Wednesday, May 31, 2017

grief is an ocean


I'm borrowing an anonymous quote from the internet:

"I wish I could say you get used to people dying.  But I never did.  I don't want to.  It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances.  But I don't want it to "not matter".  I don't want it to be something that just passes.  My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person.  And if the scar is deep, so was the love.  So be it.

Scars are a testament to life.  Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love.  And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was.  Scars are a testament to life.  Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves.  When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you.  Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more.  And all you can do is float.  You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while.  Maybe it's some physical thing.  Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph.  Maybe it's a person who is also floating.  For a while, all you can do is float.  Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy.  They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath.  All you can do is hang on and float.  After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart.  When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out.  But in between, you can breathe, you can function.  You never know what's going to trigger the grief.  It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee.  It can be just about anything ... and the wave comes crashing.  But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall.  Or 50 feet tall.  And while they still come, they come further apart.  You can see them coming.  An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare.  You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself.  And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side.  Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy.  The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to.  But you learn that you'll survive them.  And other waves will come.  And you'll survive them too. 
If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves.  And lots of shipwrecks."

 and one more anonymous quote:

"Losing someone is not about 'recovering' or 'healing' or being okay with the fact that they're gone; it's about learning how to exist in a new reality without them."

Friday, May 26, 2017

RIP Totoro


My neighbor Totoro died last night.

Her son told me in a text as I was driving to the gym on my lunch break.

I was already feeling like shit because I had slept poorly all night.  My bed was a wreck, with sheets askew, and pillows strewn everywhere.  I woke one of the times with a migraine.  I rolled over to the side and got an Excedrin from the nightstand.

About 20 minutes later, I rolled to the other side and got a triptan from that nightstand.  Yes, I do have meds and water on both sides.  Sometimes it hurts too much to make it ALL the way to the other side.

I managed to get the pain down to a dull roar and decided a light gym workout might do me good.

Up until I got the text telling me that my friend had died. I read it at a red-light.  And started crying as the light changed to green.

I know that she lived well into her 90s and had a long, full life.   But she was sweet and fun, and I liked being able to walk next door to visit with her.  She wasn't as happy towards the end.  She was miserable and in pain, with little hope of ever getting better.

Death is usually for the best by then, but it still hurts to know I'll never talk with her again.


Thursday, May 25, 2017

fucking mouth-breathers


I listened to a podcast at 5am when I found myself unable to fall back asleep (thanks, Kitten), and I learned why mouth-breathing is bad. 

I was barely awake and snuggling with Kitten, but it seems the gist is that breathing through the mouth causes all kinds of health concerns and even serious problems eventually.  The nose is perfectly evolved to give us the correct ratio of oxygen, blah blah blah, and breathing through the mouth screws up that ratio causing problems.

Of course there's a lot more science behind that and exercises to do.  And now that my anemia is gone (YIPPEE!!), my breathing should be functioning better.

Every time I've tried meditation by focusing on my breathing, it's made me tense because I focused on my breathing, and it became stressful.  Now that I have an idea of the science behind healthy breathing, maybe I will try again.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

bending my reality


I write so many fantastic posts in my head.

While I'm driving.
While I'm walking in nature.
While I'm daydreaming in a meeting.
As I'm falling asleep.
When I'm in the shower.
When I'm lying in misery with a migraine.

And then I get back to a place to write them down, and they're gone.  I sort of have the gist of it but lose the magical syntax.  Or I lose the nerve to say some of these things (out loud) in public.  Or I think who really gives a fuck what I have to say.  Some days I get discouraged and want to give up.  What's the point?

But then my hubris kicks in, and I think maybe I can be an inspiration for just one person.  So I keep going.  Because, let's be honest, the alternative sucks, too.

In my mind, I'm a fabulous conveyor of ideas and emotions.  In my mind, I'm a role model for resiliency.  In reality, I'm neither. 

Until I bend my reality to fit what I want.  In my reality, I'm the best version of me.  And you're the best version of you.  You're welcome!


Monday, May 8, 2017

maybe I can outrun it


If I tell myself enough times, I almost believe that I can live a normal life.

If I go enough days without a migraine, I almost believe that I can live a normal life.

And then (if I'm lucky), five days go by without a migraine.

Then one hits me hard like last night.  And I remind myself that I'll never live a normal life.

I was mostly having a regular day, and my head went from zero to 60mph in about 20 minutes while I wasn't paying attention.  Okay, so I kind of knew it was there, but it was later in the evening, so I thought I could outrun it by falling asleep before it got bad.  Sometimes sleep can abort a migraine.  I tell myself that lie so much, that I almost believe it.

I decided it was bad enough to suffer through an injection and get faster relief, rather than a pill and wait soooo long.  I hit a vein.  Blood everywhere.

It's morning, and I know I should medicate again.  It's been three hours, and it's still mild.

Maybe I can outrun it....

Thursday, May 4, 2017

self-editing is the sound of the future


It was much easier to write on my blog when I knew that only strangers (and I) read it.  I've been using it as a form of therapy, a place to organize my thoughts and emotions.

Lately, friends and family have told me that they read my writings, too.

Which makes me start second guessing myself and self-editing.  In fact, it took me days to decide to  publish this post.  I mentioned this to Einstein (my friend, not the dead physicist), who pronounced this very Gödelian.  Yes, I did need to look that up.  No, I'm still not entirely sure what I read.  See why I call him Einstein?

(Speaking of, did anyone start watching Genius on National Geographic?)

Anyway, now I'm hesitant to write about my deepest thoughts, like my intermittent depression and anxieties.  I'm not reaching out for help here.  If I had wanted to talk about it, I probably would have texted a "hey" because I'm descriptive like that.  :)

Feel free to talk to me about what I write, but I reserve the right to ignore you if I'm not in the mood.  Also, if you make a joke about my despair, I doubt I will find it humorous.  Tread lightly please.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

seasons greetings


I think I successfully seasoned my cast iron pan.  Over the years, it lost its seasoning, which I know isn't supposed to happen if taken care of properly.  I finally decided to remedy that.

I scrubbed it with salt, then soap and water, then salt again.  When it was finally clean, I baked it in the oven for almost an hour with coconut oil.  I used it this morning to cook a steak, and it worked perfectly.


Tuesday, May 2, 2017

all in


My garbage collector picked up my trash can with the automated arm.  And threw everything in, can and all.

I was sure he was going to drive away with it, but he got in and fished it out.  Ewww.  Now, I'm hoping it will rain and wash off the goop.