WordSprite

I try to do business at local places, “mom and pop” places as they used to be called.  So, I was at one- the kind you have to wait at for awhile- and I was chatting with the lady (this one really actually is run by a husband-and-wife team).  Flipping through a magazine, I ran into an article about Locks of Love (they give wigs to kids with alopecia- permanent hair loss) and I started going off about how girls feel so great about donating their hair, and the organization can’t even use half of the donated hair, and how it takes ten ponytails to make one wig and they probably have warehouses full of ponytails waiting for the other nine “matches.”

Then I remembered that her husband has alopecia.  The guy doesn’t even have eyelashes.   *facepalm*

They still seem to like me and Jack, though.  Believe me, they have some opinions even weirder than ours.  How reassuring!  No matter how weird you are…there is someone even weirder than you out there, doing a great job at whatever it is they do.

I sent this post to one of my supervisors at work.  Actually, I cut and pasted it into a document and attached it to an email- I’m not so into sending my blog link to any mandatory reporters.

She wrote this back, along with an invitation to meet together again regarding my new big project:

It is beautiful. Thank you. He impacted me in a similar way but I do not think I could articulate it as well as you were able to.

Seeing that in my inbox was about the best thing that happened to me all day.

So, I was doing some research, right?  Benchmarking, if you will, and I was talking- unbelievably- meeting with, almost on a peer level- to the head of the psychiatry department at another, similar facility to ours.  And he was talking about support groups, and how theirs were such successes, getting fabulous turnout- because they are not “support groups” per se, but fun: a cooking class for diabetics, por exemplo, and a salsa-dancing class for weight loss.  He said that the only group that had no takers was a support group for women with depression.  And I thought, I’m a woman with depression.  What I said was,

     “That sounds boring!”

He looked at me funny for a second, and then just went on like nothing had happened.

That was pretty cool.

Yesterday I took zero of that shit and it was ok!  Only one valium, during the day.  Then I celebrated by having a delicious, cold, locally-brewed beer out on the town with Jack.

Man, I don’t know how Eminem ever took twenty Vicodin a day.  How did he ever take a crap?  SRSLY.

My Physical Therapist  gave me a lot of hope today.  She is amazing.  Flying with the dragon is ok.  Time travel is ok after one week of the new (hard!) exercises she gave me today.  They involve a giant rubber band and a giant rubber ball (special belated thanks to Jack for taking care of the dragon whilst I was laid up.  They’re kind of like dogs, in a way, needing to be let out to fly around a couple times a day.  I haven’t really mentioned the dragon before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her.)

My physical therapist has been my mental therapist too-  I feel so much more relaxed and hopeful and pensive and deeply happy after every visit.  Did I mention that I started the other therapy too?  Like, seeing a counselor?  It was ok.  Kind of meh, really.  But I’m getting what I need, which is the ultimate goal.

 I wish my PT could be my counselor.  She is really functioning in that capacity right now, whilst making my muscles do things that previously seemed completely out of reach (PUN!)  She also has a philosophical mind and a deep way of thinking about the interrelatedness of everything.  I feel a real connection with her somehow.  Talking with her has given me a new perspective on my own work and some ways I can better help others.  It is funny, how these things all work out.  (PUN!  Get it?  workout?  Because that’s what I got today, along with that amazing thumb massage thing that she does.)  I am sore, but hopeful.

Also, my class is going really well.  I’m learning so much useful stuff and using it.  I felt really competent today for the first time in awhile.  I was as non-cranky today as I was cranky the other day.

And, I socialized and also sorted out all the stuff I have to give away for the people who will most benefit from each item (a weird glitch in my brain wiring, that leads me to overthink where each thing must go).  So tomorrow the house will (I hope) have a lot less crap in it.

The best part: I serendipitously found out toward the end of the day that they were really short at work today, so I went in for a couple hours, and was happy to be able to help.  That seemed like a really good sign to me.

That’s about all.  Jack and I took the dragon for a flight at sunset and had just a nice time.  Every day should be exactly like today.

“I wish I could go back to the early 60’s.”  Jack’s watching The Dick Van Dyke Show again (he has a thing for Mary Tyler Moore’s boobs).  “Smoking was glamorous back then.”

My physical therapist was so completely taken aback by the sex question.  The “rawkin’ out on bass” question was more her speed.  I have to come up with something new to ask her at my appointment tomorrow.

“Can I fly with my dragon again?  I miss the stunning vistas.  I don’t want to, you know, wear out my wings.  I could just ride, but hanging on is kind of slippery.  The scales.  You know.”

“May I visit my friend on Venus?  I mean, the atmosphere might affect the breathing exercises you gave me, so I thought I’d better ask.”

“When I asked you about sex, I forgot to mention that my husband is an elf.  Does that change your advice?”

Anything else I should ask?  I want to cover all my bases here.

Portentious of bad news received near the end of the day, I had a horrible time at work, all day.  I was just cranky for no particular reason.  Phones were ringing way too often and I was fighting hard to get organized and do some problem-solving, trying to get a new project started (not my choice, but something that was forced on handed to me and I am excited about- just not today).  Unfortunately, though, it has no buy-in from my co-workers that already hate work, and this change is disruptive to them as well.  Today was especially hard.  This new project pulls me out of the mix of our group work.

 We have a group of clients that meets monthly for a support group and I have been making the reminder calls.  Last month, one of the people on the list never answered the phone.  This month, his phone was disconnected.  (These things are not unexpected from our clients.)  I hoped he would remember…it’s always at the same bat time, same bat channel.

This particular person was not someone I knew well.  He- if I remember correctly-  collected cans on the street for money (can collectors and other people who keep the streets clean occupy a special place in my heart).  He may have been a little slow mentally, but was very insightful in certain ways; patient, kind.  He helped others- the group benefited from his presence.  He served as a mentor for children in his neighborhood- a sorely needed role model- an older man with a good heart.  I had had few interactions with him, but he had a certain special something that I can’t put into words.  Maybe like an aura.  What does make one person different from another, anyway?

I found out very near the end of the day that he had died.  I don’t know why I feel so incredibly, disproportionately sad at this news.  I don’t bond with people easily.   His corner – our corner- of the world had lost something dear and rare.

The person who told me this bad news said with a non-characteristic tenderness, “He was a gentle soul.”  That was the same thing I was thinking.   There was nothing else to say; I went back to my not-very-private work area and cried.  That’s all.  No words.  Only tears.

…key hygiene steps.

Today it was deodorant.

I wrote earlier about Eminem and how he overcame his addiction to Vicodin.  When I initially torqued my spine and pelvis a month ago, I refused narcs, remembering how hard it was to wean off the stuff.  Then I got the script from my PCP, realizing that I really did need it.  Then I was obstinate about refilling it, and went through a difficult, painful weekend…got the refill…and watching the number of white oblong magic pills decrease (slowly, with wise, judicious use)  is giving me a weird feeling.  I don’t watch the clock anymore- but I still need them in the morning to get moving, and before PT (my PT is awesome.  Although I shocked her today by asking if it was ok to resume sex again.  Did I mention I torqued my pelvis?)   She did say that continuing to play the bass will be no problem, but she didn’t directly answer the sex question.  Hmmm.  (Don’t worry about Jack.  I take good care of my man.  I am a creative girl.)

So I am hoping this is the last bottle.  But man, if I could be on valium forever, now that would be something.  What if I just get a valium tat?  It will always be on my body then.  Would that, like, work?  What if the ink were made of slow-release valium?  Hmmm… now there is a thought.  That’s an even better idea than white-ink tattoos for black people.