Quote of the day...er...week...umm...hey, look, a quote!!

"...besides love, independence of thought is the greatest gift an adult can give a child." - Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One

For old quotes, look here.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Do I Answer Like It Matters?

I had a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, a sort of regular thing.

There was a medical student there, and as part of her training she had to do a patient survey with me.

The subject of my mental health came up and I explained that I have depression, pretty severely at the moment.  We talked about medication and why I won't take it, and she asked (as part of the survey) if I had suicidal thoughts.

Tricky question, that.

Answer it wrong and you get to stay in the comfortable padded rooms of the local psych hotel, complete with poorly fitting fashions and all the meds you can (whether you want to or not) take.

Sometimes?  That sounds kinda nice.  No kids, no chores, no pets, no one else's feelings or hurt or needs or anger to tiptoe around.  A whole staff dedicated to taking care of me.  Like a spa but less formal.  And then there are all the other crazies in there for entertainment - way better than reality TV any day!

Oh, well, yeah, there's that whole not-allowed-to-come-and-go-as-one-pleases thing...that kinda puts a crimp on my style, yo.

And the not having my daughter to cuddle up with for an afternoon nap, or my kids to wake up to in the morning.

And cafeteria food.  Oh, Gods, the cafeteria food!

So it's wise to consider carefully and answer as honestly as one can...but for me, that's a tricky thing because honestly?  Yes, I have suicidal thoughts.  Lately, it seems like they're a chorus, constantly humming in my head.  I am sick of life.  Sick of feeling flattened, worn down, worn away, worthless and useless, and if I could just shuffle off this mortal coil without having to do the deed myself I would be delighted.

I don't want to live.

I don't want to experience what the world has to offer, or my children's laughter, or how they grow up.  I don't want to be responsible for them or their well-being.  I don't want to sing.  I don't want to write.  I don't want one fucking thing to do with anyone or anything.  I want, with damn near every bit of my being, to be dead.

All.  The.  Time.



But I DO, in fact, want to be part of my children's lives...I just don't like feeling like I am screwing them up.

And life is amazing, even when I hate it.  Luckily, it doesn't hate me back.  Yet.

And I may not want to sing , but I need to.  It's part of the fabric of my being and, like oxygen, I cannot seem to do without it (even when I believe, absolutely, that no one wants to hear it)(my disease, my thoughts, and I can believe in pink unicorns but that doesn't make them any more real).

And I would very much like to feel like a writer again, if only there was time or opportunity and I didn't feel so overwhelmed by everything else that needs doing and so unnecessary to the writing world.

And, you know, there's that promise I made all those years ago...the one where I said I wouldn't off myself.  And I don't break my world.  Ever.  Even when I really, really, really, really, really want to.  A lot.

So.  I know that when medical folks ask about suicidal thoughts, what they really want to know is if there's any imminent danger of one acting on those thoughts...and in my case, there is not.  So I can tell them "No" and it's the answer that best fits the question even if it' not, entirely, honest.

Because in the end?  It doesn't matter what I am thinking or feeling or what I want.  And really, institutional Jell-o is all the motivation I need to smile and keep on as if nothing is wrong in the world, and since I cannot actually DO what I would like to about how I am feeling, it's all good.  Right?



Wednesday, May 29, 2013


Went to the dentist yesterday, got a new crown.  Fun.  Went to the doctor as well, got a well-meant lecture on taking better care of myself and some new medication.  More fun.
The Evil Genius spent two weeks restricted from strenuous play while he healed up from his orchioplexy.  Restriction was lifted last Friday and we spent Saturday and Sunday at a friend's place on a lake.  He was in paradise!  We will go back again as soon as I've recovered from mass-people-exposure.  That is TOO a condition!
I think, maybe, possibly, perhaps, there's a slight chance...that we are well and truly finished with the recording part of making our new CD.  Whew!  What a haul...totally worth it, but if anyone ever tries to say singing isn't work, they've no idea what they're talking about!
Two of the three ring-neck snakes died.  I am sad about that.  Gimpy, the slightly bent one, is still kicking (figuratively speaking, of course, because how can a snake kick???), I believe largely because I hand feed him.  He's pretty spry for a bent snake, too!
I'll be gone for a little bit mid-June.  Wasn't planning on going anywhere this year, but the band was hired to perform.  I feel trepidatious about going.  Hey, spell check?  Trepidatious is TOO a word!  And I feel it.  About going on this trip.  I hate that I no longer anticipate fun, but rather worry about everything that can and will go wrong.  Sigh.
I started taking a B-complex vitamin because I am exhausted all the time, and who wants to live with that?
This blog could double as a sleep aide.  You're welcome.
What's on your mind?

Monday, May 27, 2013

Lo's Question

"What do you want?"

I'm not sure.

"Not good enough.  What do you want?"

I don't know.

"What do you want?"

I'm not...

"What do you want?"

I don't...

"You do.  What do you want?"




"I am afraid of the answer."

And then he was gone.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Memorial Day

Photo found here and copied entirely without permission but not without respect.

Many of my family have served their country in the various branches. My brother was in the Army, but thankfully got out when yet another gopher hole tried to eat his ankle. Don't ask. My Uncle was in the Air Force, even flying Air Force Two for a while. My Grandfather was in the Coast Guard during World War II. I have a cousin in the Air Force. I believe he flies Airforce somethingorother from time to time. I have a friend who was in the Army during the Vietnam War (conflict, my ass!) - I never once resented the calls at three-o'clock in the morning; nightmares shy away from friendly voices, from reason and reassurance. Another friend was in the Army until it broke his back - literally. He survived, but not his plans for a lifetime in the military - they don't want broken people, no matter how useful or clever they are. Someone's family is jam-packed with folks who've served - mostly Navy, I believe - and deserve some respect and thanks. So...thanks.

For a history of this day, go here. Or here. Or here. In a nutshell, Memorial Day is for remembering the fallen. Veteran's Day is for honoring the living. That's why they get two days, and so they should. Men and women stand up and make targets of themselves to maintain our freedoms every day of the year, so the least we can do is take two days to tell them "Thanks. Thanks for acting against human nature and protecting me and mine. Thanks for losing an arm, a leg, a life so that I don't have to."

It's not about the politics. I'm non-violent. I don't think war is ever a reasonable response to conflict. I don't believe that wars are fought for ideal, but rather for political and/or financial gains. I won't forget, though, that people have laid down their lives so that I may stand on a street corner protesting (I never would) them, or denigrating (never, ever!) them for their service.

Perhaps one day, we won't have any new graves to decorate. Until then, I remember and (as best I can) I honor.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Safe Haven

Saw this today as the Evil Genius, Sprout, and I were preparing to watch The Life of Pi.

What struck me was the very idea of a safe haven, a place where one may seek shelter, take comfort...something I both have and have not, myself.

There are places I can go, of course, and people who love me better than I deserve...but where I should most feel loved, wanted, and protected?  I do not.  I find that terribly...sad...

It looks like a lovely movie...perhaps I will see it when it's on Netflix...

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Peculiar Focus

I am agoraphobic.  I believe I've mentioned.  So by nature, I am something of a homebody.  Sometimes, very much a homebody.  As in, I don't want to leave the home so my body stays right on inside where it belongs.

Don't get me wrong, I adore nature and think the world is a beautiful place.  I am equally enamored of the sea, the mountains, the plains - all of nature is a place of wonder and delight to me, and I revel in it.

But sometimes...


Sometimes I just can't handle the revelry.  Sometimes it's all just a bit too much.  It's not the nature, the openness, the vastness of the world that bothers me.  It's more the people.  Leaving my house means I must mingle among the mundanes.

Again, don't get me wrong, mundanes are often simply lovely folk.  A few of 'em, though...a few of 'em ought to be labelled, carry a sign, have a light or some doohicky that warns a body that they're not of the nicest sort.

Some days, I just can't muster what it takes to face the possibility of those sorts of mundanes.

On really bad days, I don't want to go get the mail, answer the phone, or even be online.  Too danged many people trying to suck the life out of me.

Occasionally, though, it doesn't much matter how much my crazy is doing the Cha-Cha in my brain - I have to go out.

I don't have pills for this, and I don't drink or take illicit drugs to deal with it.  I just...go all Nike...and do it.

Now, lest you are tempted to turn to the agoraphobe in your life and point and accusing finger with the addmonition "See, she can do it!", you should understand some things.

My van is a mobile safe place.  If I cannot get away with burrowing under the covers until the world plays nicely, I can at least feel a little better about leaving my home because I have Rosie the Mule and now Miss Tessbacher to cart me about.

A number of the places I go are sort of default okay places - this is why I drive past two other markets to get to my Publix and avoid the Evil Empire like the plague.  Also, my local Publix is full of nice people who know me, are good natured and kind-hearted, and some of whom know how to spot the signs of a bad day and are inclined to ease my passage through their world.

If I must leave my beloved van and enter into a foreign land (any place not in my regular pattern is Siberia to my beleaguered brain) and I do not have the children with me, I have music and earphones, which help remove me from the unpleasant physical reality I am experiencing and loft me to a place of sonic calm.

There are time when I am completely out of my comfort zone, though.  At the park, for example, where I cannot hide in the van or between earphones because I need to be watching my kids.  At the indoor play place.  Anywhere or any time I should be minding my children and not my crazy, in fact.

Those times, I focus. Not inward, but outward.  I hear it all, see it all, widen my perception to include everything.  Never mind trying to block out the too-much-ness of it all, I blast my neurons with input until they are so busy processing they can't fear.

It is exhausting.  I feel wrung out and empty after, like a small creek that has had a one-hundred-year flood and is now experiencing drought.

I don't like it, but it works.

I have been working it a lot, lately.  I really want to be at home, quiet, not dealing with what's outside my walls, but that's not an option right now.  Instead I must take a deep breathe, say a silent prayer, and take that leap into my peculiar focus.

Friday, May 10, 2013


The Evil Genius has a small surgical procedure this morning.  It's no big deal, but the recovery will be...umm...a challenge.  No running, jumping, climbing, lifting, bike riding, wrestling, or strenuous activity for two weeks.

Two.  Weeks.

We'll see who hast the worst time of it...

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Evidence of Things Unseen

A cup of water on the table.

A sock on the living room floor.

One less Pop Tart in the cupboard.

A wet towel on the rack in the bathroom.

The occasional thump or thud heard from a distance.

An ever-increasing pile of laundry.

While I cannot prove anything, I believe there's a tween in residence at Casa de Crazy.  In an attempt to lure it out of its den and into open space, I am baking orange roll pull-apart bread.  If that doesn't do the trick, nothing will.

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Me 'n' Jesus Have a Chat

I had one of my semi-recurring dreams last night.  I say "semi recurring" because the dreams happen fairly often, but they aren't always exactly the same.

In them, I am chatting with Jesus.

No, not the Jesus who hangs out in the Home Depot parking lot waiting for an offer for work - although he's worth chatting with because he's got an incredible work ethic, a really solid family foundation, and a keen sense of humor.

I mean the Jesus that so many people SAY they follow, but so often fall short of.

Oddly, me being pagan and all, he and I converse on a regular basis.  I think I amuse him.

So, last night we were chatting over tea and cinnamon rolls - he likes my cinnamon rolls - and he was a little...melancholy...

I asked him what was wrong...because I can be sympathetic once in a while if I make an effort.

"What's up, J?"  He lets me call him that because he knows I'm just teasing him.  So few people are playful with him.
"Oh, you know..."
"Maybe, but tell me anyway."
"Well...people kill in my name, and it makes me sad."
"Yeah...I don't understand why they do that."
"And they're fighting wars in my name.  That hurts."
"I bet, you being so peaceful and all."
"And they make laws in my name denying people equality!"
"Mm-hmm...guess they forgot the Samaritan."
"And they attack others, good people, just because those people don't go to my Father's house to worship."
"Uh-huh...and after you warned 'em not to cast the first stone..."
"Exactly!  I mean, all I asked was that people be compassionate, kind, and loving, that they leave the judging and all that to my Father and try to live decent lives."
"Sucks.  'Nother cinnamon roll?"
"Yeah, thanks...they're sinfully good."  He laughs at himself.
"Pfft.  So you wanna come hang out at a gathering some time?  I have a spare tent and you can borrow my drum as long as you don't pop the rings - they're a little warped.  And there's a place at my table for you if you want to sit with me..."
He smiles that sweet smile.  "Are you paraphrasing...?"
"Well, duh.  Anyway, you're always welcome to hang, you know.  I won't kill anyone in your name or start any wars or attack someone just because they don't worship you the right way (or at all), and I won't deny anyone food, clothing, medicine, education, or shelter just because they don't worship you."
"Sounds nice.  No fish, though...I'm kinda over fish..."
"'Kay.  Hey, Jesus, I need a favor..."
"You know how to make your own wine..."
"Heh...Cygnus does, anyway...but no, I wonder if you could maybe go visit the people who are shooting at, firebombing, and harassing a friend of mine...maybe show them how much she does for the community (more than THEY do, you can bet), maybe remind them about that whole judging and stone throwing thing?"
"Well...I can try...but you know how difficult it is for me to get anyone to really listen."
"Hey, thanks...I appreciate the effort."
"May I grab some of these to go?"  He indicates the cinnamon rolls, which are now back to their original numbers.
"Silly, of course.  Sure wish I knew that trick...could use it on a pile of twenties..."

He smiled his enigmatic smile and faded away, and I felt sorry for him.  Everything he endured in his father's name, for the sake of love and compassion, for the sake of people who didn't want him and repudiated him, for the sake of people who hadn't been born and might never follow his path...and the folks who claim to live and act in his name?  They ignore his teachings and use his name like a club to bludgeon the world into the shape they demand it take.

I think he comes and visits me in my dreams because there's no pressure.  I have no expectations, and I don't need him for anything.  We are, in a sense, equals - I contain the goddess within me, and he embodies his god on earth.

I wonder what the world would be like if more of HIS people acted like they truly followed HIS teachings...

I bet he'd smile more in my dreams...