March 2007

I feel, for the first time in a while, very much alive. Blame it on the spring weather, the anticipation of adoption, the lower dose of Celexa, the increased vitamins, the organic food.. WHATEVER.

It’s a nice feeling and I’m more than happy to embrace it. I feel like there’s a spark in my belly and it’s slowly warming up the rest of me and returning me to my usual curious and more-than-a-little giggly self.

Being totally out of practice with this “spark” thing, I’ve been slowly but surely letting it wash over me. I’m laughing out loud, speaking my mind, looking people in the eyes again when I’m out and about…

I’m feeling inspired to do things around the house again, not feeling the urge to nap the day away, and have a sense of “looking forward” again. It seems to grow with each passing day.

The Celexa, I think, was numbing some of that. It was keeping me from depression in the way that it’s supposed to, but the dose was somewhat zombifying in that I wasn’t feeling any of the usual highs and lows that come with life.

I believe the dose was too high for what I was fighting against – overkill. Had I been severly depressed, it might have been the right dose to pump me up a bit – to numb out the depression – but with my mood getting lighter and lighter with each passing month, it was a bit like being contained in a large lucite box.

I don’t need to be kept on a perfectly even keel at all times. I WANT to laugh and cry and feel connected.

Good lord, I’m not very good at describing this, am I?

I’m not used to feeling anything (other than anxiety) in my belly, and now I’ve got this feeling that I can only compare to the new little shoots poking out of the dirt and bark in our front yard. Little burst of life. (Photo, below!)

Fresh, clean, and full of anticipation. It’s a strange, strange feeling. An urge to skip through the parking lot with my hands full of library books. An urge to take pictures again. A desire to do something creative. Add more colour to the world.

Here is what I remember of myself – what seems like a long time ago.

I used to be full of energy and enthusiasm – quick to giggle and laugh and poke fun at myself. I was affectionate and outgoing and had my own version of creativity. I loved loudly and frequently and was quite happy to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I flirted wildly and danced randomly and didn’t much care what other people thought.

Over time, all of that has been cancelled out by circumstances and medications and general crap. Some of it was due to things outside of my control, some of it I strangled and stifled in order to protect myself.

But life over here is truly fantastic. My anxiety is gone. I’m tired of protecting myself from invisible (and perhaps non-existent) demons. I don’t want to be bitter and jaded and constantly curled into myself in order to prevent pain.

I know (from experience) that I can make my way through absolutely anything that comes toward me – even if I’m not wandering around waiting for crap to happen – and I know that good and bad happen even if I’m not huddled into a ball waiting for it.

It’s funny how hard it is for me to write this; it’s hard to admit that I want to be happy. To do things to make myself happy.

It’s funny how I envision certain friends rolling their eyes and thinking, “Dear god, that’s just what we need. Blog posts about her big happy joyful existence. Like we need to hear all about how great she feels when she’s rubbing her dog’s belly and singing off-key. Like we CARE how much she loves her life and her husband and how great that orange juice tasted. Whooopeee..”

I was always led to believe in the maxims of “pride goeth before a fall” and “laughing in the morning – crying by evening”. Well, FUCK THAT.

Someday I’ll be dead and buried and no one will care whether I spent an afternoon gloating over my magically happy existence. I’ve worked HARD to get my life to a place where I could relax and be happy – I deserve to enjoy every drop of it.

It’s not about being stupidly chipper even as shit happens. I don’t expect that, by saying I’m making an effort to live a good life – and live it unashamed and unfettered – nothing bad will ever happen again.

It’s more that I’m going to stop tempering my enthusiasm for the good stuff because I know it won’t prevent the shit from happening. I’m tired of walking around waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Keep your damned shoes on, universe. And if you drop ‘em, please expect me to pick ‘em up and wing ‘em at your head.

Coffee reports that he is feeling “10/10″ today. If he continues to feel good all day long, there is a good chance that I will actually sleep next to him tonight. Huzzah!

Though, I must confess, I’ve slept really well these past two nights – alone in a very large bed. There’s something very luxurious and hotel-like about rolling over, and over, and over again and not having to worry about clubbing someone in the head with a wayward limb. In the mornings, especially, I find myself sleeping spread-eagle. I avail myself of every spare inch of mattress.

Having confessed that, I must also confess that waking up all alone really sucks. Our morning ritual normally includes at least 30 minutes of snuggled-up time, during which I get to leech Coffee’s incredible “sleepy warmth” from his body and inhale the soft smell of sleepiness from the skin on the back of his neck.

It’s a balanced thing – I give up the ability to sleep like a drunken toddler in exchange for a truly decadent start to the morning.

Not to mention, of course, how much I like grabbing Coffee during the day. It’s weird to keep him at arm’s length and not kiss him goodbye or hello or just hug him for any ol’ reason. Or just grab his ass when I walk by in the kitchen..

I sort of wish I had just licked his face on the first day that he was sick so that I, too, would horf for a while and then get well. I could have kept snuggling up to him and not had to wash my hands until they were raw. Now I’m still paranoid about getting his cooties – I’ve read that stomach viruses can be contagious for up to 3 weeks after the person feels well. There is no way I can live in the same house with him and stay away for THAT kind of time. Hell no!

By tonight, I may be able to koala myself onto him, and whoah, that’s like an early birthday present. Yippeee!! Keep feeling well, Coffee! KEEP FEELING WELL!

It annoys me when I get a “new post!” update in my RSS feed and I go through all the trouble of clicking through to read the whole thing and it’s just the blog author saying, “Oh! I posted a new entry at BloggingIdiots!”. Y’know, if I WANTED to read the stuff you write for BloggingIdiots, I’d have signed up for THEIR RSS feed and not YOURS. Gah!

It annoys me that when I see a t-shirt I want to purchase online, the company is always from the US and will charge me $20USD for the shirt and another $10USD (minimum) to ship to Canada and that, all told, costs me about $40 Canadian. For a shirt.

It annoys me that magazines in the US charge $20 a year if you’re in the US and $50 a year if you’re in Canada. Hate to break it to you, but it doesn’t cost THAT much more to mail A MAGAZINE to Canada.

It annoys me when the news reports someone is from “Buffalo, NY” and someone else is from, “Ontario, Canada”. Buffalo is A CITY and NY is a STATE. Ontario is a PROVINCE and Canada is a COUNTRY. Why not say the first person is from “New York, US”, then? Or perhaps name the city that the Ontario person is from? Gah.

It annoys me when I’m upstairs, reading a book, and the beagle starts howling and barking and tossing a fit and, when I put down my book and haul my butt downstairs, she’s already lying on her back in a totally submissive pose with her tail between her legs. If you KNOW that you’re in trouble for doing it, WHY MUST YOU DO IT?! Argh.

It annoys me that I spent three months trying to convince a specific magazine to change my address – they kept having “issues with their subscription management system; please try again later” – and then, when they finally got my subscription change, they told me it would still take a “few months” to process and that I shouldn’t worry because, for a nominal fee, my post office will forward my mail. Sure they will, but, um, I already paid for six months of that and I’m not paying them another $60 just to get YOUR magazine.

It annoys me when I don’t get anything interesting in the mail. Bills are not interesting. Flyers from real estate companies in my former city, forwarded to me via that previously mentioned mail-forwarding thing, are not interesting.

A while ago, a lot of the hot-hip-cool bloggers (read: not me) went and purchased some Superhero jewels for themselves. Or were given them as gifts. Presumably the cool kids bought them for each other, too. Because that’s what the cool kids do, at least in my mind.

And like a big ol’ loser in the corner, I just gawped and thought, “I am not cool enough to own one of those designs.” Even though the designer has a STORE through which she SELLS them. And the STORE does not seem to have a coolness form that you must fill out prior to purchase. They don’t even require REFERENCES before they’ll ship one to you!

And I am a big weiner for being so dorky about it.

But I had put the whole thing out of my mind until I stumbled across the site today and discovered the “Joy” line. Jewelery that looks like it’s made from shiny bits of candy. All bright colours and shine and no rough edges and ohmygod, I totally want one more than EVER.

And she makes them in extended sizes if need-be. I have a HUGE neck (okay, probably not THAT huge, but it’s larger than most) and it’s rare that I can find a choker-style necklace in a size that doesn’t literally choke me. Oh, so exciting!

I hesitantly clicked the “shop” button, thinking I could at least see if it was in my price range (read: three dollars and some pocket lint, approximately) and..

The shop is CLOSED for a while due to maternity leave! (But oh, he’s so cute!)

Although I am totally bummed out, this is probably for the best. I’m guessing the price was around $70 US + shipping and that’s not within my budget. Even for something shiny and beautiful and full of joy-in-colour. Even something SO totally ‘spring’.

But now I’m feeling disappointed and like I’m totally unfestooned.

(Using the word “festooned” probably helps explain my lack of cool.. wouldn’t you say?)

On a trip to Zellers, recently, I watched a middle-aged couple struggle to communicate with the cashier. She seemed to be under the impression that they were not understanding her English, and she flailed her hands in the air and spoke louder and repeated herself and tried to explain things differently over and over. I could sense the couple growing increasingly frustrated as they pointed to a portion on their receipt and scowled.

I try not to invade people’s space and privacy in the check-out line. No one wants someone peering at their credit card number or the cost of their new underpants, let alone getting involved in what appeared to be a dispute about a store credit. But I noticed the husband and wife gesturing to each other, swiftly and briefly and, suddenly, realized that they were deaf. I leaned in to Coffee and whispered this fact, and wondered aloud to him how I could help.

My ability to communicate in sign language is fully limited to finger spelling. Effective, perhaps, but exceptionally slow and tedious for both parties. I learned it in Brownies and, somehow, have retained it throughout the years. Sometimes I mix up “K”, “P” and “Q”, but for the most part I’m pretty quick!

As the couple walked away, they stopped in the front vestibule and gestured to the paper the husband held. It seemed neither of them knew quite what to do about the problem, and shortly they were joined by another gentleman. No one looked pleased. I hesitated to get involved simply because I didn’t want to seem rude or intrusive, but Coffee gave me the necessary papers from his own wallet to make my pantomimed presentation a bit easier.

I strolled up to the couple, clutching Coffee’s licence in my hand, and explained as best I could what the cashier wanted. Coffee helped, too, and using various gestures, flailings and speaking clearly in case either one could read lips, we could see some understanding come across their faces. The second gentlemen explained things to them in sign language, and that’s when we saw the little lightbulb of understanding come on fully, and they all thanked us for our help.

There is nothing more frustrating to me – a talkative person by nature – than not being able to communicate with someone else. Even when I encounter someone who speaks a language other than English, I am driven insane by my brain’s inability to spew forth Tagalog or Spanish or Mandarin on command. If I had all the time in the world, and someone to practice with regularly, I’d most definitely sign up for more language classes. My mouth enjoys sounding out new words!

I’ve started looking into an introductory ASL class here in KW. Kelly and Coffee have both offered to accompany me if I can find one with suitable hours (they both work strange hours) and I think it would be wonderful to eventually teach our child to sign. For us, it would be a bit like a secret code – like whispering across the room. A novelty, really. But there are times when it would come in handy, I think, to help someone else out.

Why aren’t there more hours in the day? I have so many things I’d like to learn!

I’m far behind in email and blog reading (and writing) and all sorts of other things. Coffee left for work a few minutes ago, feeling better, so today will be my chance to get some stuff taken care of before the weekend. It’s amazing how quickly things get out of whack. Sheeesh.

Speaking of taking care of things, yesterday was my second-to-last therapy session for my anxiety. I’m seeing her for the last time at the end of April, just to make sure things are still under control, but my anxiety has completely shifted. I’m able to anticipate it before it happens, defuse it immediately, and laugh in the face of panic attacks.

If that isn’t a ringing endorsement for therapy, I don’t know what is.

As I explained to Coffee last night, chronic anxiety doesn’t have a cure, but it’s something that I can keep away by monitoring my feelings and emotions, paying attention to what’s going on, and being realistic. I have a big ol’ set of tools at my disposal, now, and if I want to stay anxiety-free I simply have to keep using those tools until they are completely automatic.

The “cognitive” part of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy is the part that has helped the most. I am retraining my brain to look at things in a different manner, to reshape and reframe things appropriately, and to keep things on a much more even keel as a result. It’s difficult to explain, but oh, it’s working!

I’ve decided to keep my Celexa at 20mg (the lowest dose) for the foreseeable future simply because there are a lot of major events and big changes coming my way in the next few months. I don’t want to nosedive into anxiety or depression in the midst of adoption, for example, and then have to spend a month or two digging myself out of it. I discussed it with my therapist who agreed that I had given it enough thought and made the right decision for this point in time.

It’s been about a week, now, since I dropped my Celexa down to 20mg and I can already feel the ‘block’ lifting. It’s something that’s impossible to describe, really, but the colours are brighter, my mood is lighter and my enthusiasm is returning, I’ve got a bit of energy back and it feels like life is flowing through me again. There is a ‘spark’ in my body.

Having said that, I could really go for a nap right now – but should probably change out of my jammas and get some groceries. The sun is shining, the air is slightly warmed, and oh, spring, I am so happy to see you again.

CANCER (June 21-July 22): Charles Darwin called Thomas Malthus a “great philosopher,” and said his theory of evolution was based on Malthus’ ideas. Yet Malthus advocated genocidal measures to control population growth. In “Essay on the Principle of Population,” Malthus wrote: “Instead of tecommending cleanliness to the poor, we should encourage contrary habits. In our towns we should make the streets narrower, crowd more people into houses, and court the return of the plague. In the country, we should build villages near stagnant pools, and encourage settlement in marshy and unwholesome situations.” So the evidence is clear that Darwin’s theories had a grotesque pedigree. Should we therefore dismiss them altogether? Not necessarily. What’s useful is not always derived from what’s good. Is there a comparable situation in your own life, Cancerian? Are there essentials you benefit from even though their origins are problematical? The time is ripe for coming to terms with weirdness like that.

(Freewill Astrology)

On this, the first day of spring, I say to you:

WHEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWW!

And then I say:

Whichever one of you poisoned my beloved husband? You need to getcher ass back over here and FIX HIM NOW.

Last night, as we were heading up to bed (after watching several episodes of “Perfect Strangers”), Coffee’s pager began to make noise. He told me he’d be a bit delayed coming up as he needed to log in, via his laptop, to see what was causing the ruckus.

Shortly thereafter, he called upstairs to tell me that he had to go out to visit the actual server due to some sort of “power outage”. I told him I’d try to fall asleep while he was gone – since I haven’t been all that great at snoozing lately, and since I couldn’t exactly assist him with his geeky problem(s). That, and who knew whether it would take 5 minutes or 5 hours? He said that was fine and, shortly thereafter, I fell asleep.

I woke up at 2am and he was home (and had been for some time) but was.. unwell.

His headache started before bed, so he swallowed some Advil and drank some water and figured it would go away as he slept. When his pager went off, he drove over to the server building and did his work – feeling increasingly unwell with each passing moment.

By the time he was heading home, he was doing the, “not gonna’ vomit in the car” chant. When I spoke to him at 2am, he told me he had been puking. I suspect I made some sort of sympathetic noise before I fell back asleep. Perhaps a migraine?

And, while I slumbered gloriously, he spent most of the night hurling up everything he’s ever eaten, and possibly a few internal organs.

This morning, I woke up to find a note in bed next to me – in place of a warm husband. He was sleeping on the sofa, in between hurried dashes to the bathroom, and when I came downstairs he was a truly unflattering shade of green. Up all night with the puke-beast.

Stomach virus? Food poisoning?

Coffee blames the sausage that I used to make jambalaya. He ate several of them straight AND a serving or two of jambalaya that contained more. This morning he muttered something about not opening the fridge until I removed the sausages that are still in there and got them out of the house. Gee, I can’t imagine why he’s not keen on seeing it again – perhaps because he’s been seeing it again AND again AND again?

He has a fairly reasonable temperature and he finally agreed to take some Gravol to stop the exceptionally vibrant ralphing. Now he’s snugged up in bed upstairs – hopefully to get some sleep and at least keep down some sips of water.

As I noted to him, it’s good that we have not yet adopted; a small child would be certain that Daddy was posessed by demons, given the sounds he was making.

So, y’know, welcome spring! Welcome warmer weather and more sunshine! But, um, let’s hold off on the big party for a few days, ok? I don’t think Coffee’s up for tequila shots and naked dancing on the lawn right now.