when to worry

Anxiety is my ride-or-die apparently and gosh I wish I could kick her out of the car.

It’s been a rough few days.

I’m tired of feeling gross.

Tired of not having the kinds of friends here I can confide in. That’s on me, a little bit. I know a lot of happy gadflies and while they’re super fun to run around with, they’re not confidantes.

Work is awful, like unwaveringly terrible and awful, I feel overlooked and undervalued and that’s weighing on me.

Writing = rejection right now, over and over, from journals and writer friends. Just, everywhere.

Do I stay or go? On so many fronts, existentially and temporally and now.

I just don’t know.

aggression and detective work

Last weekend I rented a car to hang out with some pups and go visit my cabin. On my drive south, near the airport, the drizzle grew heavier and interstate traffic slowed. A semi truck drove up behind me, headlights flashing, but I stayed in my lane at 65 mph.

Suddenly the truck swerved left, into a passing lane, and then laid on its horn, swerving back to the right directly into my lane. If I hadn’t braked hard, the truck would have rammed the front of my rental car. I sped up but the truck did too, laying on the gas and merging into the far left lane. My companion managed to snap two photos.

I looked up the TRAC number and found out some information but now what? I e-mailed TRAC and found the leasing company, Interpool Inc, but they have no online presence, no phone #, no way to be reached. It seems deliberate. 

Folks are aggressive these days, to be sure. On Saturday an SUV pulled a similar maneuver when I didn’t get out of the HOV lane fast enough. I’ve had my asshole days behind the wheel but this weekend I drove like a grandma. Returning the car safely and intact on Sunday felt like a victory.

 

numb

I read J.P. Brammer's book recently, "Hola Papi! how to come out in a Walmart parking lot." He's an insightful and very funny columnist and writer.

Now on Substack he writes about numbness. I know this well. The sense that not feeling is far preferable to the alternative. To feeling sad or lonely or anxious. 

I made my peace (sort of) with feeling anxious. It's a part of life and will never 100% go away. There are things that make it briefly cease--a live music show, hilarity with friends, hanging out with pets--but like an old social media post, anxiety never ever truly goes away. It's always hovering quietly in the background, awaiting its chance to slip back in.

And so: numbness. Yes. The negative space of feelings.

the wisdom of tumblr

Seen.

On memewhore, about strict parents.

 

And on patron saint of shitposts, about bedtime fantasies.

Also, I kind of want this tent.
 

 

your future self is watching you right now through memories

 

tumblr

when coping is meh

What do you do when you realize that the coping skills you developed early on, to protect yourself, to survive, are not so helpful anymore?

That protective shell of suspicion and mistrust, installed around myself to keep the bad things out, well it also keeps some of the good things out. 

The self-reliance, the I don't need anyone or anything mentality, the tendency to say yes when I mean no and just do what I want anyway, to hide what I truly think and feel.

All, not so great as an adult and with actual healthy people in my life.

These are things I'm thinking about, and working on. 

we're not even at P

I read a comment this week that we're not even at the "P" of PTSD.

I felt like I hit a wall a couple of weeks ago. The thing about hitting a wall during pandemic times is IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER! You're still in a pandemic. More people are getting vaccinated including some dear friends, but mostly nothing has changed.

I saw another comment that said "I can't go to another fucking park or on another fucking walk." Yes. I've stopped taking pictures of murals and inspirational quotes. I honestly don't care anymore.

I've been thinking about what a return to life means for me. 

My work situation stresses me out and my boss has been extremely controlling and negative in conversations about how it might work better for me, and our team. I've never truly asked for what I need, and I'm wondering if I'll have the courage to do so now.

I'm writing more and I want/need/hope for that to continue.

In some ways I feel closer to my sisters. We've had dozens of Zoom chats and a lengthy FB group message with memes and links. I downloaded it this week and I'm producing it as a document. An artifact.

Friend-wise I have relationships that have grown and evolved. We've found new ways to connect, confide, share, laugh. I'd say 60 to 70% of my friends have gone silent. Some days I feel abandoned and very alone. Some days I don't talk to another live human. I'm watching too much Netflix probably but I've also read a ton of books and done a lot of thinking.

So, what's ahead? Hopefully a road trip to see good friends. Hopefully a move to a better living space that costs less. Hopefully new inroads with publishing.

Hopefully equity, safety and peace.

what a time to be alive

Per the Washington Post on Saturday, only 25 Republicans (out of 249 polled), would say on the record that Joe Biden won the 2020 US Presidential election. I'm linking through Complex in case you don't have a Wapo account.

Profiles in courage, as always. 

It baffles me. Boggles the mind. It doesn't seem accidental nor does it seem cowardly. It's a choice. A decision. It's treasonous, really. 

*

I also read the live chats on the Post website. On Fridays, Carolyn Hax hosts what's billed as an advice chat and it is, but it's sensible, thoughtful, funny advice (I guess as opposed to what I perceive as the Ann Landers/Miss Manners corporate advice business). Reading Hax is like a conversation with a wise friend. In the December 4 chat, a person wrote in about living alone and working from home during pandemic times, and how their friends no longer check in on them and how very alone they feel. 

Then another a-loner wrote in. And another. Soon there was a flurry of posts.

Busysmartypants is one of those a-loners. It is a lonely time. I try to stay busy with work, writing, mutual aid projects and online hangouts. I try to check in regularly on my other lone friends--a quick text or meme or e-mail, sometimes an actual greeting card--and am happily surprised on the rare occasion someone checks in on me, too. 

There is a mental health toll that will be paid on the other side of this pandemic/political nightmare in which we live. Especially for Americans.

leafy zen

 

Long walks have been a balm for my anxious brain these past months. Now that it's fall, there is nothing quite so delicious as a walk through fallen leaves on a cold, rainy day. The air is heavy and humid and rich. These golden leaves seem to glow in the perma-dusk of a November day. I inhale deeply and feel momentarily at peace.

now we are in the scary scenario

Facebook, Twitter, Insta--all proclaim at the top of the page that votes are still being counted. After a very confusing election return evening, it's stomachache time today.

Honestly, it has been for days/weeks/years.

Courage.

dranks

A shrink asked me this week if I have friends I can confide in. Happily, the answer is yes.
I feel so lucky for the beautiful souls in my life.
Prost.

inventory

I recently fired my shrink.
She's a nice person and I think means well, but I didn't feel like she was listening to me, towards the end.
I was paying her to listen. Why else sit on a faux velvet couch week after week, staring at the potted plants, wondering who else's ass crack has worn the same groove, and then forking over cash at the end of 55 minutes?
Sometimes she made me take a depression inventory, which--if you haven't ever taken one--is pretty depressing on its own. During our second to last visit, I was feeling pretty down--it's been a year of loss and travel and stress--and scored higher than I had in awhile. (Higher is not good.) She counted up the numbers, and then said, almost gaily, "Well your numbers are higher but you're here and you look fine, so let's move on!"
*
One of the questions on the inventory asks if I feel like I've failed more than the average person, and I nearly always put yes. I feel like I have failed a lot. I know I have failed a lot.
I'm writing, yes, and publishing again, but no one cares, not really.
My job is uber-stressful and frustrating. I dread each day. For weeks I had an eye twitch (until I took time off).
I see family and that's fine but it's not fine, there have been outbursts and yelling and mean things said, and it all just gets papered over and forgotten. My nieces have grown up and moved on and that feels lonely. Two of them won't even message me back, not without a double tap or some badgering, and wow does that feel not-good.
*
I want to make changes--major ones--and I'm trying, as hard as I can.
I hope I can survive the deluge.
Also, watching Pose puts my suffering into perspective and gives me hope.

start over

Courtesy of subtleceiling.

the shadow

There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder.
For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media platitudes and my incremental successes, despite all this, the shadow persists.
It's negative self-talk.
The voice--my parents' voice become mine--telling me I'm a failure, that I'm not good enough, won't be good enough, can't ever be. That my friendships are false and my achievements hollow and my personality devoid of anything remotely attractive.
On occasion it's a deep, aching weariness. Being tired of being tired. Wishing somehow to shut off the voice.
Most times I can keep the shadow behind me.
Some days it edges closer.
No one cares.
You don't matter.
I think--I hope--this too shall pass.
*
Reading William Styron's Vanity Fair account of his struggle with the shadow gives me hope.

seeya

Getting ready for a big-ish trip and I'm feeling all the emotions.
I'm nervous. So many miles, so many connections.
Scared, a little.
Sad, a little too. I hate good-byes, even for a handful of days.
Excited, though. To see old friends and meet new ones.
To test myself and work hard and play hard and be who I aspire to be.
Watch this space.
Back soon.
*
Also...THIS is my soundtrack tonight. Whoa. How did I live without Audacity of Dope? !!

calibr-8

I'm feeling like a failure and it's not just the raft of rejections for the story I'm sending around (however motivational rejection may be, it's still a "no").
I want to be a better person, writer, sister, aunt, girlfriend, friend, whatever, and against all measuring sticks I feel like I'm coming up way short.
It's been a tough few days for connections.
It's been a time of loneliness and introspection--not unwelcome visitors for the writer, but still.
It's time to assess, re-assess, calibrate.
*
Good things I have done for myself:
Keep on writing.
Video chat with fam.
Cook up a bunch of golden beets and sunchokes and buckwheat soba noodles.
Oh and these raw cookies made of oats and chocolate and almond butter.
30 minutes of restorative yoga for knees and hips and spirit.
The contemplation, however, is nearly, almost too much. 

shoegaze

I wonder about my self--my Self--and whether she is or ever will be fully established.
Is getting older the establishment of Self?
Or merely the calcification?
I'm trying to stay fresh and open and confused (yasss Geo Saunders) but such a state can be so painful, no?
I realized that a former shrink passed away last fall, and I hadn't known. Andy was a genuinely lovely person and perceptive, kind, thoughtful listener. In one of our first sessions, I said to him, "I'm shy," and he didn't say a word, just raised one of his magnificently expressive eyebrows and smiled.
The current shrink is no less talented, and this week she probed, and the pain was exquisite. I'm still reeling.
Tomorrow is a day that I dread each year. Eleven years since my mother departed this Earth.
I miss her so.
There were good things this week, too, and I must remember them.
Drinks and giggles and intensity and hugs with a friend in town from California.
Happy hour with another dear girl. A workday visit to KEXP, where we trooped into the herbacious green room and felt like uber-squares.
Getting somewhere with a few stories, slowly, microscopically.
And new (to me) music! Erik Blood, featuring a new friend's vocals. Check it on bandcamp.

the sound and the fury

So there's this neurological psychological something-ogical thing I've dealt with since I was a teenager.
Until recently, no one seemed to know much about it, and when I say no one, I mean researchers (OHSU), shrinks, counselors, doctors, audiologists--no one.
Misophonia.
It's gotten more attention lately from a few celebrities and the New York Times, but no one seems to know what causes it or how to treat it. You can see, if you watch the Kelly Ripa video, how the ABC News interviewer goes from disbelief, to chuckling, to digust as Kelly tries to explain.
So the few of us that have it, have to deal with it pretty much on our own.
That sucks. Big time sucks. It's not a problem on the level of the big diseases, to be sure, but it's a daily quality of life thing. A daily challenge to sanity and equilibrium and general well-being. It makes me stay home when I want to go out. It makes me cranky and short-tempered when I want to be laid-back and relaxed.
My own shrink has thrown in the towel.
I mention it rarely, because when I do, I'm faced with disbelief or incomprehension.
How can it be that bad?
Suck it up.
You're crazy.
Anyway, this is a first step for me.
I plan to keep looking and talking and hoping. 

shizz getting real

My city is going through its share of changes, most of them not-so-hot.
Tens of thousands of people moved here last year, my old hangouts and playgrounds are full of woo girls and brogrammers and boring, rich jabronis (sour grapes, maybe, but it feels like the truth) and beloved institutions are being savaged by developers by the week. Daily I step over the sleeping homeless--one guy camps out at the heating vent near the Mar-Queen, another by the UPS Store, and violence lurks everywhere. Last week in the ID I came across a corner store festooned with police tape (the clerk was stabbed). Around the corner, a shoving and shouting match. Three blocks up the hill from my place, a man begged the cops to shoot him (and they did). Today, an hour before I ran past, the SPU campus was on lockdown.
Should I worry?
Is it simply life in the mad city?

today

Today what I can offer is this, from the very grounded and sublime Subhan Schenker:
Isn't it strange that we live as if the NEXT moment is MORE IMPORTANT than THIS one?! In doing that, we miss all the blessings that THIS MOMENT - which is the ONLY moment we have! - has to offer.
Love...
*
Oh and this, from a Charles D'Ambrosio interview in Tin House:
It’s a good reminder that you don’t have to indulge a goopy confessional mode to write a personal essay—you’re more mysterious than you know, more naked than you imagine, and whether you intend it or not, you’re going to be exposed.