“What’s with all that sniffing?”

child at aquarium viewing polar bear swimming

I’m having a good 2019, so far.  (I’m already keeping track.)  Heh.  Ever since I leveled up in the game of life, I’m more apt to notice positivity.  It amuses me as I used to be one of those people who automatically scoffed at others saying, “think positive.”  As if thinking a certain way can vastly improve my quality of life.  Pshaw!  Cue the condescendingly tolerant reel that plays whenever I witness hippy-like behavior, courtesy of being raised in the upper midwest.

Either the community brain-washing didn’t take, or I’m a rebel.  I’m presently engaging in all sorts of hippy-like behavior.  I just got back from a mini-vacation in Denver.  Since M accompanied me, I was able to partake of the legal variety of weed while there.  (I decided I don’t need to use it very often, so mini-trips suffice over moving.)  I still feel like it’s having a positive effect on me.  Reverberations from reaching a state where I experienced no anxiety, I presume.

broken cookies

When I got home, my blood pressure meds were waiting in my mailbox.  I have to see my primary care doctor in the next three months, or I’ll run out again.  I suck at noticing symptoms until they bring me to my knees.  Now that I’ve taken a dose, I can already feel the difference.  It feels like someone just let me out from between the heavy mattresses that were crushing me on the sly.

I’m sensitive about my hypertension.  In my case, it seems my blood pressure and anxiety level increase in tandem.  The closer I get to freaking out, the higher my blood pressure rises.  I despise having it checked with the auto-cuff.  It usually starts a loop of ever-increasing numbers, until the medical person groks the pattern, and turns it off.  (I’m embarrassed by this quirk because I strongly suspect I caused it during an experiment I did years ago attempting to train myself to suppress all visual signs of stress/anxiety/depression.)

It backfired, I think.  I waiver between the benefits of masking to prevent stranger danger and the dangers of mistreatment due to not presenting stereotypically around poorly trained medical professionals.  I’ve apprehended a resolution to my difficulties in getting racism-free care at the Sioux Falls VA.  I’ve concluded my best option is to forgive the mistreatment in the past, and move forward without the baggage.  (It seems kind of duh, now, but it took me a while to figure it out.)  😂

bunny suit costume

It turns out; I’m allergic to baggage.  It slows me down, weighs me down, and worst of all hurts me.  (I’m also allergic to pain. 🤫)  My ability to reason when enduring pain is pathetic.  I could work on that, or I could focus on avoiding pain when it’s a choice.  I’m big on narrowing down the root, so I’m going with the latter option.  Fortunately, I don’t have any chronic pain conditions, and borderline-unsafe high pain tolerance (unless it’s above the neck.)  Most of my pain is a result of poor choices.  (Ouch.)(Shaddup, ego.) 🙃

I’m going to schedule an appointment with my primary care doctor at the VA.  When I believed this action impossible, it was due to being buried in painful baggage.  Now that I’ve engaged my Superpower of Forgiveness, I’ve freed myself and can imagine a fabulous 2019:  A year that includes preventative health care, lots of joy, and the Fleetwood Mac concert.  (Okay, the last two are redundant, but who’s counting?)  😂✌🏾💜

“Would it kill them to put out a pound cake?”

man shoveling snow

We got a little snow recently, along with temperatures dipping below freezing at night.  It snowed, then rained, and snowed again making it crusty and cold outside presently.  I’ll admit, I do enjoy stepping out onto my balcony to create the delightful crunching sound by stepping on it.  It reminds me of when I was a child bundled up to play in the snow.  Moon boots crunching, ski pants swishing, ice skates clunking together as I made my way to the rink a few blocks away.

I love winter when I can control my exposure to the cold.  As a kid, I’d remain outside until chilblains forced me indoors.  Then I’d bawl while warming up in front of a heat register.  It was merely part of the deal and never led to shortening my fun to prevent it.  As a soldier in Germany, I despised the cold.  I never got the gas heater in my bivouac tent to work correctly.  The one time I managed to start it, I nearly burned up the tent.  🤭

I’ve been watching Netflix often lately.  The new Ellen special, Relatable, was fun.  I’m still hooked on Black Mirror.  I haven’t watched the new special episode yet, though.  I’m watching from the beginning, in order.  I’m weird like that.  I finished my third viewing of Game of Thrones, seasons 1-7 on Blu-ray recently.  I find bits I missed each time.  I read Fire & Blood by George R. R. Martin not long ago.  The history of the Targaryans is fascinating.

viewfinder

I’ve been working my way through Haruki Murakami’s catalog of novels since then.  The last I read was Killing Commendatore.  He’s officially one of my favorite authors.  I also read Skyward by Brandon Sanderson, and Salvation by Peter F. Hamilton.  They too are favorite authors, and I read everything they publish.  Both novels were fabulous, of course.  I love how Peter F. Hamilton created people with more than one gender, and always includes multiple races in his futuristic books, (an essential factor in what I choose to read.)  I love space operas.

drum kit

My band covered a few Sheryl Crow songs in a recent performance.  Maybe Angels, and Sweet Rosalyn, both from her self titled album.  Even thinking about it now has me grinning.  It was an incredible experience.  We still don’t have an official band name.  We’ve been making one up before each show, (not that there have been many.)  I hope this practice continues since it’s wicked fun.  I secretly don’t care if we call the band Unicorn Poop, or whatever.  It’s the best reason to leave my apartment I can imagine.

Aside from the upcoming Fleetwood Mac concert, that is.  The closer the date, the more excited I become.  I lay in bed last night thinking about it while consciously tempering my expectations.  Shit happens, so I don’t want to set myself up by anticipating too profoundly.  No matter what happens, the band exists, and their songs are part of the soundtrack of my life.  I can celebrate this anytime.  The concert is icing on a delicious cake.  Yay.  ✌🏾💜

“Fight for her, Jerry! She’s sure as hell fighting for you!”

Camera lenses

I found out a few days ago the Fleetwood Mac concert is now in February.  I narrowly escaped a meltdown over canceled plans.  Instead, I’ve been coping with brain fog, but at least I still get to anticipate the new date gleefully for three months.  Brain fog sucks, but it’s much better than shutting down altogether.  I fought off The New and Improved Depression Monster (TNAIDM) last night.  I’m surprised by how quickly I managed to kick his sorry ass.  I’m trying not to think about it too much (because I’m worried it may have just been a flyby before an epic battle.)

The lingering melancholy is yet another round of recognizing I messed up (socially) again, but I haven’t yet figured out what I did wrong, or with whom.  It’s merely a sense I’ve offended without intent.  The evidence is so tenuous and speculative; I don’t dare accept it as a certainty.  Instead, I’m struggling to refrain from beating myself up over it, while also trying to convince myself refraining from all social situations isn’t an optimal solution.  (I wasn’t kidding when I confessed my inner five-year-old is usually in charge.)

bridge

I’m frustrated because I know social isolation is not only doable, it’s often attractive.  The downside is the fact it limits the depth of happiness.  I’m once again debating constant but lonely contentment in isolation, versus what is allegedly more healthy, positively more joyful, but also filled with lots of pain:  socializing.  I spend much time here; I should probably decorate this Freaking Chamber of Perpetual Deliberation.  Sigh.  Presently, the desire to withdraw emotionally and STFU be silent is overwhelming.  Sharing my thoughts is (evidently) irresistible and eventually devastating.  (All the swears.)

I love that humans are so complicated, with infinite depths within each.  It’s why they fascinate me.  Observing and interacting with them is like a drug to which I’m addicted.  It’s just that I can’t seem to master communicating.  It’s as if there’s an intricate dance I must perform to gain access, but I can’t hear the music.  I can almost hear the universe belly-laughing at me, though.  Chase that carrot, bitch!  I suppose it is a bit funny from a particular perspective.  I may suck at talking to people, but perhaps I’m like Wanda Sykes to the aliens watching us for entertainment.

Take Me Please t-shirt by Darruda

That’s the shirt I’m wearing right now, (expressing my usual sentiments toward aliens.)  I’m going to design one that says; I Might Be a Famous Comedian on Kepler-186f, then order it and wear it.  Yep.  I’m that weird, don’t you know.  😂  (And this is after decades of trying desperately to fit in.)  Fortunately, the older I get, the less I bother stressing over silly shit like clothes.  Clean and comfortable are the only criteria I aim for, these days.  I still get a good chuckle whenever I remember all the time I wasted worrying about what others think of what I’m wearing.  If you don’t like it, don’t wear my clothes.  😂 💜✌🏽

“Happy, Pappy?”

Happy

I’m floating on anticipatory joy.  Soon, I’ll be attending a Fleetwood Mac concert.  It will be at least a few months after going to see Beyoncé in August.  (!!!)  I don’t know when or where exactly as the show is a gift from M.  I can barely contain my excitement.  It’s intended for my birthday next month, but he knew it was too big to keep completely secret.

M understands my preference for mental preparation.  And my need to jump up and down whenever I remember what’s coming up.  (No wonder I love him.)  I feel like I just finished a 200-meter dash.  I had to let the cable person in my home office earlier to upgrade my internet.  They’re gone now, but my body hasn’t caught up.

This room is my happy place in the universe, so I hate feeling anxious in here.  At least I’m recovering more quickly than Amelia Bedelia.  She’s still hiding in her fort atop her climbing tree.  She probably won’t come out for another hour or so, then reluctantly forgive me for allowing a stranger in her space.

The Depression Monster is pouting in the corner.  Heh.  (Stay there, asshole.)  Wakanda Forever!  I watched Black Panther in Playstation VR yesterday.  The immersion was incredible.  I forgot I had a body until it was over.  I took a half-hour break in the middle, then resumed through the end.  That’s a new record for me with an action film.  (They usually require several short viewings.)

I’m going to do it again with The Color Purple next.  It’s a movie and novel that affected me so profoundly; it’s part of my journey.  I have fond memories of watching it often with several other women in the barracks while I was in the Army.  I discovered I’m not the only one who says the lines verbatim while it’s showing, (practically by compulsion.)  None of my Army buddies ever told me off for doing it, and many said them with me.

Whoopie Goldberg in The Color Purple

I remember when Whoopie Goldberg did standup comedy.  My sister Heather and I watched her specials on HBO religiously.  She was the first black woman we encountered that we could relate to as teens.  She showed us our isolation from other African Americans didn’t exclude us from the experience (or the jokes.)  We were right there with her all the way, laughing uproariously.

Robin Williams, George Carlin, and Eddie Murphy also left us quivering in puddles of giggles on the floor.  Good times.  Remembering has calmed my anxiety.  Yay.  I’m off to practice with my band.  Hopefully without grinning like I just won the lottery.  I need to find my war face or something.  Squee!  I mean, huah!  💜