Carve Diem

This is my friend, StanLe, on his Trikke.

I just wanted to share an experience I had last night with my friend, Sharon. She again asked me what my 5 year plan would be and I had an Oprah moment (you know that "ah-haaa" thing).

Once again, I couldn't come up with anything like a career plan or whatever, but I got very passionate about one topic. I could feel my face lighting up when I blurted, "I can only see that I feel like the luckiest person on the planet. I have free time to do what I want, and I want to get a trikke and just ride it all over Long Beach, spending days just exploring the beach areas, and getting slimmer at the same time."

And that was enough. I didn't feel like I had to try to change the world or create a new cancer cure or write the great American novel or become a millionaire. I saw myself just BEING. I've got to wonder if this is a human thing, this having to make a mark on the world, or if it's just my thing. But I can let it go and just be alive.

And I have this guilt that because I am being sponsored by my social security fund, that I must feel sick to warrant it. Or appear sick, whatever that looks like. But the way I understand it, Bipolar illness is a tricky, sloppy beast. Best to keep us medicated and calm. Please don't misunderstand, my drug regimen is sacred, I would never stop taking my meds, even when I feel good. That's why I feel good.

And getting a Trikke will make me feel really good!

Dork of the day

Just recently I got my first ipod. I had to learn how to operate it, load songs and create a library in itunes. Technology has such a learning curve.

I now use it wherever I go, on the bus, walking, anytime I want to communicate to anyone, "please don't talk to me."

So it was that I came home yesterday after listening to my music rather loudly, ya know, like music is meant to be listened to. After taking the earbuds out of my ears I noticed that my right ear was muffled and felt blocked. I thought that it was due to the loud volume I had just been enjoying. Or maybe, well never mind. I was thinking I would have to go to the doctor to have my ear checked.

I sat down to watch the news. Still not able to get that ear problem off my mind. I started to take off my earrings when my finger brushed against something sticking out of my ear, the padding from the ear bud, you know that white plastic that surrounds the metal speaker. I removed it and, problem solved.

And now you know why this is entitled "Dork of the Day".

Willa, a great lady

I found Willa in a pet store that I frequent. No one wanted her, she was too old at 5-6 months old. People like their kittens a few weeks old, not months. I couldn't get her out of my mind and I couldn't stand the thought of her in that cage day after day. So after a month I took her home. She is the silliest cat I have ever cohabited with. And one of the most beautiful.

She is always ready to play and instigates lots of trouble with my 12 year old, Jake, who just wants to have his belly rubbed. Daisy takes up a lot of her energy, tracking, crouched with her butt wiggling, getting ready for the pounce. Daisy is a tough kitty, she can take it and give it back as well. They are great mates.

Willa sits on the arm of the couch next to me while I watch TV. She only recently started to like being petted, she had to get used to it. And the strangest thing; I hardly ever hear her purr. Sometimes I have to have my hand on her neck to feel the vibration of it, but sound? No, not really. But that's ok, she's not perfect and neither am I.

Who's this?

Did you know this woman is walking the streets of Long Beach?Is she wanted? Respected? Does her point of view matter to anyone but herself? Read on and decide for yourself...

As a wise friend once said "I don't see images that reflect me out there, so I create them for myself."

So here we go!

waking up?

I have been celibate for close to 10 years now. I just haven't thought about sex for that long. I think it's the antidepressant and other psych meds that I take. I've been dead from the waist down for so long that I'm surprised I can walk.
Lately I've noticed some stirrings, some attractive men, men who I wish I was 20 years younger to attract. This is distressing because any of the men who might be attracted to me are men I would never be with. They are grey or fat or disturbed. There are no intellectual grounds where we might meet.
A few years ago I had a "friend" who wanted me. He was in his late 60's and in a wheelchair. He tried to kiss me and when I pulled away he basically said there must be something wrong with me. Y-e-a-h, you were not sexually attractive.
So, the stirrings arrived like an Xmas gift in January. Followed by disturbing dreams where what I want is possible. I am in my mid-20's and beautiful again. I can have anyone and there they are. The man I passed on the street that I thought lovely. Or the guy I wanted to do nasty things to because of the look on his face. He looked like he'd like it rough. Then the sun rises, and I'm back in my 50's body, obese and with no gut-wrenching options. Could it be that my psyche is attempting a comeback?
In dealing with men in my 20-30's, I seduced them. I took the power and had sex with them, then tossed them before they tossed me. I wasn't going to sit around and hope the phone would ring. And yet, I still waited for the phone to ring. And it didn't, because I didn't play the game the way men wanted it done. I was the mouse, turning the tables on the cat. It got me a lot of exciting sexual conquests, but that's all it was, just conquests -- no trophy, no forever after.
A friend from high school that I recently reunited with was surprised I never married, she asked "how do you do that, not get married? I don't understand," and I guess that is how. Taking the power away from the man, who needs to choose, who needs to decide "I want her forever." Or in today's standards, a few years.
And so, I stand alone. I am in charge of my fate, it is not intertwined with some other person's ideals of what wife and mother look like. I never did a man's laundry, never cleaned the house for him. I was not going to be some man's servant, taking his menu for dinner. I will not end up like my mother, thank you.
I never compromised. And this is where I failed. Now the options have dried up and I'm like that man in the wheelchair, and only thinking sex is for the attractive. But sex is sloppy and ugly, we are primitive, grunting, beasts, not thinking about producing an heir but getting our nut. I don't want to be that vulnerable, I don't want to be dependant upon anyone else, even for pleasure. I don't want to be that undignified. But I kinda want sex.

Once again a layover

I had a layover in reality recently. The realities of bipolar-II. I was very depressed for a few weeks, all I wanted to do was sleep, and that I did. For weeks, I stayed up until 5 am, then slept all day. I was not interested in getting on the computer, blogging, journaling or ebay shopping. My friend finally said he was tired of trying to pull me up. He is a good friend, he was not being cruel.

At the time it felt like cruelty because I wasn't ready to resume life. It really scared me, thinking he would leave me behind in the new millennium. But he said the magic words "you are acting like a victim" and it all seemed clear. Was I depressed or feeling sorry for myself, and is there a difference to the outside world?
There is no one who understands depression like those who suffer from it. It always looks like I'm feeling sorry for myself, when I just don't care, I'm not interested, or I'm just so sad I don't want to be poked.
I know everybody gets depressed, but having straight up depression is a beast amongst itself. To all of you who have a friend or relative who suffers from clinical depression, please remember we are not just acting like victims, we can't just snap out of it, and it looks ugly and without strength. It just hurts.
When I'm in depressed mode I feel physically sick as well. Not flu sick, just a brown cloud that hangs about eye level. I can't see through it, around it or under it. I forget there is anything else. I remember feeling well and don't know how to get back, or if I ever will get back. It's dark there. The sentence is not qualified in time. And I've been there for a year at a time. The meds that are my lifeline sometimes stop being effective. It took me 10 years to get the right diagnosis and medication. That fear will never go away. Being back there, I don't know how you spend the time in that jail cell.
This brings me to another point. I want my blog to reflect truth and reality for my disability. Up to this point I have tried to be funny and cute, but I'm making it real from now on. Maybe it will look funny, like I'm bitching or like I'm living a sloppy life. Life is gritty, and I want to capture that. That is my goal.

Photo by Randy Boyd