Monday, July 27, 2015

Sum Sum Summa Time

You Get in the Kitchen
My right hand must hate me at this point. More specifically, the fingers on my right hand. Remember when I chopped into my right index finger whilst opening a knife a couple of months ago? Or did I not mention that? Well, I scalded the shit out of my right middle finger, just below the nail, cooking this afternoon. It hurts like a son of a bitch. Seriously, I’d rather go through the chopping thing again than sit here and deal with this. The internet tells you to place the burn in cool water for a length of time and then to put cling film or a plastic bag on it. The cool water was fine but if I use plastic, I feel like the damn finger is on fire.

Clearly this is a sign that I should stop cooking. After all, the only reason I’d bought a nice new knife that would then be used to carve into my damned index is that I’d started to cook again. Today I was making a squid ink shrimp pasta dealie for lunch and stupidly scalded the finger. And the pasta, while good, wasn’t remarkable or worth the pain. It was basically purple pasta with some weirdly crunchy shrimp and a bit of spice. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it, but I won’t ask for it again.

Summer Timeeeeee!
I’m still enjoying my weekends in the country working on the house. This time we took down some sheet rock and put some up as well as took out ever more nails from walls. Oh, and on Friday night I chased the pig around because she was getting to places she shouldn’t be and no one was outside with me and I could hear the coyotes. Eventually I had to pound on the window to get the Bat and his friend to come out and help me. One wonders what the neighbors must think because I was yelling “Lucifer!” and “help!”, trying to stop Lucifer the dog from running (as it encourages the pig) whilst also hoping the Bat or his mom would hear me and come help me. And let me tell you, that little pig is much more a demon than that dog. Bitch straight up attacked Lucifer and wouldn’t let him run away. She also went after Bailey, the oldest dog in the world, which is akin to straight-lining an old person who is traveling down the sidewalk in a motorized wheelchair. Seriously, you don’t fuck with a sweet dog like Bailey who can hardly move. Even the Bat’s mom, who doesn’t like Lucifer, yelled at the pig and told her she started it and that if she went after Bailey again, she’d have the shovel coming right after her little pig behind.

Saturday was the longest day ever. The Bat was hungover and I was just dead tired so the day seemed like it was actually two separate days. The Bat and his friend had gone on a second run to Home Depot for some supplies and I’d asked Bat’s parents “it’s Saturday, right?” because for a moment I wasn’t sure. Meanwhile, the Bat referenced “yesterday” to the cashier and his friend had to say “uhm, no man, that was this morning.” But we got a lot done and the house is really coming along. One really weird thing happened though. Well, not weird but discomfitting. The Bat’s parents went to look at a tractor they are going to buy while the Bat and his friend were taking naps and I was reading. All of a sudden, shortly after they’d left, there was a knock on the door and the person just went ahead and opened the door and said “hi!!!” The Bat’s friend was actually in the living room, which has the front door, trying to sleep, so it was awkward for him and I think the people genuinely felt bad. The lady introduced herself and I recognized the name and realized it was the realtor. After getting permission from the Bat (as the only family member in attendance), I let them in to see what we had gotten done so far. When she got home, the Bat’s mother said “oh, yeah, I knew she was going to come over but I didn’t know when. I guess I should have told you.” She does that a lot, the Bat’s mom does, telling me things after the fact (like how that one burner doesn’t really work right, which I discovered after turning it on and having a mass of flames spark up).

This Friday I have a half day at work so that I can get my car taken care of and get Bubbles to the vet in preparation for our road trip to Flagstaff, Arizona. I have a feeling Friday is going to be here before I know it.

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Bipolar II

I am a very type A sort of person. I always hated group work in school and I want to be in control of everything. I think that is part of why I sometimes wish I'd been born way back in the day when they would have just killed me.

Having bipolar II isn't usually an issue for me as I take my medication. Hell, I've been on this stuff or ten years now and I just throw it back every morning like vitamins. But every so often, something I hear or read will bring it all to mind and I get really upset. Even with the pills, my brain isn't normal.

I cannot tell you how much I fucking hate that. What evolutionary device allowed this to happen? Or were most people like this and it died out because it didn't work out? I want, childishly, an explanation for why my stupid brain doesn't work like it is supposed to. Because although I know I am not one, I feel, very privately, very secretly, very quietly like a freak. My brain only works as well as it does because of the pills. But pills don't fix everything so I also get to wonder what is bipolar and what is just character defect.

Not knowing fucking sucks. Maybe if I knew 100% it would be better because then I'd know what I could and could not improve. Not that it will necessarily matter. I'm sure they'll figure this shit out one day, possibly in my lifetime, but I'll be whatever age by then with however many years behind me.

It physically hurts, you know. Not having bipolar but at the moments that I remember about it and realize my brain is not my own but rather something that needs to be controlled and reigned in. It hurts in my stomach and my chest because I can't do a damned thing about it. It hurts because all of the pills I've taken all these years don't fix the problem and never will. It hurts because it is so fucking stupid. Why the fuck do these things happen to people? Bipolar, unipolar depression, schizophrenia, any mental disorder... explain it to me. Are we unevolved or are we a fucked up chance evolution took? One means I'm not as evolved as others and the other is that I'm a gamble that didn't work out. Considering that I have two older siblings, one of which got through his unipolar depression, I think the latter might hurt more.Sure, being less evolved than others would be devastating but at least I would know that evolution didn't roll the die and decide to test something out with me.

I have to think it is that my brain didn't make it, didn't make it to the point that brains do. It's like color blindness. Our rods developed before our cones and that still lingers a bit so we have people who are color blind. I assume that our brains didn't know the right amount of chemicals to release and so I'm lagging behind and have more of one and less of the other. That is embarrassing. I already can't tell all and sundry about my bipolar because we still get judged and I've suffered from being honest in the past; but to have people understand that I'm underdeveloped? Jesus.  

But, like I said, I forget about it for the most part. I don't remember what it was like before onset and I never will. This is the only way of being I know. People will ask me from time to time if bipolar people are more or less likely to do x y or z and I just think "ask someone what it is like to be a twin... they have nothing to compare it to". Because I don't. I honestly don't remember what it was like to have a normal brain, to not have to take pills, to not have to question my emotions.

And that's OK, I guess. I'm upset about it at the moment but, as I've said twice now, I generally don't think about it and don't remember about it unless I'm triggered. And no, I'm not a trigger warning person or anything like that. It just so happened that something I listened to today made me think about it and got me upset. Luckily for me, I'll get over it and be just fine. I'm always fine.

I've never been allowed to be anything other than just fine. 

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Country Living

Country Life
As it is officially summer, North Texas is oven hot, leading me to avoid the outdoors as much as possible. But I discovered something very interesting the last two weekends; my tolerance and acceptance of heat seems to be regional in a way.

The Bat's parents bought a retirement property in the country and we are spending our weekends renovating and repairing it. So far, with the help of the Bat, his folks, and Housekeeper (HK), I've crawled under the house to jack it up and shim a few beams, scraped off popcorn ceilings, and pulled nails from walls and baseboards. Oh, and took off the plates of roughly 345 outlets. I also helped with the preliminary cleaning of the shop (converted barn) and enjoyed a few donuts (some performed by yours truly) in the later hours.

Oddly, when in the country, I seem to just give myself up to the fact that I am going to be hot and sweaty for the most part. I'm fine with it because it seems appropriate. It isn't comfortable or awesome or anything, but I put up with it with far more acceptance than I do when I'm home or at work. Feel the sun beating down on me as I help in the shop? No problem. Get into my car after work where I need oven mitts to grab my steering wheel? Huge attitude. I just find it very funny that if I'm in the country working on a house, I treat the heat differently.

Working on the house has been a lot of fun and I get to be proud of myself for learning new things and giving everything a chance and putting in the labor I have. It's an extremely small town with a population of less than 2,000, one restaurant, a couple of antique stores, a (new!) Walmart grocery store, and no liquor licenses (the restaurant is BYOB). These days I really like small towns, especially ones like this where there aren't strip malls. Part of it is that I like the quiet and solitude and having to make your own entertainment. I also like the lack of pressure. I've talked before about hating when people ask if I have plans for the weekend or what did I do this weekend because I end up feeling like a loser because usually I don't have plans. I feel that same sense of pressure or anxiety or whatever it is about having things available to me entertainment-wise and not taking advantage of them. I don't want to go downtown. I could and it is close and it would be OK for a special date or something but I don't want to do it regularly. I don't want to go to clubs or concerts. I would like to go to museums and gardens and the theatre but I don't, mainly because I don't have anyone to go with me. So I feel like I'm wasting the opportunities.

There aren't a lot of opportunities where the Bat's parents are going to be living so that pressure and anxiety dissipate. Save for the amount of work involved, going to the country is a lot like camping because the entire world just melts away. I probably also like it because I've read so many damned Agatha Christie novels and so have this romantic vision of country life. Don't get me wrong, I don't for one minute view the house or the area like it is a wealthy English countryside vignette circa 1945 or anything. But the minute I got there I started thinking about how awesome it would be to have a good old fashioned country murder who dunnit. Not in the house where we are, but the neighbor's. The Bat's dad and I have pretty much convinced ourselves that the neighbors are up to some shenanigans and use their barn to store stolen goods that they sell in a neighboring town in a shop that is ostensibly a beer and wine store. It's to the point that the Bat's dad actually said something like "it says a lot that I'm believing your stories. That isn't a comment on you but on me". I'm pretty sure he meant "why am I allowing myself to be drawn into her crazy?"

It will be really awkward should he meet these people in real life. It will be a special delight to me should their last name turn out to be Caddigan because that is what I've christened them.

Other Life - Briefly
In my real life, things are going well. Work is still engaging though I get annoyed at myself when I make mistakes that I think I shouldn't have. I'm not being too hard on myself as I am still new to this and my boss has a great deal of confidence in me, but I do still get a bit annoyed. I like my job and don't dread going into the office every day and I'm really glad that hasn't worn off.

The Bat and I are doing OK. I'm still wary and he's still making an effort. I really don't know if we are going to work out. Sometimes I sit and think about the fact that we don't have a great deal to talk about. When we go to dinner, we either talk to friends at the bar (if we go to the sushi bar) or end up looking at our phones and maybe discussing the Facebook page we work on. We don't talk about politics or world events because I don't think that interests him very much and we just don't, well, talk.

I also don't know 100% if this is what I want. I don't like ruminating on it too much because no one likes to ruminate about a topic that makes them uncomfortable but I'm going to have to be a big girl and do so.

Back to real life and my real job.