Purely Zenified

Zenify

My new word.

I've been struggling with my anxiety more in the last 6 months since we doubled my depression medication. The depression is SOOOO not a problem anymore, but my ADD symptoms seem to be accentuated to say the least. I'm freaking crazy most of the time.

Last time I met with my psychiatrist he had me double the prozac to alleviate the zappy electrified feeling. Taking that new dose though caused some real problems. I couldn't sleep at all, so my left eye did that thing, where the eyeball swells up with a liquid abscess that burns when I blink. Ya, that only takes two nights of bad sleep. Touchy. I also noticed a stomach ache (or stomache) when I took the medicine. It's possible that the nausea is a result of adding kombucha drinks to my day to clean out my liver, which is another interesting topic. Stick around.

As luck would have it (karma?) my last two appointments with the Doc have been cancelled, so the short prescription ran out after missing a couple of days. I couldn't double anymore, so I had to request a refill of the old dosage. The whole experience has made me lose my affinity for the prozac, and perhaps that's been prodded by the overpriced pharmacy industry and the government control corporations enjoy in general. I'll see Dr. B today, so I think I'll request not to take it anymore.

As much as I want to get into a dialogue now about the other pills I take and my thoughts on those, I did title this Zenify, so I will struggle to stay with the original topic.

Because of the screetchy anxious feeling, I've tried to "use" teas and essential oils to calm me down. I had a facial massage with lavender oil, I have had decaf coffee, various teas including kava. I have meditated and napped and basically zenned out in a chair or on the floor. I have a little vile of stress-relieving serum that I rub on my neck after I shower and before bed. Overall, I think these things have helped ME to relax a lot more. I capitalize ME because these are things I am DOING, as opposed to taking a pill and letting it do the work for me. I don't recall ever making that distinction and working on things with real coping skills, intentionally. I use things. I use everything. I use caffeine, I use sugar, I use alcohol. I use them to do something for me. Beyond normal levels of enjoyment or pleasure. In very compulsive and addictive ways.

This new method trying to actually care for myself, is kind of amazing. I have cared for the kids, the dog, the husband. I haven't really cared for myself. I am selfish, but don't really care for myself. I'll guiltily go and have Asian immigrants care for my nails and feet, I'll have someone care for my hair. It feels much better to care for my own cuticles, and stay in touch with how I am feeling right at this very moment, and can I do anything for you, or get you something to drink? What do I feel like? What is happening right now...? I am Zenifying.

The first time I felt zenned was on the little trip to Bloomington I took with Jackie, when we stayed at Susanne's and Anna's. I was laying down, reading a book, getting drowsy, and Susanne asked me if I was all zenned out. Yes, yes I was.

Zenning is not the absence of hard work. I can really work my ass off, and then retreat and find my peace. I like doing this. But I definitely could do more. I haven't painted a wall in weeks and weeks. I haven't unpacked the picture frames in the garage, and we've lived here for a year. I need to trim the bushes around the air conditioning units, and plant some new things by the cable utility boxes. I did pull weeds and trim the tree in front of the living room window this morning, but then I rushed up to shower because I thought I might have a bug, or bugs, in my hair. After my shower, I cared for my nails and cuticles and skin. I cared for my hair. Currently, I am getting very drowsy typing this idea out. Usually, I would rush to make some coffee, but I think I'll not...

UPDATE: I STAYED ON MEDICINES BUT GOT KICKED OUT OF MY PSYCH'S OFFICE BY HIS WIFE. I GOT THAT LIST OF JOBS DONE, BUT OF COURSE, THERE ARE MORE ADDED. I FIND THIS ENTIRE POST BORING AND UNEVENTFUL. YOU REALLY SHOULD READ SOMETHING ELSE.

Tami's Brain Circle

Good morning. I am so zen right now, and I have a great idea.

I walked about 3 miles this morning. my car had an appointment to get detailed. You probably know what that means, but I really didn't until recently, and was so excited about the idea that I made an appointment for her. (I never thought of my car as a her until just this moment.)

So I brought her in, and walked home. The detailing will take about 4 hours. yeah, that long---because they are going to clean and steam and scrub every last bit of her insides. OHHH, so excited.
I walked home and it was quiet. I had no music to distract me, just my thoughts, and my breathing. It was nice to be alone and not working on anything or watching a screen. Like writing or painting or ceramics, but nothing in my hands. Just the thoughts. Some have said they like yardwork for the same reason. Built in thinking time.

So I was alone with myself, and I liked it. After about a mile, it was so very clear, this idea for me to stop facebooking on my phone. It's the last thing before bed, and the first when I wake up. I did it this morning! At first, I thought that I would just take it off of my phone---leaving instant messenger on so my fb people/family can reach me. With all of the political groups I belong to, I acknowledged how nice it is to see family stuff on there, my nieces and nephews, my siblings, my parents...

***The more that I read what other people think, the less I think for myself. I've created a pocket, a liberal political pocket, separate from other sections of humanity. Facebook timeline preferences create an unrealistic world and skews my perspective to think this pocket is more universal than I think it is. Maybe. Maybe it's the underbelly of 70% of society. Or maybe it's 10% and I perceive it to be more important.

After walking for 45 minutes, I feel like my mind and my soul is open to 360* around me. But with my facebook timeline, I'm only seeing 20% of the world, and that is so limiting.

I realize this is a creation of my own. I made this. Not facebook, but I have liked posts and followed pages. The more I use it the smaller my brain circle becomes. So I am expanding my brain circle, and taking fb off of my phone. I will be available and here if you need me. I may write on my blog periodically. And when I am ready, I will come back to fb and modify my groups and likes, etc. So that I can see better.

I will miss seeing pictures of family. I do like that. Most of family news I get on facebook, so that will not be a good effect. Maybe I will make more phone calls? (Smile) How primitive.

Big Truck

Noticed: rarely do I see a woman driving a huge pick up truck, the kind with six ginormous wheels and that measures as wide as two Prius' side-by-side. Sometimes with the words Heavy Duty and 4X4 emblems on the back. This is what I'm talking about:

Granted, I do not live in Texas, where I imagine women have been driving similar vehicles for generations. But only because that's the vehicle their husbands taught them to drive way back when. Male-driven society teaches "the little woman" how to drive.

I was driving behind this truck this morning, with it's polished silver exhaust pipe that could bathe in my bathtub. And I thought, as you would, He's compensating for something. And here is where I sit in judgement, I know. I'm a horrible person. But I'm telling the truth. I thought, This man needs this truck, needs to fill it up with tons of gas. He needs all that gas, because he needs that big truck. Which is re-stating, I know, but a man like that, needing all that gas, and (my next psychological step) not wanting to pay much for it, would most-likely (here's the stretch) vote republican. Am I wrong? Of course I'm not wrong. But, as Donald Trump so graciously has proclaimed, I have a problem being politically correct. Let's just tell the truth. The truth only hurts if your (an idiot) acting in ways that are irresponsible and show lower intelligence. I'm not hiding behind words here, I am willing and frankly able to communicate differences of opinion without punching, kicking or biting. I may mentally spit on you. Hours after we've talked. But I welcome any comments or feedback you'd like to share.

I feel bad for that man. I mean, we can't assume, as you may think I'm implying, that he has a small penis, therefore needs the big truck. The chances of all big truck drivers having small penises...come on, there can't be that many. I don't know how many such trucks are out there or were purchased last year. I am convinced that there must be either a childhood reason for the need, or father/mother issues...maybe an older brother beat up on him as a kid, and he never got over it. I feel compassion for that man.

On the other hand, what if there's not a conditioned factor that leads to the need for the truck? I guess there could be some genetic physiological explanation. Hmm. Or if it's a combination: you have this couplet of genes AND you are raised by not-so-good parents, for example, boom. Need Truck.

Feelin' The Bern

Hello! It's been a long time...

If it wasn't obvious, I have some issues with balance in my life. Not just personally, but with everything, from the way I eat a meal (eat all the cauliflower first, then eat the meat or whatever) to how I spend my work time and my free time. Whatever it is, IT will take up most of my waking hours, and usually some sleeping hours as well. For example, I have been thinking of getting a new car. I look at cars everywhere I go, I google cars, dream of cars. Can't stop mentioning and talking about cars. I was very passionate and excited about cars. Until I decided not to get a different car, and suddenly I am able to focus on something else. I am compulsive and "all in" on anything I do. 

Today's topic: getting Bernie Sanders elected president of the United States (POTUS.) As is my norm, I am all in on trying to do whatever I can to make this happen, while still being a mama and a wife and keeping clean clothes in my closet. Occasionally I even cook a meal. I'm not doing much beyond what a gazillion other volunteers across the country are doing: calling voters, monitoring callers calling voters, training others to call voters, and being hostess at the grassroots (Bernie/Progressive issues) office for others who are also volunteering. I am watching and live-tweeting debates, which causes my family peeps to flee to other rooms in the house. You know, your basic Berniecrat or whatever we/they are calling us.

My attempt has been and continues to be balance. I need certain things to take care of myself. Sleep, food, showers, clean clothes. I need to foster and enjoy relationships with my husband and kids, and help them also to meet their own basic needs. My dog needs food and potty-walks. You get it. So I have limited myself to doing Bernie stuff mostly during MY TIME, when others are doing their jobs or classes, with the occasional weekend event or conference calls/live streams from home. 

I'm adjusting this balanced plan starting next week.

I'll be hostessing/training in the afternoons---until 6pm. (GASP.) I'll be making time for some of the ME-stuff that hasn't been happening, writing to open the creative door each morning, writing here on my meaningless blog each week, writing my memoir---focusing on the transitions between the excerpts I've already written. Perhaps having some bursts of fiction explode out of my brain. HA!---and while I am adding those things back in, I'll be prepping for dinner also before I go in to The Office. 

Good luck to me. 

See you in a week if I am successful.

I Heart Education

Elli is on my lap and I think Jackie went upstairs, so perfect time to write. I was reading over a few of my blog entries from the last few years. The post I made at 750words.com yesterday I used as a blog post after some revision. It's good. In fact, some of my other posts are written well also. My writing is kind of bouncy and meandering and fun to read, even a little entertaining. And in no way is it all positive rosy depictions of life. Not at all. But I think I address reality, somewhat. I don't however post on my blog when I'm depressed. If I did that, the flavor would be totally not fun, if I got any words at all on the page. "Nothing to report." Maybe that's all I'd be able to spit out. Fun stuff. Very Eeyore-esque.

I started my blog in January of 2014, when I went back to college at the freeing age of 44, as an undergrad junior at Indiana University, where my husband was assistant professor. I was pretty convinced he would get tenure, we would stay in Bloomington, and our son would attend IU also. I thought if I was attending, he would be able to see me study, kind of modeling the behaviors of a college student. And I did. I studied and read and wrote fiction and poetry and research papers. A lot of my work at that time just ended up taking me away from my kids. But I was convinced the modeling would end up being a good idea. Then, of course, Steve did not get tenure and we had one year to prepare to move. Which is a long time, ample time to perform all the tasks of relocation well, but too long if you're not really into saying goodbyes. Steve moved in January of last year, and the kids and I followed in July. We have now lived here for 6 months.

What's that? Do I miss college? Do I want to go back? Good questions. I miss some of it: the structure provided by the attendance of classes and the bus schedules, the topics of creative writing and world literature were really fun to dive into. What I don't miss is sitting with all these 19 year olds at the age of 44. If I saw a class buddy in the hall at another time in the week, a very limited "Hi" was sometimes pushing it. I wasn't there to be social, though class time was the most socializing I had done aside from church in years. I loved it. But not one of my professors was older than me. I'm not being age-ist, but as sometimes happens with age, we think we've learned a few things over the years, and someone who has not been there yet cannot possibly see things the same way. It was an odd combination, not being as knowledgeable as my professors---or even as many other students!---but having experienced more of LIFE. Very weird. I loved the tasks, the studying, the writing assignments, the books. God, I love the books.

So, recently, I went into a college bookstore, and browsed the shelves, recognizing, "Oh, I remember taking English 101..." and passing quickly by the accounting and nursing sections. I was drawn to some textbooks, some lit books and lots of others, but settled on buying 6 books to bring home and study in my own time. What a great idea! I can spend a little bit of money on books at a discount college book store, and map out my own course of study for them in whatever topic I choose! Which actually is really close to my previous approaches to attending 5 different schools altogether. I never cared about the degree I would receive at the end. I was loving the learning. Best times in my life. Could it be possible to get a good education of a topic by choosing to read and maybe give myself some writing and research assignments? And, if I liked a topic so so much, I could find more resources to study in 201, 301, and 401 advanced classes. Of course, all this studying would enrich my life incredibly, or so I assume, but would it help me get related employment in the case of my husband no longer bringing in the bacon? That would be a "no." Unless I could impress someone in an interview, displaying all the knowledge I retained and was able to retrieve appropriately at any given time. HA! I guess it's possible.

Zora Neale Hurston

Hello.

Today I had book club where we discussed Zora Neale Hurston, previously Zora Neal Lee Hurston, but she dropped the Lee and added an E to Neal, probably due to her 3 marriages. She was from Georgia, and moved down here to Seminole county/Maitland area. I can't remember the name of the "ville" but there's a week of devotion to this author in the form of a festival, where the University of Central Florida and local libraries work together to show the movie, have people read the books, have a walking tour of (Eatonville! That's it.) and other fun literary stuff. I guess the movie has Halle Berry playing Janie in Their Eyes Were Fixed on God, which was her most popular novel and the movie's story, and also most like Zora's own life. Amy, the librarian who leads my writing group, and also who led our book club today, praises Hurston as her most favorite black female writer---even more than Toni Morrison! Can you even believe that?? (Big intake of breath.) Anyway, the book is great. It's written, as most of Hurston's books, in a southern black dialect that some at-that-time modern black people would have loved to see disappear, right along with the reality that was slavery. The story illustrates the very real culture and events depicting life for blacks at the end of slavery. This town, that is still here in the county that I happen to have just moved to 6 months ago, is declared as the first all-black city, with a black mayor, etc, in the history of the country. People from all the southern states moved down here to live in it. Hurston's character, Janie, comes from Georgia, while Hurston's real-life people claim to come from Alabama. The story basically goes along through Janie's 3 marriages. Everything about Janie is daring for that time period. The book, and her other works, did not do well before she died in 1960. It took time for the non-feminist world to catch up to her. University classes regularly read this book as a window into Florida and southern and black history. No coincidence then that this author is praised around here in February every year, as the shortest month of the year is declared Black History Month. There's a bone for "their community." Proof that racism is dead.

The book club discussion frequently went back to the "dialect" and the "black accent" and some readers absolutely could not read past page one, and chose to download the audio book onto their devices. Whether the club members were from the south or not, most agreed that hearing the words as they are written is much easier to understand than reading them off of a page. A few times, I found myself wondering if the discussion were of a southern white woman of that time period, and that white woman was married controversially 3 times, if the discussion would go where it went. I don't think any of these women are intentionally racist,  but I could see their, and my own, white privilege flag waving proudly. What I mean to say is, if a black woman walked into the room, or had stood at the doorway and considered entering, she would have heard what I sensed, and upon noticing the black woman, as light or as dark as you please, all of us would have back-pedaled a little and felt the need to explain their previous spoken sentences.

There was an interesting mix of feminist, girl-power praise for the book, which, like I said, was way ahead of it's time, black, brown, yellow or white, off-set by quite an opposite view. Some thought the book created fewer options for women and situations that boxed Janie in too much. It was written in a time when officially blacks and whites should be able to go to school together and pee in the same toilets. But unofficially, women were not legally allowed to vote, denied ownership of property and definitely living a stranger in a man's world. One could argue that at that time no women living in America or anywhere else could imagine the benefits I enjoy today as a woman. Not in their wildest dreams.

Or maybe I am wrong. Maybe Flora Neale Hurston dreamed of a time when a woman could start and own a business, decide to get married or to not, decide whether or not she would have children, or make all kinds of decisions about her body freely, work the same business and education jobs as any man, and travel and spend her money as she damn well wished. Perhaps she did imagine a world where the framed boxes white men put everything and everyone into would fall and all people could decide for themselves how they wanted to live their lives. I wonder if she had the capacity to imagine every person valuing every other kind of person as a human being and respected and loved them as equal, and that respect and love translated into laws and governments of equality. Hmm.

zorafestival.org

I Heart Them Both

Okay, before I get into it, let me clarify what I'm going to say with the gratitude and love I feel for my husband. He is almost perfect. I'm not going to list all the things he does that I am grateful for. As he does them, I make sure to thank him, so he always knows. I know that if I wait to play catch-up, something will happen to one of us, or both, and it'll be left undone. He is great. I am a very lucky girl.

That said, I'm going to attempt to write why I think I (actively) LOVE my little white dog more than my husband.

I got this idea last night, and instead of getting out of bed---which would have been impossible since I had taken my nighttime menopause pill already--- to write it down, I rolled over and fell into a well-deserved sleep. I had walked in a parade yesterday morning, gotten some sun, and talked to folks about voting for Bernie Sanders for POTUS 2016. I don't generally walk in parades, as a rule. Not usually my thing, if you wondered. Then I went to the beach with said husband and daughter. I was too tired to write it. And I hoped I would remember it. And for the most part, I think I do.

So I love Elli, our little white dog. We got her 7 years ago, rescued from a meadow after her owners took her four puppies to sell. She was only 2 years old then, which is really too young to be pregnant for a little Maltese. So she was saved and then we found her a week later. She was depressed. Wouldn't eat or play. She was still lactating. And now I'm like her mom, and she's taken care of those randomly occurring cravings for holding a baby. Lots of emotional bonding behind all these little details. She NEEDS a lap to sit on most of the day, so if I'm free to lounge on the couch, she will be there soon after, asking permission to come up and lay with me. She pauses before she lays, looking at me with a yearning. Please touch me. Sometimes I do, sometimes not. But because she has a 50% chance of getting rubbed, she always asks, her little eyes pleading. If I am not up for it, I'll tell her to lay down, and she listens. But if I am, I start with her head and cheeks, her eyes go to another place, a peaceful, xanax-type place. She loves to be touched. Then she's move a little to the side, hoping I'll run my hands down her back, and once I do, she drops on her back so I can rub her tummy, which was her want all along. She's very clear about what she wants. And if I can, I give it to her. But she feeds me at the same time. It feels good to love her. She looks at me with appreciation and almost worshipful joy. At other times, she will slide her head along my torso, in a hugging manner. She'll rest her head on my shoulder or cuddle into me as we lay together. She follows me into whatever room I'm working or playing in, just to be near me. Every day or two, she brings a toy or slipper in her mouth and places it at my feet, hoping I'll play fetch with her. When she returns with the thrown item, I have to gently chase her to wrangle the thing from her mouth. So far she hasn't lost any teeth doing this. Crossing my fingers. What I have with Elli could also describe a courtship between a man and a woman. A girl and a boy. A very comfortable, loving, reciprocated friendship saturated in love and affection. God, I love her. I'm so grateful for her. She just walked over to me, as I write this. Can I sit on your lap? she asks. No? OK, well thank you for sliding my cozy round bed closer to you, and in the sunlight from the window. You know me so well.

So, next my task is to go back over this descriptive pink fluff and catch the identifiers of my love for this little doggy. I must take that list and apply it to my relationship with my hubby. Perhaps then I will see the lacking, make some adjustments. And maybe, just maybe, I'll ask him to make some too. Fat chance. I think I've lost hope of him doing some of those things. Those things that would make me happy.

But then, I so appreciate the things he does do. Do I really want to change anything? What if he didn't do what he already does anymore? Then I'd have to ask for that back. Hmm. Maybe I should just be happy I have him AND the dog. Two loves. I am so lucky.