musical interludes

All aboard the Express Kundalini!

"When the company goes public....

"....you've got to learn to love what you own."

I think about 'going public' with mental health stuff all the time, but due to judgment passed upon me at several differrent workplaces over the course of the last 12 years in the Chicago area, I keep it to myself.  For now.

I am doing the NAMI Walk in Chicago this weekend.  I have two brave souls walking with me on my team, both of whom have personal connections to mental health issues.  And both of their experiences have been sad and tragic.

There's hope, you know.

God and Goddess knows there's enough bullshit to sift through as we navigate our ways through corporate pharmaceutical greed and finding a psychiatrist who BELIEVES in YOU as a human being and not a commodity is a big part of the process.  When my psychiatrist told me he inherited a lot of patients who he feels were unnecessarily medicated with two of the same type of drug I was like HALLELUJAH!  I'm sticking with this doctor!  I know I make him nervous with my questions about Seroquel and its link to breast cancer (do I need to remind everyone I had a mastectomy March 30, 2015?) but I'm still fighting the good fight.  And I know a little bit more about whom I can trust in mental health.

Anyway, here's the song I was quoting in the title of this post.  I'm not sure which version I like better:

Well Deserved Vacations

I was able to sneak away for a few days and visit Montreal.  Loved it so much.  I walked and walked and walked and explored and meandered and ate and walked some more and spoke a wee bit of French.  Visited the Rodin exhibition at the Musée des Beaux-Arts.  I ate a few bites of poutine, because I felt obligated to do so.  I drank a Quebecois Beer.  Ate some crepes and found a 16 month Le Petit Prince wall calendar.  Oh and a Stone Roses tshirt.  Not that they're Canadian....

Vacations are ESSENTIAL to mental well-being.

Back to the grind again.  Next vacation isn't until February.  I can do this.

New Year, New ?????

I'm not going to give into peer pressure and society to make for a new me this year.  I am just going to continue doing the best I can and not beat myself up anymore.  Maybe the old me can resurface a bit, but only the good parts...

So I went to a Bob Mould concert on New Years Eve.  I love his music and that's the 2nd time I've seen him live.  I missed him this summer when he was playing for free downtown due to agoraphobia I was dealing with last June...so it was extra special to see him this time around.  I have his autobiography to read but haven't delved into it too much.  He writes openly about 'mental health' struggles and I am always game to read about other people's successes in dealing with that stuff.  I'll get around to it soon.  I actually started it and he started talking about abuse early on and I wasn't feeling strong enough to read about it.  But I'll get to it.  Anyway, he put on a great show and it was a fun night out.  The owner of the Metro was hanging out and I smiled at him as we passed each other in the hallway.  He was like, Who are you smiling at me?  Do I know you?  Haha.  But THAT is the person I USED to be...the person who would smile at strangers and might even make a new friend that way.  My younger self.  I want to be more like my younger self.  The good aspects of my younger self, though...not the depressive suicidal version.

I love watching artists do their thing.  I always do my own thing, but I don't have the balls to show it to anyone.  Maybe someday I will, but for now I just do it as my therapy...and that's OK.  Or maybe it's not.  I don't know.  I watched the movie Big Eyes yesterday and what a great subtle art revenge story.  A young naive artist agrees to lie to the public because her husband wants to take credit for all the paintings she creates.  Based on a true story, so it's even better.  I recommend seeing it.  My husband recently invited some gas service salesmen inside our apartment and one of them asked about one of my paintings propped up on the easel.  He asked how much and my husband said, $800.  The guy said he didn't have that kind of money right now but left his contact information if we could work out an arrangement.  It's an old painting I did back in the nineties but I don't think I want to part with it.  Is that weird of me?  Probably.

We lost a great person right before Christmas this year....my father-in-law.  He was kind and wise and full of good humor, even as he dealt with difficulties in his health.  It is a major life adjustment without him, but we are better people to have known someone like him in this life.

I wish you weirdos reading this a Happy Happy New Year.  I am calling you weirdos because you read this thing and never leave any comments for me.  What am I, chopped liver?

day jobs and artistic pursuits

My paintings are all piled up in the living room, a pile of empty canvases next to them waiting for inspiration to hit.  I recently bought some supplies to start a project in which I attempt to actually SELL some paintings but I'm having a hard time getting started.  Family members have looked through my old stuff when they've dropped by and said things like, 'Uh, you need to SELL these paintings and make some money!' (sis-in-law) and 'Hey, these are pretty good.  Why don't you sell them?' (my Dad) and then, my favorite, from my mother:

'What are you gonna do with all of these!?!?!'
I don't know, Mom.  It's just my therapy right now.  (She has also lent us some money a few weeks ago and gave me a canvas with specific instructions of what she wants painted to decorate her family room for her Christmas present this year.)

A former colleague of mine who is a VERY talented artist, way better than me...one of those actual God-given talents in fact... is trying to earn enough money by selling his personal belongings AND commission some pieces to move back here from NYC.  We've always worked retail and everything else was always a hopeful project on the side.  I know how grueling retail can be and I really want some good stuff to happen for him, for a change.  He went to NYC and really tried to make something happen.  I'm hoping his return to the Midwest can provide for some new opportunities.

Another former colleague and friend of mine left behind a retail job to pursue his music full-time.  I'm rooting for him and trying to offer support.  I have absolutely no music talent whatsoever and I truly admire those who do.  My cousins in France do music and somehow get financial support to work on their projects and make a tolerable living.  I get nervous about anyone leaving steady employment to go for their dreams but, you know, taking chances and all...

That's just it.  I don't take chances.  I tried once and wound up falling flat on my face.  I ended up in a psych ward, in fact, was heavily doped up and diagnosed and shunned, and I've never gotten over it.  More than a decade later, I'm still traumatized.  I can't imagine showing my paintings anywhere, in public, for people to see.  I can't muster up the courage to put myself out there like that.  I don't have it in me, even with a never-ending prescription for Ativan.  Nope, can't do it.

And so I keep working and trying to do my best in my day job every day. 

On the flip side, I've recently gotten in touch with an artist and writer to ask him to sign some of his books we are currently selling at the shop.  His artwork took off so big and strong that he got to quit his day job and has made a successful career for himself.  He's like, famous and stuff!  I took his old job years ago at the bookstore and it's really inspiring to see someone in close proximity soar like that.  I'm so happy for him, truly.

As I coordinate details for an upcoming art show to showcase two local artists at the shop, I think about my role and life in the artistic universe.  It is a subtle one, and I'm comfortable with that.  I don't want any big things for my life, but I truly want them for other people.  I understand the depths of artistic pain and depression and self-expressionism and creativity and mania and strong pursuit.  I understand certain elements of the commercial aspects of artistic success and the glamour behind becoming a commodity to make other people rich with your talent.  I'm not that talented person who 'has what it takes,' but I'm a supporter of those who do.  In this world of harsh criticism and endless bankable marketing opportunity, I'm the good friend who will stand on the sidelines and cheer and support those whom I care about. 

I have learned that this world can chew you up and spit you out real quick (or just throw you in a psych ward and analyse you to death).  But I believe in survival, and rebirth and renaissance, and friends lifting one another up, and the good guys getting to the truly good stuff that is so well-deserved.

And as far as my writing endeavors go?  Maybe someday I can spit out a book.  I've learned, am still learning, and will continue to learn for many years.  If I could somehow formulate my experiences into a helpful tale, then I will do just that.  I put my heart and soul into everything I do, and if my vulnerabilities find a light and a connection then so be it.

On Maturity

I take many things in life seriously.  I take my work seriously.  I take mental health seriously.  I take other people's troubled times seriously.

But it's hard.  The Pippi Longstocking in me wants to retreat back to lifting up horses with one hand and doing kartwheels in the backyard.





People often mistake 'kind' people as naive.  I've seen some stuff.  Oh Lord, have I seen some stuff.  I find kindness is a more calm way of handling some of life's difficulties.  A little rebellion and no-nonsense assertiveness comes in handy at times, but I will still remain gentle.  You can't battle violence with more violence.  Games with more games.  Loving kindness seems much more mature than all that other B.S. that's out there.

fulfillment

A group of kids from the ol' hometown are in the process of coordinating a high school reunion.  It's fun to check in on the plans and catch up with some old classmates.  Everyone is in a totally different place in life and we've all taken many different paths.  I don't remember a lot of people and don't really get to my hometown too much, but I might go.  I've got some time to decide.

I was never a person who really had a clear vision of what I wanted to accomplish in life.  Except that I knew I wanted to explore and try different things.  I've done a little of that.  I obviously don't have the means to travel the world like I wish I could, but I'm grateful for the few chances I've had to go to a few places on the world map.  I have a friend who writes a budget travel blog and it's wildly inspiring.  We worked together at an art museum years ago and while the pay may not have been a whole heck of a lot, the vacation time and PTO was pretty darn amazing.

I find myself in another career at the moment where vacation time is almost non-existent.  But I try to focus on the positives as much as I can.  In this current position I can:

1.  Hire and create my own staff.
2.  Promote positivity between women (both customers and employees) where we SUPPORT one another and boost one another's confidence.
3.  Talk to a wide variety of people every day.
4.  Be creative.
5.  Be analytical.
6.  Teach.
7.  Be a mentor to young girls as they pursue their career and artistic goals.
8.  Be on my feet and active and not constrained to a cubicle.

So when I think of the word fulfillment, I can find ways to take pride in whatever I find myself doing.  And I know that my life is not over.  There are still "things" I can do.

I can still explore.  I can still try different things.  And the people around me seem to understand.  To a certain extent.

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...

Turning over new leaves

I looked online for some new career assessment quizzes to take but couldn't find any that didn't require an email address off the bat. All I need...more spam! But I really don't know what new revelations could be ascertained from another aptitude test. The answers are always the same...that I should be a writer, editor, therapist, teacher, and the last one always gets me ..... ARTIST.

I try to live a balanced life which entails 50% enjoying the creative arts out there and 50% creating my own. But lately that pie chart reveals 70% enjoying the arts, 20% wasting time and 10% creating works of my own. So it looks like I'm falling down on the job of ARTIST yet again.

I find myself lately (particularly during that 20% of wasting time) that all I really want to do is help people somehow. In what capacity that is remains to be seen.

Maybe when that 'calling' hits it will come sprinting to life for me. Not a leisurely stroll nor a tiptoe, but a full on 50 yard dash toward the finish line.

Why is it that some people know what they are going to do from early early ages, while so many others just loaf their way through life? What is it that marks these people differently from the start?

Eat, Pray, Love

I am past the halfway point of this book, sneaking short reads at work on an e-reader device.  I actually love Elizabeth Gilbert's writing style.  Perhaps because I hear a lot of my own thoughts in her writing voice.  She is very skilled at taking a thought that is normally written in two sentences and spreading it out over two pages.  This is something I am striving for, but blogging formats aren't the best place for such a practice.

Peut-etre when I write my spoof of Eat Pray Love (which shall be called Sleep, Pray, Take Some Pills) I can streeeetttttch out my split second thoughts into two dozen paragraphs.

Je cherche un editor.

And an actress to portray me in the film adaptation.

Seriously, when Liz heads to the ashram in India and achieves an essence of divinity, I was thinking, "Holy Guacamole, that's what schizophrenia is like too!"

I was always told Mary Stuart Masterson should portray me in a film.  She plays, you know, quirky characters.

awakenings

in my overwhelmingly creative thought processes lately when i write in my journal or paint canvas after canvas turquoise and splashes of word-related things, i pray for a day when it will flow from me the way it is supposed to.

the way God intended it.  the quintessential story that i want to write.  i want to write a Jane Eyre, or a To Kill a Mockingbird, or perhaps a small poignant fable.  i would even write a children's book if i felt so inspired....  i know i have it in me, but....

.....WHY WON'T IT COME TO ME!?!?!

perhaps it's the pressure of having to move and create at a rapid pace so it can go through the big machine gun hands of 'getting it out there' and perhaps it just completely overwhelms and stresses me out.   i have tried many different approaches and discussed many things with people in my research i.e. living-my-life.  when i explained to an old coworker friend (whom i no longer talk to) about my plans to take my time and gain enough life knowledge to WRITE THAT BOOK THAT I HAVE IN ME, she said something that doesn't leave my mind and plagues me.  It was a big mumbo jumbo escapading conversation about living for the NOW and answering that call NOW.  Life is too short to wait for a perfect moment.

And now I suffer from intense creative anxiety.

I am working on some short stories in the meantime to at least just practice the craft.  But I am not pleased at all with them.

Awaking from a big long dream can be quite torturous.

And the face of Mr. Rochester to my Jane Eyre is so clouded over with all the other bullshit that clanks from behind his high-speed out-of-control rabid horse-drawn carriage.  Seriously, my muse or destiny or love or WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS is just like Pigpen from Peanuts.

Maybe one day he'll clean up to be Charlie Brown.

My god, life is so strange.

sometimes it snows en avril

while staring at my blank canvases wondering what to fill them with and watching the PBS Buddha special, the following thought came to mind in regards to my own life journey:

was i in the wrong place at the right time?
was i in the right place at the wrong time?
was i in the wrong place at the wrong time?

OR

was i in the right place at the right time?

lucky

(originally begun as a short story of sorts for Al, yet turns into a letter to little brother.  inspired by true events in my little brother's life)

they say there's this thing called luck.  pots o' gold, end of rainbows, lucky charms cereal, winning the lotto, and the ever-so-ubiquitous Finding A Four Leaf Clover.

some people experience it daily in their lives, as if it's truly some kind of good ol' magical karma coming back to them in spades.  some people have a few lucky moments throughout the course of their lives.

and then there's the flipside....

there are those who face setback after setback, work hard their whole lives but with no real reward, have bad things happen more than a handful of times, are put innocently in harm's way, can't get a break or move forward and seem to lack Luck.

without delving into fragmented philosophies or eastern thought or getting into an argument with Oprah, i am just going to take that thing called LUCK at face value.

because Luck is just Luck.

I grew up as the older sister of one of the luckiest boys I've ever known. Little Ryan O'Patrick Brother Leprechaun.

While running around the green summer grasses at the Indiana homestead, barefoot and carefree, imagination planted its roots firm in the ground.  And when the clover patches worked their ways into our path, that kid had an eagle eye.

In a little 3-year-old Ryan voice: "I think I saw a Four-Leaf-Clover back there."

And a 10 year old big sis said, "Where?" and begins frantically looking everywhere for it as she has spent a good portion of her first decade trying to locate one of her very own.

And I'm sure while Ryan O'Patrick was singing a whimsical song or la-la-la-ing I would follow him and he would walk right up to it (dressed in my pink skirt) and pluck it from the earth with a dramatic 'Ta-Da!!!!" .

AAAAAAGH!  Cursed AGAIN I was.

And he went on to find THREE MORE in his lifetime!

Maybe he had someone watching over him.  Maybe it was that cat who kept climbing into his windowsill.  We thought it was an imaginary cat he was envisioning as tumbling off to dreamland until we saw him with our own eyes.  A little tabby cat just perched on a 2nd-story windowsill staring at Ryan with wonder as he slept....

And maybe that was the dawn of his Lucky Life as he knew it.  Who else would Ann-Margret want greeting her at the stage door? Escorting her to her dressing room during a Chicago theatre run at the early dawning of Ryan O'Patrick's adulthood? 

Former Winnetka-area New Trier high school classmate shouts from the commotion: 'Ann-Margret!  Ann-Margret!  Do you remember me???'

As Ryan O'Patrick leads Ann-Margret into the back halls as she blows kisses to the wind, 'I remember EVERYONE!  Mwah!  EVERYONE!  Mwah!'

And he moves to New York City and everything continues to fall magically into place.

Ryan O'Patrick, four-leaf clover finder, the only boy to mystify the mystical cat, Ann-Margret tamer, roamer of lucky New York streets.  All around Lucky Guy.

Ryan, I hope that  incredible job lands on your doorstep soon.  get back in touch with that LUCK.  And if you ever find you have too much luck, remember how awesome your big sister is and share...

XOXO!

roadtrip to cleveland

i took a few consecutive days off from bookslave-land and hopped in the passenger's seat of my mother's car and drove 7 hours to cleveland, ohio.  we saw the rock and roll hall of fame and the cleveland museum of art (which was amazing and FREE!) and the house from the Christmas Story movie.

we drove the toll roads through northern indiana, through toledo ohio and saw all the landscapes that are permanently etched into my mind.  farms after farms after farms.  cornfields, amber waves of grain and not much more than that.

 (john rogers cox's gray and gold 1942)

these visuals growing up are what made me ponder and think and wonder and, essentially, chip away at boredom.

hours in the schoolbus, winding around old country roads for an hour to and from school, my mind jumpy and anxious for the next time i'd see something spectacular and amazing and new.

open lands.  vastness.  solitude.

until you arrive into the next big midwestern town with a museum or two and you peer at sargeant pepper outfits or zztop drums or mick jagger's jumpsuit or flavor flav's clock.  and in another building you see thousands of damien hirst's dead butterflies and another roomful of shining armor and impressionists and realists and more rodin sculptures and another excerpt of picasso's blue period you missed in paris and just when you though monet made you yawn you discover something different....

and then you're back in the cornfields all over again. with plenty of time to think about what just flashed before your eyes.

and then, if you're not in a rush, you can take the scenic route back to chicago through amish country.

and when i get stuck in that cornfield again, i reflect on these trips and assure myself that life does not breed constant chaos.  it's just a perpetual journey through cornfields to cultural deluge and back again.

i'm not sure where i fit into the grand scheme of things nor where i belong, but i always know that kind of cornfield thinking will see me through.

OHIOOOOO!

In Another Time...

In another time
from Sade's new album Soldier of Love


(currently playing on rotation at work and this song fills my mind when the day is long....)


You'll be surprised girl,
Soon they will mean nothing to you
They will fall into their own brew
And take down some of the boys
With them too
There's nothing
nothing that you have to do
In another time girl
Tears wont leave a trace
In another time girl
In another place
You were down girl,
Their whispers are hailstones in your face
So tired of waiting
For something to change
They don't know what to do with
something so good
But you wouldn't hurt them,
you wouldn't hurt them if you could
One of these days they gonna fall into their brew
And they will know exactly what they did to you
Darling I just want you to know
Your tears wont leave a trace,
In another time girl,
In another time girl
in another place

mystery

i am often amazed, and i don't know why, that mystery and intrigue is such a mandatory sensation (is that the word i'm looking for?) in many people's lives.  whether it is through the films we watch or books we read or simply the LIVES we choose to live, it is always the element of the unknown that keeps people clinging for more.

i'd even go so far to say that i think there are people walking this world who simply cannot be satisfied without mystery in his or her life.

i bring this up for several reasons.  the main reason due to an ongoing conflict i have going on mentally with one person in particular in this world.  while i consider myself to be a very exploratory person and even perhaps seek inspiration in the UNKNOWN, i am just rattled to the point of CREATIVE BLOCK in my lack of clear vision in regards to this ONE PERSON.

and another reason i bring it up is that i often wonder how much mystery in the world is created with full intent. manufactured mystery.

and yet another reason i ponder all this is that why is there such great fear among some folks to let this mystery fade?

i suppose i grew up as a child and have lived a life thus far never feeling quite certain of really anything that probably seemed quite simple to others.  was i loved?  was i ill?  would i ever succeed?  would i ever have enough money to assert a comfortable life for myself?  in turn, would i ever have a family of my own?  and even more questions and uncertainties plague me each day...

so i suppose that is where the line must be drawn...between MYSTERY and UNCERTAINTY.

i won't even pretend to know science but often wish i did so i could apply some sense to the wackiness that my mind sometimes creates.  this is an interesting concept:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncertainty_principle

Bob Ross Days

The husband finished training in his new job and therefore is settled into his 3-12am shift.

I don't see much of him. For awhile. It's a lot to get used to.

Cooking for one, hanging out alone, sitting on the bus alone. Again.

But in the big grand scheme of things, more people are roaming out there alone than we probably estimate. I notice patterns in the behavior of several of my regular customers, and even among the folks who seemingly have incredibly active social lives. They tell me all of these wonderful grand plans and plentitude of activities to keep themselves busy, and I listen and listen and listen. "Really?" I think to myself....

I suppose for those with children this concept of being 'alone' is alien. To know you have an extension of your self, your creation, breathing life and looking always in your direction...perhaps solitude becomes a thing of the past. I do not know. Does it?

I look at my cat and she seems to say, 'Oh. Hey Mom,' as she slithers back under the bed.

But I know that I have overcome enormous struggles and have learned to cope with doubt, isolation, and all the nastiness that life's difficulties bring forth and I am stronger and wiser for it.


"I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries."
-Simon & Garfunkel

In these times of 'isolation,' for lack of better word, I do turn to certain figures for inspiration. Particularly when you've gone through your phone list and left about ten messages for others who are busy out there doing other things.

See, when Bob Ross found himself alone with a canvas and a low budget television camera, he might talk aloud to himself and say something like this:

"Little more black, little more blue. And we'll just put that in using little crisscross strokes or--or little X's, whatever you want to call them. Whatever."

And in the course of 20 minutes, he'd have a new landscape to reflect upon.

What a beautiful man he was....

I want to get out my supplies now and invent.

"There."