May have had a full blown anxiety attack, today. I woke up feeling sort of punchy today, and besides work (which was awesome) there was just a series of minor setbacks, frustrations, and difficulties that compounded, and added, and heaped. Normally I just roll, flow, ebb, go, and handle it, whatever it may be. Today, every little frustration, every unplanned thing, every monkey wrench just sent me further along, till by the end of the day I was sort of stumbling around, going through the motions, my chest hurt as though I were punched, I couldn't take a deep breath, my cheeks felt hot, my eyeballs felt like they were going to launch themselves right out of the sockets, and the skin on my face felt drum tight. I thought I was just feeling "weird". On impulse, I took a Xanax. Within 20 minutes, all those symptoms all the weird off feelings faded away, and I was more myself. More alert, in tune with my surroundings, and of course, way more relaxed.
I don't like that.
Lots of little things crashing in. The house and it's zillion pressures (cleaning it out, the monetary investment, Kenny's desperation, the dirt, the broken things, the neglect, the fact that we have to find places for all of our stuff., and everything else), Irv's house anxiety as projected on me, Luiz's house anxiety for a whole different set of reasons, the rest of his psychoses, which can be draining to deal with, every day, my budding tarot business and all the little things related to it, Schuyler visiting soon, Alden's shitty grades, Alden maybe not making it to the seventh grade with all those implications, all the plans for every weekend till the end of the world, money, things, this, that, fuckall, it's driving me crazy. Seriously crazy. Clinically crazy. Anxiety attack crazy.
At least I've been sleeping. I don't know how well, because even after 8 hours, I still wake up feeling like shit, and groggy.
I need...something. I want to say I need to go camping, but all this shit and more will be waiting when I come back from the woods, so it's not exactly that. Not this time. I just need to take each day in measured steps, and try not to freak out too much.
May 19, 2010
May 17, 2010
My Dio Moment
It's like, since I started blogging again routinely, I actually want to. I find myself sitting at work, during the downtime, coming up with ideas, and composing in my head. I'm thinking like a blogger, again. It was so prevalent in my life, at one time, I found myself carrying a notebook throughout the day, and jotting notes to blog about later, so I didn't forget. I wished I had my notebook this morning.
I'm really fucked up about Ronnie James Dio's death. More than I thought I would be. Here's what's weird. He was only 67, and he got sick right off a huge tour with Heaven and Hell. He was blazing, he was touring huge arenas. He was ever the showman, ever giving of himself. I got the news yesterday, when my mom and Earl were over, and had to go outside, half sick with it, back out to where everyone was sitting, and tell Irv, who got me into Dio so long ago. There's Earl. Alive. Dio's dead, and Earl is alive. Alive and suffering, but still with us, all the same, just going on and on, being Earl, making everyone miserable... when someone like Dio who spent his whole life doing good, putting it out there, giving himself to us through his music...not alive. Hate that.
I didn't grow up liking Dio, his music wasn't much in my radar, in my teens. About three weeks after Irv and I met, there was a Dio show at Birch Hill, and he was like "we HAVE GOT to go" I shrugged, I mean, I'd heard of the guy, but not much of his music. I mean, I was a real metal head, Slayer, Pantera, Megadeth, stuff like that. So, on that day, he made me listen to all his Dio tapes(!) solo, Black Sabbath, just filled me full of Dio's music, and I liked it. When we first got there, I even said to Irv "fucking great, look at all these old farts, I feel like I'm on some aging metalhead cruise, where's the shuffleboard!?". But when that tiny man walked...no strode, when he strode out on stage, the intensity, the absolute amazing energy, the voice...the...I don't even know how to say this without sounding cheesy, but the star quality. He had it. He had all of it. I literally fell in love. Right there on the spot, I became his number one fan. We were in the front row, and about a third of the way through the set, Metal Mike, his guitarist and a local awesome dude grabbed my hand and was talking to me about my rings, and stuff. Dio saw it, and walked over, mid song, and clasped my hand with both of his, and kissed my fingertips. Mike shouted "You're the YOUNGEST ONE HERE!!!" Tears. That's my Dio moment.
I braved a Dio concert late in my pregnancy. Alden got to go "see" Dio when he was about 7 and a half months along. We saw him live countless times, and every time, his presence and voice filled up every bit of the venue, and every corner of my psyche.
I fucking loved Dio. I really loved him, as much as any person can love someone they never met. Not for his looks, or his fame, or anything, but for his sheer energy and the power he transmits. His demeanor. His way.
I'm really fucked up about Ronnie James Dio's death. More than I thought I would be. Here's what's weird. He was only 67, and he got sick right off a huge tour with Heaven and Hell. He was blazing, he was touring huge arenas. He was ever the showman, ever giving of himself. I got the news yesterday, when my mom and Earl were over, and had to go outside, half sick with it, back out to where everyone was sitting, and tell Irv, who got me into Dio so long ago. There's Earl. Alive. Dio's dead, and Earl is alive. Alive and suffering, but still with us, all the same, just going on and on, being Earl, making everyone miserable... when someone like Dio who spent his whole life doing good, putting it out there, giving himself to us through his music...not alive. Hate that.
I didn't grow up liking Dio, his music wasn't much in my radar, in my teens. About three weeks after Irv and I met, there was a Dio show at Birch Hill, and he was like "we HAVE GOT to go" I shrugged, I mean, I'd heard of the guy, but not much of his music. I mean, I was a real metal head, Slayer, Pantera, Megadeth, stuff like that. So, on that day, he made me listen to all his Dio tapes(!) solo, Black Sabbath, just filled me full of Dio's music, and I liked it. When we first got there, I even said to Irv "fucking great, look at all these old farts, I feel like I'm on some aging metalhead cruise, where's the shuffleboard!?". But when that tiny man walked...no strode, when he strode out on stage, the intensity, the absolute amazing energy, the voice...the...I don't even know how to say this without sounding cheesy, but the star quality. He had it. He had all of it. I literally fell in love. Right there on the spot, I became his number one fan. We were in the front row, and about a third of the way through the set, Metal Mike, his guitarist and a local awesome dude grabbed my hand and was talking to me about my rings, and stuff. Dio saw it, and walked over, mid song, and clasped my hand with both of his, and kissed my fingertips. Mike shouted "You're the YOUNGEST ONE HERE!!!" Tears. That's my Dio moment.
I braved a Dio concert late in my pregnancy. Alden got to go "see" Dio when he was about 7 and a half months along. We saw him live countless times, and every time, his presence and voice filled up every bit of the venue, and every corner of my psyche.
I fucking loved Dio. I really loved him, as much as any person can love someone they never met. Not for his looks, or his fame, or anything, but for his sheer energy and the power he transmits. His demeanor. His way.
Uneasy Alliance
I am watching a documentary about emotions and human connections. There was a phrase that said "friendships are an uneasy alliance" Can I get a hell yeah? Outside of the people I live with, these people in my house....I feel like all of my friendships are like that, even my oldest most treasured friends.
I think, partially, it's because I cleave to outgoing gregarious types. I am not these things. I enjoy listening, soaking in, and hearing people talk, so I like when others dominate the conversation. It's a double edged sword, though. I lose my identity, in relationships like that. I always feel awkward and uneasy, when I spend an extended amount of time with anyone outside my family. Always. Even if we're having the best time, laughing, whatever, I always get a little weird, shy, isolated, awkward feeling. A lot of people I consider close friends, some people that have known me for a long time don't *really* know me. I hate gatherings and groups, parties.
Having Irv, Luiz, and Alden around helps, if any one of them is with me (or preferably all of em) I can cope better, in unfamiliar surroundings. This isn't good, though, because trying new things, going places, being around people sort of scares me. Hell, not sort of. It's almost debilitating.
May 7, 2010
Next time, just punch me in the face, it would be over quicker.
To anyone with a shred of social or emotional intelligence, the term "I'm sorry you feel that way." or any of it's clones "I'm sorry you're angry, aggravated, pissed, or freaking out" isn't really an apology. It's the classic un-apology. A smarmy way of both ridding yourself of any need to apologize and highlighting the behavior of someone else.
In my world, it's the opposite of anything even remotely resembling an apology. It's a gallon of gasoline and a brick of fireworks on an already burning fire. It's a nuke. It's the red button. It's serious. It is the end of all rational conversation. It is the grand finale. It is about the only thing that will make me lose my composure. It might be distasteful to some, or exasperating, but to me, it's fucking infuriating. Not like I hide this fact. Everyone knows this about me. Everyone that loves me, and knows even a little bit about my history knows that I spend my whole life, getting this "I'm sorry you feel that way" shit in place of an apology from my mother. For the longest time, I thought that it is simply the way you say sorry. I'm sorry...you feel that way. It's like a household phrase over there. It took me years to stop self blaming. Years of self examination. Even joking about it, or hearing it on TV raises my hackles a little.
Now I'm angry. I went from being mildly annoyed at juvenile behavior, to full on angry at a complete douchebag.
So when you're being mildly annoying, and I snap at you for interrupting my phone conversation, or for being self absorbed...either apologize, or don't. Go be quiet somewhere, or something. I don't need a special fucking apology. Don't go around the house throwing your hands in the air, like "ooh, loook out, someone's being a hysterical bitch", then top it off with the grand anti-apology. Because the hysterical bitch doesn't come out till "I'm sorry you're aggravated." Silence might have been better. Kicking me in the shin might have been better. You don't need to be sorry, whatever. Who the fuck cares. If silence prevailed, it would have faded, and ended, and I would have gotten over being annoyed.
Instead, I'm sitting here, writing this, trying not to witch you into breaking a bone.
In my world, it's the opposite of anything even remotely resembling an apology. It's a gallon of gasoline and a brick of fireworks on an already burning fire. It's a nuke. It's the red button. It's serious. It is the end of all rational conversation. It is the grand finale. It is about the only thing that will make me lose my composure. It might be distasteful to some, or exasperating, but to me, it's fucking infuriating. Not like I hide this fact. Everyone knows this about me. Everyone that loves me, and knows even a little bit about my history knows that I spend my whole life, getting this "I'm sorry you feel that way" shit in place of an apology from my mother. For the longest time, I thought that it is simply the way you say sorry. I'm sorry...you feel that way. It's like a household phrase over there. It took me years to stop self blaming. Years of self examination. Even joking about it, or hearing it on TV raises my hackles a little.
Now I'm angry. I went from being mildly annoyed at juvenile behavior, to full on angry at a complete douchebag.
So when you're being mildly annoying, and I snap at you for interrupting my phone conversation, or for being self absorbed...either apologize, or don't. Go be quiet somewhere, or something. I don't need a special fucking apology. Don't go around the house throwing your hands in the air, like "ooh, loook out, someone's being a hysterical bitch", then top it off with the grand anti-apology. Because the hysterical bitch doesn't come out till "I'm sorry you're aggravated." Silence might have been better. Kicking me in the shin might have been better. You don't need to be sorry, whatever. Who the fuck cares. If silence prevailed, it would have faded, and ended, and I would have gotten over being annoyed.
Instead, I'm sitting here, writing this, trying not to witch you into breaking a bone.
May 3, 2010
Little bits.
I love freezing my ass off in central air. Most of the time I think I'm low maintenance, but right now, I feel pretty high maintenance.
I shouldn't have fed the dogs eggs this morning, I had leftover egg whites from the French vanilla ice cream, and couldn't bring myself to toss em. But now I'm sitting between big stinky and little stinky, as they slumber in their own green fog stink collective.
I love meeting good people. Making steps towards real friendship with rare and interesting folks. I love spending time talking about real stuff, rather than blah blah blah on small talk. Fucking A, what a good day.
I also love that barbecue season is here. I want to cook grandly every weekend.
I want to go camping, very soon.
It's a time for action, building, growing, doing, planting, creating, breathing in and exhaling in the vibe of the season.
I read an excellent blog today, one that inspired me to pick this baby back up, and go with my old style. I read back through some of my more recent blogs meaning This Next Chapter Stuff, not epiphany, and I get so goddamned explainy. Who the fuck am I explaining to? I feel like it has to do with when epiphany got an audience, and I had to be all expository and shit.
I just re-read the Mark blog. May update. The guy is an alcoholic. Serious business alcoholic. Sometimes I think I may have the beginnings of a drinking problem, but Mark has a real problem. We hung out for two months, got to know his situation, even hung out with Jen some. Can't do it anymore. Can't babysit a drunk that likes his life at rock bottom, that loves his issues and his "crazy motherfucking life" as he puts it, more than his many children. Unplugging and pulling away. A little remorse, because as we all (and by we all, I mean me) know, I am a fixer. I can't fix this one. Packing up the Chariot and moving on. I mentioned AA. He stopped talking to me.
Ebbing and flowing. People come and go. Some people I wish would come and stay, or come back and stay. Some people I wish would go forever.
The dog keeps farting and she's driving me off. It's pouring outside, and I love that. I am too tired to get deep, and wax eloquent on the mix of interesting bits that comprised the past few days. Maybe I'll get into it more tomorrow. Maybe.
I shouldn't have fed the dogs eggs this morning, I had leftover egg whites from the French vanilla ice cream, and couldn't bring myself to toss em. But now I'm sitting between big stinky and little stinky, as they slumber in their own green fog stink collective.
I love meeting good people. Making steps towards real friendship with rare and interesting folks. I love spending time talking about real stuff, rather than blah blah blah on small talk. Fucking A, what a good day.
I also love that barbecue season is here. I want to cook grandly every weekend.
I want to go camping, very soon.
It's a time for action, building, growing, doing, planting, creating, breathing in and exhaling in the vibe of the season.
I read an excellent blog today, one that inspired me to pick this baby back up, and go with my old style. I read back through some of my more recent blogs meaning This Next Chapter Stuff, not epiphany, and I get so goddamned explainy. Who the fuck am I explaining to? I feel like it has to do with when epiphany got an audience, and I had to be all expository and shit.
I just re-read the Mark blog. May update. The guy is an alcoholic. Serious business alcoholic. Sometimes I think I may have the beginnings of a drinking problem, but Mark has a real problem. We hung out for two months, got to know his situation, even hung out with Jen some. Can't do it anymore. Can't babysit a drunk that likes his life at rock bottom, that loves his issues and his "crazy motherfucking life" as he puts it, more than his many children. Unplugging and pulling away. A little remorse, because as we all (and by we all, I mean me) know, I am a fixer. I can't fix this one. Packing up the Chariot and moving on. I mentioned AA. He stopped talking to me.
Ebbing and flowing. People come and go. Some people I wish would come and stay, or come back and stay. Some people I wish would go forever.
The dog keeps farting and she's driving me off. It's pouring outside, and I love that. I am too tired to get deep, and wax eloquent on the mix of interesting bits that comprised the past few days. Maybe I'll get into it more tomorrow. Maybe.
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