At last...

Hit a slump about ten days ago. Not a really bad one, but enough to keep me down-in-the-dumps and my brain in rehash-mode. I've thought through so many past events, step by painful step, and didn't resolve anything. As usual. Makes for a hard time sleeping, too, and when I have been able to sleep, I can't remember my dreams. I started writing down my dreams a few months back. I read somewhere that as we change and age, our dreams change as well. Mine have. Most of my dreams have always revolved around anxiety of some sort. Two of the most frequent involved falling or drowning. Lately, however, I'm either trying to find something or to get somewhere. I guess I don't need Freud here, huh? I know dreams are supposed to be the brain's way of siphoning through our experiences and emotions, resolving what is/isn't important and dumping the crap. It's funny how the mind works, though. When I think too much about stuff, I don't seem to dream, and my strangest dreams occur during my most normal times. Or whatever passes as normal for me.

On a completely unrelated note, my bonus for curtailing my spending habits is the purchase of a long-wanted piece from my favorite designer, Patricia of Artlab. I'm sure anyone who has followed her as long as I have already owns the Andromache shirt made of deconstructed tshirts. This incredible garment can be purchased from her shop at Etsy.

Sigh...

I've been spending a lot of time lately paring down my list of online favs and bookmarks. As with everything else in my life, I tend to go overboard and want to hold onto every site that interests or inspires me. Unfortunately, I've made it difficult to find those few that I go to every day. As I was sorting through this maze, I stumbled upon a blog that features a woman who must have some Swedish or Norweigian ancestry because she decorates her space in white and primarily wears black and white. Her posts consist of two or three photos of herself in a drool-inducing outfit and a few well-chosen words. She wants no distraction or chaos. Apparently, her life is extremely well-ordered.

I want to live in her world.

(Image used is entitled "Serenity" and can be found at Etsy in the shop alifethroughthelens. The artist says that photography helps find the calm moment, to "slow down and look for details that I would otherwise miss." Ah, to find that myself. Oh, yes, see more of this artist at iseelifethroughalens.blogspot.com)

Bananas...

Bad, bad me. I didn't make it to work yesterday. I got showered and dressed and put on a few pieces of funky jewelry from a fav Etsy Seller. I even put on makeup, and that hasn't happened more than a handful of times in a year. Took my anxiety meds. Wrote yesterday's post. Listened to a frantic message from my boss.

Maybe I'm being stubborn, but I don't think so. I think I'm picking up their anxiety, and it's building on top of mine. Either way, getting to work ain't happened yet. I called this morning and told them I was trying again this afternoon. Trying. Again.

I mentioned that I got dressed for work and put on makeup, right? What I did forget to say was that I'm also taking my little pet monkey. He hangs out and eats bananas. And didn't we learn from Chiquita Banana that bananas have to ripen before eating? Ripen=progress=prepare. Hey, I'm preparing!

And here I thought being bananas was a bad thing.

(Image used is a print of an original collage that is mounted on a wood block. It is entitled "What's Wrong" and is available for purchase for the Etsy shop WicksomeMay.)

(The original Disney Studios commercial featuring Ms. Chiquita Banana has been out since the 40's. Do you remember the tune? Saying that I do really shows my age. See the entire minute-long video here www.youtube.com/watch?v=RFDOI24RRAE )

But not in my head...

After weeks of staying away from work, I'm getting ready to head that way today. I knew this day was coming, but I just didn't know whether or not I'd be able to handle it. September 15th is a tax deadline, so they are requesting my help ASAP. Tax deadlines would definitely be one of the things that could motivate me to get my butt into the office. Nothing else has managed to do it. I'm feeling apprehensive, and I hope that I will be emotionally able to work at the office. They said that I could take it home if I needed to, but I would like to work there since it would be so much easier than carting a boatload of paperwork back home. Plus, my laptop is set up for the printer at the office and not the one at home.

Got butterflies? Who me?

(The image used today is a portion of an original contemporary mixed media painting by artist Diane Ackers, and it can be purchased in her Etsy shop DianeAckers. I love her use of color as well as the serene expressions on the subjects' faces. For more information, visit her at http://dianeackers.blogspot.com/ )

Five, four, three, two, one...

Now that I am into a more reflective time of self-examination, I'm much more aware of how seemingly unrelated events cause the most revealing thoughts to pop into my brain. Oh, it may take a few days, but it happens. For example, while getting an acupuncture treatment two weeks ago, I was telling my chiropractor--aka my acupuncturist--that I felt hyped up and couldn't relax. I had been feeling like that for several weeks, and I was erroneously thinking it was just an elevated mood. Apparently, a recently increased dosage in one of my medications was sending my blood pressure into dangerous territory. I freaked out when I got my BP reading and read about the numbers, especially the word "crisis." Yikes. Spent that day and the next four--including a weekend, which is why I couldn't get in to see my internist sooner--being extremely cautious, including making the stupid decision to stop taking most of my medications. I've been fighting taking the Hormone Replacement drugs due to the increased risk of heart attacks and strokes, and most of the other meds have some mention of the same side effects. I debated going to the Emergency Room, but part of me thought that was overreacting. As it turns out, my decision was serendipitous. One of the other meds was the one that was causing the problem. My internist, whom I saw ASAP, lectured me in no uncertain terms that I might have caused a worse situation by quitting my meds cold-turkey and that I was very fortunate indeed and to call her no matter the time, day or night, if something like that ever happened again. Phew, she chewed me out! Once it was all over and I felt calmer, I suddenly remembered something the chiropractor said about my hyperactive, manic feeling--"You jump into everything feet first, full tilt and give it 150%. You don't hold anything back, and it wears you out to do that." Of course, he had no way of knowing that it was the meds causing the problem, but I've been a patient of his for the past two+ years, so he knows me fairly well. I started going to him when I needed treatment for a pinched nerve in my neck. I forget the correct medical term, but there isn't really a nerve being pinched, although that's exactly what it feels like. Anyway, I had always viewed my initial energetic ventures into jobs and projects as stemming from a caring attitude. I always want to do everything perfectly (as if!), and I really care about the people involved. I was surprised to think that the physical aspect could have had as much of an impact as the emotional one. I've always thought that the emotional stress caused the physical problems. Maybe the combined results of both is what always pulled me down into a pit. The most unfortunate outcome, regardless of the cause, is the way others reacted to my decline, not to mention my own guilt for not meeting my own expectations. For that reason, I've been reluctant over the past year to get involved with anyone on any level to keep from feeling the pain and hurt when I don't meet their expectations.

The thought that I could get involved in something without launching myself into it is my pop-upped thought of the week.

(Image is entitled "Rocket to the Moon" and is available from Etsy shop loriontdorr. Do you see it?)

Addiction, Part Deux...

So I've concluded that I'm a shopaholic because obtaining my fix is just too easy, and I can satisfy my creative urges more quickly by buying instead of making my own. It would seem that I've endowed a piece of cloth with human characteristics. Given life to a thing that is, granted, a basic need, but still just a nonsentient thing. I've expected these things to make a difference on the inside when they are nothing more than beautiful adornments for the outside. And really, do they give any meaning to life other than to satisfy the wearer? Now that I realize what I've been doing, I feel shallow and stupid. When I think about the problems and desperate needs of our world, I realize it makes me shallow (and probably stupid). Now, don't get me wrong, the appreciation and acquiring of fashion isn't a bad thing unless it gets out-of-line like mine has. Everyone has their interests, and anything can go from interest to habit to obsession when it impinges on the important things in life. I've always believed that things don't just happen--there is a reason for everything that happens in our lives. Maybe we chose our path or maybe it was chosen for us. Nevertheless, that path has a purpose. Hopefully, we choose to give it meaning and thus fulfill that purpose. So in pondering this addiction of mine, I can't say that the past year has been in vain. I might not have understood it. I might keep traveling the same path over and over. But in previous trips, I haven't had the luxury of this much time for self-examination. Now that I do, how can I ignore what I've learned? How can I not make the changes? Why haven't I made these changes earlier? And have I ever really made a difference anywhere?

Thinking is not nearly as much fun as shopping.

To be continued...

(Image used is "Untitled" by artist Lauren Gray. Her shop is TheHauntedHollowTree found at Etsy. She does delicately textured figurative work in muted tones. More can be found at her blog thehauntedhollowtree.blogspot.com)

Size does matter...

As previously mentioned, I've been working part-part-time on a project for my previous employer, and it's been eating into my journal time. I've been going to the office several days per week, and I'm at the point that the work should be completed in another day or two. I don't know what, if anything, I'll do there once this is finished. They may need me for a few days per month, but we will see. As the weeks have gone by, the same things that caused me to leave have gradually started up again. I'm certainly not where I was six months ago, but this week has seen a bit of a setback for me. It just confirms that I need to stay away from highly emotional and stressful situations.

Speaking of stressful, I just read that a "plus-size" model was protesting her recently published photograph. It seems that the publisher had the picture airbrushed from a size 10 to a size 2. She said she was proud of her size and felt it was insulting to her for the photo to be changed. Funny, I was insulted to find out that a size 10 was considered a plus-size! When did that happen? I knew that the modelling business has been getting bad press for pushing the girls to be so thin that they aren't healthy, but I didn't realize that those standards were now being pushed on women in general. However, I have noticed as I've shopped online for the last year or more that designers do seem to be using less material. A size Large just ain't what it used to be.

I recently found a picture of myself taken about 5 months before I got married. Both my other half and I agreed that I look way, way, better now. We both thought I looked anorexic in the photo, but I remember never feeling thin enough. As I've aged, predictably, I've gained those few pounds per year. Anyone who has seen me within the last 10 or so years has said that I look great, maybe because I now have curves.

The good news from the fashion front is that curves are back in vogue! I just wish someone would tell that to all of those designers who think a size Large is equivalent to a size 8. Who would like to volunteer? Anyone?

(Image is a black and white gelatin silver print entitled "Hands." It can be purchased at Etsy from leanaphoto.)

Do or die...

Sadly, one of my dearest friends just had to be hospitalized after combining drugs and alcohol. Probably something I would have done way back when if I had had enough of any kind of serious drugs. I had no access to a gun, and the thought of slitting my wrists makes me queasy. I have a hard time having my finger pricked. However, I knew firsthand the kind of accident that could occur if I were to run my car headfirst into an oncoming 18-wheeler. I planned it, mapped it, found the perfect spot on the highway. Even did a few drive-throughs to make sure. Thankfully, I finally looked at the cab. Saw the driver. Realized that I was going to hurt someone other than myself. And I knew that it was no longer an option. Which kinda left me with no options.

I know now that had I been very seriously considering the act, I would have found a way. I'd like to think that it was because I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I doubt that I'm that noble. Maybe I was a coward, but I was enduring emotional pain that was so intense that I wasn't really living anyway. It's hard to think or talk about what I was going to do, but it was my truth at the time.

Or since I didn't carry through, was it really my truth?

"The pure and simple truth is rarely pure and never simple."--Oscar Wilde

(Image shown is a portion of a necklace found at VenusFlytrapJewels at Etsy. It contains a charm with photos related to mental health as well as a small bottle of pills. In black and white, no less.)

A good time was had by most...

I'm heading off to the beach tomorrow for our annual family vacation. Everyone else made it there on Monday. I tried to go earlier this week as well but couldn't do it. I had a difficult time with my family ten or eleven years ago. The result was that I was unable to see them or talk to them for over two years. I still have a lot of trouble with extended time together. I don't remember if I've ever given any of the details in this journal, but I won't go into them now.

If I do, I might change my mind and not go at all.

(Image used is entitled "Vacation" and is a photograph taken at the beach where I am going. It's by PaulettePhotography and is just one of the many pictures she's taken where she lives in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. She has a lot of amazing animal photos, too.)

Slowly but surely...

Okay, I don't know who I was kidding, but I really haven't been able to start everything in my "better health plan" this week. I've made several changes, but all of them? No way. I guess I'm going into it gradually since that's what my brain seems to be doing. Some things have been easy to change, and those are the ones I've started on. Why do I always save the hardest for last?? The good news is that I am trying! I lied when I told my doctor I could do it all this week, but she said I should be able to do it all this week. Who was she kidding?

I can only change a few pieces of me at a time...

(Image by OutsideTheBoxArt at Etsy entitled "Funky Face.")

Time to stop running and start running...

Went to a new doctor today. I've had a family doctor for general stuff, but my ob/gyn had told me that I should see an internist. I never really knew that an internist was like a family doctor, only better. Someone who looks at the big picture, not just the pieces. My ob/gyn gave me a recommendation, and I took her advice. Turns out this doctor is really good. She was so nice and took extra time with me. That doesn't happen much these days. I have two pages of notes that she wrote to remind/tell me what I need to do. I already knew most of it--better diet, more exercise, etc., but she gave me some very specific instructions. My recent blood work indicated that my cholesterol was up from last time, which is why I went to this new doc in the first place. Even though I knew I needed to take better care of myself, I wasn't doing it. Now, I have someone to answer to, and that's a good motivator.

Plus, I'm ready to start making changes...

[Image used is entitled "Time is a Runaway." It is by RLDesign, who unfortunately doesn't have anything in her Etsy shop anymore. She had several listings, all of which used parts of dress forms. Her creations were wall-mounted sculptures. It may not be evident at first glance, but this is/may be a working clock. Look on the right breast to find the clock hands. It also says the following (read from upper left to below the clock to lower left): "They say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." More good advice.]

Don't mess with me...

I can hardly believe that May is almost over. Most of April and May were taken over by everything related to refinancing. It really did take two months to complete the process. The initial contact to get the ball rolling was on March 25th, followed by the cleaning spree and then finally the fiasco of waiting on the bank to fix a 20 year-old error. Phew. Done. Over. Let's move on.

So now I'm back to reading a lot about hormones and menopause and about stress and how it affects aging and hormones. I think I may have said several times how confusing the whole menopausal phase is when no one talks about it. One author notes that it wasn't so very long ago that women were sent to sanatoriums because of the symptoms of nervousness, sleeplessness, irritability, and "a tendency to cause trouble"!! (Yeah, I would definitely be in a sanatorium.) To even speak of it was to risk being placed in a institution because if a woman knew about then it she must be experiencing it, and it was considered a dangerous time of life. (Dangerous to anyone around a menopausal woman, that is.) Thus, very little information was handed down. Hysteria was once considered a medical disorder diagnosed only in women. The word uterus derived from the Greek work for hysteria. Go figure. Plato discussed the problem of the "wandering uterus" creating havoc as it moved through the body. (I might buy that since I experience quite a bit of havoc inside.) However, by the mid-19th century, it was generally thought that hysteria "stemmed from sexual dissatisfaction," and several methods of treatment would result in "hysterical paroxysm," now better known as an orgasm. Huh. (Strangely, my doctor, a woman, has never mentioned this as a possible treatment for me.) Now get this. Treatment was tedious to physicians (who were always male) who tired of manual vaginal massage. Awww. (I think tedium must be the male equivalent of hysteria. Tedious males should have been put in institutions. Makes me wonder why their hands got so tired anyway.) It wasn't too long before massage devices were invented so those poor old doctors wouldn't get tedium. In the mid-19th century, a "hydrotherapy" device was available at bathing resorts. People used to go to these resorts to bathe in the waters, usually considered to having healing properties. Hugely popular. Now we know why. "By 1870, a clockwork-driven vibrator was available for physicians." (I wonder how long they set it for. Ten minutes? Two minutes?) "In 1873, the first electromechanical vibrator was used at an asylum in France for the treatment of hysteria." Catch that? Used at an "asylum"? Well, that is where we all were sent when we got hysterical. Thank goodness I didn't live back then. I probably would have been sent to the asylum when I was 12 and would have been placed in the hands of a doctor who treated his patients with vibrating electrodes attached at the temples. No paroxysms for me.

Seriously, all of this is just interesting to me when I think about how people view symptoms of stress and menopause now. I don't think much has changed except that we no longer are thrown into those sanatoriums. No, we are expected just to keep pushing ourselves harder and keep working a job while also doing all the work at home. We aren't supposed to think of ourselves, we should say yes to anything asked of us and feel deeply guilty should we ever consider saying no. If we are moody or irritable, just stuff it. And never, ever say that we're too tired. (The sanatorium is sounding better all the time.)

I'm also beginning to think there might have been something to Plato's ideas because something has definitely moved in to increase the size of my upper abdomen. It makes me feel like I am full all the time. Sitting makes me much more aware of it. I've always had a bit of a lower belly, but now the upper as well?

Makes me want to get into a hysterical fight with a tedious man.

(Image used is a pastel and pencil drawing entitled "Mood Swing" and is by orbisdeo at Etsy. The information on the histroy of hysteria was found at Wikipedia.)

Around and around I go...

My journal reads like a record that skips and plays the same thing over and over and over (does that tell my age?). I'm beginning to believe that I've always been this way. Add the stress and the emotional turmoil on top of it, and the highs and lows were just, well, higher and lower. But in somewhat of a bubble here at home, I realize that I really am always just slightly depressed. Even with meds, I still cycle through the milder lows on a regular basis.

We closed on the refinancing loan last Friday. At the lawyer's office, there was an assistant that everyone was praising for her abilities and her cheerful attitude. That used to be me. Clients would tell me how much they appreciated me, and some of them wanted to hire me! So, I was a bit down upon leaving the office that afternoon, brooding the rest of the evening about much has changed. On Saturday, I went to have my nails done and to get a pedicure as well. It's been two months since I last went. Aahh, bliss. A spa pedicure with a reflexology foot massage and seaweed wrap. Oh, and, of course, pretty toenails. But while sitting in line with the other 11 women, I noticed that my legs were getting a lot of attention and not in a good way. My legs are blindingly white, having not seen the sun for over 20 years. They were the first place that my hives appeared, and that signaled the end of my days in the sun. Heat just makes them worse. It would seem a blessing in disguise since I have fairly good skin from staying out of the sun. But trust me, blinding white is not pretty, especially since I cannot shave my legs because of my hives. I do not understand Vietnamese, so I could only imagine that the lilting sing-song of their conversation went something like this: "What wrong with her? She have weird skin. Funny color. Eeww, hairy. Look terrible. Don't want to touch. Put on gloves. Hee hee." (Sorry, that is how they talk. No offense meant.) The bliss of the treatment was undermined by my humiliation. Plus, I wondered afterwards why I even bother to keep having my nails done. Who sees them but me? Huh. Afterwards, I finally made it to the mall to return those stupid shoes I've had for a month. I had one other errand I wanted to accomplish, and the two stores were at opposite ends of the mall. Walking through, I find that the mall hasn't changed much since the last time I was there many years ago. There are still no stores for old people, unless the mattress store is considered. Anyone over 40 is sitting on benches and watching the younger crowd. Probably in envy. There was still store after store specifically for teens and twenty-somethings. The clothing was cheap and cheaply made, minimally priced and sized to fit teeny bodies. Now, I had to try on no less than three pairs of pants on Friday before I could find a pair that would fit. This not-going-out-of-the-house situation has made me realize that I have put a few pounds onto an already less-than-svelte body. I was determined on Friday not to let it bother me, but at the mall, it was too painfully obvious that I was out of my league. The "big" league. Not the one I wanted to be called up to.

So once again, I find myself in a slump. I'm questioning everything about myself. I hate this uncertainty and the feeling of not being good enough in any way. I'm afraid to try to work for anyone because I doubt I could maintain any kind of schedule or handle any stress at all. I would love to work at the boutique where I was offered a job, but my consistently low moods won't go over very well in a store where I would have to be "up" all the time. And I haven't made it back to the office where I was employed to get the things I need to work at home. I have not started the Etsy shop I have planned and now am wondering if I'm going to be able to anyway. My ideas involve non-eco-friendly materials, and I've been doing a bit of thinking about that lately. I would have to change quite a lot of my designs if I go to all natural materials. And, I screwed up at the shoe store because they wouldn't let me return the shoes (I paid through Paypal so I could only exchange them), and I traded them in for a pair that I know I will never wear because I have nowhere to go. I have a closet full of awesome clothing that I'm not wearing because I can't fit into them and have no place to go. I'm not taking care of myself, inside or out, because who will notice? Certainly not my other half. Nor would he care. I'm not doing anything meaningful, nothing with a purpose, nothing that benefits anyone. What is the point of being me??

I hate feeling this way. I hate being the way I am. And I hate continuing to write about it. What used to seem like a good place to record my thoughts now just feels like a place for constant pity-parties. Wasn't the point of writing in a journal to feel better? To keep track of my progress? I'm not progressing, I'm stuck in a harmonic wave of oscillating moods that are like a record that skips and plays the same thing over and over and over...

(Image used is a funky necklace entitled "You Sound Like a Broken Record." It's made by WillowandIvy and available at the Etsy shop of the same name.)

The fat lady has sung...

I'm getting this out a bit late, but Happy Mother's Day to any moms out there! I got cards from my darling babies, one from the three older dogs and one from the new baby! My littlest one has bonded to me, much to the dismay of my other half, but he's only 5 months old, so maybe that's kinda natural. He kisses me all the time and wags his entire body when he sees me. Seriously, his tail is wagging so hard that it brings his butt up near his head! I call him my little wiggle worm. I also call him Hooty because he is a hoot! He makes me laugh all day long. My hubby says I'm confusing the little guy when I call him all these different names, but heck, I don't care. He'll learn his name one day.

This is the first time I have experienced Mother's Day since the big changes in my life last year. Even though I thought I had worked through this, I find that I am still a little sensitive about never having kids. The events that led to the changes occurred over a period of two or three months, but I have decided on July 1st as the beginning of this next phase of my life. That is when I left everyone and everything behind to go on a three week sabbatical. I went to the mountains to try to clear my head and recover from the difficulties I was experiencing. Getting away from it all was wonderful, but it wasn't the answer. Between work and home, I had so much stress and emotional upheaval that I had to quit work. I also went into post menopause possibly due to the stress. I'm am seriously still so confused about what is and isn't menopause. My doctor used the term "post-menopausal" to describe my hormone levels (basically non-existent), but I've also heard/read "menopause" used to describe the time when things stop happening (same thing?). No matter, whatever I'm in was not a good place to be. During that very emotional time, I had to deal with the fact that I no longer had the ability to have children. Now, don't get me wrong, I never gave it much thought prior to this. I never had that longing for a child. I really think the fact that my own mother wasn't nurturing was the reason. I love babies, but having one of my own just wasn't something I wanted. My hubby was teaching elementary school at the time and had kids around day long, so he wasn't too disappointed. So, my doctor had told me earlier in the year at my annual physical that since things were slowing down, I probably had three or four more years before I stopped having periods. Then, wham, bam, thank you ma'am, six months later it stopped. No warning. Although it is different for every woman, there does seem to be an average time of three to five years of "slow down" time. I was so stressed and emotionally wrung out and could not--absolutely could not--wrap my head around this newest development. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was mourning over this loss. It didn't matter that it had been my decision, I still had this sense of complete emptiness and failure as a woman. I don't feel as bad as I did back then, but I do feel down today. I'll be fine tomorrow.

As I should have expected, I really had a hard time finding an image that represented the day, so I just gave up and went will how I felt.

(Image is entitled "Feeling Empty Inside" and is by Gilfling at Etsy.)

Toss me a towel...

The recent appraisal and my marathon cleaning project have propelled me deeper into depression. My biggest triggers that caused the decline are stress and lack of sleep. Fatigue can be a trigger, but it is often a result of not sleeping enough. The last weekend prior to Monday's appraisal was the most hectic of the three weeks I spent cleaning. I got very little sleep Saturday night and practically none on Sunday night. The appraisal itself became a stressor as the deadline got closer, and my other half constantly voicing his worries only added to my stress. I thought if I heard him say one more time that we weren't going to make it (to the deadline), I was going to shoot him. Thankfully, I don't keep a gun in the house. His lucky week, I guess. Anyway, between pushing my limits in these areas (fatigue, lack of sleep, stress) and getting a new puppy, I went downhill quickly. The puppy isn't stressing me at all, but my allergies have gone haywire since getting him! Whatever he was bathed in on the day we picked him up is doing a number on my sinus and skin allergies as well as keeping the door slightly opened so that I can teach him that the yard is where he goes when he has to go. Add to that the dust stirred up while cleaning. By late Wednesday, I had a minor case of hives along with a mind that wasn't functioning well. I was in tears by Friday with a major case of hives and no mind to speak of. I had to take extra Benedryl to combat the hives, which really puts me in a fog. I tried to do several puzzles to keep my brain focused, but I wasn't even seeing all of the numbers. Saturday and Sunday were both the same.

Today it has been one week since the appraisal and most of the things that occurred to send me into this decline. I have tried to keep up with the events in terms of my depression cycle as well as how long it takes me to recover. Having been able to avoid my stressors for awhile, I can track the cycle better than I have ever been able to. I know that I have hit the bottom of this cycle and am on my way back up. Last week after the appraisal I was supposed to get my nails done, return some shoes at the mall, go to a chiropractic appointment and get the quarterly information from my employer by Friday. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to leave the house to accomplish any of those things. And they all were very necessary. I am apparently going to keep experiencing this fear of leaving the house when I am in a low cycle. Good to know these things and even better to be able to track them. I should be back to the point at which my meds are controlling my depression by the end of the week. Hopefully, sooner.

Meanwhile, I'll rest and recover and let the craziness of the last four weeks drip off/out. I think whoever said "don't sweat the small stuff" must have never had much stuff and could afford to forget the small ones. I'll sweat it all away, thank you.

(Image used is entitled "Tranquility," an oil painting by shiloratnerart at Etsy.)

House cleaning and Hormones and Hatters, Oh My!

Now that I'm back to my usual good-for-nothing self after my tornadic, frenzied cleanup, I think today calls for a tea party. I've been neglecting Dorothy and Alice far too much lately, and they are pretty peeved about it. All work and no play just isn't their cup of...well, need I say it?

So today is devoted to sipping tea and enjoying time with friends. And what do I find but that things are out of control! Dorothy has been doing so much research on hormone replacement for me that she believes she has lost her brain and needs to find the Wizard. Oh dear. She's helping me since I continue to doubt those questionable little pills. We discussed yet again the need to consult someone who can thoroughly explain the difference between my current hormone treatment and the bioidentical hormone therapy. I've already given the boot to the phyto-hormones since my history indicates they will be of little use to me. Alice, meanwhile, has been rather distant since I failed to make it to the theater to see her latest movie. She is also miffed due to the rather blah reviews it received from the critics. Apparently, no one consulted her on the cast or storyline. I tried to explain that while it might be a story about her, it wasn't her story to claim, i.e., she didn't write it so why would anyone ask her opinions. That did not go over well. And since she is madly in love with the Mad Hatter, or rather the Hatter from this movie, she is quite disappointed that...oops, bad form to reveal the ending, right? Ah, well. I obviously have been out-of-touch for too long. I didn't realize that they needed me so much. I had thought that they were here for me.

I guess we are all here for one another, no?

(Image used is entitled "A Cup of Tea Solves Everything" and is by whatnikkimade at Etsy.)

Just say whoa...

Most people say time flies when they are having fun. For me, time flies even faster when I have an unpleasant chore, maybe because I wish the time away. I simply cannot believe that it's been two weeks since my last post or that I have done one thing and one thing only in that same time. Clean. Clean and then clean some more. (Yikes, big lie there. I'll explain in my next post, hopefully sooner than two weeks from now!)

For the last five or more years, my schedule was so full that I had very little time for cleaning. On the weekends I was exhausted from doing too many things at one time. As usual, I said yes to too much and needed to learn to just say no. In between the stuff I was doing were several emotional upheavals (are there other kinds in my life??) that created their own stress and exhaustion. And at some point within the last few years, I had gradually started that winding down time of life known as menopause. While some women may have been prepared for the changes, I was not. I have always had fatigue that resulted from monthly hormonal changes, and this was as bad if not worse. Suffice it to say that if I was at home, my preference always was to rest rather than clean. If I did any cleaning, it was minimal.

Funny how things can really pile up. One day there is that day's mail on the counter, then suddenly there are weeks' worth just sitting there. Not to mention the things emptied out of my hubby's pockets each night as well as the stuff I brought in each week from the many projects I was working on. It was so much easier to move the piles upstairs to keep them out of sight. Of course, there came a point when the piles had to stay downstairs because there was no room upstairs. And laundry? Piles of dirty laundry versus piles of clean ones. Did I mention that I don't like to use the washer on a lot of items and never use the dryer on anything except linens? I have four clothes racks that are labeled by color and are constantly in use. Move the dry clothes off the rack onto the sofa and start the whole process over again.

Imagine how completely embarrassing this is for me to reveal. Now imagine how it was to actually have anyone see it. No one, and I do mean no one, was allowed to come in my house for the last five years. One friend did see it because she took me home after a surgical procedure, and at the time I could have cared less that she saw it. Later, however, I was truly mortified. My other half's family were sending him articles about how to deal with hoarding. As angry as that made me, I still did nothing about it. I knew I wasn't hoarding, and he really didn't think it was either, but he wasn't certain. The few times I did try to work on the house, I got so overwhelmed that very little was actually accomplished. There was too much to do in such a short amount of time.

Which brings me to what has kept me away for two weeks. We are refinancing since I haven't been working and contributing to household expenses. At some point, there will be an appraisal, and that is what ultimately motivated me to get to work. The first week was almost a full-time cleaning event. Almost round the clock since we thought that the appraisal was going to be "any day now." Unfortunately, I got so tired that the second week has been more part-time with rest periods in between and an early quitting time. I am happy to report that things are looking much, much better! I have managed to get all but one room in decent shape. Not completely clean, but I will go back and do more if I have time. I saved the worst room for last. Actually, I started upstairs and worked my way downstairs, so it just happened to work out that way.

Anyway, that's what I've been doing, and time has flown. I have purposely not taken time to look at anything online, knowing how I have a tendency to spend hours bouncing around in space. No reading since I usually start and finish a book in a single sitting. And definitely no tea parties! No, I forced myself to focus on the cleaning. Now I know why an annual spring cleaning is recommended. Otherwise, stuff, both necessary and not, just piles up and becomes overwhelming. And although it took a TV show ("Hoarding" on AandE, I think) and several chats, my hubby realizes that I'm really not hoarding, just holding onto and collecting things for all my artistic endeavors. I'm not sure, but I think he based his decision on the fact that in the show there were lots of dead creepy critters underneath all the "stuff" that was shoveled out. Thankfully, I didn't have to use a shovel, and I am happy to report that no critters were found during my cleanup. Well, except for the three that kept taking the trash out of the bags and playing with it, making me wonder if they shouldn't go in the bags, too!

I also thought about hiring some help at first. This crew looked interesting and did have a shovel, but I couldn't find any recommendations, so I just said...

(Image used is entitled "Mule Day Cleanup Crew" and is by PhotoAmerica at Etsy.)

Indicate choice by chewing a hole next to it...

Earlier in March I posted about our rescue dog, Maris, who has a rare form of cancer in one eye. We had just taken her in to our regular vet for a general checkup to get a handle on her overall health. We did so in preparation for the vet eye specialist appointment this week. We took her in yesterday, and the prognosis was exactly as we thought it would be. The cancer was discovered in early July, 2009, and the specialist said that she probably had six months of sight left. His recommendation was to remove the eye when she no longer could see out of it. We found out that she has, in fact, now lost total sight in her left eye. Maris has been doing some things differently, but we hadn't chalked them up to her being blind in that eye. Duh? Don't know why. I knew she was losing sight, but I guess that since I see her every day, the changes come little by little and aren't as noticeable. After the appointment, we talked about a few of the things she has been doing. She gets to the steps that go up to our deck, but instead of using the steps from where she is, she walks around to the other side of the steps, then walks up the steps diagonally. This has been happening for awhile, and at the same time she started doing it, we had been having an issue with Berra's arthritis. Since they both are getting on in years, we thought she was having problems with her legs. We even gave her meds for arthritis! Now we know that as she got to the steps, her left eye was closer to them, so she couldn't judge the steps as well. Once she walked over and turned around, her good right eye was focused on the steps and she would go up at an angle so she could keep her sight on them. Also, she has always had a hard time with learning to wait patiently for food to be put in her bowl when it is time to eat. She would stand right next to us as we scooped the food, then make a mad dash to her bowl, where she would hop, hop, hop in place as we would race to get the food in her bowl before she could put her head in it! Awhile back, after hopping, she started waiting for us to put the food in the bowl. I was congratulating myself on a great training job! Yeah, right. What I hadn't paid attention to is that she turns her head as we put the food in the bowl, again indicating that she has turned her head to the side so she can see the food going into the bowl. Ah, well. She hasn't been in any pain, and our vet specialist has assured us that she shouldn't be for another few weeks. However, the cancer, which started out small, is now completely covering her eye. We are adamant that she not suffer any pain at all, so we went ahead and made the appointment to have the eye removed. Both vets told us, taking everything into consideration, it was what they would do for their pet. I still had a hard time with it. So how did I decide?

Well, I sat all three dogs down one afternoon so we could have a chat. This is no easy task as Guidry has ADD. Seriously. Berra and Maris are ssooooo laid back, but Guidry demands attention and entertainment (she's our other rescue). We are working on her behaviors. Very hard. But back to the discussion. I told them what was going on and what needed to be done. Now some people think dogs can't think. Most people think dogs don't have emotions. But I have seen some astonishing actions from mine both here and gone that indicate that they were thinking and feeling. Poo poo me if you will, but I'm gonna chat with my dogs. I gave them the facts and the choices. Then I asked them to vote for eye removal or going to sleep (how could I phrase that any other way???). Choice #1: Eye removal? Barks, noises, movements, etc. Choice #2: Going to sleep? Nothing. After a few seconds, Guidry turned her back and made a dive for Berra's toy. He made a fairly good attempt to get it, but she is much faster. Meanwhile, Maris is just sitting partially in my lap being sweet and watching them. I took that to mean that they had made their decisions and it was back to playing. Isn't it nice to share the load?

I've heard of animals painting on paper. I wonder if I should put the options on paper to let them vote. Hhhhmmm...

(Image is entitled "The Hanging Chad Necklace" and is by markaplan at Etsy.)

Inside what's left of my skin...

I have always had vivid dreams, and I usually can remember most of them. I usually spend some time trying to figure out what the heck my dream means or what it's telling me or saying about me. I think that dreams are probably made up of both memory and the things that have been relegated to the subconscious maybe because we can't focus on them consciously for whatever reason. It's interesting that originally the word dream meant joy or gladness. Interesting because most of my dreams are anything but joyful. They usually revolve around something that plays a part in my life but it gets turned upside down and inside out. Freakin' weird is what they are. Like my grandmother turned axe murderer. Actually, now that I think on that one, it's probably not so weird. I saw her chop off a chicken's head (yes, with an axe) and everything else she did to get it to the cooking pot. In my dreams, however, she was after my brothers and me. This was one of my regular childhood nightmares.

Last night, I dreamed about a place where everyone was covered in some kind of strange...rubber cement like stuff. It wasn't sticky, but it was pliable. The people in this place were not very friendly, and in fact, constantly looked for anyone who was different in any way. Of course, that would be me. The punishment for being different was that the "skin" was removed and the person vaporized. Now I have no idea why the skin had to be removed if the person was just going to be vaporized anyway (maybe the skin was really a protective cover?), but who can explain dreams? I'm fairly certain that Freud could find something in my dream that would represent sex in some way, shape or form. I'm not big on believing it all winds down to that. So if anything of a sexual nature can be found in my dream, just keep it to yourself. All I know is that I really got into the artist's work from an earlier post--Elizabeth Ingraham's fascinating and strangely disturbing "skins," which were meant to represent the mental or emotional things women take in or take on. Society has placed these labels on women for so long, and only since my generation have women tried to buck the system. Her site describes most of the "interactive" skins and how she portrayed the various labels. Some were beautiful, like the one named Regret, made with lace and covered with beads and shells. Ms. Ingraham says that Regret "...rattles at the slightest touch, producing faint echos of love and loss." I'd say that's about right except my echos would not be faint. Accommodation was constructed so that she would open up and become larger by pulling on a row of snaps. "After becoming large enough to accommodate virtually anything, she then obligingly snaps back up into her normal size and shape." Interesting that it's someone else that has to pull the snaps to open and then shut them back up. Accommodation doesn't seem to be in control of what she's accommodating. Guilt was pictured in my earlier post, but there were no words that described her on Ms. Ingraham's site. Guilt appears to have seams or zippers over most of her "body." Perhaps as she tries to atone for each of her offenses (inadequacies) each unzipped area pours out red fabric. Self-flagellation, drawing blood whether by scourging the outside or ripping ourselves apart from the inside.

As I said, I've always carried a boat-load of guilt. For anything and everything. Things I did and things I didn't do. Until recently, that is. Now I'm not so much feeling all that guilt. I guess by not being bombarded with stress and requests and feelings of having to make everyone happy, along with doing whatever I can to make myself feel better, there really isn't anything to feel guilty about right now. Although I did feel guilty about selfishly taking so much time for myself at first. Now I feel okay about saying no when it is what I really want to say. I don't say it to everything now, but I didn't used to say it to anything. Making some progress in the last seven or eight months, no? Today I realize that not feeling guilty is not the same as not caring. Big load off my mind, because I was really feeling guilty about not caring. Never ever want to not care. Thinking about my dream made me realize that no one else can make us feel guilty--we do it all to ourselves and usually over our own ridiculously high expectations. Thanks, Ms. Ingraham.

Too bad I had to get vaporized to figure it out.

(Image from this post is entitled "Ray Bradbury 2010" and is found at workingearth at Etsy.)

(Along with Ms. Ingraham's "Skin" exhibition, an experimental dance performance was given at La MaMa Theater in New York in 2005 based on the "Skin" concept. The performers eventually "...become so wrapped up in societal expectations and others' opinions that they become mummies. After being fully bound in tape and adorned in plaster, they are left alone for us to consider: real, struggling people trapped inside someone else's dressing. Their emergence from the oppressive tape that binds them is a turning point in the story." Read more at offoffonline.com.)

Inside my skin...

Yesterday I was supposed to go to work and help with a payroll project. I emailed them on Friday and said I would be there. Then I just didn't go. I tried, but I couldn't make myself walk out the door. I haven't gone in four weeks. I've never been like this. When I knew that something important needed to be completed, I was the one who always bent over backwards to do everything I could to make it happen. I don't even feel bad about not going, and I haven't tried to go in today.

I think I've quit caring. I don't like being this way. One one hand, it feels so selfish and just wrong. On the other, I almost feel like I'm rebelling in some strange way, like a little kid who is saying "nah-nah-nah, you can't make me." Ever since I had that meltdown a few weeks ago, I've been getting more and more like this little brat, with an attitude of "don't tell me what to do or I won't do it just for spite."

I've always carried around a lot of guilt because I felt like I wasn't good enough or strong enough (mentally or emotionally). I was even told that I didn't care enough when, in fact, caring too much was what created the problems. I felt a lot of guilt over the last six or seven months when I opted to stay home from work. Guilt for not doing enough for my employers as well as guilt for creating our difficult financial situation at home. I mean, really major guilt trips. Now, I've gradually come to realize I'm not feeling guilty at all. Not about anything.

I'm becoming someone I never thought I could be. I don't think I like me this way.



The image used in this post is from a 2004 exhibition by Elizabeth Ingraham, a faculty member at UNL's Hillestad Textiles Gallery, and is entitled "Guilt." Her exhibition was titled "Information, Memory and Desire: Skins," and the lifesize figures were created from various fabrics and findings. The exhibition annoucement had this to say:

“Through a series of life-size, dimensional female skins, I am exploring how expectation, desire and convention - our own and others - form casings which shape our deepest selves and which become so familiar they seem like our own skin,” Ingraham said.

She likened the skins to costumes and camouflage, saying that they describe emotional states, conceal and reveal identity. The works are tactile as well as visual and are designed to be touched and handled by the viewer - unzipped, unbuttoned, entered, read and rattled."

Read more about her at culturalterrain.com or at monet.unk.net and see more of the "skins"--Duty, Denial, Regret, Baggage, etc.--"...the guises in which women enrobe themselves."