A Little Insight into the Brain of Yours Truly

Today, I have a headache. And I think about how miserable I feel and wish for something stronger than Tylenol. But then all the rational and less selfish thoughts hit me and I think: Other people I know and love have worse and more frequent headaches than I do so I need to quit complaining and then I think about how I'm grateful I'm allergic to most pain medicines so I don't need to worry about addictions and am careful with the one medicine I can take, though it doesn't do much, and then I think, having a headache like this forces me to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, which makes me think about the church camp in Indiana at which I, and the H.I.S. Puppeteers ministry team, just spent the better part of a week where we pushed the hydrate, hydrate, hydrate mantra because it was so blasted hot and remember how great of an experience that was. And yes, that was all one thought. Go me!

I'll be alright, though. I know this is temporary. I do have to say that when I was in Indiana with the puppeteers, I felt physically more well than I have in a very long time. My allergies hardly bothered me at all, my head didn't hurt, and my asthma was practically non-existent. It sort of made me half-consider moving there just for the health benefits. But then my brain took over and I went though the whole thought process again: What would I do for work and what about hubby? Would he be able to start his business up again there and be successful? And I'd really hate to drag the kids out of a community and a school-system they are familiar with. And what about Sandy-mom? I couldn't leave her here! She'd be all alone and that wouldn't be right. And where would we live? And then again, where would I work? And so what if my allergies are kind of terrible in Tennessee? That's why there's a wonderful thing called allergy medicine, right? Right?

Why does the cycle of my brain continually turn thoughts over and over and over?

I don't know. It's constant, though. Every minute of every single day and sometimes lots of minutes at night when I should be sleeping. Just this running commentary/inner monologue of stuff... Some people call it worry, and that could be the truth. I just don't know. Maybe it's anxiety? I do seem to worry a lot more than other people, but I just haven't been able to master the whole "I don't care" or "Let it go" thing other folks seem to have mastered. Well...not that they don't care, but seem to be far less concerned about EVERYTHING than I am.

I worry about how people perceive me, and then I start with: But who really cares how someone perceives you? I mean,  you're you, right? You're not them. You only need to worry about what you are doing and that you don't intentionally hurt anyone, right? I mean, you're basically a pretty good person so what are you worrying about? Perception is useless, isn't it? Though I guess perception and impressions are nearly one and the same.

And truthfully, it's probably the ADD I've had my whole life. I have learned to live with it and work around it and find things to do that benefit from my active and virtually directionless brain. So all these thoughts - all this stuff that's constantly racing around, pinging off the insides of my skull, screaming for my attention all the time - is just....me. Part of who I am. Whether you love me or hate me is irrelevant. Whether I drive you crazy or not is irrelevant. I cannot help who I am and you cannot fix me. It's taken me a long time to get to this conclusion. And yet...

Yes, I'm sure there is someone out there who CAN fix me with medications. And I'm not opposed to therapy, but have been unlucky in my search for a therapist who meets my needs. And then I also am not pleased with the cost of therapy for mental illness - because the ADD coupled with the anxiety and depression IS a mental illness but it IS NOT something to bash me for or be afraid of - so I just...don't. I don't go to therapy, though I probably should. I don't take medicines for it, though again, it might not hurt.

I was taking an antidepressant for a while, and I'm not really sure why I stopped except that I just never refilled the prescription. I was taking an anti-anxiety medicine for a while, and I know exactly why I stopped that. Oh - THAT'S a story for another post, though. It's a doozy. I had to get beyond it before I could even consider writing about it.

Yeah - you see this? Re-read this post! I'm all over the place today.

FOCUS, JEN! FOCUS! Be Peanut!

TTFN

JMS

OPINION: "They"

I am going to apologize ahead of time only for the randomness of this post. I've seen so many instances recently of hate, hate crimes, or general disgust for both individuals and for groups. I've had it. I am very much a proponent for the "Why can't we all just get along?" Movement - and if there isn't a Movement, there should be. I don't believe there shouldn't be conflict. Conflict with intent to resolve a situation in a humane way is part of who we are. But conflict for the sake of conflict? Argument for the sake of argument? Not really. I don't believe one person is intrinsically right or intrinsically wrong, but I do believe each person has the right to be heard. To be seen. I also believe we need to be careful with our words, because Edward Bulwer-Lytton was right. Let's replace "Pen" with "Word"....?  I think spoken words are quite mighty.

If one uses the word “They” when referencing an entire group, one should be cautious. To say “They” and then follow it up with an assumption could be, at the very least, unkind, but more likely detrimental. For example, referring to all LGBTQ individuals as “Those people” or “They” is simply rude. Or, when discussing maybe a style of dress or a propensity toward extravagance for the same community, saying, “They all…” would be like saying all persons of color are bad (they’re not), or all cats have fur (they don’t) or that water is wet (which is another conversation for another time). More accurately, and certainly less hurtful, would be if you were to say, “They are just trying to be the best they can be.” Even further, you’d be spot on if you were to say, “They are trying to make a life for themselves, with all the rights and privileges thereof.” Do you want to be referred to as “They?” Again, I use this as an example. We vaguely refer to “They” in a tongue-in-cheek manner, such as The Bureau of They or The Ubiquitous They to mean those unknowns who have decreed things (ideas, rules, etc.) to be a certain way. "I don’t know, I didn’t make the rules, ‘They’ did.” But to use “They” specifically…well, that could get you into trouble unless what you're stating or claiming is proven fact. That is unless you don’t care about the feelings and rights of others. I know that lack of caring is definitely driving this society right now; we're all far too selfish to think of others, unless one is asking how another can help you or what they can give you.

I preach acceptance to my kids. Acceptance! Acceptance!  Acceptance! I let them know that I expect them to treat everyone well, even if someone is not their favorite person. I know every time I pull out my soap box, one of them says, "Oh, no. Here she goes again." Add in a little smirk and maybe some eye rolling. But here's the thing: I KNOW THEY LISTEN! I know, because I've heard them talk about it, seen them show it. I'm not just referring to the LGBTQ community - though of course that has been part of the conversations. I'm referring to ANY situation where someone (human or animal) is treated as less than he or she should be. I've been on the receiving end of that stick too many times to count and I know how it feels to either be lumped in with a group of people who don't entirely meet my personal standards of living (they're unkind, thoughtless, selfish, rude...), or they simply have a mean streak a mile wide. I'm sure there are many other reasons why one would feel a certain way.

And I know, I can hear you all cringing. "You should let your kids think for themselves! You should not push your opinions on them! You should let them cultivate their own feelings about something." But again I remind you I'm not preaching acceptance toward, and love of, one single community; I'm using these things as EXAMPLES for my children and I try very hard to put what I say into a real-life situation for them so it will be clear for them.

In my house, we do not treat people with disrespect. And when we do, we're called out on it. My kids are as aware of that as I am. And further, we ALL fail. There are days where tempers are short, bodies are hurting or feeling unwell, emotions are on the surface, nerves are frayed. Oh yes, we fail. But we KNOW when we fail and we can beg forgiveness when and if it's necessary AND MEAN IT.

Maybe I'm not making sense.

Bottom line for me is this: That Golden Rule thing? That's not just a religious creed. We ALL want to be treated well. So, if you would be hurt or offended by something said or done to you, or one of your kids, or maybe even your animals, then please, for the love of love, don't pay that forward.

TTFN
JMS

What the heck is that?

There's a bobcat on campus.

Define campus? Not college. Work.

Big, giant, campus. Lots of people in lots of buildings doing some amazing research.

Since I started working here in 2014, I have seen two snapshots of the elusive bobcat taken by employees - one of which was taken behind my building! But I have never seen the actual creature itself.

Until today.

Granted, it was a brief glimpse, but enough to make me actually slap my hand across my mouth in total surprise!

I was on the main road coming up to the intersection where I would turn to go to my office building and I saw - on the far left corner - something streaking across the field toward the street.

Thought process: Too big, and far too fast, to be a groundhog. Too small to be a deer. What the heck am I seeing?

And then it burst through underneath the guard rail into the street, right in front of me, and zipped across into the woods on the other side. Total visual time? Approximately 40 seconds.

Bobcat.

I actually, really and truly saw the bobcat.

Yes, I know there are going to be people out there who see bobcats far more often than I do, but they're not terribly common around here so for me, this was a big deal.

Granted, it didn't stop to let me see it's cute face, or pet it and hug it and squeeze it and name it George.  But I saw it, and that's enough.

TTFN
JMS

My pants are wet...and other nonsense

There once was a girl from Nantucket...

Okay, Connecticut.  Close enough, right?

***

Besides kids, coffee, and cats, do you know what my favorite thing is?  You don't?  Good, because neither do I.  Probably music.  Or food.  Yeah, food is always good.  But music is food for the soul, and that's equally as important.

***

The parking lot behind the building where I work is not large enough to accommodate everyone who works in the building.  Also, folks who work in other buildings park there, too, because they'd rather do that than park any further away.  What that means is, I have to park quite a ways from the building.  On most days, it's not an issue.  I don't mind walking.  But this morning, not only did I have a bunch of stuff to bring into the building for our annual holiday party, but it was pouring rain.  I was loaded down!  So now, my pants are wet.  My boots are wet.  My socks are wet because my boots apparently leak.  And, as an observation and a public safety message, it is difficult, not to mention un-fun (yes, it is a word), to try to juggle both an umbrella, and a box containing a carefully prepared red berry fruit salad, without fumbling anything.

***

Contrary to belief, I am not a horrible, nagging hag.  I do not live to annoy you.  Not everything which comes out of my mouth is intended to be snippy.  I apologize if my normal voice offends you, but sometimes it's hard to maintain this sweet personality everyone knows and loves.  (Say nothing further and I might allow you to keep your appendages.  "Fezzik, tear his arms off!")  Lots of folks have said how nice I am (which is wonderful and makes my heart soar) and my automatic, and honest, response is, "Well then I guess you don't know me very well!"

***

I've always wondered...

Why can't people shut doors, or turn off lights, or not pee on the toilet seat?

Why didn't God gift me with more musical talent?

Why am I not smarter?  Or, rather, why do things which seem so simple for some people confuse the heck outta me?

Why can't I convince my kids that clean rooms are a good thing?

***

Just some random ramblings on a rainy Tuesday.

TTFN
JMS

Raw

I suppose I should begin this post with another disclaimer to let you know this is soul-bearing, raw, and completely honest.  It's somewhat cathartic, although I know it really won't fix anything.  And I know this is a side of things some people will say shouldn't be shown to the public, but...

I sat on the floor in the bathroom last night at 11 o’clock and leaned against the bathroom sink and just cried.  Sobbed, really.  I think I need a break.  A real one.  One where I'm not worrying about my kids and if they're okay or what they’re thinking, doing, saying, eating, if they’re warm and comfortable or need me.  One where I’m not worrying about cleaning my house or figuring out what to put into a yard sale or about keeping up appearances or saying the right thing.  One where I can have the squishy floor in the bathroom fixed without breaking a sweat over finances.  One where I don’t have to worry about money or how I’m going to put gas in my car so I can get to work or where I don’t have to scrounge around for something to take for my own lunch so the kids can have a decent lunch at school.  One where I wish I could be truly selfish, just for once.  One where I don't have to worry about getting up if I'd rather sleep until noon.  One where no friends are dying and where people aren't saying or doing hurtful things.  One where if I ask someone to do something they'll do it, with no questions asked and I won't have to repeat myself.  One where when I say something, it will actually be heard and no one will later say, “You never told me that!”

I guess I'm just tired in my body and in my soul.

I wish I didn't have to be ON all the time.  That I didn't have to force myself not to cry at work when my "upset" has nothing to do with work.

I don't think the tears are done yet.

Bear with me.

TTFN

JMS

Random Rant *or* Angry At The World

I know when someone is mad at me.  I may not always understand the reasons why, but I have no doubt I messed up somewhere.  I just wish, when I've hurt or offended someone in some way, they’d tell me what I've done.  If I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you, I can’t make it right.  It bothers me deeply to know I've hurt someone, but not know how or why.  I dislike hurting people, immensely, and I certainly don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Hm…who can I mess with today?”  And please don’t tell me, “You know what you did!” expecting me to know, because half the time I can’t remember my own name and the other half I can’t remember what I had for dinner the night before.  I’m not trying to be flippant, or glib, but I think we’d all be much better off if we communicated with one another; especially when an offense is involved.

Hubby seems to think I worry too much about people being mad at me.  When I ask, “Are you mad at me?” he gets upset and says, “Why do you always think you’re the one I’m upset with?” Mainly because he’s always mad at me for one thing or another (that's marriage, I guess) but also because body language speaks volumes and the silent treatment doesn't usually happen unless there’s an issue.

But here's the current issue that's plaguing me: I don’t understand all this anger I've got within myself right now.  I’m FURIOUS AT EVERYTHING!  I’m trying not to be.  I’m making a concerted effort to speak kindly or at least politely.  Counting to ten when I feel myself on auto-response and leaning toward pissed off.  I’m trying to temper…uh…my temper.  I’m trying to clear my mind of all the nasty things rolling around inside of me, without much luck. 

The other day, I was drinking a nice glass of white wine from a lovely winery in Townsend, TN (Cades Cove Winery).  I don’t remember exactly what else I was doing – cleaning, I think – but I was so angry!  Everything I saw, everything I touched just made me mad.  I was slamming around and snapping at everyone.  My poor family was hiding from me.  Eventually, hubby confiscated my glass of wine (which made me mad) and replaced it with a large mug of freshly-brewed chamomile tea (which confused me, and pleased me all at the same time).  I guess it was bedtime for Bonzo.  

I’m still mad.  I still want to lash out.  I don’t feel like being pleasant and friendly.  I want to rail against the universe and I can’t understand why.  Folks may say it's grief talking, which is a possibility, though I think probably unlikely.  Or the depression which has been setting in for a while now and which I’m fighting tooth and nail.  Which is probably why I’m angry.  But it doesn't matter.

And, since we were just discussing cleaning while angry, I need to say I would very much like to get one of those small bobcat bulldozer thingies and ‘doze everything (EVERYTHING) out of my house and start over.

TTFN
JMS

The more, more, more mentality

I talked a little bit about my recent experience with a prescription cough medicine.  And while on the surface I’ll say that typically I’m leery of that kind of medicine and, frankly, it tends to make me sick, I’m very glad I had it this time around.  It was helpful and practically stopped my cough in its tracks.

You need to understand that when I say “that kind of medicine” I mean a low-level narcotic medication or prescription narcotics in general.  It was a hydrocodone combo with an allergy medicine.  And, though I was instructed to, in no uncertain terms, take only the teaspoon prescribed to me, what the doctor didn't know – couldn't know – is that I wouldn't have taken it at all had I realized what it was.  It never occurred to me.  I just knew it was medicine to help with my cough.  I knew what it was, but didn't realize what it was…if that makes any sense.

When I took my little teaspoon of the stuff before bed, I knew it would put me out – the doctor told me it would – but didn't realize that it would be like a slow, warm, ooze into dreamland.  Syrupy and sweet and comfortable.  And while I was drifting contentedly toward the general direction of sleep, I remember distinctly thinking to myself, “A teaspoon wasn't enough.  Maybe you need more?  More…  More…  more…  more…”  And as soon as that thought ran through my mind I bolted back out of the drift and thought – lucidly – “NO!  Stick with the instructions the doctor gave you, no matter what!”  And was, quite honestly, a little surprised that the thought had crossed my mind to begin with.

Then, as I lay there recovering from my start, I thought, “What devil or whatever put that thought into my head?  ‘Cause it certainly wasn't me!”  And I wonder now, in daylight, in complete lucidity, if those kind of thoughts are what plague an addict?  “Must eat/drink/take more, more, more…!”  Whatever the situation is; whatever the chosen addiction may be.  Does more, more, more pervade every waking – and sometimes sleeping – thought?  And later I wondered if that's also the kind of thinking that causes people to fail in things like diets, for example (which I know isn't the same thing).  I don’t know, but it's something to think about.

I'm not an addict.  I used to be addicted to cigarettes, but now I'm not – and that road was tough!  But that's honestly as close as I can come to understanding the true addict's mentality.  Which is a fancy way of saying I can't understand.  Unless you count that screwy errant thought which ran through my head the other night as I was heading off to La-La-Land.  And that, frankly, scares the hell out of me; that maybe I could be easily swayed by the lure of those kinds of medications.  I now can no longer think, when I hear of others who became addicted to pain meds or whatever else, that it couldn't and/or wouldn't happen to me.  I don’t think any of us is immune.  What I DO think, though, is that it’s another notch in the plus column for a little something called Will Power, which is not the same thing as Free Will.

TTFN

JMS

From dogs to depression and back again

Sometimes a thought runs through my head like an errant squirrel which tumbles me back through a couple of decades or more of memories which, quite frankly, are too painful to spend too much time thinking about.  It’s not that I’m denying my past; it’s more that I’m preserving my present.

For example, yesterday a friend Tweeted something about the dog down the street from her who howls every time it hears a siren.  That small comment catapulted me back to childhood and our Shetland Sheepdog, Trevor, who would howl for the same reason.  He also "sang" along to Happy Birthday whenever it was sung.  He loved to be brushed.  He did tricks.  He was as sweet as he could be.  And just thinking about him brought back all kinds of other stuff, too, so my brain said, "ENOUGH!" and shut the door soundly in the face of those memories.

When memories hit me in such a way I start feeling kind of hollow inside, like something very large is missing from me.  My heart beats faster and I can feel the cadence of it in my throat.  Thump, thump!  Thump, thump!  Thump, thump!  The pit of my stomach turns to acid.  My throat gets tight.  I feel like I’m having trouble breathing.  I become hypersensitive not just emotionally, but all over; I can sometimes feel my elbows.  (That sounds silly, but it’s true.)  Once these reactions start, if I let them go on I’m going to (without fail) have a little bit of a breakdown.  Said breakdown could be as small as a few stray tears squeezing themselves from the corners of my eyes to as large as a full-scale anxiety attack including walls closing in and running to the nearest open, outdoor space so I can breathe.  Therefore, if I tamp down on some of the most painful memories of the past, I have a better present. 

I guess you could call it self-preservation.

And really, most days I get along just fine.  But when I feel the emotions ratcheting up again, and I find that things (memories, feelings, those errant squirrel thoughts) are cropping up more and more often, I typically find it better for not only myself, but for those around me, to go back on an antidepressant.  It’s been a while now since I the last time I took such medication on any kind of regular basis, but I’m thinking it’s probably a good idea to start down that road again.  Of researching someone to talk to and possibly getting myself headed back toward emotional well-being.  I know I’m stronger, and really, I think I’m mostly doing OK, but the signs are there.  I know if I let things go it will just get worse and it will be harder to find my center again.

I must say here that I know there are people out there who are completely and totally against any kind of help in this regard.  They are against the therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists; against the mood-boosting medications which guard against depression (mild to severe).  In my opinion these tend to be the same folks who are against medications in general, really.  I am not one of them.  I believe in getting the help you need, however that may look.  I believe that you can live a happy and productive life, but I also believe that sometimes you may need a little extra help to get you there.  And that’s OK.

TTFN
JMS

Righty-tighty, Leftie-loosey?

I’m right-hand dominant…I think.  I write right-handed.  I eat right-handed.  If I’m playing baseball (har-de-har-har) I bat and throw right-handed.  I toss Frisbees with my right hand.  I throw a football with my right hand.  That makes me right-handed, right?

But, I carry my purse on my left shoulder.  I wear my watch on my left wrist.  I wear my fitbit on my left wrist.  I carry stuff left-handed.  I keep my coffee cup on my left.  I use my left hand to lift and drink…mostly…though sometimes (and most especially if I’m dining at an actual table) I’ll lift and drink with my right hand.  I hold playing cards in my left hand.  I use my left ear when I’m on the phone.  (Of course, I attribute that to partial deafness in my right ear, so that’s really not an awesome example.)  I sleep on my left side.  Carrying things in my right hand feels awkward.  Wearing stuff on my right hand/wrist feels awkward.

What, exactly does this mean?  Someone with more knowledge than I have about such things needs to enlighten me in words that I can understand.  Please remember that I am not a doctor or a human behavioral scientist – nor do I play one on TV.

TTFN

JMS