Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about ability, random words, and losing track.

30DBC PROMPT: "I used to say to my children that each of us has a disability, that no one is perfect. Some of the most compelling and enduring stories are often about those who rise above their limitations. Share with us how you work within the confines of your own disability or someone in your family each day and manage to thrive."

Hey folks! Due to the good fortune of having another three hour class cut short by 1.5 hours, I'm gonna attempt for the first time in what feels like forever to answer three prompts and add in a list for good measure. I can safely commit to this because the rate of intaking air through my nose has increased to approximately 40% of its original capacity (up from 10% this past weekend).

And of course, this would be the prompt I'd pick to come back to, and on the rare chance I'd read someone else's entry before writing my own, I came across Fran 💜 💜 💜 's ("Invalid Entry" )...which made me consider maybe not blogging again for a few weeks or even months because her response was drop the mic epic and there's no way in my opinion anyone's gonna compete with her entry today. (Can I say that out loud, as a judge this month's "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ? Too late I guess.)

I mean, I have an actual disability diagnosis, but it's more of an inconvenience (albeit sometimes a much bigger inconvenience than at other times), and I'll probably be taking medications of some sort for the rest of my life that may or may not work and will require constant awareness of their effectiveness in case it reaches a point that I'll have to be put on something else...but the actuality is that I'm able to lead a life that is practically on par with everyone who doesn't have to recite a page in a medical glossary upon introduction into most circles or gobble a handful of pills to get through a day.

And it feels kind of foolish for me to be talking about it, because that's the kind of person I am...I'm always aware that no matter what I'm going through at any given time, someone else is doing a whole lot more with a completely different took kit. I may have a few loose screws, but someone else is building apartment complexes without even turning a screwdriver. Like I commented to Fran after reading her entry, "I've been whining all weekend about a little chest cold...", yet she's been able to be successful by remaining positive and determined, despite the fact that she can't just take a Dayquil and a handful of cough drops and proclaim herself cured for the next six to eight hours.

Not that depression is anything to sneeze at...obviously it's been in the news a little more than normal in the last month, and I've made a few references to it from time to time. The actual terminology I've heard more than a couple times involving me has been "severe depressive disorder", which is exactly what it sounds like. In my case, roughly every three to five years I basically have a meltdown. Typically it's not triggered by anything in particular; in fact, it's usually a multitude of things going incredibly wrong at an amazing pace. The more things start to pile up, the less inclined I am to deal with any of it, and then as it all starts to hit me I become overwhelmed and shut down almost completely. I become irrational, it gets ugly, authorities are involved, and easily for the next six months I'm fending off the personal notion that I've become a scrawny caricature of myself.

My chronic insomnia plays into that as well...which is why a lot of times closer toward it becoming later in the evening I'll cut short conversations or you'll stop receiving email responses if that's how we're handling business. I've made the mistake a few times of taking different sleep aids and trying to converse while waiting for them to kick in, which often resulted in me having no recollection the next morning that I was damn near incoherently agreeing to things I probably shouldn't have been. And if you weren't sure about that before, I'm here to say for certain that it's not a good look on anyone.

But hey, we're all here on this big ol' planet for whatever reasons, and we were each meant to do certain things. Most of our jigsaw puzzles didn't come complete with all 1,000 pieces, and some of us didn't even get a picture on the front of the box to go by, but that doesn't mean that has to stop anyone from being someone else's Rembrandt or Picasso. Life's what you make of it, and it's what you do with what you were given rather than bitchin' about what you don't have that gets you to where you want to be. I feel like I say this a lot, but it's all about perspective.

BCF PROMPT: "Write anything you want using these words: clown, discredit, small, butter, tempt, towering, mouse, stir.

And then there's this installment of Jokes You're Not Supposed To Get.

What's the difference between a discredited clown and a towering mouse? One can stir small butter; the other can tempt smutterballs.

Get it?! No? Because you're not supposed to!

MUSICAL BREAK!!

Having a depression (or any other mental illness) diagnosis isn't the end of the world, and it doesn't mean you've opened the door to a special kind of sadness only you know the words to. I like to think of it as being aware of so much more going on around you, but not knowing how to cope with it or explain it...because once we can come to terms with it, we can start treating and managing it, right? But the hardest part is understanding that you're at the point where you can't understand things anymore. It's a tricky spot to be in and a hard place to try navigating on your own...then imagine that cycling through its worst progressions every couple of years and having to fight your way back to who you always thought you were capable of being. It's pretty effed up, even when you've sought help...like your mind and body all the sudden become immune to generic normalcy, and a revolt happens.

I think we all have days where nothing feels good and we don't know why, but eventually most people can find their own ways out of them whether it's with ice cream, or shopping, or comforting conversation. People with depression can't easily do that, and patterns of behavior can begin to develop from even the smallest of misfortunes.

"Changed my mind so much I can't even trust it;
my mind changed me so much I can't even trust myself."
Lyrics.   Interpretations.  

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

"Tell us about a time when you completely lost track of time. Does it happen often or hardly at all?"

I was once a teenage boy...of course I "lost track of time", especially in the company of a pretty teenage girl.

But I've come to learn as an adult I really hate having no concept of time, and resorting to guessing what the time might be kinda sucks. It's all my own fault though, because I refuse to wear a watch...whenever I would wear them, they became a magnet for walls, furniture, and people within a close enough proximity to my wrist. I could buy a new watch and scratch up the face within a day or two, no matter how careful I was. Luckily, cell phones began to surge in popularity shortly after I quit watches cold turkey, so I was never without the time on my person...although one of my OCD tendencies is to, upon entering a room for the first time, locate the clock (via either the microwave, the VCR, some kitschy knick-knack, or any other means at my disposal...you know, so I don't have to slip my phone outta my pocket every five to ten minutes).

Losing track of time sucks...probably more as an adult than it does when you're a kid. At least when you're growing up, makin' out likely had somethin' to do with it. When you're playin' grown-up, you're expected to not lose track of time. Like, part of passing from puberty to full-scale adulthood means that time-lapse trait gets wiped out (and you can't blame it on the hot chick from around the block you've been eyein' up).

I think we've sorta got it all wrong though, us silly adults. When we're supposed to wake up by 7am to be at work before 8, but don't roll outta bed until 7:49, we say we "overslept". I'm calling bullshit on that. We didn't oversleep...nope. We lost track of time. We were too friggin' lazy to hit the snooze alarm one last time while trying to convince ourselves to get up...and somewhere in the process that turns into deciding we're adult enough to handle closing our eyes "just for five more minutes". And don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about.

Luckily (really??) for me, this hasn't happened very often to me anymore. For some reason, when I have an alarm set, my body goes into some weird panic mode about two hours before it's supposed to go off, waking me up to make sure I haven't overslept. Then I fall back into a half-sleep, dreaming awkward dreams involving social situations with girls I had crushes on twenty years ago and haven't seen since until I'm jarred awake by a sterile polyphonic noise that hates me just as the dreamin' is gettin' good, if ya know what I'm sayin' .

Maybe for that reason alone I should look into ways of living without ever having to sleep again.

THE LISTICLE 9.8

In conjunction with "BLOG CITY presents: The LIST" , I present to you a list of 14 songs that feature time or a unit that measures it.

1) "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper
2) "Man Of The Hour" by Pearl Jam
3) "Ten Minutes" by The Get Up Kids
4) "Seconds Away" by Vendetta Red
5) "Time In A Bottle" by Jim Croce
6) "Black Steel In The Hour Of Chaos" by Public Enemy
7) "In A Minute" by Ours
8) "Stop For A Minute" by Keane
9) "After Hours" by The Velvet Underground
10) "Big Time" by Peter Gabriel
11) "6 Minutes Of Pleasure" by LL Cool J
12) "The Best Of Times" by Styx
13) "10 Days Late" by Third Eye Blind
14) "In The Meantime" by Spacehog

I trust that you all know how to use YouTube if you're interested enough in any of these songs.

I've probably shared this link before, but it popped up in my Facebook newsfeed the other day and it's too great not to post up again..."Replacing guns in classic movie scenes with a thumbs up."  

It dawned on me today that I've never, ever, stepped foot in a Walmart by myself before. I could probably count on both hands and feet how many times I've gone to Walmart in general, but it's always been with someone else...until today. I had time to kill on my way home between my morning class and my night class, and I needed a few things, so I stopped at the worst place in America to shop local Walmart for my grocery needs...and dammit if everything wasn't cheaper. But I now know why I can't go there alone...it sends my anxiety skyrocketing. At least when I've gone with someone else, I've been able to make jokes to other people about the, ahem, "scenery". But when I'm unaccompanied, these jerks just piss me off to no end. No matter how wide they make the aisles, there's always that a-hole who'll park her cart with eight six-packs of soda hangin' off the sides in the middle of the aisle so no one can get past her as she decides which cans of soup will best go with her diabetes. Everyone- I mean everyone- has a heightened sense of needing to turn corners as fast as they can, hoping you'll walk in front of their cart so they can sue you for the first degree burns their Dunkin Donuts coffee gave them as you bounced off their giant shopping vessel. And speaking of their carts...they're all one size, and they're huge. I wanted just enough things that I couldn't carry by hand (as I had my school stuff with me), but I didn't need the Cadillac Brougham of department store transportation either; a simple basket with handles that I carry in one hand would've been suitable. And finally, I showed up at Walmart's magical time for all of society's ills...3:30pm. The senior citizens winding up their day by not giving a damn about anyone but themselves, the harried single moms who've just picked up their rambunctious children from school, and the shiftless/aimless/reckless who have no clue why they're there other than where else are they supposed to be on a sunny day that isn't in a basement in front of an Xbox? Of all the god damn pharmaceuticals available in this country for all sorts of real and imaginary illnesses, why isn't there an EpiPen for nerves I can jam into my thigh for when I need to go to Walmart without another adult to keep me somewhat saner? Just sedate me so I can shop unobstructed by my impatience with evolution reaching into all corners of this Walmart society.

And that said, it's good to be back for another night. If you've made it this far, thanks for stoppin' by. Peace, the truth is it's myself, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!