I got dressed today. WeeeEEeEEE. I feel giddy with accomplishment! In the ongoing effort to be me, I’m working on celebrating whatever I can find excuse to celebrate. There is no Nobel Prize for literature heading my way (yet), nor even a round of applause from the local Lion’s Club. So I’m simply happy that today I can do something that I could not do unaided yesterday.
Been wearing pajamas since last Thursday (not the same ones-gross). Didn’t bother to change out of them to go the emergency room either. At that point I didn’t give a shi*t what I looked like. If there is any such thing as the Fashion Police in an ER they should be unceremoniously ejected. Today the wooziness has relented and so I’m making the most of it. I even have shoes on. Hallelujah!
On another note altogether, I had a really cool dream last night – a vast improvement from fevered nightmares. I dreamt that I was at some gathering somewhere and met some of my fellow bloggers in the flesh. It’s a bit frustrating that I can’t recall where I was or who I met but it was profoundly satisfying.
Usually I either dream about what I want or what I’m afraid of so I’m going to have to follow up on this one. I want or need to go to some sort of writer’s conference, shindig, workshop or whatever they’re called.
Does anyone out there in the Continental U.S. know of any good ones coming up? Or can anyone point me in the direction of a list of options? I would love to know. I feel a deep need to crawl out of my shell and meet other writers and bloggers in person.
Was watching TV last night on my fantastic wonderful leather recliner, all cozy and comfy, wrapped in a blanket – a mini nirvana episode. At some point I passed out cold and slept like a rock.
I vaguely remember Mr. Husband being as sweet and gentle as a lamb. He really can be such a big tender pussy cat sometimes. He managed to talk me up out of the recliner. No easy task, mind you, because this is one of the pillowy kind that you sink into and never want to come out of.
I remember him talking like it was in a dream. “Come on, Sweetie, let’s get you to bed.” He succeeded and then brought me a big glass of water because he knows I wake up in the night thirsty, so thirsty. One of the temporary side effects of the meds I’m on is dry mouth. That’s putting it mildly. I wake up and my mouth is so dry that my teeth are stuck together and I’m almost choking.
So I woke up this morning in my clothes. Now it’s not like I was wearing a sequined evening gown. I was wearing corduroy leggings and a long-sleeved waffle weave T-shirt yesterday. Easy enough to pass off as pajamas.
My first thought upon waking was “oh God, I slept in my clothes.” That is one of my mental markers that things are not right. My usual routine at night is a shower and then changing into jammies. My second thought was “Wow, this is so cool, I’m dressed! If I want to leave the house all I have to do is throw on a pair of shoes and a jacket. I don’t have to figure out what to put on.” And so I did leave the house just for the hell of it, and to get some smokes because I was completely out.
Maybe I’m on to something here. At night instead donning pajamas after a shower I could just put on some clean clothes. No one pays attention to wrinkled clothes these days – it’s the style anyway.
Or maybe not, but it is sooo tempting. However, realistically speaking, I really do feel much better when I take care of myself and change into jammies at night. It’s a ritual that is good for me. It tells my body and brain that it’s time to ramp it down a notch and consider going to bed at a reasonable hour. As opposed to staying up half the night because I’m having a blast doing whatever it is I’m doing. I pay for it the next day and end up dragging around like dried up leftover meat loaf. Having a hangover from poor sleep habits without even drinking is not so fun.
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living. Socrates
When it comes to taking quotes at face value one must exercise extreme caution. Socrates examined the living daylights out of everything. I think he must have over-examined the lives of his peers as well, because he really pissed them off. He ended up having to end his own life by drinking hemlock.
I have been going through a protracted phase of obsessive self-examination brought on by a recent bipolar diagnosis. I was falling into the trap of questioning my every thought and decision through this new kaleidoscope. It reached a magnificent crescendo of silliness yesterday. I spent several hours yesterday morning in a state of extreme annoyance at … my pajama sleeves.
You may think “Girl, you have waaay much time on your hands.” I personally do not subscribe to the theory of too much time on one’s hands. I learn from everything I do or feel whether or not it is of any value to anyone else. I’m the one that has to live in this brain and this body so I’m going to do it my way, thank you very much!
Anyway, the pajama sleeves were driving me crazy. One sleeve insisted on poking out 4 inches below the sleeve of my robe. The other sleeve remained where it belonged, just peeking out a bit.
I began to descend into frenzy of questions. Why are my sleeves crooked? Am I turning into the hunch back of Notre Dame? Am I suffering from some sort of extended muscle spasm that is causing one shoulder to be higher than the other? Has one of my arms decided to grow longer than the other one? Finally I went to the bathroom, looked me in the face in the mirror, mentally slapped myself and yelled “pull yourself together, Man!”
It worked and I recalled the lovely principle of Occam’s Razor. It means, in layman’s terms; when faced with multiple hypotheses, the simplest solution tends to be the right one. There is nothing wrong with me, it’s the pajamas. Sure enough I took off the top and compared the sleeves to each other. One sleeve is longer than the other. Well duh!
At this point you may also be thinking “this woman needs to get help, and then a life, in that order.” But I am getting help, and I do have a life! My life may be on the far end of the bell curve called “normal.” I don’t care. I’m living it and learning to cope with these mental gyrations in my own way. If it means I have to address myself in the mirror to talk myself down from whatever mental ledge I crawled out on, that’s OK.
I don’t even have to believe that “tomorrow is another day” and then wait for it. I can start a new day right now. Let it slide, don’t take myself too seriously, laugh it off and get on with living.