Reconciling Saints

Have you ever heard of those women that get PMS so bad, that they have a note from their doctor that basically states that they are not responsible for their words or actions? Or maybe even a note that allows them to stay home around that time? I had a friend tell me something like this once. Not that she had it, but that she knew a girl with this problem. I found it hard to believe but then again, I've always been told that the body, a woman's body especially, can do some really weird shit.

Up until about 2 years ago, I was on birth control pills. I had taken them for 15 years or so. I rarely got a period, had it last about 2 days if I did get one, didn't have any cramps and got only a little emotional before it came on.

Well, I can tell you that things SURE have changed since then. Aside from the obvious (lasts longer and OUCH the cramps!), my PMS symptoms have, as of late, made me wonder if I need a doctor's note. I even have a really good example right here on my blog!

Everyone turn to the post The Nightmare Book, dated June 27th in your hymnal.

Anyway, that post was on a Mean Reds day when the best thing to do with me is take me to a bar and drag me home when I'm nice and drunk. Like... d-RUNK! On days like that, I can't see my way out of anything. I've fallen into a deep pit and it's very dark and very deep. I was up 'til 2am on June 27th 'cause 1994 had called and brought Tori Amos CDs with it. Yeah, that bad.

The next day, my period hit and I thought, "OH! Well that explains it all!"


I talked to my psychiatrist because she wants me to keep her informed on my moods The usual litany of questions have to be answered - have you been depressed? How depressed? How long does it last? Have you been sleeping? What's enough? Do you want to sleep? So last time I went, I told her about the Mean Reds that I finally figured out was my version of PMS. She gave me a prescription for my old anti-depressant, celexa.

Yes ladies and gents, I now actually believe that that girl that I'd heard stories about, the one that turns into Mr. Hyde right before her period, really can and does exist. Also, she might be me.

I know it's not exactly 28 days later... huh... wait... Do you think that that's why they titled the movie that? I mean, blood, everyone's scared, monsters... Seems like this idea might not be too far fetched.

MOVING ON!

I'm trying to be more observant of the days and of any tells that I may have and I'm pretty sure... despite that it's 4 or so days short of 28... I'm pretty sure I'm right about there. Existential crisis? Check! Can't find anything to do with my life? Check! Working on my writing proving useless? Check! Missing my friends and thinking they're better off without me and better than me? Check!

However, now that I'm armed with a little more info and I know the tells (see post, June 27th), I think I'm ready to take it head on.

I have wine, dark chocolate m & m's, Belgian chocolate pudding and lots of yummy snacks. I also have House, a few books if none of them are doing it for me/ making matters worse and a bath.

I'll let you know how it goes.

I used to write really long posts, especially when I was stuck at my parents' due to The Fiasco.


I remember reading somewhere that people can't/don't really pay much attention to a post/article that's too long if it's on the internet.


With that being said I give you this post:




Today I noticed that on the dean's calendar, she had marked a spot to play polo after work on Friday (she uses her Outlook calendar for personal stuff too 'cause it syncs with her iPhone and iPad). She marked it simply as POLO.
...
It took everything in me not to "schedule" a spot simply titled "MARCO" for the hour before it.




Now, here are a couple of pictures to also hold your interest and help this post.

When I lived with my friends in the days before anyone got married or moved away (or both), we had an Alfred Hitchcock standee that was just a silhouette, much like the one at the beginning of every Alfred Hitchcock Presents. It was about about... 5'2" tall, give or take a few inches and it looked quite life-like.

Whenever my best friend or I got home and opened the door, it invariably scared the shit out of us before we turned on the light. It looked just like there was a man standing in our kitchen what with the faint light coming from the hallway through the door at one of the apartments we'd had. Some of the spots we'd place him in other apartments or houses didn't always get this reaction. However, no matter when or where, there was always some point that good old Alfred would end up giving one of us a scare.

At one place, our landlord/upstairs neighbor's wife, Charmagne, told us a story upon meeting Alfred, our standee.

"He was a horrible man with a sick sense of humor," Charmagne said as soon as she saw him.

"Did you know him?"

"I was on the lot and he drove toward us in his car. He stopped, looked at me and then sped up heading right for me! I ran and yelled and he just slowed down and continued on his way past me, laughing!"

I don't know if he ever had really known or met Charmagne, or if he had only seen her and decided how he felt. Maybe it was just a test of his. Dunno. Personally, I thought it was funny and that Alfred Hitchcock must have been quite a man to know. Knowing Charmagne in the limited way that I did, I think his actions may have been called for, even if just for a good chuckle. He sounded like a great guy, in my opinion.

The Nightmare Book is a journal I have where I write  down the negative thoughts in my head. I try not to spew them out into the ether, but today, I'm going to use this to put up the emotions I feel some times... the ones who are special guests at the Pity Party.

Also, art!

I'm finding inspiration through art. Mostly that which people just like me make and some from the things I've talked to Tracy about.  Of course, there is also inspiration from professional pieces - photos, paintings, drawings, writing. I could get lost in it, save for the fact that it makes me lose focus and spins me out of me, making what I want to do seem elusive and otherworldly. Get me? The more I look at professional art, things by people who make money doing just that, the more it seems like it's something they do, something that I can't because, well... it's not part of my world. The thing I have to remember is that, well, it is part of my world! I can put it there.

I like art. It makes life beautiful and more fulfilling, I think. I need more of it in my world. So I figured, hell! I'll just make it 'cause... I can.

Now this, ladies and gentleman, is how an obituary should read and a funeral should go... well, the remembrance service part, anyway. There is one thing I'd change. As Tracy, Stephen and I have discussed, it's ridiculous to waste money on caskets and plots! Donate me to science... or maybe sell my body to science! I mean... who cares what happens to this shell anyway??? It's only going to decompose and it's not me!

I have a routine.

It starts with waking up.

Some days I never want to and I feel like I can sleep for ages, but I know I have to. I sit there for a few minutes savoring the comfort of my bed, the feel of Stephen beside me and negotiating with myself for just a few more minutes in bed. Finally I get out of bed; I know I just have to do it.

After comes the morning routine of getting dressed, washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting my lunch for the day.

This part is easier.

Once at work I grab my coffee and settle in. It's comfortable there, sitting with my coffee, reading my emails while idly chit chatting with the 2 gals that work in my office. Next I make a list to have a visual of what needs to get done that day, taking note of those with high priority.

I like lists.

At some point during the day I lose focus, which can be bad. All of a sudden I need a break, some sort of diversion or inspiration, something that will help me get on with the day. This can go one of 2 ways. The first is just that I get a little distracted for a moment and it slows my productivity down. If I'm lucky, this is the way it goes. The second is the toughest one to handle. I don't want to be there, don't want to worry about the things I need to and that that is somehow supposed to take priority in my life. Basically it all becomes sorter meaningless.

Work ends, no matter what, and I go to the gym. I go because I have to, because it helps combat the icks. It's VERY difficult to do when I have the feeling that it's all meaningless, but I somehow still can convince myself that, especially then, it's important.

Gym is done and I go home and shower. Once I'm done, Stephen is usually on his way or already home.

Dinner.

Hang out a little with Stephen, which can be fine or can go wrong... it just depends on both of our head spaces.

Then I start all over again.

I learned how to go through my routine when I was first diagnosed. I learned that sometimes it's just as hard as putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that it'll get simpler from there on.

It's how I survive in life when things are tough. Looking at it now, written here, I can see where improvements can be made, where things I do might be making it worse, where I could replace certain bits with something more creative.


If ever this schedule is thrown off on one of my off days, though, I get especially moody. I really hate that. If I can see that I'm doing that, I try to breathe and tell myself that it's ok that things aren't going the way I had them laid out. It's like Rainman... and Judge Wapner. Serious freak out, yo.

It's not always like this. Sometimes I have great days where everything is spontaneous. However, inevitably, there are times when I'm a little weaker.

So I stick to the routine... and that gets me by.

I'm currently in a Fairy Tale sorter mood.

Well, at least in my writing and influences...