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Search Results for: “Brain 1

But, no, back on the horse that may throw me.

Well, I’ve just been sitting around on my flukey bootie doing nothing.

I did do some laundry.  But only because I ran out of running gear.  A person needs priorities.

I even went for another bike ride.  Becky is an insidious person and acted like I would be doing her a favor if I rode with her.  Eventually I decided to give it one last try, since I’m registered for a Tri.  Because I’m stupid.  Maybe I should not admit publicly that I’m stupid, but, really, not admitting it doesn’t change it.  Plus it’s rather hard to hide the fact when I just typed “I’m registered for a Tri” because anyone reading that knows immediately that I am stupid.

The reason I didn’t want to ride my bike any more is that I don’t like the feeling of sheer terror.  Call me stupid (I know…) but I just don’t.  I don’t get happy with the adrenaline rush, heart pounding, head throbbing with blood rushing through my brain by the gallon, my body shaking with the flood of fight-or-die hormones.

One weekend when I was in high school a bunch of us, as we sometimes did, had a picnic in the desert.  This was always a day-long affair, everyone driving out in the boonies, kids jumping out of the cars and running all over, moms setting out food and visiting.  The dads would take us all out to some wash and teach us to shoot cans.  My brother had a dirt bike he’d bought with his newspaper route money and the bigger kids took turns riding it around.

It was my turn and I was about a mile from camp, doing no more than 25mph (it had a governor) when I hit a wash and the bike bogged in the sand, so I punched it – just as I also hit a rock with the front tire and the bike came to an immediate and abrupt stop.  I, however, did not stop, going head first over the handlebars, landing on my chin.  Prior to that moment it was never on my radar that a person can break their jaw, but I knew immediately and instinctively that I had.  I also had blood dripping on my shirt from somewhere on my face.

A few months earlier I’d sprained my ankle which necessitated a visit to the ER for an x-ray to be sure it wasn’t broken.   So far in my life – and I hope no further – I have broken my finger, my wrist, my jaw, my toe and my foot; I’ve learned it’s good to go ahead and check.  While there a young man in another room had a nose that would not quit bleeding and they were packing it full of something (cotton?  I don’t know).  That kid was screaming like they were sawing off his foot.

Thus my concern, walking the mile back to camp with a broken jaw which I could not feel because actually I was in shock, was not my jaw, but the source of blood, because I had no intention of ever letting anyone near my nose.  Fortunately it turned out it was just a big gash in my chin from the impact.

By the time we’d driven back into town and stopped at the house to get insurance info the shock had worn off and let me tell you, a broken jaw:  hurts.  Like a mother.

And they would not give me anything for pain in case of head trauma.  I hung around the ER for a few hours while they tended to other people, finally x-raying me, the tech apologizing profusely as he turned my head this way and that.  Yep, broken, up to a room where I dozed off and on, in pain, until the next morning when they set my jaw.  Still un-medicated, because they also needed me able to communicate while they set the jaw.  Which I’m grateful for, I didn’t want a crooked face but – it hurt.

I spent the next six weeks walking around with my mouth wired shut, talking funny and carrying wire cutters because if I ever got a stomach virus or bad food things could get ugly pretty quickly.

That’s the end of the story.

Until a week or two ago, when I met Max.  Mas is a beautiful dog, probably a golden-lab mix, who appeared to be maybe a year old, 80 pounds or so, and newly, deeply in love with me.  He saw me riding Matilda, minding my own business, my HR about 189 since Brain wouldn’t quit thinking about how it would feel to go face first over the handlebars, and he knew we needed to be Best Friends.  Flush with adoration, deaf to his owner’s fervent pleas, Max raced out of his yard and down the street after me, barking his joy and devotion.  I managed to slow before he reached me, getting one foot unclipped before he jumped on me.  The other foot was still clipped, and while he leaned against me in slavish love and his poor owner continued to yell at the now-deaf-with-adoration dog I managed to unclip just in time, catching myself before I went over.

Max suddenly and miraculously had his hearing restored at the exact same time the owner arrived at the scene, apologizing profusely and thanking me for my patience and understanding.  I nodded that I do understand, I also have a dog who suffers event-induced deafness.  And I couldn’t have said anything cranky because my heart was stuck up in my throat doing about 250.

Shaking and shivering I got on the bike and wobbled back home, where I leaned Matilda against the wall, took off my helmet and threw it at the wall, following that with my bike shoes and gloves, swearing loudly with colorful words that it was over.  Sorry, Matilda, that’s the end of the relationship.  It’s not you, it’s me, I want a divorce, you can have the storage shed in the settlement; there you will slowly wither and die, covered with cobwebs and eventually rust.

old bike

I knew – I knew – that Becky would not let it lie.  She was good.  She didn’t say anything.  Like, what?  I’m stubborn?  She and hubs, I know what they are thinking when they get all quiet and don’t mention the elephant in the room.

But she’s so darn little and cute when she gets stubborn, and I didn’t want to make her sad, so I finally put Matilda in the back of the car and drove to meet up near the end of her ride.  Since my biggest worry on the bike is not riding the bike – it’s the sudden and unexpected stop that keeps me in panic mode – I had the brilliant idea of riding in circles and stopping.  There I was, in the St. Phillip parking lot, riding in circles.  Ride – unclip – stop – repeat, while the ladies walking into the church looked at me like I might need an intervention.

“Hi, my name is Terri, and I bike…”


Lent, Part Two

Well, Boy and Girl, I’m home from the whirlwind tour of Arkansas-oklahoma-texas-newmexico-arizona (reverse and repeat), feeling sleep-deprived and cotton-headed and thoroughly tired of anything Subway can possibly offer, eating our way across the country at Love’s Truck Stop/Subway Exit 27/195/362/35/183/328 ad infinitum. It was a time-warp including little social media as mom has no internet


… and my iPad spent a day in time out when it wouldn’t renew cellular data, leaving me in a social media black hole.


OMGawd NO!  I’m fading…fading…

Wait, hold on – Mo’s eating a contract.

Right, I’m back, thanks.  It’s fine, it was the extraneous pages of the contract, nothing important, and he didn’t swallow.  This is why God invented Scotch tape.  It’s nice the Scots got something named after them, too, even though a roll of sticky tape is probably nowhere near as fun as a day-long holiday celebrated with green beer and lots of food and parades and stuff.  A roll of sticky tape…beer…sticky tape…beer…no wonder they play bagpipes.  It’s payback to the rest of the world.

SO.  It’s LENT.  I mean, it’s been Lent for a while now, a couple weeks or so but who’s counting?  I’ll tell you who:  my dear friend who gave up cussing for Lent is counting for sure and by dammit, I can tell you that.  I think you have to be some special kind of stupid to give up cussing.  Not that I think my dear friend is stupid, much, but at least for myself I’m pretty sure cussing saves lives.  St. Patrick’s day falling inside of Lent also makes me happy that I didn’t give up beer.  This has probably also saved lives.

I gave a lot of thought to things coming into Lent – I’ve always liked the idea of time set aside to refocus, for renewal of some sort.  I spent a couple weeks considering and rejecting possibilities.

The week before Lent I was working out with Killer and Brenda.  I was so proud.  I announced cheerfully that I’d decided to give up bitching for Lent.

I was quite confused when they shouted “NO!” in unison.

Brenda followed up by announcing that if I quit bitching she will quit training with me, and Killer seconded the motion by noting she would fire me.

Although slightly disappointed at the reaction I was secretly very relieved because I’m pretty sure giving up bitching would make my Brains explode despite taking my meds on a regular basis (you think I’m kidding).  I amended it to quit bitching at Hubs and almost immediately after this decision I went out of town for 9 days.  Coincidentally I did very well at not bitching.

We had a great visit with my mom, the B’ster was an absolute blast and the best-behaved 4 year old I’ve ever seen.  He played on the iPad for the entire 48-ish hours we spent driving, other than when we were eating or he was asleep.  Mom had such a wonderful time playing with him and it was a huge blessing to see her doing well and getting along fine, rattling around in that big old house by herself.  Next month will be two years since Dad passed and she’s moving forward.

I could not tell you if I think of my brother 14 times a day or once a month.  I have no clue.  I do know that I think of him a lot at times like this, when I’ve been back to Arizona and childhood memories fill so many places.  I seldom remember him with anything but joy and the peace of happy memories.

I don’t even know how it arose, Jen and I talking about Bret and what it might be like if he were still here.  I expect he’d be married, there would probably be nieces or nephews or both.  Maybe I’d even still live in Arizona, who knows what course my life would have taken.  He’d be there to talk to, he’d have been there through everything with dad and he’d be there now to share the weight of worry about mom.

It does no good to think of it unless remembering him can bring joy, but today I struggle, finding tears on my cheeks as I drove to Kroger and again just now, as I write.  I am OK with that, it will pass.  He was joy.  He was laughter and smiles, he was a friend to everyone.  When they say the good die young, they must have known my brother.  Raised by the same parents, I was a mousey, scared, insecure little girl who thought far too much about far too many things.

Maybe what I need to do for Lent is realize we’re all not so different, after all.  Maybe I need to realize that we’re all here with our own struggles, our own memories, our own joys; sitting in our mental glass cubicles looking at everyone else doing so well and not realizing they struggle too, and we’re doing about as well as everyone else.

Bret 001

Bret William Eske

It’s a Beautiful Day

It’s a beautiful day, indeed.  This morning I watched the houses across the cove glowing slightly golden in the sunrise as the sky grew bluer, the lake truly smooth as glass although it sounds trite; my soul as smooth and calm as the lake’s surface.

This is the day I’ve struggled toward these past few months, a morning when Brain has decided to quit stomping on the ICK button it’s been stuck on for so long, a day for silent contemplation of the sound of the birds as they flit back and forth, for looking closely at the soft fuzzy buds on the dogwood, for soft, slow, deep, calm breaths.

In the dark night I felt Chunker curled up in the curve of my neck and shoulder, something she did always as a kitten but then stopped.  I don’t know why, perhaps to roam, as she grew into a cat and became more nocturnal.  I reached my hand to her fur, so incredibly soft, the softest cat I’ve ever had.  She stretched her paw to my hand and purred and I drifted calmly to sleep.

It’s easiest, of course, when I can keep it simple but, like most, I seldom do.  Or can.  But I can continue to strive.

Sometimes as I struggled to find a solution to this pain I wondered – more frequently than sometimes, actually – often I worried that I was simply a wimp, that others hurt just as much but don’t show it, they are stronger somehow, they feel pain but don’t succumb as I did.

Perhaps that’s part of my peace this morning.  I’m going to try running ten (very easy, slow) miles with Becky this morning.  I think I can do this.  As I was setting out my bottle, charging my Garmin, and eating my breakfast my mind lingered only on the thought of taking it slow and getting it done, and I realized I had not thought once of how much it would hurt.

It’s a beautiful day
The sun is shining
I feel good
And no-one’s gonna stop me now, oh yeah

It’s a beautiful day
I fell good, I fell right
And no-one, no-one’s gonna stop me now

Sometimes I feel so sad, so sad, so bad
But no-one’s gonna stop me now, no-one
It’s hopeless – so hopeless to even try.


The human mind fascinates me.  Who’s in charge?
Do my thoughts control me?
Do I control my thoughts?
Do I generate those thoughts?
Or are my thoughts knee-jerk reaction to external or internal experience?
Are we truly centered in our life, our bodies, our thoughts, our perceived world?

Perhaps not as much as we think.

I was shaken yesterday to realize I do not even perceive the true center of my physical body.  I’m currently near the end of a series of Rolfing sessions, a fascinating journey in which Lucia is attempting to reverse decades of weaknesses and compensation.  It was not a surprise to learn she was an art major in college as she re-sculpts my body, an artist in the physical world, an artist of healing and health.

At the end of yesterday’s session I stood as she visibly measured my form and alignment.  “Put your feet together and close your eyes.”

I did, feeling my body waver side-to-side slightly, trying to find balance.  I assumed it was the ongoing issue of the left-side weakness.

“Open your eyes.  Did you feel that?”

“Yes, I’m still not balanced.”

“Your mind perceives the center of your body to be slightly to the right of center.”

My frame is bent and I’m pulling to the right, which explains the excessive wear on the right front tire.  Only it’s not the frame that’s bent, it’s the engine.

As I sit struggling to put this into words that make sense I gaze out the window.  My desk and monitor are centered on the desk directly in front of the center frame of the window.  I have just realized that every time I look out the window, I look out the right window.  So, ruminating, hoping for words to fall into the proper slot, I shift my gaze to the left window and am immediately physically uncomfortable.  Even as I watch trees swaying slightly, birds flitting, I want to look away to the right although there is nothing any different on that side of the yard.

It’s entirely possible the right side of my body has been compensating for the past 25 years for that ankle injury.  Lucia thinks it’s likely, and it makes sense to me.  Six month pregnant with twins, my body was trying to figure so much stuff out every day that I’m sure it was taking the easiest route.  A year later when I resumed running my left foot and ankle did hurt when I ran; certainly my body could have shifted a bit of the weight and effort to the un-injured right side and this could have become a 25-year habit.

We have other 25-year habits, do we not?  A lifetime since high school still slightly stung by the rejection of the popular kid, the other guy getting starting quarterback, overweight or acne-faced, shy?  Decades of remembering a stinging review by the boss?  And ZING that sucker flies through your brain he said – I didn’t – they should have – and you are right back there as real as this moment.

I went to a Centering Prayer retreat once.  All I brought home was a huge sense of frustration.  I’ve thought about that.  I would describe myself as deeply spiritual  although I no longer go to church for far too many reasons than I care to explore here.  I’m still climbing those steep cliff sides with a hit-or-miss trail to follow, clinging to the mountain trying to work forward, upward, and I have not come to many places to rest and look back, yet.

You have to wait.  You can’t bring those restful places to yourself, you must sit in your spiritual waiting room staring at the same irritating picture of your dorky school kid self, the out-dated magazines of memories; sitting, waiting for an appointment that you do have but the date and time are in a foreign language.  The world is full of waiting rooms if we will take advantage of them and open our eyes to the scene:  a lonely run, time in silence or meditation, the carpool line, anywhere.  You must move forward through each day and try to practice mindfulness, try to center in the moment and not the moment of last night or lunch with your friend today.

Am I being the best I can be in this moment?  Can I let go of everything else?

I say this.  I say to do this.  And I do it.  About once a month for 13 seconds.

Again we return to running.  This is why running is so important to me.  When I run alone I am out of all the other locations of living.  I’m out of my house/office, I’m out of my car, the grocery, I’m out.  Just me and feet and moving.  I try to look at the trees, at the pavement, at the sky, to suck in life.  I am frequently desperate to do this, to get outside of this horrid brain that creates a life that is not real, that drives me despite myself, creating Grand-Canyon-deep habits, and all the while I think I’m in charge.

This popped up in my life a few weeks ago and I’ve held onto it, considering it.  At this point in time, for me, this is the best explanation of God that I have found.  Please see the entire post for the full concept.

“What may be a little more difficult to distinguish is that the energy that forms the cells of your body, and the energy that causes that body to be alive, and the energy that is sparking around inside your head attempting to make the distinction, are all the same.  Nothing exists in the universe, either in reality or in our perceptions of it, other than energy.  If you were to take all this energy and try to imagine it in its entirety, the result would be God… By thinking that “god” is primarily concerned with ourselves, we establish in our minds a convenient level of importance that in reality does nothing more than skew our perceptions of everything else.  Does this mean we are not important? Does this mean we are not creations of God (from an evolutionary standpoint)?  No it does not.  It means that the magnitude of what our dogmatic religions have been trying to tell us is much more profound than we ever imagined: God is not the Creator of all things, GOD IS ALL THINGS.”

Little Merry Sunshine Part 2

There actually is a blog titled  Little Merry Sunshine  and it’s much cheerier than my Merry Sunshine. If you’re in the same mood as I am this morning you need to head over there right now and read it for about fourteen hours.

It’s fine, I’ll wait.  I have coffee.

Ok, are you done?  Do you feel better?

I don’t.  As you both know, my brain is broken.  I keep trying to fix it, I really do, and I won’t give up.  There are simply times it’s harder to keep trying.

The blogger above (I do think she must be a very nice person) was apparently such a happy child she even smiled when she slept.

I, on the other hand, was the (not) sleeping child who, when I could not stand it a moment longer and my bladder was about to burst, stood on the bed, leapt to the doorway, ran to the bathroom, speed peed and dashed back to the bedroom doorway to leap back onto the bed.

I did this so the man who lived under my bed could not grab my leg and pull me under the bed.

It was never clear what would happen after that, life would end or I’d live forever in a black hole, I’m unsure.  All I knew was I would be sucked into a dark and never-ending vortex.

Lately it’s been dark endless days that morph into darker nights as we shiver through the effects of psycho polar vortexes, grey cloudy cold days of endless rain pouring down from dark endless clouds.  The fun of hunkering down, making soup, reading in the comfy chair, knitting while watching TV in the evening has waned to microscopic.

What happens if someone scares you?  Maybe you think you’re alone in the house, knitting endless scarves watching the news and waiting to make dinner, but actually hubs is home from work and you didn’t hear him come in (Early Warning System is asleep on the couch).  He walks into the room to say hi and you jump out of the chair, heart pounding.  What’s the first thing that happens?  Do you feel angry?

I do.  I get pissed because I got scared.

And there you have it.

The whirling vortex of Brain has settled on the OH SHIT button and keeps stomping.  Well sh*t.  When is the last time we ran and it didn’t hurt?  That would be … Brain counts on its fingers … 19 months ago, yeppers.  JeZUS in your little hay filled CRIB, shut UP Brain!

Making the bed, little twinges, ouch, step, ouch, step.  Why is my foot still sore?  Is it another stress reaction?  There is my running gear, laid out three days ago.  Still folded, still on the chair.  Maybe I’ll run later this morning.  I should take my phone in case there is something wrong.  He said it would be easier to break another bone for a while.  I could call Becky if something happened.  Maybe I should go to the Center and run on the treadmill instead.  Maybe I’ll do that.  Later. Like, next Juvember.

I, however, am holding an ace:  I have BRFF’s who pop up on messages telling me to drag my whiny ass over to their house at 8:15 and they don’t want to hear the ‘feel like’ temp, put on some woolies and gloves, get your butt here and we’re going for a run.

YAY! We’re going for  RUN!

ramona quimby

“I am too a Merry Sunshine,” insisted Ramona (and she) got down from the table and ran …

Furthest I’ve run since 11.9.13
A little slow.  Took a couple walk breaks.  Waited on a couple red lights.
Cold and breezy.  After a while I couldn’t feel my quads.
It was perfect.



I woke this morning still tired, still coughing, still sniffing, and still not running on day 12 of the Cold from Hell.  I did a bit on the treadmill at Killer’s on Friday but had to keep slowing so I could hack up more of my insides.  We have a huge yard for which I’m extremely grateful, the beauty, the trees, birds and squirrels, very blessed.  We spent two hours yesterday raking leaves and got about 1/20th of the yard done.  Today is the last nice weather for most of the week and I will not be doing yardwork as I have to work.  I’m going to be doing the damn leaves until May.  Hubs’ idea of doing leaves is vacuuming up the stuff in the flat part of the yard with the mower and filling a garbage can weekly, sometimes getting a couple extra bags filled if he has enough time.  His spare time weekly totals about 3 hours so you can see that at that rate we’ll be done doing the 2013 leaves in about 2018.  I’m watching my body age and change and I don’t like it.  I don’t like how clothes fit differently.  I don’t like that everything is sliding slowly, inexorably, toward the floor.  I don’t like feeling even more tired even more often.  Hubs asks, why are you so tired?  I DON’T KNOW.  The cat is peeing in that spot on the carpet again which indicates the UTI is no better or she’s stuck in a bad habit.  Since she’s also bogarting the floor heating vent I’m going with the UTI.  I don’t know what else to do.  I keep a huge towel in the spot, the only compromise I can come up with unless I throw the cat away, which some people might suggest but it kinda goes against my personal theology to throw away living things which fail to meet my expectations, although I will indulge my occasional and extremely poor coping mechanism of throwing several very loud F bombs around the house.  This probably only serves to create more peeing when I scare the cat with my screaming so there’s another fail.

I am stuck in a funk.

The idea of coaxing anyone out of a funk by showing them evidence that someone else definitely has it worse is, to me, ineffective.  If you are having a bad day, you’re having a bad day.  Who knows what else is going on in someone’s life?  Who knows what else is going on my life?  (Right, not a very good personal argument since I spew my life all over the interworldweb like I currently spew coughs, but we’ll assume a lot of people do have things in their lives about which we are not aware.)


This is my friend’s son:

Cancer patient and avid golfer Kevin Bezon, 28, has grown too weak to stand, but he doesn’t regret the many things he can no longer do ….Doctors have found more tumors on the lining of the brain that are resisting chemotherapy, but Kevin told his father, Ron Bezon, in December that his body is tired, and he doesn’t want another surgery. His father said, “He’s almost at end-of-life care.”

This article is copyrighted by the Commercial Appeal and I’ve linked the article in the quote above.

I’m not much of one to ask people to donate money, however, if you are currently considering supporting St. Jude, please consider doing so through Kevin’s page.

Meanwhile I’m going to get things ready for today’s race.  I’m going to wear my Adidas to the race and I’m going to get a little jog in this sunny day while the runners are out on the course.  If I have to stop and cough a bunch of crap out, tough sh*t.  When I get home I will rake leaves for whatever daylight remains.  The cat can pee on the towel, we’ll all live through it, and I will once again move the towel 6 inches closer to the litter box every couple days until she’s back using the box; it will probably cost about a minute of my life.

11:15am update:  Heading to the race site.  When I first looked at Kevin’s page he was 12% of goal; he is currently 16% of goal!

5:45pm update:  He’s at 25% of goal!

Karma, or Enter the Spawn.

no life without water

Having birthed the spawn of satan into the world on a napalm flow of snot for the better part of the day yesterday and later coughing out the rest of his minions through my lungs I’m a bit worn out today; copious amounts of coffee are just as spitting in the wind.  On the plus side I got an abs of steel workout without buying a DVD.  Another notch on the plus side:  I can see again.  Thank God it appears Vicks Vaporub is not fatal to eyeballs.  Also it is, indeed, possible to “Cry Me A River”.

“So you took a chance
And made other plans
But I bet you didn’t think that they would come crashing down, no.”

That’s where I went wrong, once again flying high on getting a run Thursday and immediately taking a chance, making more plans (this run is good!  I’m back!  OK, Friday I’ll do this and Saturday I’ll do that and Sunday it will be …) only to crash to earth Friday morning, victim of human frailty and satan-worshiping germs as the Virus From Hell wrapped me in its evil embrace.  BWAAAHAHAHAHA it chortled as I choked, lungs aflame.  GO AHEAD!  MAKE PLANS!  BWAAHAHAHAHAHA!

atomic blast

Yesterday when I woke it appeared I was (mostly) done coughing and, unaware a lava flow was busy heating up inside my head, I failed to realize why I was feeling down, instead blaming it on the fact that my friends were lining up at the Swampstomper start and I wasn’t.  A couple hours later I realized as far as Swampstomper went it’s just as well I broke my foot unless the karma gods, if I hadn’t broken my foot, would have spared me this cold; either way, not running because of the foot or trying to run with a healthy foot but this cold, it’s obvious that race was not meant for me this year.  Never trust the karma gods. 

It’s disheartening to realize, as I do occasionally before I can force myself to forget again, that the first day I ran pain-free since July 2012 was the same day I broke my foot.  Those first two miles – my brain singing the Hallelujah Chorus  (which you need to watch right now because I just watched it again and it’s going to be a few minutes before I can type much since I’m crying coughing choking laughing, so you have a break) – those first two miles, pain-free!  I floated, gloating, certain I’d found the cure, that running Nirvana is now MINE MINE MINE, clutching the joy … and then I took one more step, too greedy – but those two miles – they were heaven.

It’s human nature, I suppose, to continue to think surely this is the day, certainly it will be like it used to be or even better.

If this thought is based upon some provable fact, yay, you’re right.  “Today will be sunny.  See?  There’s the sun, shining.”  Additionally the odds are you do not live in Memphis.

If this is based on cheerful hope, you are an optimist.  “Today will be sunny, ” you think, living in Memphis, you foolish fool.

If this is based on a belief in some type of cosmic lottery which says at some point it will be time to ease up on any given person, it’s idiocy.  “It’s rained for 24 hours, surely the sun will shine in Memphis today.”

karma gods

Although I’m not really sure what the cats did to piss off Karma I think I should check the closet.  I bet they pooped in my shoes.

Suspicious Minds

Well, Boy and Girl, this is my 200th post.  You’ve both been very faithful supporters.  You repeatedly encouraged me to blog; when I did you were my first two followers, and I thank you.  Everyone else wishes you’d kept your mouths shut and I will not use your real names to protect you, but thank you both, “Hermione” and “Sylvester”.  Somehow 712 people have chosen to follow this nannering, wandering blog, I thank you all also and sincerely apologize for all the lost hours and brain cells.

Things that did not happen yesterday:

1.  The tree is still not decorated although it’s fluffed and has a few shiny things hanging on it.  This time it’s because I can’t decide the best way to keep the cats from declaring it their new home and then redecorating it to suit their tastes, which is all the balls knocked off onto the floor.  I don’t like that look.  It’s…crunchy.  The vacuum doesn’t like it either, apparently and to my regret.

2.  My foot was not miraculously healed.  This made my very devout mother sad.  You’d think after all these years she would give up, but, no.  She’s absolutely convinced that at some point she is going to pray someone out of something.  Who knows?  She very well may have already, because I figure if she did then we would not know because they would have gotten prayed out of it.  My question is, what does God do up there, have a stopwatch and an excel spreadsheet?  “Okay, then, Sally beat Janie by .37 second on the praying for rain/praying for no rain, toughski shitzki, Janie, it’s going to rain on your wedding.  Pray faster next time, and also I will put you in the lose column and you’ll get a 3 second advantage on the next prayer.”

If either of you two faithful followers are still following after reading that blasphemy you should probably at least climb under your desk to continue.

This means that Dr. Awesome v.2 made my mom sad.  I should have pointed this out to him, but I expect he would still not have changed his mind.

In fact, I did sort of point it out.  I told him that he had not read the script correctly; his line was supposed to be, “WOW.  I made a mistake.  Your foot is not broken at all, I’m SO sorry.”

I would have been the bigger person here, too, and I would not have gotten upset.  I would be all magnanimous and wave my hand slightly – “oh it’s nothing, I’m sure it happens.”

But, no.  No healing.  Four more weeks and see him again.  And you know what?  I suspect that he is a very suspicious man.  He doesn’t seem to trust me and I have no idea why.  Rather like Hubs thinking I would not wear the boot.  Cynical, even.

Would this conversation make you suspicious that someone was suspicious about you?

Dr. A v.2:  “See me in four more weeks.  Call me in two weeks.”

Me: “Um, OK, why?”

Dr. A v.2:  “So I can talk you down.”

Me:  (Innocent) “What?  You don’t trust me?”

Dr. A v.2:  “You’re a runner.  I know what you will be thinking two weeks from now when your foot doesn’t hurt so much anymore.  Call me and I’ll talk you down.”

Me:  *Sigh*  *dammit*

With friends like this…

I just lost 4-1/2 minutes of my life – minutes I will never get back, mind you – with huge thanks to my BRFF “Elizabeth” whose name has not been changed because I don’t have to protect the innocent in this case, because she is not innocent.  She robbed me of 4-1/2 minutes of my life, at the minimum several thousand of my brain cells, and even using copious amounts of Visine I cannot get the image of John Mayer prancercizing out of my eyeballs.   When I blink it’s burned into my retinas as though I stared at a John Mayer eclipse without using a pinhole in a piece of cardboard.  At least I had coffee to drink while I wasted my life away.  And since I can’t run I guess I do have more time to waste now.

First, Dear Elizabeth posted this, titled “Get Ready For The Weirdest 1 Minute 41 Seconds Of Your Life” and they were not kidding.  I kept watching thinking at some point it would make sense.  It was a bit like the time my daughter, about 2-1/2 years old, came to me exclaiming urgently “ixwerveyfloo”.  “What, honey?” “!!ixwerveyfloo!!”  “!!ixwerveyfloo!!” and despite my repeated requests to point to it, take me to it, show it to me, we never did determine what/where “!!ixwerveyfloo!!” was, or if she’d just created a nonsense word.  Perhaps this video should be titled “!!ixwerveyfloo!!” but you’ll just have to watch it to decide.

welcome to the internetWelcome to the internet – three people actually ‘liked’ the post.

  • Charles Congratulations! You have found the end of the intraweb
  • Matt What did I just watch… I feel weird, like I’m supposed to die by a falling piano after seeing this. Or maybe I’m misinterpreting something and I’m supposed to eat an orange slice…. (as I watch again to affirm I actually watched what I think I watched…)
  • Anne I feel like I just finished an acid trip…
  • Lori  Well, I’ll be thinking about that the rest of the day…
  • Elizabeth  He’s obviously Prancercising.


I know I’ve linked it three times, however I shall also repeat myself as I fear neither of you understand the seriousness of the issue.  John Mayer + Pracercizing.  Now I’ve lost another 2 minutes and 40 seconds of my life and have permanently endangered my sight.   BUT WAIT.  That’s not enough.  
“Elizabeth” returns with another hit!

Ok, the dancing monkeys were pretty funny.  Made me nostalgic.  Look what I FOUND!

Rainbow Farting Caticorn

Apparently I now have a claim to fame, thanks to several of my friends who have posted this picture on FB for me (and thank you because I’ve laughed out loud every time).

farticorn“…you like me, right now, you like me!” (did you know she was actually making a joking reference to a line in Norma Rae?)

I have recently been a rainbow farting unicorn, a caticorn, a giraffacorn and some others I’ve forgotten.  I strive, but as you know from the boot tossing incident I tend to fail frequently.  Sometimes when I fail I don’t feel like getting up any more.  Then I have to fight my brain and sometimes that is hard.  I’ve talked a bit about being a depressive.  Maybe if you are a person who does not struggle with depression you might think that depression is a feeling of sadness.  Like, I’m so sad, my grandma died.  Or like, I’m so sad, I just lost my job.

These are definitely things to be sad about, since both have happened to me I know, and you would be sad about them for a while, until the happy memories of grandma dulled the edges of the sadness, or until you found another job and realized maybe it was a better job anyway and nannernanner doo-doo head to your former boss.  Even the incredible breath-taking-hole-in-the-middle-of-your-chest sudden death of a sibling or parent still dulls over time, the sadness fading to a sorrow of loss, unless you cannot process grief properly.

Maybe depression should be renamed nothing-sion.  As the years have passed and with medication and counseling and falling down/standing back up I think I am in a much better place than I was 25 years ago.  It helps that I am not exhausted by working and parenting four kids, I am no longer at the mercy of raging hormones monthly, I have time to rest if I need and I have much less mental input throughout the day that I have to process (7am, bus arrives at 7:10:  “I need to bring an orange t-shirt and twelve cupcakes to class TODAY!” “Honey, did you get the dry cleaning?” “WE DONT HAVE NO CHEEEERIOSSSSSSSS” scream the 4-year-olds as the dryer DINGS the end of the first of six loads).

I still fight it every day though.  It’s insidious and difficult to catch, little ziiiiings of feeling … nothing.  Just nothing.  A hole of meaninglessness.  So you have to ignore it, you have to think about something else and you have to do that with a brain that doesn’t want to.

Thank God, medication got me to at least 80%.  Maybe 90%, it’s hard to determine since it’s not quantitative.  The rest of it is thinking.  Thinking about thinking.  Thinking of something nice or happy or funny to break through the Wall of Nothing that sits between my brain and my eyes looking out at the world.  Sometimes when I’m on a run I completely feel.  I feel.  I feel the sun, the breeze, I feel life and I feel connected to the ground and the sky and the world and it seems to matter and exist and have meaning, and I forget about the Nothing for a while.  Which is likely why I threw the boot.

My counselor gave me a book years ago, “Learned Optimism” which was an incredible help.  I actually pulled it back out the other day but haven’t gotten started on it yet since I found a new Anne Rice novel that has me intrigued.  In this book I learned that you cannot change a feeling, but you can change the deeply ingrained and habitual tiny little thought that zings through your head the nanosecond after something happens which then causes the feeling.  It takes some work to find the little words, I kept a notebook for a while which helped. “AH sh*t” “it always” “they never” “what’s it worth anyway”.  This might help anyone as we all have the thoughts, depressive or not, and most of us are not aware of the little zing.

Part of the trick is to get that switch in my brain toggled to “on”.  And that is where the rainbow farting caticorn comes into play.  If I were a rainbow farting caticorn I would be an awesome being.  I would be unique and I would have a purpose and reason for being.  (I know, we all are and do but depression tells me there is nothing, and while I know it’s lying, it sometimes lies very convincingly).  So I take the RFC and consider what it would do in a particular situation.  It would rise up and be awesome is what it would do, because by reason of being an RFC it automatically assumes awesomeness.

This post has taken a very different turn than I expected when I started out, intending to laugh about Caticorns.  I’m going to let it stand, however, because maybe this happened for a reason.  Maybe someone out there feels the same way and maybe they can think about being a RFC too.

Lastly, please don’t try to ‘cheer’ me up – it’s not necessary or needed, I’m fine.  And it doesn’t work anyway, it’s like telling someone with no arms to open a present.  Let them figure it out, they’ll be OK.

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