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.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
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:
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:
Thursday, March 7, 2013
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'....
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'....
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
back from the dead
Wow. I haven't logged on in almost a year! I bought one of those daily writing journals to try and habitually write at least a little each day. But I can assure you there are many many MANY empty pages. I also came up with the greatest first paragraph of my book I've wanted to write for over ten years now. But I can't come up with the second paragraph. Ho-Hum.
The year has been a rather uneventful one. I'm still taking lots of pills and going to bed early. I miss the energy I once had. Seems it all ran out too soon.
I did two cartwheels at work yesterday.
So I guess that's something...
The year has been a rather uneventful one. I'm still taking lots of pills and going to bed early. I miss the energy I once had. Seems it all ran out too soon.
I did two cartwheels at work yesterday.
So I guess that's something...
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
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?
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?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Join us for a very special finale....
So I tuned in this morning to the final Oprah. I was never a regular devotee but I do admit her impact and influence on soooooo many is definitely remarkable.
There's that one thing that always bugs me though....that we all have a 'calling.'. Is that true? I mean how does that relate to all the millions of crappy jobs that simply must be done in this world? Working as a polite salesgirl does not feel like my 'calling' in life, but rather a necessity to make ends meet and hold health insurance. Though I try to make each day the best it can be, it certainly is not the life fulfillment that I seek. And I don't have the financial means to start myself on some sort of new career path. I am stuck in my full-time situation for the time being.
The world has needs for all kinds of people. So how many are really living a life they love? I know there's more than just 'jobs' to define a person, but let's face it....jobs make up a huuuuge part of how we are defined. We often spend more time with our co-workers than we do with our own family and loved ones.
I used to wonder if writing was my calling. I remember that feeling from as early as the tenth grade when my high school English teacher pulled me aside to ask if I would consider joining the school newspaper staff. "You really do have strong writing skills," is what Ms. Thandholt had said to me. I signed up for a year of Journalism class and spent my senior year writing silly feature articles for the Inklings newspaper. I didn't much care for the roving reporter aspect and writing strict news articles, however, so I didn't continue the journalistic adventure into college.
Writing is a hobby. A way to organize my thoughts, feelings and ideas. But I'm still not convinced that it's a calling.
Perhaps if a calling hits me I can use my hobby of writing to EXPLORE the said calling. But no, I don't have one just yet.
And I guess in Oprah's eyes, or whomever else's, that signals some kind of weakness or emptiness or something.
We must be careful who we listen to. C'est nous qui sommes les proprieteres de notre vie.
There's that one thing that always bugs me though....that we all have a 'calling.'. Is that true? I mean how does that relate to all the millions of crappy jobs that simply must be done in this world? Working as a polite salesgirl does not feel like my 'calling' in life, but rather a necessity to make ends meet and hold health insurance. Though I try to make each day the best it can be, it certainly is not the life fulfillment that I seek. And I don't have the financial means to start myself on some sort of new career path. I am stuck in my full-time situation for the time being.
The world has needs for all kinds of people. So how many are really living a life they love? I know there's more than just 'jobs' to define a person, but let's face it....jobs make up a huuuuge part of how we are defined. We often spend more time with our co-workers than we do with our own family and loved ones.
I used to wonder if writing was my calling. I remember that feeling from as early as the tenth grade when my high school English teacher pulled me aside to ask if I would consider joining the school newspaper staff. "You really do have strong writing skills," is what Ms. Thandholt had said to me. I signed up for a year of Journalism class and spent my senior year writing silly feature articles for the Inklings newspaper. I didn't much care for the roving reporter aspect and writing strict news articles, however, so I didn't continue the journalistic adventure into college.
Writing is a hobby. A way to organize my thoughts, feelings and ideas. But I'm still not convinced that it's a calling.
Perhaps if a calling hits me I can use my hobby of writing to EXPLORE the said calling. But no, I don't have one just yet.
And I guess in Oprah's eyes, or whomever else's, that signals some kind of weakness or emptiness or something.
We must be careful who we listen to. C'est nous qui sommes les proprieteres de notre vie.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Oh spring, ou est tu?
It's STILL a chilly spring. Used to be my most INSPIRING season, with all the newness, rebirth, rejuvenation, all the greenery and blooms. The sun has been appearing from time to time but the perpetual wintery breeze still lives on...
Chicago is facing a new day...new mayor...Oprah's departure. Not that those things REALLY affect me, but you know, it's the buzz on the streets...the werds on the bus. As I await the warmth, I dread the heat. As I commute to work each day, I give thanks for a JOB but suffer anxiety over its security. As physicalities diminish, the digital age grabs on with all its might. A changing world, morphing terrains, new horizons and territories...everything breathes some strange sort of new life.
And so, perhaps these times are still inspiring, just in a different way. Gotta get used to it all. I'm tryin', really I am, even if it means popping a few pills to get by.
All doctor-prescribed, bien sur.
Chicago is facing a new day...new mayor...Oprah's departure. Not that those things REALLY affect me, but you know, it's the buzz on the streets...the werds on the bus. As I await the warmth, I dread the heat. As I commute to work each day, I give thanks for a JOB but suffer anxiety over its security. As physicalities diminish, the digital age grabs on with all its might. A changing world, morphing terrains, new horizons and territories...everything breathes some strange sort of new life.
And so, perhaps these times are still inspiring, just in a different way. Gotta get used to it all. I'm tryin', really I am, even if it means popping a few pills to get by.
All doctor-prescribed, bien sur.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Springtime....
So much time has passed since my last update. I survived a grueling winter, complete with a blizzard and three feet of snow. And I've thus far survived a chilly spring. Hopefully that will soon change.
I am seeking new inspirations...my mind has fizzled in recent months. I wake up, go to work, commute back home, watch tv or a movie or read, then head off to bed by 9pm. It's a sleepy, monotonous life these days. I miss the vigor of my youth. Not even my youth, but my early twenties sound nice right about now.
Happy Spring to all....
I am seeking new inspirations...my mind has fizzled in recent months. I wake up, go to work, commute back home, watch tv or a movie or read, then head off to bed by 9pm. It's a sleepy, monotonous life these days. I miss the vigor of my youth. Not even my youth, but my early twenties sound nice right about now.
Happy Spring to all....
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)