!" while we looked for homes for them. grayson acquired his name because he looked like he was wearing gray socks. cheesy, but it worked.

i brought him home after going to see pearl jam on the east coast (yes people, there they are again) and i could *not* think of a name for him. after two days, i had yelled "grayson" so many times that it pretty much stuck. i had no say so in the matter, which seems to have solidified the nature of our relationship.

back to playfulness...grayon isn't playful, he is maniacal. i swear he didn't sleep the first two weeks i had him. i know. i was home. wall to wall insanity. he ate plants, shredded the couch cover, chewed on power cords, ate paper...pretty much anything that would get him killed, either by me or jolt of electricity. maybe it's a death wish, not a mission...

i got a water gun to "train" him, that's what "they" tell you to do. it's as easy as herding cats. he'd do something he *knew* he wasn't supposed to because i had just yelled at him about it 17 seconds ago. i'd pull out the water gun, and he'd squint and wait to see if it would work. let me add that this water gun was a piece of shit from walmart that worked sporadically. he'd wait and if it did spray water, he'd run...and then return to chewing on my earphone cords or trying to shred the chair ties, playing hockey with dog food, or terrorizing phoenix.

remind me again, why i got a cat?

granted, he pretty much has a dog's personality; he comes when i call him, loves to be petted, and acts like he's part of the pack (of me and phoenix, that is).

and i feel bad. i don't *want* to yell at him, because no one likes to be yelled at. i don't like to yell, i rarely do it (anymore), i grew up in a house *full* of yelling. and he really is sweet and affectionate, except when he's sleeping on my face.


i know, he does it out of love. uh huh.
















the yelling is starting to affect my psyche. about two months ago, i had a dream that i killed a rabbit by shaking it to death until it was a bloody bag of flesh. talk about disturbing. i'm convinced it's because i had yelled at grayson before bed and i felt guilty. then a few nights ago, i dreamed that i pulled one of his front legs out of the socket when he pissed me off and i grabbed him, and i had to put it back in. WTF? (needed caps there)

slow down. before you call the spca, you must know that i don't abuse either of my kids. granted, i yell at grayson, but when your cat is standing in the middle of your dining room table, with a mouthful of the pile of 60 exams you just graded and your lap is full of dog and knitting, you'd yell too.

phoenix is another story, for another blog. in short, i never yell at him because he never does anything wrong, really. he's a super mellow dog who seems to have inherited some of my anxiety. they say that pets mirror their owners, but if that's the case, i must have a split personality. keep your comments to yourself, please.

here's what he did last night:















i'm hoping that once i get grayson neutered, he'll slap on 15 lbs. of laziness and calm down. if not, i'm faced with the prospect of a 20 lb. monster who is a dog batterer and lays on my face.

awesome.

a disclaimer, if you will...

before you read any further, i want to explain my sense of humor in the name of clarity and in order to avoid offending people. i have a *very* dry, sarcastic sense of humor, legitimately inherited from my father. just ask my dad(dy).

it's almost impossible to offend me, but i don't want to offend anyone else as i'm doing this for my own selfish, therapeutic purposes. if you like what i write, please read. if not, i wish you well. : )

the life of a guinea pig/fat cat

soooo, other things on my mind. i'm going to divulge some personal info, and this isn't exactly easy for me to broadcast to the world, though i've dealt with it for half of my life. i'm on a few psychotropic meds because, like 47% of the population (i just made up that number), my brain doesn't produce the chemicals necessary to live a "normal" life. normal is a completely different topic, and i don't want to digress. anyway, i have a really, really weird brain that won't tolerate about 99.5% of the psych medications out there (that is a real number).

i was really excited in january when my doctor found something that worked and didn't make me hallucinate, stay awake for four days, cause panic attacks, or any of the other super fun side effects i've had to deal with. luckily, i'm not a guy because i'm sure sexual dysfunction would have been in there somewhere. back to meds:

i started taking this medication and, after like nine months on it, along with weekly therapy, i was feeling *great*, like tony the tiger great, until...i realized that my clothes were getting tighter and tighter. yes, happiness is all well and good (yay, mental health!), but if you gain weight, it's not exactly great for the self esteem. how can i not get depressed when i eat 1200 calories a day, work out six hours a week, obsess and record everything i put in my body, and still gain __ lbs?!?

<----- this is how i have been feeling.

i went to my primary care doctor, who told me that the med i'm taking is *notorious* for weight gain. fantastic. i went to my psychiatrist who said that, yes, weight gain is common with this drug. even better. she weighed me and "kinda" freaked out because every time i see her, she stresses the importance of exercise. i tell her i exercise. she says "good job". meanwhile, i had gained over 10% of my body weight since march.

now, this woman is a great psychiatrist, but if you've ever taken any psych meds or dealt with someone who has, it's a crapshoot (that was originally a title for a pearl jam song. yes, i'm obsessed). you are, in essence, a guinea pig and they try and try again until they find something that works.

because there are sooo many drugs i can't take, to find one that does work is a freaking miracle. the fact that it has the pesky little side effect of gaining __ lbs. in ten months is discarded in the name of mental health. anyway, because i was about to (calmly) have a nervous breakdown, and because she's a great doctor, she changed my medication to something that is known to cause weight loss. woo hoo!

now i'm dealing with the ever-so-fun task of experiencing and weeding through the side effects, while trying to determine if they'll go away. i also have to decide whether the side effects outweigh the intended effects. i talked to one of my friends about this (i will keep her anonymous to respect her privacy), and she said that she kept a journal of how she felt when she started a new med. i decided to try it out. here is a sample entry:

doubled the dosage today, numb, moody, blank mind and trouble remembering. i just want to go home and lay there and do nothing. i really just want to lay on my face, as weird as that sounds. i don’t want to feel anything, physically or emotionally. my brain doesn't contain any information. it's not that i can't access info, it's literally empty.

once again, welcome to my brain.

i feel the need to add a p.s.

while i'm going through all this trial/error/guinea pig experimentation crap, i really am, overall, doing soooooo much better than i was even a few months ago. several people have written to me, expressing concern (thank you friends, i love you), and i want you to know that i'm really, really good. i don't say that lightly, and it kind of scares me to put it out there because i'll be waiting for the other shoe to drop, but i'm hopeful, content, fulfilled, and optimistic. : )

the beginning...

before you start reading this blog, or any that follow, there is one thing you must know: when i'm not writing for business or professional purposes, capital letters are virtually non-existent for me. i know that this drives my dad crazy, but i talk fast, i think fast, and i type fast, and i don't have time for little things like the shift key. i will proofread the hell out of something, looking for misspellings because i'm a little OCD (needed here because it's an acronym) about things like that, but caps? eh.

i also tend to write in a stream-of-consciousness fashion, so if i ramble, change topics mid-sentence, or throw you for a loop here and there, welcome to my brain.

now...

so, the title of my blog is "much more than pearl jam", which i find somewhat ironic (or maybe highly, you be the judge) as one of the lines from one of my favorite pearl jam songs, "breath", is

"if i knew where it was, i would take you there. there's much more than this."

ha ha, how funny. ah, feel the irony, alanis.

i'm starting this blog because i don't really feel like i have a voice. yes, i have a literal voice, which you'd know if you've ever really pissed me off. i can scream with the best of them, although i haven't done it quite some time. i mean i'm looking for something is representative of me. i see a lot of people in my (grad school) program who are making, doing, writing, creating, and i feel like a slacker. i want to draw, write stories, play the guitar. i can do all of these things a little, but i'd like to have a better proficiency instead of feel like a lazy, untalented bum.

my friend jon sent me this youtube video about libras, which is my astrological sign. in the video, this wacky psychotherapist/astrology "expert" acts out the characteristics of a libra, and while she's a nutjob and i disagree with some of what she said, i do agree with this: i'm kinda good at a lot of things. see above paragraph, please.

there are a few things that i'm really good at: going to school, memorizing song lyrics, applying mascara while driving and looking at the road, tying a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue, but i'd like to feel like i have a "thing" that i'm known for or that defines me. what most people know or associate with me is...you guessed it: pearl jam.

i've been reading for my qualifying exams, which to sum up, consist of four exams that essentially test what you've been learning in the phd program. one of my friends referred to it, aptly, as academic water boarding. so, i'm reading this book about fandom, (because my dissertation is about pearl jam and the fan community. i *cannot* get away from this band!) and it discusses the levels and types of fandom. if you're really into a band, a sports team, whatever, and you wear shirts with their logos, buy memorabilia, gather with other people to enjoy the object of your idolatry, etc., you're pretty much in the upper tiers of the fan theory spectrum.

when fandom truly becomes a facet of your identity, it's what you're known for or what you present yourself as. back to wanting to be seen as something more than a pearl jam fan...i really am! although you wouldn't believe it from reading this so far.

on that note, a gratuitous picture of eddie at this year's bridge school benefit concert:












ah, so much better now.

anyway...i do want to be seen as something more than a fan, but it's a huge part of my identity. it's one thing i'm truly passionate about. i'm passionate about a lot of things. remember, i'm kinda good at a lot of things; being passionate is one of them.

i think i take for granted the fact that i have something in my life that i love so much. a few years ago, i was talking to one of my friends about a trip i was taking to see eddie in concert in chicago, and she looked at me and said, "you're really lucky. i'd kill to have something that means that much to me."

i never really thought about it. doesn't everyone have something that keeps them alive, that they'd die for, that they can't live without? i'm not talking about a significant other, or someone you're stalking on facebook, i mean a true, deep, sincere love (fine, obsession)

...and on a side note, i'm not really sure why i'm ellipses happy today...

of something. even if it's eating chocolate cake, and you try chocolate cake at every restaurant you can find, and travel the world searching for the best, most perfect chocolate cake ever. i'm not sure where i was going with all of this, except to say that I LIKE THINGS OTHER THAN PEARL JAM. sorry, caps were necessary.

and after all that, and proclaiming my non-pearl-jam-affiliated-persona, there is hardly anything else that affects me the way they do. whether it be lyrics or looking at a picture of eddie (yes, he's my favorite, although not everyone's), pearl jam just makes me happy. this seems like such a simple concept, but it's so hard to achieve.

i mean, everyone wants to happy, right? *crickets*
except those crazy drama queens who thrive on misery and bitching. i know i want to be happy, i'm working really hard to be happy, and to have something that you can listen to, look at, or participate in that improves your day, your week, your life, that is magical. i happen to be lucky enough to have an entire group of people that get me and understand where i'm coming from and what moves me. that's a rare, precious thing.

i'm not sure if i conveyed what i wanted to, or if anyone will get what i'm saying, but i can always come back to it later. i'll mull on it over a nice slice of chocolate cake. : )