sanity « WordPress.com Tag Feed

Voice of Reason.

jessicacabot — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 07:17:47 +0000

It’s so much easier to be sane for other people than it is for yourself.

Navajo Traditions and the Elderly

Betty's Daughter — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 04:55:21 +0000

As I was surfing on the internet today, I found a wonderful article written by Martha Beck for O Magazine (Oprah.com), titled Caring for Your Parents: How to Reclaim the Good Old Time. But the editors at CNN.com renamed the article “How to care for your parents and keep your sanity” – a title which I find much more fitting.

CNN also listed the article’s highlights as follows:

Caring for elderly parents can leave a person lost and overwhelmed
Every aging-parent scenario is unique; there are few generalities that apply
Caring for the elderly will force you to — and help you — face your own mortality
A morbid sense of humor is like oxygen for some caregivers

Ms. Beck talks briefly about Navajo traditions, telling readers that “that caring for the elderly is a blessing path…” What a beautiful culture.

The article is insightful, uplifting and even humorous. It’s one of those articles that you should read every six months or so – whether or not you need it!

I’m not clear on the wordpress policy of linking to articles on other sites, so you’ll have to google and find it for yourself. But you’ll be glad you did.

Betty’s Daughter

November 29, 2009

Just For Today

recoveringfromaddiction — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 02:35:18 +0000

“We believe that our Higher Power will take care of us.”

Basic Text pg. 55

Our program is based on the idea that the application of simple principles can produce profound effects in our lives. One such principle is that, if we ask, our Higher Power will care for us. Because this principle is so basic, we may tend to ignore it. Unless we learn to consciously apply this spiritual truth, we may miss out on something as essential to our recovery as breathing is to life itself.

What happens when we find ourselves stressed or panicked? If we have consistently sought to improve our relationship with our Higher Power, we’ll have no problem. Rather than acting rashly, we will stop for a moment and briefly remind ourselves of particular instances in the past when our Higher Power has shown its care for us. This will assure us that our Higher Power is still in charge of our lives. Then, we will seek guidance and power for the situation at hand and proceed calmly, confident that our lives are in God’s hands.

“Our program is a set of principles,” our White Booklet tells us. The more consistently we seek to improve our conscious appreciation of these principles, the more readily we will be able to apply them.

Just for today: I will seek to improve my conscious contact with the Higher Power that cares for me. When the need arises, I know I will be able to trust in that care.

____________________________________

All of this, all of this, is drivel. We have no Higher Power. We do not need one.

We stay clean by decision and action. We accept ourselves and love ourselves and some other people love us also. Sometimes, others have loved us until we could love ourselves. We learn how to lead a life of complete abstinence and to govern our actions through values, purpose, identity and common sense. We have to take care of ourselves, as no one else will, unless we find caretakers or get institutionalized. Then, we find ourselves at the mercy of our handlers and many times they can not care for ourselves as we can.

Here, God has become synonymous with “Higher Power”. Let there be no mistake as to the meaning and context, and let there be no mistake that the atheist and other non believers in a “God” get left out by readings such as these. But, we are given disdain if we object to this as we do not accept the party line and refuse to drink the poisonous Kool-Aid that poses for recovery.

This is why many of us do not read this drivel or believe the fairy tales. We give ourselves credit for a better life. The “program”, unfortunately, fails us miserably here, but we will not fail each other, and when we do make mistakes, we will choose to learn from them and take movement forward into a clean life without the need for a useless blind trust.

In my own recovery, I prayed diligently for seven years of clean time. I worked the steps, I lived them in my life. I prayed the serenity prayer, a third step prayer, a seventh step prayer, and in the eleventh step for the knowledge of God’s will and the power to carry it out. None of these got answered. No God listened because this God does not exist.

Instead, I took care of myself progressively better. I learned from some of my choices and went forward into a different set of reality tunnels utilizing the power of stated intentions and manifestations using a psychological and energy model without the help of a “loving caring power greater than myself”. My life got much better because I made it so and asked other people for help. The “therapeutic value of one addict helping another” showed its unparalleled value. Progressively, I came into realities because I allowed myself to get cared for and because I care for myself.

When this bullshit comes out of peoples mouths, I usually get out of the meeting and go to one where I don’t hear this crap. It’s simply not true and it keeps people away from NA, and it keeps people getting loaded because they cannot get personally empowered very well believing this nonsense.

The Offer: Greatness The Price: 927 Words

fersureriot — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 18:43:45 +0000

Okay, so…I lied. I wasn’t strong enough to pull an all-nighter last night. I know, I know. So sue me.

When it came down to making the final decision, I sat back and really, truly considered sitting and writing straight through until dawn. But I began to realize that my task was more daunting than I had originally anticipated, as my characters have started swinging way out of my control, getting more and more independent by the second.

It’s overwhelming, really, but I refuse to stop. I am so close to 50,000 I can literally taste it. And once I hit that big 50K, there is an offer that I just can not refuse.

NaNoWriMo has teamed up with CreateSpace, a self-publishing website, offering winners of NaNo ‘09 the chance to get a free published copy of their novels.

When I say free published copy, I mean full-on paperback book containing the same words that we creative people have strived to get written in this past month. Can I even BEGIN to tell you how exciting that is?? Probably not. It’s fantastic, it’s fierce, it’s the most amazing offer I’ve ever seen given for free.

And I will take advantage of it. I have until June 2010 to finish The Syndicate (as its temporary title is at the moment) and edit the living shit out of it. Is it achievable? Yes. Can I do it? Probably. Will I still have my sanity at the end of it all?

Well, I might be able to salvage a fraction of it. <– A fraction which I am sure to lose come next November when I tackle this endeavor all over again.

I promise you this time: the next blog will be the great announcement of victory.

WORD COUNT: 49,073

Send Me A Sign...

InjuredArtist — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 11:34:00 +0000

Its as if it never happened

As if it was only a dream

As if you never existed

There’s nothing left

Nothing left

I can’t remember how you felt in my arms

I can’t remember how your eyes burned into mine

I can’t even remember how your voice sounded

I’m going crazy because there no remnants of you

There’s no trace that you were even here

Nothing that says it ever happened

All I’m asking is for a sign

One sign saying that you crossed my path

That I meant more than just a gust of wind that ran into you

There’s nothing left

And yet I’m still searching

Still looking

Help me find sanity

Help me find a plain of serenity

I need to find something

Just a sign

Just a mark

Something please…

Send me a sign

Everything in a size 2 is cute

heatherteen — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 01:47:35 +0000

Even ugly clothes are cute when they are size 2. And at places like TJ Maxx and Ross’s, where I was today, the cutest clothes on the rack are in size 2. They lurk in the section with your size (not size 2) so you get all excited when you see them. It’s really one of the cruel things in life. Like the fact that in the grocery stores, they put all the diet food opposite the candy bars. That’s just mean.

Today, I found myself at the store carrying around a sweater identical to the one I was wearing. Why do we do that? It was brown, like everything else in my closet that is brown (or black or gray). Wear color. My friend always tells me to wear more color. Perhaps that could be a New Years Resolution. Wear color. And go to the gym. We can all wear color at the gym.

Sunny side: It’s thanksgiving weekend and I am thankful I got to go to a clothing store (sans children) for a little me time.

A Minimalist Christmas...or an Attempt, at Least

Melanie — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 18:41:59 +0000

A vintage Kins-shot to start the post; I found lots of old pics on our external hard drive, so I saved some to include in posts for you. This one was particularly cute, I think…Shelli was very interested in the camera. you can also see her little shaved belly; they spayed her at six weeks; sometimes they do that to help them be more adoptable. It helped us a lot because we couldn’t have afforded the spay fee.

I don’t feel like talking about food today. Suffice it to say that I had too much of it yesterday and the day before and that I’m pissed about that and plan to eat extremely cleanly for the next week at least. Also suffice it to say that I’ve learned a very important lesson about being a vegetarian at omnivore family gatherings: I will need to bring a very good veggie dish to every one I go to. Green beans? Cooked in beef stock. Turnip greens? Same thing. My options? Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes. I’m sick of them. Anyway, on to other things.

One of the most fundamental aspects of voluntary simplicity is the idea of “minimalism,” or reducing one’s possessions down to what is absolutely necessary and/or important. Possessions should reflect one’s values, and those values should not include amassing as much “stuff” as possible. One of the first steps, I daresay, into a more simple life is taking inventory of one’s possessions and paring them down to the important stuff.

We’ve done this a few times; we’ve had two or three yard sales and have made decent money, but we’re still really bad about keeping stuff because “we might need it later.” I’m over that. We have an office that we can’t even get into, and the dresser in the bedroom is so covered with junk that I have to stand on tiptoes to put my hair in a ponytail in the morning. Our mission for the next few weeks is going to be to get those rooms cleared out.

A truly minimalist Christmas is impossible for me; I’m stuck in the corporate world, and we have THREE, yes, you heard me right, THREE holiday “events” that we have to participate in. And, as much as I like the people I work with, the amount of time/energy/money that we have to spend on those events is incredibly draining. Then, our church puts on a musical every year, with six performances (and a dress rehersal) that ends up taking up an entire week of our lives, and then we need to fit in a Sunday School fellowship…etc, and the list goes on. For me, this year, our commitments will not allow for minimalism (although watch out, because that very well may change next year), but at least I can take some steps now to help reduce the clutter and stress of the holiday season. Here’s what I’m doing:

cleaning off the dresser

getting rid of articles/paperwork that I don’t need anymore

putting away/organizing my shoes

getting the bedroom closet so that we can store clothes in there again.

starting on the office

Now, anyone can “clean.” The point of the minimalist-driven clutter project is to take a very hard look at EVERY item and asking oneself whether or not it’s really that important. Have you used it in the last three months? four months? If not, then you probably want to sell it, donate it, or chuck it if you can’t do anything else. Don’t be overly sentimental; just let it go.

If you need help mustering up the courage to start, check out Far Beyond the Stars. This guy is extremely serious about the minimalist lifestyle, to the extreme. While the lengths to which he goes may not be for everyone, his philosphy is something that can really be taken to heart, and his tips are worthwhile, regardless of what level you’re comfortable taking them to.

Enjoy your Saturday!

Favoritism and Rude Behavior: Am I the only sane one? Or am I the one that's crazy?!

Marguerite Roberts — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 18:13:14 +0000

Besides having no patience for irritables caused by my family due to 20 years of being around them nonstop, we must remember that i am not, by nature, someone who gets easily upset to the point of insanity. If i appear this way, i sincerely apologize because it is accidental.

Sure, when small things happen throughout the day like missing the bus, someone is rude to me, or getting a bad grade i might get upset. But i’m not flipping out over it and planning revenge in my mind for the whole day.

But the stuff my family does really makes me crazy. And no, most of it is not the stupid stuff you find emo-teenagers whining about (especially the girls, oh lordy lordy i am so sick of teenage girl angst!!). I’m not mad because “GAWSH my family is so weird *sob* bla bla bla” or “nobody understands me, oh woe is me, *sob* bla bla bla”

NO. i want to make sure it is clear that we all understand this is NOT what i’m thinking about. Nope, this is stuff that is driving me nuts because of the personality each of my family member has. Some can, at times, be rude, selfish, of hurtful. And I really cannot believe that someone who is a part of your family (which, in my opinion, should be on good terms with each other since we are pretty much stuck with one another for the rest of our lives) can act this way. And when one (such as myself) tries to bring it up so that we could remedy the problem, they insist on denying they are this way at all. Geez.

For example. My father really seems to enjoy being sarcastic and mean to people when he feels like it.

He enjoys teasing my grandmother (his own mother!!) when she can’t see her way around, and gives her a hard time for having problems getting into the car. AND, also whenever she has problems with electronics he insists on losing his temper and yelling at her. Not to mention all the times he complains about her behind her back when my brother and I are both present in the room. I find it to be absolutely unforgivable to be so rude to your own mother.

My grandmother probably (well no, she DID) yell at my father a lot throughout his life, so i can understand if they don’t get along very well.

However, when the woman is very near (8 months to be exact) being 90, is practically deaf and blind, and cannot feel things anymore, i think there should exist some shred of human compassion for the poor woman. It always shocks me too see my father mock my grandmother when she can’t get into the car, or when he yells at her to find the seatbelt even though she can’t feel it, and in restaurants he will blatantly tease her in front of the waitress and everyone else. It’s embarrassing and renders me speechless. I honestly cannot believe he would act this way, i find it to be absolutely deplorable and repulsive. What’s worse is that my grandmother is clueless to his behavior. Either that or she is ignoring it. My mother never wants to say anything if my brother or I bring the topic up with her. She generally defends my father by saying my grandmother was mean to him his whole life. But still, I find this no reason to treat an 89 year old practically blind/deaf woman this way.

——–

Besides that, my father also loves to push my buttons, as well as my mother and brother’s. I know he is doing it on purpose. Whenever he is in a bad mood, he will remind me and my brother that our room (in his case now, his apartment) is messy and disorganized, that we spend too much time on the computer, or we need to clean some other part of the house, or that we never get our acts together, or some other bizarre thing. With my mother, he will be sarcastic a lot, hold a grudge, etc. And the absolute worst is that when you ask him “Why are you being like this?” he’ll answer in a very innocent tone “acting like what? i’m not doing anything…” ugh. I don’t understand how a grown man thinks he’s fooling anyone with that repsonse.

My brother and I hardly ever go to him for advice or sympathy. Why, you ask? Well, he clearly dislikes hearing us talk about our problems because he clearly finds that it is always whining, although I can safely say it is not. My brother would go to him when he has money woes and he’s scared about his future.

My father usually answers by saying “well all you do is buy cd’s and cigarettes. Go get a second job if it bothers you that much.”

If my brother talks about how he is lonely because he has not friends or a girlfriend, my father replies “well go out and do something! Stop going to our house every day. You need a life.” so my brother obviously feels worse about himself. Is it any wonder he has severe depression?

And the pièce to resistance, me and my father. Hmm. If I had a problem when I was dating Mr. Toasty (see earlier posts) but i told him i loved him and didn’t know what to do, he would answer “Well you got yourself into this mess. maybe he doesn’t love you i don’t know” gee thanks dad.

And when I was nervous about going to Paris, and I needed comforting because this is my first big trip away from my family (about damn time too, clearly) he would get frustrated with me and say “well if you’re so scared then don’t go! stop complaining!” gee thanks dad.

And today, i wasn’t even looking for help. I was just talking. But even that seems to be enough to get him annoyed. I told him about how my TS2 was crashing on the PC, and i was just telling him about what i had been trying to do to fix it. He answers “i don’t know, just go do something else stop messing with the computer you’ll break it“…ummm are you serious? it was HIS fault the computer now has double-folders for everything since he screwed up our backup files. And it was just a conversation. Why must he make everything so negative???! Gee thanks dad.

Most of the things my father gives me and my brother as a “gift” is really all about him. My brother got a laptop yesterday for his birthday. How nice of my dad, right? Hmm. Well, both my brother and I KNOW that the only reason he got it was to get my brother off our computer. He absolutely hates my brother being on the computer.

My dad stands like a vulture at night behind my brother in the office room to get him uncomfortable and get off. Then my dad will ask in an annoyed tone “Are you leaving yet?” as in to go home. Aww, my father cares that my brother needs to get home before it gets late. HA! wrong. My dad wants my brother to leave so that HE can lock the door and go to bed. For cryin out loud. I could do the lock-up at night if he asked me to. My dad hates when my brother comes over. He doesn’t want him on his computer, eating his food, watching his tv, etc.

Enough about him. Personally, my gut feeling tells me that he isn’t behaving like a grown man AND a father should. But maybe it’s just me? I can’t tell anymore.

———————————————————-

Favoritism. My mom’s to blame for this. It’s very real yet i would never dare bring it up with her, because she will start yelling at me thinking i’m making it up.

Ever since my brother went to college (IN 2000!), i have noticed my mother has become more sympathetic with him. Alright, I can see why. He’s on his own, he has money problems, etc. But there’s a point where it kind of hurts me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like i think she shouldn’t care about the well-being of her son (clearly my father thinks otherwise), i find it to be a no-brainer that she should care about him. But just little things began happening, and now it really just makes me sad.

My mom LOVES listening to my brother most of the time now. My mom has ADD, so she usually has a hard time focusing. But nowadays when my brother talks, she gives him her full attention. She laughs at his jokes, you can see in her face how much she lights up when she sees him enjoying the conversation. When it’s just them and my brother is talking to her about his problems (obviously not with my father anymore), she will give him her undivided attention and actually give him advice.

Of course there are times when my brother bugs her. I’m not going to act like she never gets annoyed with him. But lately she seems to get way more annoyed with me than with him.

How so? Well, let’s see here:

When i’m talking, and when the rest of the family is there, about 8 times out of 10 she will interrupt me. Yes, i know it’s ADD, that’s not what bugs me. What BUGS ME is that those 8/10 times she wasn’t actually listening to me (is it because i am boring? is she tired of me talking? i wish i knew so i could stop whatever it is i’m doing), so when she interrupts she didn’t mean to of course, but it shows that she wasn’t giving me her undivided attention like when my brother speaks, because maybe she just doesn’t find that i have anything worth listening to anymore????????

When it’s just me and her, she’s ALWAYSSSSSSSSSSSS reading a magazine, on her laptop, looking through the paper, watching tv. Yes, i know there are times when i come in to talk with her and she was already doing that, and that’s my fault. BUT, more often than not, once i start talking, she’ll just pick up a magazine and start reading it. Or a newspaper, or go on her laptop, or whatever. So there i am, talking and she just nods and makes “uh huh” “hmm” noises. Luckily i caught on to this pattern at a young age. So i began to stop talking suddenly in mid-sentence and just look at her, to see if that’ll bring her attention to me. Sometimes it will and she’ll just say “…what? I’m sorry i’m sorry”…..well, sorry used to be good enough. now it’s wearing paper-thin. it really hurts. when i was little i couldn’t understand what was wrong. i was so forgiving and assumed it wouldn’t happen over and over again. but now i can’t take it anymore.

It’s so hard to get her to really enjoy my conversations and stuff. She only laughs when i make up silly stories. God i’m too old for silly stories. But that’s the only way to get her to listen to me. I can start with a dumbass story and then if i’m lucky enough i can get to what i really needed to say.

When i talk about my worries for school, she just goes “uh huh” “hmm” and sometimes she’ll apologize and say she was thinking about work, or redecorating the house, or whatever. But lately she gets fed up like my dad. I told her about how I’m nervous about my theatre paper. I don’t know what to do about it since the topic is really hard to find sources for. She made an exasperated noise and just said “oh well” and left. um….ouch?

A few things are evident here. 1) i must be talking about my problems too much. 2) i must inadvertently be talking about them in an annoying manner, since both my father AND mother don’t like to hear about them. 3) my mom is being a bit selfish. Whaaa? Yes! It doesn’t make sense now, but I’ll tell you why i think this:

Why would my mom be selfish for not listening to my problems, you say? Well, because SHE continuously talks about HER problems to all of us all the time. And not only that, but she’ll get visibly angry if you dismiss them. She complains about back pain, neck pain, wrist, elbows, headaches, ankles. She complains about work, life, the house. And don’t you dare just go “uh huh” “hmm” to her. She’ll get offended and tell you “yeah well you complain too!” so, i have learned over the years to look very sympathetic and stuff. But now i’m finding it hard to care.

————————————————————-

As i have gotten older, it has become readily apparent that many things are unfair in this family. And i have gotten tired of trying to keep everyone happy. My mom would say the same thing. I think she also has the same problems as i do, but would never admit them to me. Although when she drinks she loves to tell me what she hates about our family’s behavior and that it just so awkward to hear from your mother.

I’ve gotten to the point where i can’t just lie to myself anymore and feed into everyone else’s bad behavior. I don’t want my father to get away with his rude behavior with his mother or with my mother and brother. I don’t care if he’s mean to me, i can shrug it off. But i care about how he treats my family. I don’t want my mother to get away with being pampered by the rest of us by having to be so sympathetic to her problems, when she doesn’t want to do the same for me.

It has gotten so bad that i don’t really want to interact with my family anymore. Do you see why Paris is so important to me now?

———————————————————————–

For years i have dreamt of getting away from all this. Since i was at least 9. Yes. I can’t believe it either. Around 9 years old i saw that my brother was having depression issues, my parents argued a bit….i could hear their conversations very well from my room. (Thanks to stupid 1948 construction of a suburban house i guess?) so i have always been “in the loop” about the problems my parents go through. What’s awful is that i don’t want to be, obviously. But no matter where in the house i was, i could hear it. And my mom would absent-mindedly keep a diary open by the computer, or a web page open, so that when i got there, I thought i had forgotten something and would read it. Epic fail. I wish she had remembered to hide those things. No, the things that i learned don’t bug me on a day-to-day basis, but they are in the back of my mind a lot. but they don’t bug me, it’s just something to remember.

I wanted so bad to be allowed to go out and do anything i wanted, but i was only a kid and didn’t get to do much.

Once I was allowed to go out, i didn’t do it. Why? because i knew my parents would be concerned to see their kid just leaving the house randomly (we aren’t that kind of family) and when they asked “where are you going?” i’d say “out. anywhere.” i knew they’d be worried. And despite the fact that they drive me nuts, i can’t get myself to do anything that would make them worried or hurt. because i love them. they’re my family. But they really are making me insane.

I always daydreamed of just going away somewhere. And once i was there, i wouldn’t keep contact with my family. I wanted so bad to just let go of the whole burden and be myself without any of that extra baggage. Because really, if you just looked at me and who i am, and not my background and stuff, I really am i decent human being. I’m healthy, i’m intelligent, i’m responsible, sympathetic, friendly. Looking at Marguerite just as a single mammal, i’m fine. Nothing hinders me otherwise.

Which is why i cannot wait to go to Paris. I can finally see for myself if i really am a capable human in society. And it’s not like going off to college where one might go home for the holidays and stuff. Nope. Just me, myself and I for 5 whole months. Although i am well aware that being far away doesn’t mean that my problems will disappear. They’ll always be here. But hopefully being physically 3,500mi away could give me a well-needed breather??

My family wants to go visit me, mainly because my mom wants to go to Paris. I am well aware she is jealous, and she likes to indulge herself on many things lately. I told them i don’t really want to see them, since it’d be difficult to have family for like a week then you’re on your own again. I’d rather just be there alone.

alone, alone! Ah, such a wonderful word! I love it. I’ve always been a rather independent child. I loved being in my room by myself. I still do. Lately i tried to hang out with my mom a lot, since i will very much miss my mother when i am gone, but she is very annoyed having me around so much.

So i’m just like “psh well fine, family. Since all i seem to do is bore you with my conversations, or irritate you with my problems, i guess it would benefit us all if i was not around for a while”. God i wish it was more than just a while.

I cannot wait for the day when my life is on track. When i’m self-sufficient. I would call once a month perhaps, but otherwise i could just be me. Finally. Because my family and I just don’t mix as well as we used to. And each year that passes by, i feel more and more apart from them. So let it be this way, if it must be so.

I love my family, don’t get me wrong. But when things are this unbalanced, and no one is willing to change it, i have to let go a bit. Because like i said, Marguerite the human by herself is a decent human. And there’s no reason to ruin that, especially when my life hasn’t really started much. So i will always love them, but i need to protect myself, my sanity, my gut feelings. I don’t want to become a person who is selfish and rude to their mother, or any of that.

Well, i should go. This whole post has created quite a large knot in my throat. plus it’s way too long anyway haha

59 days till Paris!

Giddy head makes gadding feet.

nellibell49 — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 09:09:40 +0000

"A collection of Gaelic proverbs and familiar phrases : based on Macintosh’s collection"

My window-sill is level with the faces in the street.
Drifting past, drifting past,
To the beat of weary feet.
While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street.

Faces in the Street

Henry Lawson

foto – kati b’s feet 2009 kalang

Neb Ninja

Atlantic~mama — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 03:46:48 +0000
Just another post about nebulizers. This must really get boring for you to read about, but seriously

Christmas is coming!!!!!!!!

StuPC — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 14:36:58 +0000

Millie’s started looking forward to Christmas. Or rather , Millie’s sanity is slowly beginning to dribble away as the reality of Christmas becomes apparent to her little four-year-old brain.

The Lovely Melanie told her about the glories of pigs-in-blankets the other day and she’s once more proven herself to be undeniably my daughter by getting excited about those. Then, this morning she suggested that what we could do, what we might want to try, what would be nice was if we turned the computer on and had a look on the internet for a Christmas tree for her room.

I managed to wriggle out of that by promising to take her into town tomorrow to look for a SMALL tree for her room (I’m told the Pound Shop does them) and perhaps some sparkly baubles. I caught her smelling and licking a sparkly bauble at AmberG’s nursery the other day, did I mention that?

And it’s not even December yet.

AmberG is remarkably unphased by the onset of the Yuletide meltdown. She’s more interested in the fantastic new game she’s invented which involves tempting Millie with some of whatever she’s got in her hand. Then when Millie, like a moth to a flame or a fish to a hook – choose your analogy – comes to take advantage of this tempting offer she snatches her hand back and shouts “Mine!“

I’m quite impressed with Amber’s angling skills, particularly since she knows that Millie always falls for it…

recoveringlondon — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 22:47:26 +0000

Not a good day, really. First thing this morning I had an appointment with my doctor, requested because I thought maybe I want to try anti-depressants again, to combat the naturally increased levels of anxiety associated with my job. The doctor ended up seeing me half an hour late, as he always does, causing a great deal of stress as I would have to be at work within the hour. He only gave me a few minutes, just like he always does, in which I had to persuade him that my problem really isn’t just a case of mild newcomer nerves. I got a prescription for three months’ worth of citalopram, which I was on last year. I had thought it might be useful to try something else, something that won’t cause all the unpleasant side effects that put me off citalopram before, but since the doctor was clearly too busy for a proper discussion, I had to make do with what I was given. I really can’t wait to move next month so that I can sign up with a new doctor.

When I was finally out of the doctor’s surgery I rushed home to take the first tablet in the course, before I had to go to work. Maybe it’s an alcoholic thing to do, rushing home in a frenzy to take a pill in the hope that I might feel better, rather than leaving it for tomorrow. With some extra serotonin in my system, I think I felt OK on the tube to Notting Hill this morning. I certainly didn’t feel horrible like I have every morning for the past two weeks. That can probably be put down to the expectation effect, rather than any real chemical action. SSRI’s such as citalopram take weeks to have any real effect, which is how they are not habit-forming.

At work I had three hours of customer service to look forward to – after yesterday’s ‘experience’ they seem to think I’m ready to be let loose on the public properly. I logged on to find about 300 customer e-mail enquiries that urgently needed responding to. The same guy who sat with me yesterday at the helpdesk sat with me again today, offering help when it was needed. I got the impression after an hour that I should be starting to feel more confident in answering the enquiries on my own. My supervisor began to sound tired and bored with my endless requests for help. After two hours, I noticed him rolling his eyes nearly every time I spoke. I began to panic, horrified by the thought that I was being a burden, and I made a few mistakes, choosing to go ahead and respond to enquiries alone rather than risk further eye-rolling by asking for more help.

After three hours I had to take a break just to calm down. I went out to Starbucks, sat down and stuffed my face with sugar. My hands were shaking; I was sure that I’d finally proved myself to be the failure that I always thought I was in their eyes. I’d reduced someone who was supposed to be helping me to eye-rolling boredom. In his eyes, I could be a bit slow, at best. Stupid, at worst. The thought of being seen as stupid is absolutely horrifying to me. I don’t know why.

After using up my paid break I returned to the office where I was allowed to get on with the other part of my job, the bit that I’ve got used to over the past two weeks, where I have to update the website with retailer offers. I’m comfortable with this bit of the job: it’s got nothing to do with customer service, it’s just typing words and numbers into a live website. Of course, two weeks ago I was in a similar place with this part of the job to the place where I am now with the new part. I thought I’d never understand any of it two weeks ago. Now it’s almost a piece of cake. If I can get my head around that, surely I can understand anything. Well, that’s what I’m hoping.

At 5pm Melanie announced to the office that our thanksgiving dinner was ready and waiting for us downstairs. I didn’t know why the whole company was choosing to go to a thanksgiving party, until I got downstairs and saw all the alcohol. About fifty fresh bottles of various descriptions sat on a table in the corner of the room, and the thirty or so employees of the company were fighting their way over to the table to lay claim to their share of the night’s alcoholic refreshment. Melanie and some of the other directors had cooked turkey; with all the booze distracting everyone the food was almost a second thought at this point. I put some meat and potatoes on a paper plate and went to sit on the only free seat in the corner of the room. It’s a really bad space for a party: only one large sofa and a few swivel chairs had to accommodate thirty people with their dinner and drinks. From the moment I sat down I knew I wasn’t enjoying myself. Everyone separated off into their little cliques where they were bound to stay for the rest of the night. Melanie, who I might have felt comfortable chatting to, was busy serving up the food in the kitchen and didn’t look as if she would be mingling any time soon. I forced the food down my throat in three minutes and decided I’d had enough of the party. I had to leave. No one was really interested in socialising: it was all about getting pissed as quickly as possible. I had hoped that tonight would finally be my opportunity to meet the other people in the company, get to know some faces and names outside of the small, uncomfortable little team that I always work in. Alas, I didn’t stand a chance of making a single friend.

I wasn’t the first person to sneak out early tonight. One of the guys who trained with me three weeks ago was out of the door like a shot after forcing his food down in a similar way to me. At least I didn’t have to be the first to leave. Just five minutes of the event was more than enough for me. It’s not the fear of drinking that puts me off these kinds of things: it’s the fear of being around drunk people. I can’t handle it.

As soon as I left I was full of doubts once again about the future of my job. Someone was bound to notice my sudden departure. They could be thinking: what an ungrateful arse, staying only long enough to eat our food without bothering to talk to anyone! With the added pressure of the extra work that I am now being expected to do every day, I’m really fearful about the whole thing tonight. I went straight to the gay step 11 meeting from Notting Hill – I desperately needed to be in a safe place with safe people. There I managed to share about what had just happened, though it was an incredibly busy meeting and I don’t usually manage to jump in when there are so many others needing to speak. I’m glad I was able to go to the meeting tonight, and I’m really glad I was able to talk about all the things going through my mind. As a consequence I felt much better, for a while. People came up to share with me their experiences of dreaded office parties, how we all find it impossible to deal with so-called ‘normal’ people in the real world where getting drunk is the highest priority for most. The trouble with socialising in the ‘real’ world is that it’s all so meaningless. None of the conversation that I heard tonight was of any real interest to me; a few years ago it wouldn’t have mattered as I would have been too wasted to care. Today I can’t ignore the fact that most of what these people want to talk about is utter shit! I don’t want to be judgmental, it’s just the way British society works. As long as you can get really drunk, nothing else matters.

North Pole Back In Business

lskenazy — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 20:17:32 +0000
Hi Readers — Here’s a happy holiday gift: Santa sanity from the child-overprotecting wor

I've Been Accused

bohemianrant — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 15:08:36 +0000

I’ve been accused of a lot of things by those who know me and those who pretend to and even by strangers whom I have never met. Like most folks, I’d like to think of myself as someone having a certain amount of depth. There is the occasional thought that goes beyond mere survival, searching for deeper meaning, but for the most part I’m just a simple asshole that enjoys a good beer, foggy mornings, and saying what he damn well pleases. Sometimes I offend. Sometimes that is when freedom of speech is the most rewarding.

I like to provoke thought, even if the thought is just a reaction, such as, “P.R., you are the most ignorant weed on the planet.” I just want real conversation once in a while, not just the distraction of the superficial circus that has been imposed around us by Disney and the thirteen bloodline’s that pull his strings. A little coffee, with whiskey, or just a beer on a back porch, watching the day go by. I just want to go back to the days when we knew each other, instead of pretending to and there wasn’t doom looming over every horizon because some one let the monkeys out on a day pass at the capital.

I’ve had my sanity questioned. (Ah, yes, I remember sanity, that was a good day.) I question it on a daily basis, let alone what is being thought by the people who know me and even the ones who don’t. Then I look at “people” piped to me through the filter of the television and media and I go back to drinking knowing that the white coats have a lot of work to do before they get to me.

Remember the days when only the important news made it to you in the same day that it happened? Everything else you could read in the paper in the next day or two. And when did anything a celebrity do, other than making a new movie, become “news” worthy? The fact that Ashton Kutcher obtained a million twitter followers is only “news” in the fact that it lets us know the white coats are falling behind on the job. I see the tabloids in the checkout aisle, while I wait to purchase my beer, coffee, red bell peppers, shotgun shells, and a six-pack of socks, and apparently Jen and Angelina still don’t like each. Every rag has the same three stories that they have beaten to death, revived and beaten to death again. I think back to my sanity and figure, I must not be too bad off. I might be an old sot, but at least I’m not the unhappy fools on the covers of this trash, or the poor talentless hacks that write this dribble, or lonely, lifeless, prozac poppers that lay down their money to do more than gaze in disbelief at the cover as they wait. Then I smile, make a joke the cashier only looks strangely at me for, and head back to my nut-house before anyone notices I’m gone.

It’s a rant, what more do you want?

P.R. Knuhob

Big Kids

Atlantic~mama — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 03:32:22 +0000
V wants to play with the big boys and girls. This was fairly evident yesterday when I took him to th

Upward and onward

recoveringfromaddiction — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 01:01:32 +0000

5. We admitted to God, ourselves and another human being, the exact nature of our wrongs.

This one gets very easy. There’s no God. So, we don’t have a God or Higher Power involved in this process.

Once again, we find a self-deprecating message in the wording of the step. The message perpetuates the idea that addiction and our behaviors create a moral dilemma, when in fact this contradicts what we see written previously. By the same token, we will not accept that we were hapless victims of a disease. We need to identify that which needs changing and change it.

This one works through seeing our integrity, reading the fourth step, finding the character liabilities that cause us harm and suffering and also identifying the root causes. We do this to change ourselves in the subsequent steps. This work relies completely on the therapeutic value of one addict helping another, since this is the true value of the program. We see that it’s not about bad or good. This works through understanding ourselves and finding what we do that hurts us and others versus what we do that helps us and others. We also do this part to find out what we need to reset and make right. We can redact all the God/Higher Power references out of the literature and proceed.

It might find itself rewritten as:

We revealed to ourselves and another human being, the nature of our assets and liabilities.

When we come to understand and accept ourselves, we can create a purpose and have an identity that suits the attainment and pursuit of that purpose.

recoveringlondon — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 23:35:47 +0000

Last night was one of those bad sleeps that I have to endure every now and then, and as a consequence I didn’t feel too good this morning. It took me at least an hour to get out of bed. Almost before I knew it was time to go to work, and the old dread instantly filled me, and I desperately didn’t want to go in. I’ve been given new tasks at work to fill the extra hours that I’ve taken on this week, and yesterday could hardly be described as a success when it came to me learning how to perform my new tasks. I wasn’t looking forward to arriving today, to finding out that I’d be left to get on with the extra work alone as if I had already mastered it. I’m fast learning that my superiors don’t really want to be bothered at the moment, with it being the run up to Christmas and the mass of extra work that this necessarily entails for everyone. I felt time slow to a snail’s pace this morning as I waited desperately for the hours to pass just so I could get to work and get it over with. Time goes strange when I am under pressure – the way it always drags when I need it to pass the most is hateful. I know I’m making it drag by thinking about it so much. The anxiety makes me analyze the passing of time more than I would normally. I’m so anxious for it to be the weekend that I can’t just let the days pass without hindrance. I watch the clock constantly. I can’t help it.

When I finally got to work at noon I was unexpectedly told to go downstairs to man the helpdesk for a couple of hours, so I could get a feel for the kind of enquiries coming in over the phone at the moment. From now on part of my role will be to respond to e-mail enquiries from customers – the idea was to see if I could hack it on the phone first. Since I received the official helpdesk training when I started three weeks ago, I should have been able to handle it today without breaking a sweat. I have no idea if it looked like I was handling the job: inside I was panicking horribly the whole time. I have had a phone phobia all my life – I never use the phone if I can avoid it (and I really mean never) - taking calls from angry customers wanting to know why their retail discounts aren’t working was just about the last way I wanted to spend today. I can understand why they thought it would be a good idea for me to do this. It would give me a more rounded feel for the business, a perspective on the bigger picture from the other side of things, the customers’ side, rather than the retailers’ side that I have been exclusively working from so far. Even though I did the helpdesk training three weeks ago I in no way felt prepared to answer the telephone today. Around me ten other operators took calls constantly, smoothly directing customers to the answers that they needed, while I sat there staring at the handset in front of me, praying for it not to ring. Some of the people who I trained with were in the room with me this afternoon. They’re lucky: they’ve had three weeks of helpline experience now. Since I started I haven’t answered a single phone call. I’ve got quite comfortable at my computer upstairs, where I can perform a multitude of tasks without ever having to speak to anyone.

I don’t know why I am so terrified of telephones. Is it the threat of hearing someone’s actual voice? The possibility that if I can’t answer a question I will have to deal with verbal abuse? In the world of retail the customer is always right, even if they’re hurling insults at you. At least on the computer I can take time to think about what I want to say, and the abuse, if there is any, doesn’t have the emotional punch that it does when you hear it coming from someone’s mouth.

Anyway, when my two hours of hell were up I was allowed to return to the slightly comforting familiarity of my usual home upstairs, after the person who had been semi-supervising me at the helpdesk told me I’d done well. I refused to believe him: for a start I’d only answered the phone once, after much persuasion and guidance and badly disguised looks of contempt from the other helpdesk operators who all had their hands full.

Upstairs, being allowed to get on with my normal job was something of a relief, just because I now find it very easy, if slightly boring at times. I remain haunted by the possibility that I may be asked to return to the helpdesk from time to time, when they are short of staff for instance. They seem to think that because I did the training I will be as good at it as everybody else. I don’t know, maybe I am good at it, I just happen to feel as if I’m being plunged into the deep end of a very deep pool every time I’m in that room.

Hopefully now that I’ve done the helpdesk once I will be able to answer the online enquiries that I am to be given in my extra hours from now on with some ease. It kind of seems like another string that I’m adding to the bow, another test to be passed. As long as I don’t have to answer the phone again for a long time, I’ll be fine. I’m learning little things in my job every day; I’ve survived two weeks of it now and when I’m doing what I’m good at, i.e. working at the computer, I would say I feel quite comfortable. There will probably never be a day when there isn’t at least one challenge to be faced. I already know what tomorrow’s challenge is going to be: a big after-work trip to the pub has been arranged and everyone is expected to go. Melanie, the American boss, is cooking turkey for everyone to celebrate thanksgiving and we are going to sit down in the pub together and eat it. Part of me is quite looking forward to the occasion. I don’t quite know what’s going to happen. Maybe it will be my long-awaited opportunity to meet the other people in the team, get to know them in a setting that isn’t entirely work-related. Since we’ll be in the pub it’s bound to emerge at some point that I don’t drink. I know the question will come up and I know what I’ll say: ‘I don’t like alcohol’. I certainly don’t owe anyone any more explanation than that. In my experience, 9 out of 10 people are perfectly happy with that answer. It’s the 1 in 10 who are the interesting ones.

If it could not be filled by the rain, will it be filled by water that is drawn and poured into it ? Used of misfortunes for which there is no remedy.

nellibell49 — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 03:00:12 +0000

Like the deer that was wearied with running after a mirage which it thought was water.

"A classified collection of Tamil proverbs"

foto – flood on coldstream street may 2009

make a donation to Super Anti SPY Ware

rewiringangel — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 23:58:42 +0000

http://www.superantispyware.com/donation.html

Imagine a great opensource service that will sell you the anti spy ware as well as offer you this same service for free and burried in the notes about what you were protected against is a small blue word that offers you the way to make a small donation! How wonderful! Three Cheers for the paridigm shift of abundance and gratitude.

Sign up for the service and send them a small donation! Share the JOY!

#1 Rule of Sharing: Two Minutes

heatherteen — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 20:20:12 +0000

My friend Cherise is a fabulous mom. In fact, I have been riding her Supermom coattails as I am learning to be a stay-at-home-mom. She really has her act together. At first I thought this would be annoying, but she is such a cool person that I can’t even secretly despise her for her superior mothering tactics.

Here’s something I learned from her that works like a charm. Two kids want the same toy. A fight ensues. You can diffuse the situation with the 2-minutes rule. All you do is ask one child to ask the other if they can have the toy in 2 minutes. Typically they agree and both children are pacified. Sometimes 2 minutes comes and goes and the kids have moved on, sometimes they actually share the toy. It’s great (for mom).

Anything that reduces the amount of yelling I do is a winning idea as far as I am concerned. And it helps the kids learn to share, which is a good thing as well.

Peace. Two minutes at a time. Thanks, Cherise!

Mist

Atlantic~mama — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 01:20:57 +0000
Today I took the Little Man to a paint store. Sherwin Williams, to be exact. It’s a few blocks

recoveringlondon — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 23:10:16 +0000

A month ago, if you had told me I would be going to see my new home in the centre of London today, I wouldn’t have laughed at you. I would probably have burst into tears, collapsed to the floor and proceeded to have a fit of tragic hysterics. Today, against all previous expectations and beliefs, I saw my new home, and of course I fell in love with it. Not because it’s nice, or cosy – just because it’s going to be mine, in a month from now. It is in an amazing part of town, round the corner from the South Bank and Waterloo station, on the same road as the famous Old Vic theatre and a plethora of fancy shops and restaurants that I will undoubtedly be trying out with eagerness in the New Year. The price for the room is so reasonable, and the room itself is amazingly big, with a view that incorporates all that the South Bank of the River Thames is famous for, including the London Eye, the Imax cinema and the towering industrial chimney of the Tate Modern. I can’t believe I’m going to be living there by the end of this year. I’ve been saying ‘I can’t believe…’ a lot this weekend.

I also keep thinking how it’s all dependent on me continuing to do everything that I’m doing. For the first time since early recovery, I feel like I’ve been placed in the cockpit of a plane, and in order to survive I have to learn to steer the aircraft to safety. Two and a half years ago just having to live without alcohol was like flying a plane – today it’s growing up, taking responsibility, keeping a job that feels like the hardest flying lesson anyone ever took. If I keep doing what I’m doing, I won’t crash the plane. I’ll keep it in the air, I’ll get to dry land and everything will be OK. If for some reason something goes wrong – if I give into the feeling that I can’t go on, if I let go of the wheel and retreat to the familiar safety of my old life, then I won’t get to live in Waterloo. I’ll be a child forever.

It seems as if the past two and a half years have been bringing me to this point. This is what recovery is for. I didn’t stop drinking to be happy, make friends – I got sober to become an adult, find my place in the world. If I hadn’t got sober then I would never have spent all that time working on my sleeping patterns, daily routines, applied for all those jobs, picked myself up from all those rejections. It’s such a cliché, but I wouldn’t be here today if I were still drunk. Everything I’ve done in recovery has been about this moment: it’s made today possible. I keep repeating the fact that this is SO important because it really is. I can’t afford to fuck it up in even the slightest way.

Again, I wonder if it’s all happening too soon, if I’m jumping the gun when I should be waiting a while to save some money, pay off a few debts. If I’m supposed to be waiting, why did I get that phonecall from Ethan on Friday, asking if I was looking for a place to live? It’s well known that things happen in God’s time, is it not? Whether I’d waited a few weeks to move or a few years, I would have had to do it eventually. I’ve lived here for long enough. I need to go to Waterloo and start my new life properly.

What if I lose this job next year? What if my colleagues really hate me and don’t want me there any more? What if? What if? What if? Oh, the doubts are endless. I’m so used to them, I’m hardly listening to them. Behind that wall of fearful noise in my head I see a small child – the scared little boy I have recently started trying to get to know. He doesn’t want to leave home, he doesn’t want to go out in the world and be without mummy any more. It’s my job to become his parent. All of this stuff I’m doing, it’s all completely unknown territory to the child inside me. Last time I tried independence, my three year stint in Norwich failed spectacularly because I didn’t listen to the inner child. I drank my independence away trying to shut those childish, dark fears up. Now I have to ration my income, make budgets, pay bills, purchase my own provisions, clean my own clothes, make my own bed – and I can’t fail. I don’t want to fail. I came back to London from Norwich five years ago thinking it would only be a year or two before something came my way and I’d be able to skip off into the night again. Five and a half years later, a chance has finally come, after hardship and tears that less tough souls wouldn’t be able to weather. I have waited so long for today. Independence is here at the door when I least expected it. It’s the end of a monumental decade in my life; a decade in which I’ve been a practicing alcoholic, lived in East Anglia, studied for two full degrees, had a handful of disastrous relationships, made some incredible friends, got sober and found spirituality. Now I am sailing off into unknown and unknowable waters, for the first time or the millionth time. When I move to Waterloo next month the world won’t change; London will still be the same beautiful, crazy, scary city that it has always been. For me it might as well be destroyed and rebuilt, such is the significance of the changes about to take place in my life. These changes are necessary, I know they are – they had to happen some time, because I got sober and set God’s true plans for me in motion. I don’t know what’s in store for me. I don’t need to know – after all that’s happened, I can’t help believing that God isn’t about to let me down.

I’m going straight to the heart of danger now, looking for safety. I’m about to start, or I’m starting to live a life beyond my wildest dreams. The AA promises ARE coming true. Who’d have thought?

Get Out Of Your Walled City

rewiringangel — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 21:29:54 +0000

“It is the demand of the universe for the birth of the ultrahuman. It is the rising of a new form of psychic energy in which the very depth of love within you is combined with what is most essential in the flowing of the cosmic stream. It is Love.”

Teilhard deChardin, S.J. (1881-1955)

I am both the thoughts and the thinker …

In the sweep of Shambhala path both the ultimate Shambhala as in Olympus as an area of the hierarchy of the masters and the smaller shambhala of the process of refinements where we can even begin to see the infinite radiance of eternity as spirit matter, we, you and I and all us ‘beings’ both sentient and not, are various grades of robotic stuff so the directives of AI apply to the tinkerer and the tinked that is all and both robots and investigator creators working in a cellular construction with gravity holding ‘it’ together. space is the place which is more Sun Ra than Star Trek. I loved robocop computer generated flowing images! Lucus Light used Mandelbrot math to overlay layers to get it so ‘LIFELIKE’ woo ho ah huh!

Not sweating the small stuff’ is softening my focus to see the wide horizon and this events single small spot in the long view. compassion for me is thinking with my heart and not the 85 thoughts churned out every second by the gray and white ball of fat between my ears. I am a highly passionate person so I have an interesting dance in my hope toward harmony.

Insanity

Erin — Sat, 21 Nov 2009 08:50:14 +0000

I’m depressed about Michael. I am having such a hard time dealing with this. I can’t even talk about it to anyone. It’s been almost five months since he has been gone, and I am the shell of a person I once was. I am a complete basket case. I’m having issues with things I have already dealt with. Things are coming up from the past that should be staying in the past. I panic when I’m not alone. I panic when I am alone. I can’t read anything about him. I can’t listen to his music without breaking down. I can’t watch him because he might smile, and that breaks my heart. His smile brings me to tears and pieces the moment he flashes it. I don’t understand why this man is gone. I still haven’t found a good reason. I haven’t been able to understand. What if I never do? How can those who actually knew him come to terms with their grief if I cannot? How can I be so upset over someone I didn’t know personally? Why? Why? Why?

I have to have my breakdown. I have to let it all flood out from beneath me. As much as I need to, I need to lay him to rest, but I cannot. Michael can never really die. And that is killing me inside. I need to learn how to function again. I haven’t functioned since June 25th. I don’t know if it’s in the cards for me to ever fully get over this. But I need my sanity back. Right now, I’m insane.