THE SQUIRREL

Have you ever felt like the squirrel who can't make up its mind about which way to go to avoid being hit by an oncoming car? Every time I see one of those poor little creatures darting back and forth, I imagine their little brain sizzling on overload. The adrenalin is pumping and they are completely unable to make any decision, so all that is left to them is the foolish running back and forth, which is more, rather than less, likely to get them killed. Poor sad squirrels with more adrenalin than sense.

One of my fellow bloggers posted a poem today by one of her favorite poets. She gave a bit of history on the poet, her kinship to the poet, and challenged her readers to do the same. As an English major, this should have been a walk in the park. Poem. Well, let me just pick from the 150 I have memorized, pull out the one that makes me look the most brilliant, (because no one else can understand what the hell it means) and voila. Alas, I don't understand the deeper meanings of most poems. There, I've said it. I am not the most cultured person you're going to meet who is an English major. I am actually pretty down to earth. Sorry. However, I did start a poetry book of personal favorites in college (which is a sister to my quote books). These were poems that I did understand and like. I thought, "I bet it is in the guest room closet with the others." That's what I get for thinking. Ixnay on the oempay. I was feeling a bit like the aforementioned squirrel. Moving on....

I did find my other quote book while I was in there and got distracted. That happens easily. There was this entire section of funny quotes on marriage that I probably didn't truly appreciate until now. I'm divorced. They are so much funnier now. For instance, "My wife and I were happy for twenty years. Then we met." ~ Rodney Dangerfield That is hilarious. I am sure I thought it was funny twenty years ago. Now, it's roll on the floor funny. Two very different kinds of funny. So, I thought about going with a bunch of marriage quotes for this blog. It occurred to me that everyone might not find it as funny as me. I am feeling twitchy. Here comes that squirrel. Moving on...


I am blogging in multiple forums. Right now, my life feels really out of control, in so many ways, and making a commitment to write daily is something that doesn't feel too big for me. Of course, if no one is reading, it becomes even more important to have more venues! Someone suggested creating a fanpage on facebook. I am already blogging, but it has my mental gears turning. Me? A fanpage? Really? Who would join? The only people I can see joining are all of the people already on my friends list, and I think some of them are already a bit overwhelmed with my daily writing. So, I pull up my news feed and I see someone has just joined a fanpage. Let's check it out. It's Called I Don't Need Anger Management... You Just Need To Stop Pissin Me Off!! Let's check out their members. They have 1,531,201 members. That is impressive. That says to me that there are a lot of angry people out there. Now, are these regular visitors to this site or did they join just because they liked how the name sounded? There is no information about the site. There are three "discussions" that are all borderline sleep-inducing. I feel a coma coming on just scrolling through the posts. Under the Photos tab, there are a bunch of photos of angry people and buttons. That's kinda funny. There is a Reviews tab that some people have weighed in on, but chances are good that this will be a one-time visit to this site, based on what I am looking at. I would love to have a fanpage with one million plus fans, but I want them because they have read my writing and think I have a witty take on the world, not because they are pissed at it. Do I create a fanpage or not? Yes? No? Yes? No? Is that brakes I hear squealing? Egads. It is tough being a squirrel! Moving on...

This is not my best quality, but when I am feeling really overwhelmed, I block as much stuff as I can. I actively practice avoidance. I admit it. It isn't attractive. I turned on my cell phone today for the first time since Friday. About an hour ago, I dug around in my purse to see exactly when my doctor's appt is because I finally felt able to cope. Turns out it was yesterday at 1:30. Apparently my ability to cope and my appointment are not riding in lockstep with one another. The thing is I had no voicemail and the doctor's office didn't call the house for the reminder about my appointment. Her office knows I am a mental wreck and NEED the reminder phone call. Every time I leave that office I remind the receptionist that I NEED the reminder phone call. I didn't get my reminder phone call. I am not sure that is the right tactic to use tomorrow when I beg for mercy to reschedule, but really! And there's the glare of the headlights. Moving on....

On top of all of these things in my head... "There's more," you say with disbelief. "I know. It's shocking I get anything done at all with all of these thoughts churning around in my brain, vying for my attention," I answer. Back to where I was... I keep thinking about this chiropractor that my mom and I used to go to regularly. At the time, he was doing something called network chiropractic, and occasionally, like-minded chiropractors would have a group session in Atlanta on a Saturday or Sunday. It was pretty cool. For some reason, I didn't go to this particular session, but mom did. Since our doctor worked alone, we weren't used to having other patients being actively "worked on" while we were being "worked on." Mom says they were playing quiet music, and it was very soothing and peaceful, until this fellow started yelling "Stuck, stuck," repeatedly. She said it was all she could do not to laugh, even though she understood. To this day, we can look at each other and say "stuck" and burst out laughing. The truth is, though, that being stuck is not a laughing matter. What the squirrel and I want to know is this: How do you get unstuck without getting run over?

*I posted this on facebook and my friend, Debi, commented at length, but she finished it up with this "Pick up your feet and run to the side of the road. It doesn't matter which side; just go." Once again, I just needed to be smacked upside the head with the obvious. Now the rest of you can focus on the other stuff...

CAN YOU THROW SHOES AND STILL BE ZEN?

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When I first moved in with my parents four years ago I felt like one raw nerve. Pretty much anything could set me off, and did. Moves are stressful. Most of my stuff went into storage. Some of my stuff that was supposed to go to FL went into storage and vice versa. Finding my things became my enemy. Pretty much anytime I needed anything it ended with me not finding it, and closing the door to my room to have a long cry. Nothing was where it was supposed to be. It seemed like this happened daily. You can only go on like that for so long before you hit a place of acceptance or denial. I don't know which one I hit, but the crying stopped and I just chilled out abut the whole thing. Whenever someone asked for something I hadn't seen in a long time, they got the shoulder shrug and a "beats the hell out me" answer. That may not have served me all that well in some cases. For instance, I only got my 2006 taxes done last year, but I am now caught up. The important thing was I knew I couldn't keep pace with that level of anxiety. I was already one big migraine and that was not helping my recovery. I had to learn how to let go.

So, what's up nutterbutter? Why this blog if you're all zen now? I'm losing my zen. I've been trying to hold on to it all day long, but I'm at tolerance right now. I'm really close to throwing things. I am not sure what comes after that. I've been avoiding the cry because they give me the worst sinus headache. Have you ever had a sinus headache and a migraine at the same time? Misery, let me tell ya. I prefer throwing things, like shoes.

Here's the deal. I'm not very organized. Say what? I know. It's crazy. I live in this tiny, little room and it's chaos in here. I really should be institutionalized for that alone. Who does that? Me. So, I have this really horribly expensive medication just lying in the morass of junk on the right side of the bed that no one sleeps in. Since no one sleeps there, I think it should be functional. Therefore, it harbors my stuff. It got thrown into the heap when my mom picked it up for me at the pharmacy, and it only got pulled out today because today was when I NEEDED it.


Here's the part that turns me into the maniacal bag lady pushing her shopping cart down Main Street: the bag was open and my pills were gone. Huh? It is a mystery. I have zero recollection of opening the bag, so I also don't remember touching the bottle, ergo I have NO IDEA where my pills are. I NEED MY PILLS DAMMIT. I didn't go to crazy quite that quickly when this first happened. I was actually still pretty cool. I cleared all the debris off the bed first thing. Smart, right? No pills. I moved everything from around the bed. Nothing. I looked under the bed. There's actually nothing under there. I was shocked. Moving on... By now, I have started doing some praying. Serious asking for help. I go to the bathroom, just in case I took the bottle in there, and actually put it away and forgot. Nope. It isn't there. I decided to backburner it and calm down.

An hour later my mom gets home and we do the same routine with a flashlight. I can feel myself starting to lose it. We stop. I tell her to pray about it; perhaps God is just not listening to me today, but her prayers might get through. I wait a few hours and go again. This time I am pissed. It is a SMALL ROOM. I have asked several times and those pills are not being given. I need those pills. I can't just say, "Oh well, when they turn up it will all be good" like I did with my CDs and other material stuff.

I can feel myself about to melt down. I decide to listen to a meditiational CD. It is either that or throw things. CD it is.

It is now one and a half hours later from the initial writing (meaning everthing you just read). We have eaten dinner and my stepdad has been brought up to speed on the missing meds. So, after dinner he did a thorough sweep of my room and bathroom and came up empty-handed. I go back to the last bottle of pills that I do have. It is dated December. I go to the bag that I do have. It is dated January. Holy tomoly. I didn't pick up my February prescription. And my forgetfulness about taking my medication is actually working for me instead of against me. What are the odds???? BTW, I just recently added this med to the list of "meds I write down because I can't remember if/when I take them."



So, my stepdad is at the pharmacy right now getting my prescription filled and my mother is convinced that the "lost" bottle will turn up where we least expect it. I will let you know if/when/where that happens. Ooooh. My Zen is back and it feels sooooo good.

KEEP THE CHANGE

I've already devoted an entire blog to Miss Fishcher, my English teacher in 11th grade, over a month ago (see THE FISCHER QUEEN) because she was an amazing teacher. Today I was reminded of this letter that she had us all write to ourselves at the end of the school year. Try as I might, I couldn't recall what mine said. I do remember Miss Fischer saying that it could appear in our mailboxes, unexpectedly, at any time in our futures, just to remind us of who we are "right now." As I write this blog, I cannot help but wish that letter would appear in my mailbox today....or tomorrow... or next week. I already know that if I ever receive it, it will make me say things like, "I can't believe I wrote that! What was I thinking?" On the plus side, it will also make me say things like, "I remember that. I miss that. That was THE BEST DAY, THE BEST TIME, THAT WAS SOOOO FUNNY. I had the best friends."

I already know that it won't sound remotely like anything I write today. I have moved enough times and gone through enough boxes of "old stuff" to have discovered that. Each time I come across a box of high school memorobilia (i.e. notes and yearbooks and play/concert programs), I can't bring myself to throw any of it out. Instead, I read it all. That one box takes three hours to go through and I pitch nothing. The notes are the best. They are all about stuff I mostly don't remember. Sometimes there are references to "major" things, but usually there is a lot of talk about clothes/shoes and should I or shouldn't I cut my hair and crushes on this boy or that boy. It all makes me laugh. Those "problems" seemed so big at the time. I would love to have should I or shouldn't I cut my hair be topping my Things To Think About List.

Miss Fischer knew something that we didn't: life was going to get more complicated after high school. Grown ups get perks, but they get matching acccessories (aka problems). I started to wonder if maybe I shouldn't take a time-out today and hand write a letter to me for five, ten, fifteen, or twenty years from now. Maybe there's something about this living thing that I could still learn from Miss Fischer right here in the present.


The more I thought about Miss Fischer, the more I remembered how much she loved Henry David Thoreau. In fact, if my memory was at all accurate, I think she was inspired by him to spend some solitary time in the woods herself, just to see if there was anything to that whole business. I think there was, because she really admired the man. I didn't trot off to the woods this morning, but I did google H.D.T. and all of that time in the woods gave him clarity. I would be happy to have just ONE stellar quote in the history books. He has pages. I went through and picked some of my favorites (okay, I picked more than I planned on, but you wouldn't believe how MUCH there was to choose from!), but this is what spoke to me today. What is amazing is that if I had looked it up tomorrow, you could be looking at an entirely different set of quotes. Isn't that kind of awesome?




I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

Friends... they cherish one another's hopes. They are kind to one another's dreams.

Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other's eyes for an instant?



Every man casts a shadow; not his body only, but his imperfectly mingled spirit. This is his grief. Let him turn which way he will, it falls opposite to the sun; short at noon, long at eve. Did you never see it?

As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.

Ignorance and bungling with love are better than wisdom and skill without.

It is usually the imagination that is wounded first, rather than the heart; it being much more sensitive.



Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.

Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves.

There is one consolation in being sick; and that is the possibility that you may recover to a better state than you were ever in before.

The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.

~Henry David Thoreau



So, I ask you, dear reader, must we go to the woods for clarity? Can we learn from another's trip to the woods? Or, perhaps, maybe ~ just maybe ~ can we set aside enough time daily for introspection within city limits that makes that trek unnecessary? Of course, each person much decide how much time is enough time for them. For some, that ten to twenty minutes in the shower and they are good to go. For others, well that is just the tip of a mighty big iceberg. But as ole HDT said, "The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it." How much is peace of mind going for these days?