Archives for category: more than a little bit of bitching
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What It Seems and What It Is

February 22, 2017 //
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I woke groggy and in pain, and lacking the welcome feeling of being rested. My head aches, my sinuses are stuffy, and the room feels hotter than the temperature says it is. As a collection of smaller experiences, these could be symptomatic of a head cold coming on, but in this instance, I think perhaps I slept too long in a position that wasn’t ideal for my head and neck, and slept poorly on top of that. I shrug it off, deal with it, and move on with the morning without reading into the experience or catastrophizing it.

I ache today. Pain is pain, I suppose, and in this case much of it is to do with the physical awkwardness of the way I approached painting this past weekend, working mostly on the floor, which required a lot of getting up and down, and sitting cross-legged on my rolled up yoga mat as a cushion, with extra leaning, reaching, and bending. It doesn’t make me regret spending the weekend painting, or even that I chose to work on the floor. I’m simply aware that my discomfort today is a price I am paying for it. It’s barely worth bitching about; as expenses go, it seems quite a bargain, since I am more often than not in some amount of pain much of the time, regardless. 🙂

I could make all of it worse, if I choose. A lot of people seem inclined to do so, enhancing their negative moments with additional emotional luster and investment in nebulous made-up root causes or “back stories” that imbue the tale with more dimension. I could borrow from my assumptions (also fully 100% made up in my own head) and sprinkle on some unfulfilled expectations of the world, or circumstances, or some other human being, and mix that in with those assumptions, and the moments of hurting that life requires I endure, and that pimple of a difficult moment is now grand drama of the highest order. It could make for much more interesting writing, I suppose, than my patient (with myself) humble (because – fuuuuck!!) observations of my experience, day-to-day… only… I’m not really doing this “to be interesting”. I’m sharing what I can of what has often been a challenging enough experience (without enhancements), because it helps me when I am able to “find my voice”… and also because when I struggled most, myself, in life’s darkest moments, it would have helped me then to hear that voice… from anywhere. So. I’m here for me. Here for you, too, perhaps, as a byproduct of rather haplessly reaching across time to a woman that doesn’t actually exist in my own mirror so much these days, just in case she (or someone very like her) is staring back at you.

I smile and sip my coffee. I enjoy a moment of “wow, I’ve come a long way”. I take a moment to also appreciate how much more prepared I am for dark times that may eventually return. “Wellness” can be rather unfortunately relative, and it would be a fool’s game to sip my coffee on a pleasant morning smugly certain I am “well”; PTSD and a brain injury don’t really work quite that way. I can sure improve my quality of life, my resilience, my skill at self-care… I can practice mindfulness, heal my heart over time, and be generally well, most days, most of the time. Complacency about it isn’t on the table for me. I’ve taken that journey a time or two, also. Sometimes reality hits back. Sooner or later, I may find my nights filled with nightmares, without knowing why, or I may find that arthritis pain degrades my sleep quality until my resilience and wellness are reduced, and I am less easily able to bounce back from stress or think clearly, and reach that point of fatigue when the cognitive impact of my TBI becomes quite clear, and my thinking disordered. I don’t reach for those moments… but I also no longer fight them, or the reality of those moments being an occasional part of my experience. I’m ready. Mostly. Generally. It sounds easier when I read the words than it ever feels in real life… but… yeah. Mostly pretty ready to be the woman I am.

I practice not making a difficult moment worse than it is, every time I have one, these days. I do my best. My results vary. There are verbs involved. Choices, too.

This morning I woke aggravated over something small and stupid. I could have used that to build on my physical discomfort and had a really shitty morning with minimal effort. I chose differently. It’s a pretty nice morning, aside from pain, and honestly – I’ve been in worse pain. I’ve got work on my mind, but even that could be “worse”… I’ve worked worse jobs (for companies I have literally nothing good to say about after-the-fact). Life isn’t like that now. It’s so important to be awake and aware for the good stuff, too. 🙂

Today is a good day to enjoy the day as it is. Today is a good day to choose wisely, to begin again, and to walk on. Practicing mindfulness may or may not change the world; it is enough that it has changed my experience. Today is a good day to practice.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being

Just a Drizzle of Fail Sauce with Mine, Please

February 8, 2017 //
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I’m groggy this morning. Yesterday I was, too, I think, but the days are blurring together, already. I’m tired. Two short evenings in a row, and less sleep than I really need… for days. This can’t last – I need to get some rest, and the week isn’t half over. So far, no noteworthy negative consequences, I’m just tired.

So tired.

Still, the search results from my realtor get my attention when they hit my inbox this morning. My coffee is good. My shower felt wonderful, even if I did almost fall asleep standing up before it quite woke me. I’ll get through this day to another evening, and an opportunity to get an earlier night.

The secret to this puzzle, the trick to this as-yet-not-unlocked level in the game of Adult; I do not know how to get 8 hours of restful sleep between the hours of 10 pm and 4 am, and I find it difficult to fall asleep earlier in any reliable way, or to sleep in much later (with or without an alarm clock, generally). Work weeks get me up by 4:30 am, to the sound of the alarm if I am fortunate to be sleeping deeply. I need that time to really wake up so that when I leave for work I’m actually quite awake and fully able to function. I know going to bed earlier is needed – it’s hard to fall asleep earlier, many nights. Even doing all of the “good sleep hygiene” things is not a guarantee. I have sleep challenges, it is a thing I am aware of about me, having lived it for so many years. So many nights that I manage the bedtime and waking time details with skill, my sleep is still shortened and degraded by restlessness and wakeful interruptions during the night. My sleep tracker says I slept 6 hours last night, and shows the many interruptions in my sleep, and how little of it was deep sleep. I find myself frustrated that this doesn’t seem at all unusual. No wonder I am tired. When a busy week and my poor sleep quality and assorted sleep disturbances collide, it doesn’t take long for fatigue to build, and quickly become exhaustion.

My head aches, and I realize that I’m overly invested in bitching and moaning about the sleep I’m not getting, while rather groggily sitting here ignoring my coffee while I write. I sigh aloud in the chilly quiet room and sip my now cold coffee. I listen to the rain fall, tapping the windows, and rumbling through the downspout on the corner of the building. I hear the distant horn of the train approaching the commuter platform nearby. I pull myself upright, correcting my posture; it’s too early to create more pain later. I think about a second coffee and wonder whether what I put on this morning will be what I actually wear to work… an autographed MC Lars concert t-shirt is suitable casual attire for the office, right? I smile contentedly; I’m fortunate to work in a casual dress environment. What I wear to work is of very little consequence. (Which is good – I’m barely awake enough to do more than pull on jeans and throw on a t-shirt, honestly.)

The morning moves on, and the forward momentum of my life doesn’t halt for groggy mornings. There is still adulting to do, and the woman in the mirror needs me most on mornings like these. There are dishes to do. Counters to wipe down. Trash to go out. Small things handled before work that I won’t have to deal with after I return home, more tired. I frown at my bed with irritation, in passing. I would appreciate coming home to seeing it made, but that would require making it now… I silently tell myself, and that bed, to fuck right off, I don’t have to if I don’t want to! I let the moment pass on my way to making a second cup of coffee…

…While I wait for my coffee… I make the bed. lol

One by one, I tackle the small things I like to see finished before I leave in the morning – because coming home to order and tidiness is very pleasant (to me). I’m tired, and being tired finds me enduring continuous rather disrespectful commentary from my “inner adolescent”, which is quite probably just as annoying as it would be to deal with if there were a real life sass-monster following me around the apartment. So human. Today the practicing pays off; I have many more good self-care habits than I once did, and when I’m this tired I lean hard on habit to get me through. I look at the time and see there is still time for meditation before work.

Today is a good day to take the very best care of the woman in the mirror. There are verbs involved, and practices. There are challenges to overcome, and small frustrations to manage. There is perspective to be maintained and relied upon. There’s me. There’s you. There’s all of this that we have to work through, and even though we’re all in this together – we’re each having our own experience. I’ll do the best I can today. It’ll have to be enough. 🙂

 

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being

Don’t Read the Comments!

January 31, 2017 //
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I had to remind myself last night, and again this morning. Last night, I hit that point in response to a “pics or it didn’t happen” reply to a comment I made, supporting inclusion and diversity, and being a welcoming human being. I laughed out loud when I read the troll’s demand – I mean, honestly, in all frankness, that isn’t actually how reality works. The lack of a photograph isn’t really a determining factor in whether something is or is not “real”, or whether it happened, or whether you experienced it, or whether that is your perspective. I took a step back. Happy to enjoy the moment of laughter, instead of taking the bait. I moved on with my evening.

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This morning, again, I got sucked into Facebook, reacting to expressions of hate and frustrated by the weird skewed perspective some people have taken on. I endure only so many “what the fuck??” moments before I remind myself that one of the fundamentals of our very human consciousness is that we are easily able – and prone – to just making shit up that fits our world view and calling that “true”, without any particular attention to whether it really is true, or factually accurate, or even loosely based on something someone actually may have once experienced, ever, at all. It must be equally frustrating to be a person whose world view is constantly challenged, fought, disputed, denied, contradicted, or laughed at… Oh. Wait. That’s like, literally, all of us. Human primates. Damn we’re fancy. It’s not always useful and in our favor, but holy cow we can make some shit up, and then insist it is important.

The hate is hard, though. I’m saddened by the quantity of fear and hate in the world. It would be lovely to halt the tide of hate. I guess… one thing I can do, myself, is to choose not to hate. I’ll work on that. I’ll start by asking clarifying questions, instead of reacting based on my own assumptions. I’ll work on staying mindful that each of us likely thinks of ourselves as the good guy in our own internal narrative. I’ll treat myself, and others – even those with very different thinking – with consideration, empathy, compassion, and start interactions from the assumption that we are all trying to improve things, from our own perspective. Maybe I will learn something useful along the way. Hate is hard work to sustain, and not very productive. 🙂

Still, and again. The very best practices work that way.

Still, and again. The very best practices work that way.

To be clear… I’m no less angry by what I see going on in the news. I’m no less concerned about fascism taking over America – that’s some scary shit, and it’s not okay – but blinding myself with reactivity and stress renders me one more agitated voice in a crowd, and could result in the sort of emotional fatigue that could quickly become learned helplessness. So. I breathe. I back up out of the comments. I think about what matters most, and how to be the woman I most want to be; this is my life. I take care of me, and do my best to take action in the world, in the ways I can – and I do it without disadvantaging anyone else. It’s a good place to start. It’s enough.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Fiction, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words

Today First

January 30, 2017 //
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America is fucking scary these days. I’m pretty sure I never imagined, once the Cold War ended, that we’d be standing on the brink of war, again, ever. Which… was silly of me. We’re primates. No “better” or worse than other primates. Fancy, but yeah. Primates. We fight over shit. We crave power, but having power corrupts our thinking and behavior. We draw imaginary territorial boundaries, and then fight over those. I wake to it in the morning, first thing. I go to bed at night fighting the anxiety it causes.

I remind myself to breathe. To relax. I put digital media aside, and remind myself also that this moment, right here, alone in this room, is not a scary moment, nor a scary place to be. I find comfort in now. I re-center myself right here, in this moment, in the quiet. It’s a practice because once I turn away from this moment, reach for a device, a connection, or respond to an email, I start wrapping myself in distress and despair once again. It’s necessary to continuously check myself; I am okay right now. That’s important, because in my okay state, I have the emotional resources to help another. So. Taking care of me, and maintaining a gentle readiness for action.

Life continues for all of us, even in the face of unexpected disruptions in routine, in order, and in the day-to-day sense of security and safety. It’s dismaying to see the clock rolled back on corruption and civil rights so suddenly – but I do see it. I’m not blind. I’m not turning away. I’m not excusing it or pretending it isn’t happening. I protest. I resist. I object. I call it out. I begin again. Like the signs on the bus say “See something? Say something.” America, I’m here for you. I don’t care what race you are, or what religion, or what lifestyle you embrace, or whether you have finally attained citizenship – we are all American.

Yesterday, I invited some of the neighbors over for coffee. Women I see and talk to regularly. Immigrants and refugees, lovely women rebuilding their lives in America. I see them as American. We sip coffee and talk about our fears. We lean on each other. We share laughter. They are from Syria, Algeria, and Libya – my own ancestry is primarily English and German – also immigrants and refugees. Every American who is not an indigenous American is an immigrant, a refugee, or descended from one. How the hell are so many of us also racists? It’s so vile. (This is why we can’t have nice things.) My neighbors and I talk together over our coffee about racism – here in America, and in the places they have come from. We talk about our fears, and the future. We talk about the way laughter in the face of our fears heals our hearts. We talk about community. I introduce them to South Park. We laugh some more. We make plans to watch South Park together again next week. 🙂

Later, in the evening, I share time well-spent with my Traveling Partner. We talk about many of the same things as with my neighbors, earlier. No surprise; good-hearted people everywhere are shocked, appalled, ashamed, angry, bewildered, and outraged. We hold each other. Share our fears. Find solace in intimacy. We talk together about the future, hopeful that there is one – neither prepared to wonder whether that’s realistic. The “Cold War vibe” is very real. He admits to his concerns. I make observations that we’ve been here before, and that there have been other presidents sick with evil, racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and hate before. The calm in my voice doesn’t do enough to camouflage my own feelings of doubt and insecurity. We support each other. It was a lovely evening, generally, and I feel grateful for his support in trying times.

Everything I do to enjoy life, and to share that joy, makes life more enjoyable all around, generally, and improves the world. Every time I drag myself from my self-crafted pit of anxiety and despair about the world, to experience this moment right here, now, for what it is, savoring my experience, cherishing it, and favoring myself with my own affection, respect and consideration, I improve not only my own experience right now, but also ensure that I have the emotional resources to carry on when times are genuinely tough. Taking care of the woman in the mirror matters, too.

Today is a good day to be and to become. It is a good day to reflect my values in my choices and my actions, and the way that I interact with the world. It is a good day to be kind, and set clear boundaries. It is a good day to be there for someone else. Today is a good day to change the world. ❤

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Fiction, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, War and News of War, winter, women, Words

Home Sick With the Ick

January 28, 2017 //
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I work for a company that has a small interaction center. (We used to call them “call centers”, but the world has gone way beyond phone calls, these days.) My work supports that interaction center. Working in an interaction center, in an open office environment, working closely with more than a hundred other human beings, sharing a kitchen, sharing the restrooms, sharing surfaces, dishes, and utensils, comes with a higher than usual risk of contagious illness. Just as I arrived home from running errands yesterday, happily thinking about the concert I’d be going to later, I was ruthlessly struck down by some microbe to small to see, of unknown origin – but probably work. It is what it is. What it was, last night, was uncomfortably and rather grossly biological, miserable, and spent with unpleasant symptoms of sickness. I didn’t go out. (I hear the concert was fantastic.)

I don’t remember when the worst of it had passed. I don’t recall when I collapsed into a restless interrupted sleep. My fever broke sometime in the wee hours, around 4 am, I think. I woke very late in the  morning (for me), feeling some better, sort of, still plagued with this headache, guts emptied out completely in one fashion or another over the course of the preceding hours. I get up dizzily, committed to coffee, and wanting to check in with my Traveling Partner, so that he wouldn’t worry whether or not I survived my miserable night. I know, I know – I sound so dramatic about it, but truly I was miserable. I feel some better, enough both to piss and moan about how miserable I was, and also enough better to drag myself out of bed, dizzy, and attempt a cup of coffee. That’s a headache I’d like to avoid later, if I can… So far so good.

I had an entirely other blog post in mind, inspired by yesterday’s shopping trip… but no. Today I rest. I drink fluids. I care for the woman in the mirror and this fragile vessel. 🙂 Today that’s enough.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, health, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Sleepless Nights, The Art of Being
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