But It Will Hurt If I Swallow...
Have strep throat.
Going back to bed.
Be back in a few days.
Bleah.
Have strep throat.
Going back to bed.
Be back in a few days.
Bleah.
I saw Garden State last night. Overall an enjoyable flick. I do have two problems with it. One is the ending which I won't spoil for anyone here. The second has to do with a minor plot detail. If you don't want to know anything about Garden State, stop reading now.
The movie is about Zach Braff going home to New Jersey for his mother's funeral. During the movie we find out his has been on lithium and a host of
anti-depressants since he was ten years old. He mentions at one point, that he left his medication at home in LA and hasn't been taking it since.
Miraculously, Zach experiences absolutely no side effects from coming off his meds so abruptly. Oh, he mentions short headaches, but you get the feeling he's had those already on the meds. Considering he spent the last sixteen years on heavy medication, he's got it pretty easy coming off them.
Trust me. I know.
I haven't written about this yet. A few weeks ago, I started the long and somewhat painful process of going off my anti-depressant. I consciously decided not to blog about it for one simple reason: It's my business and no one else's.
I've noticed lately that The Internet? has a lot of opinions. More importantly, The Internet? isn't hesitant to share those opinions unsolicited. While I understand usually it is from a place of care and concern, sometimes it's just plain obnoxious. I find that obnoxiousness particularly annoying, especially now that my brain is on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.
I decided to go ahead and blog about it because 1) it's my blog and I can blog about what I want to and 2) If The Internet? has something to say about it, I can tell The Internet? to fuck off.
I knew going off my anti-depressant was going to be strange and difficult, but it's time to go off it. I don't need it any more. However, nothing I read or was told could have truly prepared me for the way I feel.
It is very bizarre. At times I feel like someone else's brain is in my head and whomever's brain it is, is a total loon. The side effects from weaning myself off the drugs include painful stomach cramps, horrible headaches, dizziness and mood swings. I described my symptoms to a girl friend and she said "Welcome to PMS!"
Girl, you'll be a woman soon.
I also get this feeling of shocks, similar to mild electric ones. Sometimes my brain feels like it's vibrating at a very high frequency. And the mood swings...dear gawd!
Oy! The mood swings. The other day, The Roommate said something to me that normally I would have let slide right off. But this time I was like a crazy person, slamming doors, getting in my car and speeding off. I went to the grocery store and was pushing my empty cart around for like 15 minutes, feeling the world move at a different speed around me. I felt so crazy. So crazy that if they made a movie about me, Karen Black would have been playing me with wild hair, wide eyes and smeared makeup. That is how fucking crazy I felt.
But I did the one thing that has truly helped me through all of this. I talked myself down off the ledge. "This isn't real. These feelings aren't authentic. This will soon be over." Amazingly, that helps me keep my focus.
After seeing Garden State last night, I kept thinking about Zach going off his meds. While I'm feeling like my body is having an electroshock treatment, he's getting to hang out with Natalie Portman and drive a funky motorcycle. I kept thinking, "Where's Zach's diarrhea? Where's Zach's horrible mood swings? Why isn't Karen Black playing Zach in this movie?"
But I guess that wouldn't make a very entertaining movie, now would it?
I apparently don't have the brain capacity to write a real post, so you get another list.
I am totally crushing on Napoleon Dynamite. Adam and I like it so much, we went to see it again the next night. It's not a movie for everyone, only us cool kids, so if you've heard it's dumb, you aren't a cool kid. How sad for you.
I will probably be quoting lines from the movie from now on, so brush up if you want to follow along.
"I see you're drinking 1% milk. Is that because you think you're fat? Because you're not. You could probably be drinking whole milk."
Yesterday I stayed home from work because I felt like crap. My stomach was all wonky (most likely from the beau coup Hot Tamales and other sugary substances consumed at the movies) and I had a splitting headache. It was so bad, I woke up super early and couldn't go back to sleep. So I chatted with Mark who gave me a much needed dose of baby talk. Mark is indeed one of the good guys.
After sleeping all day, I decided to go to Target so I can actually shave eventually, because I'm out of razors and stuff. So, I threw on a t-shirt and jeans, stepped into my sandals and drove to the store looking like hammered shit. Once there, this guy heavily cruised me. Emphasis on heavily. Everywhere I went, there he was. I tried to smile at him, but he always looked away when I tried to make eye contact. (*sigh* The games people play.) At the checkout, he checked out first, walked to the bathroom door, stopped, turned to look at me and went in. Let's get one thing straight first. I am sooooo not going into some skanky retail bathroom for sex. Ew. You've read about how am I in public restrooms in general, so you can imagine how unappealing the idea is for me. If it's for you, hey that's great, but I like clean places. That being said, it was extremely flattering that even looking like hammered shit, someone found me desirable, even for a quickie. I rock!
I'm listening to the new Wilco album, which I bought last night. They just keep getting better and better.
When The Universe? is trying to tell you something, you should listen. I know this to be true. However, lately The Universe? has been a yackety mouthy bitch and sometimes I wish she'd just shut the fuck up once in a while.
On my way to work this morning, I stopped at Starbucks for something to drink. I ordered a donut. Okay...two donuts. It wasn't until after I'd driven off that I realized I never got my donuts. I was bummed because I wanted some chocolately goodness. What I realized was The Universe? was telling me, Brian...you are already a fat fuck and don't need any gawddamn donuts full of sugar and trans fat. The Universe? is right so I sucked it up and begrudgingly forgot about my wasted two dollars.
There is a boy I like but he is being weird. What was once cute playing-hard-to-get-ism, is now just annoying game playing. The Universe?
says, Brian...this guy is playing games and you know you don't like games and therefore don't play games.
"Yes, The Universe?. I know, but I kind of like this guy."
Too bad. You are smarter than this. You don't have time for his shit.
"But...I..."
Zip it fat boy and get your ass back to the gym. And stay away from those fucking donuts!
*sigh*
The Universe? can be cruel at times.
Godly advice for all you Hail Marys out there. Check
out the papal wit & wisdom of Pope Adam.
Send your questions, confessions, or thoughts to pope@aristoi.org.
Maybe it's because I just had my birthday, but I've been reflecting a lot lately. Remember fond and not so fond times. It's fun when I can look back on little earthquakes gone by and have the perspective to appreciate the experience now.
D posted a quote from My So-Called Life. It got me thinking about an old roommate of mine. A passive aggressive, obsessive compulsive, narcissistic mess I call Whorey Lori?. We lived together for a year and that was about a year too long. We were both lost post graduates trying to find a place in the world in a place that was barren and sucked souls dry. We were as different as night and day and honestly a horrible match for housemates. Although we shared many friends, we rarely spent anytime alone together. The one thing we did agree on was My So-Called Life. It was the only time we spent together at home. We'd watch each episode and discuss afterwards. We loved that little show. We were sad when it was cancelled.
Looking at Jon's history project makes me want to organize my photos. Years ago in a clean sweep, I threw away a lot of mementos from my past. It was hard looking at them and they brought up so many bad memories. I wanted to expunge them from my life. My memory. If I had known I would eventually achieve clarity and perspective,
I'd have kept them, but at the time I thought it was something I had to do.
No the bad stuff doesn't seem so bad and it's easier to remember I had good times and a lot of fun. In the shoebox of my mind, I store memories that I leaf through once in a while. Driving out in the country with a bottle of cheap wine while listening to Prince and the Violent Femmes. Late nights on the swing set at the park. Plates of fries at the all night diner served by the Swedish waitress. Singing songs to the moon. Finding The Cat when he was a wee tiny kitten and bringing him home in the palm of my hand. My first kiss. My first kiss with a boy. The smell of the ocean. Doing donuts in empty parking lots during the first snow of winter.
None of these were documented with a camera, so I hope my recollection of them is always crystal clear.
I had a very nice, quiet and relaxing birthday, except for the going to work bullshit. The Roommate took me to lunch at a sushi buffet. I am a sushi virgin no more. I didn't gross out or get The Ick?, so that's good. She said, "I wish I knew more about sushi to explain it to you." I replied, "You know, this is one of those occasions I think the less I know, the better off I am."
Last night, I had dinner with a friend full of hummus and chicken lavosh shwarma goodness and great conversation. Then I went home for a quiet evening alone. A very peaceful and relaxing evening.
I did have one unfortunate incident during my birthday. My cell phone broke. Not, my cell phone doesn't work. It broke. In two pieces. So for a while I will be mobile phoneless since "replacing broken cell phone" is way low on the list of things to pay for. Way under unpaid bills, car payments and minimal groceries.
I got a couple leads on part time jobs this weekend, so I may be very, very busy soon going from one job to the other in order to make ends meet.
But no worries. I'm not bummed out about it. In fact, I think it will be a good thing. And it's gotta be done.
They no longer have debtor's prison...right?
Thank you to everyone for wishing me a happy birthday.
I really appreciate it.
Friday night pre-birthday dinner with friends at favorite Mexican food restaurant. Check.
Freak The Cat out with Mylar balloons received at said pre-birthday dinner. Check.
Sleeping in on Saturday morning. Check. (How sad is it that 7:30 AM is sleeping in for me now?)
Come up with names for friend's fake boobs. Check. (I dubbed them Angelina and Billy Bob. She said, "They aren't together anymore." I said, "One day, yours won't be either.")
Doing absolutely nothing all day on Saturday. Check.
Forcing myself to take a shower at the last possible moment. Check.
Doing street outreach while sweating like a hog in the 110° plus heat. Check.
Watch The Roommate gush over her new beau. Check.
Budget and pay remaining bills. Not checked.
Sleeping in on Sunday morning. Check.
Not leaving the house at all on Sunday. Check.
Ordering pizza with friends while they force me to what that Extreme Home Makeover show. Check.
Take about 6 naps all weekend. Check.
Think of something new to blog about. In progress.
I had the following conversation with a perpetually stressed out co-worker today.
STRESSED OUT CO-WORKER: I'm about to lose my mind. Fucking projects. (I've heard this tune many times.)
ME: (half jokingly) Out of curiosity, have you ever considered recreational drugs? It might help.
SOC: Yep. It might.
ME: >Were you mellow in high school? (I know she spent her entire high school years stoned.)
SOC: I don't remember.
M: (laughs)
I am so glad I'm not one of those stress kitties who thrive on stress. The Roommate has stress kitty tendencies, but she will deny it in a heartbeat.
Don't get me wrong, I have stress in my life. Who doesn't. There are times I freak out and have anxiety about shit, but over the years I've learn what stress does to me, not only mentally and emotionally, but also physically.
Many years ago, I was working myself to death. I was in the office long before the sun rose and left after it set. I lived on sugary sodas and nicotine. Sometimes I worked six days a week. I was so tired, not once but TWICE, I feel asleep on the phone while talking to a friend. The same friend both times. (I think she took it personally, because we aren't friends anymore.)
Then I started to get ill. I was having horrible buckling stomach pains. Then high fevers. The fevers were awful. I'd pass out on the sofa from them, burning up. I'd go to the doctor and they'd run the usually tests but everything came back normal. Blood tests, x-rays, a sonogram...and nothing. My doctor started to suspect I was making it up. Frustrated, he sent me to another doctor, a surgeon, to just get rid of me.
I met with the surgeon. He pressed on my stomach and asked me about what was going on. I told him about my work schedule and all I do. He diagnosed me with irritable bowel syndrome. He basically told me it is a condition with symptoms but no real cause for them. He gave me a prescription to help, but basically told me to rest and not work so much.
I took his advise. I took several days off and then schedule a vacation when I returned. I immediately stopped working overtime. When my boss called me at home about something, I told him the next day, I'd prefer not to bring work issues home with me and to only call me at home to discuss personal topics. (We were sort of friends at the time.) He didn't like that, but I didn't give a shit. I was determined to not experience that kind of pain again.
Now, my tummy is my barometer for stress. The second I start to feel it there, I back off instantly. Often times I have to remind myself a few times, to keep the tension at bay, but I usually can by living by asking myself a very simple question:
Is this worth me getting sick over?
The answer is always no. Sometimes the answer it HELL NO. Something out of my control? Oh well. Worries at work? Fuck it. It's just a paycheck. It's pretty easy to calm down about shit with those seven little words.
Matters of the heart are a bit different. When I am worried about a friend or loved one, I don't feel it in my stomach, but in my chest. It feels heavy and weighs on me. I think because that is where my heart is. (I understand the term heavy heart.)
I never want to be one of those people who are afraid to love. I love so many dear people. Wonderful friends. But when there is something wrong, I want to fix it. When I don't know how to fix it or diagnose what is wrong, I feel a very different kind but just a powerful physical manifestation. It's pretty frustrating. It's an awful feeling. But it is part of the package that love is.
In the documentary, What The #$&! Do We Know!?, there is a section of the movie that talking about a study a Japanese scientist did on consciousness and water. Basically, his researched showed that thoughts and feelings affect physical reality, including our personal health. It's a pretty amazing conclusion, but it's so very true. The mind, body and spirit are very intertwined. Fuck with one, the others suffer too.
