here comes peter cottontail...

The countdown to vacation begins and it can't get here soon enough.  Sometimes a break from it all is the only prescription for doledrum.  I have been congested all week due to the weather, a cold, allergies, whathaveyou and irritability got the best of me when a small song research project for a lazy (and-in-a-hurry) customer resulted not in a sale, but a "oh wow-how did you find that? can you write that down so I can get it at the library?"  So rude!  That's like not leaving a tip for your server.  I wanted to clobber her or at least poke a pin to her plastic surgery face or something of this nature.  So uncharacteristic of me but it's true!  19 days til vacation!

I watched the film Italian For Beginners and it was a delightful jaunt down memory lane to my own personal recollection of taking Italian classes in college.  It was a low-budget funny camera swirling of hardships and life stories bringing together an eclectic group of characters and all the romantic hiccups that followed.  I took Italian at 8am for a semester in 1997 alongside a global group of music majors all learning to perfect their Verdi and Puccini.  Strange things transpired with a flirty Italian teacher named Franco and the melodramatic cancellation of our celebratory "arrivederci" dinner at the finale of the class.  Ah, the stuff quirky foreign films are made of.  I think I may go on an Italian film binge soon...

Keeping up with my brother in NYC this Easter weekend, he led my radar to Testament of Mary and I'm anxious to download the e-book at work tomorrow and later discuss his viewing of the play he watched tonight.  I've always felt an affinity for the subject, in ways which words cannot convey, and I am eager to be thought-provoked.   To be continued...

I wish you a Joyeuses Paques.  Peace....

printemps...the first day...

I ran a few errands this March Chicago morning.  Bundled up in my down-filled coat and hat and gloves and insulated Merrell boots.  On the first day of spring.  Part of being a Chicagoan is talking about the weather all the time with strangers.  Seriously.  Especially as everyone shivers together at a bus stop.  It frustrates us so, but we are all so inclined to keep on complaining about it and bonding over the overall discomfort.

But good news--tickets to Tejas are booked for mid April!  Eighty degrees, here I come!  I used to spend every summer in Texas visiting grandparents so I always feel a little smile coming on every time I get on that plane or in the backseat of my parent's car.  My dear grandfather Tex is still going strong and I need to spend some quality time with him.  He's always complained about my life choices--about my decision to NOT get a driver's license even though he gave me his old car, about my decision to leave college with only an A.A. in French, about various career choices and extended travel jaunts I've made.  But he's proud of my work at the bookstore and says it's my 'best job yet.'  I know it's not the most glamorous of positions nor do I have the drive to move up the corporate ladder, but it suits me.  I know my bosses expect me to gain more skills and take on more responsibility, but my anxiety prevents me from doing so.  I suffer from anxiety, extreme at times, and it hinders me.  I wish there were a way to effectively communicate this in my next review...especially to prevent being slammed and criticized for not advancing.  Why don't people understand that some people are comfortable and will continue to do well in a mid-level management job...that not everyone MUST move up and up and up until they are the leader supreme?  It's not that I'm unmotivated...that's not it at all.  I'm just more comfortable with a small team to lead in a specialty department that I love so well.  Anyway, I am very much looking forward to a week's vacation and escape from all the politics.  Beaches, family, Austin, Snoopy's in Corpus, Benjamin's Surf Shop, San Antonio, talking to Grandpa...it will be fantastic.

I picked up more movies at the library.  Mongol, Tideland, The Crazy Stranger.  I talk about movies and music and books a lot at work and can give pretty decent recommendations when asked.  But as far as writing reviews for these things, I dunno.  I can appreciate many creative undertakings--these art-makers can do things I can never imagine myself accomplishing.  They have discipline and skill.  While some works I appreciate more than others, I just feel a little funny about being a critic.  I have too much respect for creative folk.  These are the people who can make magic happen.  All of these works enrich my life in some strange, fantastic way...

Frozen through and through

Ah!  Eeh!  Achoo!

This time last year it was eighty degrees!  Eighty degrees!  It's craziness!  Wind chill today was about 10 degrees.  Ten degrees!  Oh when winter lingers like this it makes everyone more and more crabby as each frozen day continues...

My world of books and movies and music is keeping me company.  Picked up the new David Bowie. Three cheap Miramax movies: Malena, Italian for Beginners, and Map of the Human Heart.  Went to see Stoker, complete with Korean subtitles.  Watched The Painted Veil.  Reading American Heiress and The Marriage Plot.  How does my brain handle all this at once?  I dunno, but I love it.  And tomorrow I will run off for my Wednesday library jaunt and pick up more more more!

Maybe I should write helpful reviews for all this stuff.  Perhaps someday.

Other than that, my current pleasure is helping customers who think I'm a GENIUS when I google an answer for them.  I oughtta change my name badge to Nikkipedia.

jacques dutronc and the bolan boogie

I spent the evening with a not-so-good Redbox movie while re-reading my recent mail and letters from my family in France.  Nothing better than handwritten letters.  In a foreign language.  With accents aigus and everything.  Since ma grandmere passed away in November 2012, I have been missing all things French now more than ever.  (Why won't the airfare come down?)  Elle etait ma source d'inspiration de toute ma vie.  She came to me in a dream a few weeks back and told me she's doing fine...and that she loved all the flowers...

J'aime les fleurs aussi.



and the bolan boogie...

Rainy days.

Another day of scanning, sorting, shelving and alphabetizing.  Very quiet.  My clothing was entertaining us all.  I wore an old top I had forgotten in my closet.  It was a black, mock turtleneck with silver asymmetrical buttons and two front pockets.  (Sorry, no photos.). But I resembled a sort of sci-fi orderly.  Or a sci-fi dentist.  So funny.  I had planned to bust out my blue suede Doc Martens boots from the late nineties, but it was raining and I didn't want to risk the raindrops on my blue suede.  I bet you wouldn't risk it either if you saw them.

A group of special needs students stopped in today and I helped some of them find the latest Glee CDs.  One of the students kept reciting a line from a movie over and over and over again.  I can't quite place which movie but it was darling.  Except he kept repeating shhhhh---and I was worried the word 'shit' could have come out of his mouth and didn't want the little kids to hear it.  But crisis averted.  No 'shit' was said.

And so the rain continues to drizzle sporadically.  I hid under my bright yellow umbrella and not a drop fell on little ol' me.

kapow

It was anything but an extraordinary day.  The snow outside is melting, the winter shuffles are being replaced by warmer weather and a spring in everyone's step.  It's such an odd sensation....when things start shifting...when winter lifts again and rejuvenation begins again.  I often wonder how I'd fare living in a climate that does not have such drastic changes in the seasons.

I helped about ten customers over an eight hour period....so painstakingly slow.  I alphabetized the hell outta things today.  I got on my train home, delayed by approximately seven minutes, read a little of Sarah Silverman's book on my e-reader, and shoved approximately twelve Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate Nibs in my mouth (at one calorie each) and chased them down with some raw almonds.  I descended the train thirty six minutes later and walked to the bus stop.  After a few pit stops I finally made it home and chowed on pizza and watched Some Like It Hot.  Like I said, anything but an extraordinary day.

The Mister and I had a brief discussion about writing.  He told me I need to write with direction.  That I can't just sit here and type some words.  I brought up the conversation by reminiscing about those first few spring days where I pack a lunch and my notebook and find a quiet spot in a park downtown and write and write and write.  I have journals upon journals shoved with words and brief ideas but they don't seem to catapult themselves into constructed works of written art for submission.  And I know there are a million blogs floating around with the same aimless feel, but for right now, as I get back into the swing of things after a few years of a lowered mental state....this is all I gots.

Voici une chanson pour cette journee:

one day at a time

As I adjust to new dosages and the elimination of certain medications, I find a bit of fear and anxiety about relapsing again.  I have the care of a regular therapist and have good communication with my new psychiatrist, but when I have those sleepless nights and odd lucid dreams...I feel that sensation of deja-vu all over again.  The minutes and hours when my sleep is disturbed is when the 'sensation' starts all over again.  No sleep = relapse.  Mania.  Psychosis.  Anxiety.  Fear.  And it's damn scary.

I want to participate in life again.  Try another art piece and maybe even try showing it to people again.  Write something and read it aloud to a group of others.  I need the exchange to occur, so that I am reminded that I am no longer alone in this big bad world.  I will get there one day.  When that might be, I have no clue.

I need to find my funny bone again.  I used to be damn funny and was always able to laugh at myself.  Even had the ability to laugh at my mental health journeys.  I would think those things would come back again as I get older and become more comfortable in my own skin again.  But it's another freakin' journey.  Journey after journey after journey.  So many journeys yet why do I still feel like I need another vacation?  Are we there yet?

The bookstore is a good place to work.  I've gathered loyal customers who have become friends.  We talk about books and films and music and all the art that gives us hope and solace and fantastic things to ponder.  And I couldn't ask for better conversations in a day's work.  For that I feel quite lucky.  Certainly there are the politics of a workplace which can become hard to endure on the difficult days, but the good outweigh the bad.  At least for now...

There is also the mess that comes with previous medical leaves and the bosses' lack of understanding of what is entailed in a 'mental health leave.'  But perhaps the more people talk about it and share and listen and understand, the further grasp we gain on what it means to RECOVER. Support is key.  Support all around.  Even at the workplace.

Especially at the workplace.

The season will be changing again soon, and with it, I will see the sun shine again.

Now if only someone had a good joke to share.  I need a good hearty laugh to get goin'....

climbing out of winter and more

greetings earthlings.

i am slowly rebuilding my world after the collapse that sometimes occurs with mental illness.  tired of hunting down my psychiatrist every time i need a refill on something, i have turned over a new leaf and found a new pusher.  it's a very daunting task....to go through one's entire mental health & subsequent life story all over again and answer all the same tired questions again.  but i did it.  and after four visits now, it's going well.  i have gone from four psychiatric pills to two.  and with some hard work and persistence, i hope to rid myself of anxiety through better health and exercise and discontinue my Ativan.

the life of pills, doctor visits, therapist talks and sleep can become a tiresome one really quickly.  i have lived on such a routine since my last hospitalization almost three years ago, just trying with all my might to feel like a regular girl again.  there was a year or two where i had to be in bed by 8:30 pm or else i couldn't function properly the next day.  but i write with GLEE that things are all changing.

as far as writing practices go, i have kept up a weekly journal of activities and thoughts.  but i have still not made progress on my chef d'oeuvre and don't know that i ever will.  i so badly want to expel the stories from my system and take on a whole new deliverance of cleansing and happiness again.  i just finished 'Brain on Fire' by Suzanne Cahallan and was impressed at her ability to construct a pensive narrative on her 'month of madness' as she battled an auto-immune disease of the brain.  mimicking schizophrenia, she experienced mania, delusions, voices in the tv, hallucinations, all of the things that i faced in my heightened moments.  it was an interesting diagnosis she was given.  i've often wondered if there was something more than 'bipolar' or 'schizoaffective' or 'depression with psychosis' or whatever the diagnosis du jour was in my case.  there is still so much more to learn about the brain and i'm not done sleuthing to uncover its many mysteries.

and on that note, i promise to myself right now (and whomever finds this post on the interwebs) that i am back to write all about it and more again.  there is so much mystery to unveil in our lives.