Tinfoil

By now everyone has read that depression can physically hurt, it can be exhausting, it can cause insomnia, and a multitude of other uncomfortable verbs. Depression is… we don’t ask for it. I know that I am no alone in this. We, the depressives, are actually a rather big club, but we don’t advertise very often. Membership comes at a great cost to us and to our loved ones. Our loved ones feel helpless even when we explain there is literally nothing they can do to make it better. The most they can do is acknowledge that depression exists, and let us know they are there for us if we need them. We can be reminded to eat, sleep or get up, or take our meds; but ultimately, we are the ones who have to make it better by doing what works for each of us in the moment.

Over the years I have learned that my depression is mostly triggered by situations and seasons.  I don’t know if I am the only one, but I can recognize when I am on the road to a depressive period. There is that defining moment after struggling to stay balanced when I know that I have temporarily lost my battle with biochemistry. My mouth goes dry and I taste silvery, wrinkled, tinfoil. Really, no matter what I eat or drink, I return to the taste of chewing gum wrapper only worse metal. I wonder if I’m the only one.

The situations vary for me but the seasonal depression is well, seasonal, and as a result, more predictable. I actually start brushing up on my coping skills when everyone is pulling out their boxes of holiday decorations. While everyone is getting into that holiday spirit (or pretending to be) I am doing whatever I can to wake up each day. My seasonal depression can be sneaky. It might arrive before Thanksgiving, but always before my birthday in December and sticks around well into January. I get the fun of a summer depression too, around the death date of my best friend, which coincides with one of the hottest months in Texas.

On the more normal side, if there is such a thing as normal symptoms for depression, I become narcoleptic, never able to get enough sleep in an effort to just shut it all out. On the flip side, I might have a bout of disturbed sleep, waking up and unable to really go back to sleep, unable to stop the wheels from spinning. Staring at the alarm clock dreading the moments knowing I should be sleeping since I actually have to function during the day instead of pulling the sheets over my head.

So what works for me when I’m in the darkest depths of depression? I read, I write and I take not too warm baths or showers, and now I try to share what it is like to be a depressive. I think that speaking out about it helps me have power over it.  Most people never recognize my depression because I work hard to cope.  I leave my depression outside when I enter work and I literally put a smile on my face because it really does bring calm energy. I mindfully walk, type and breathe. I focus on the fact that the best thing I have ever done in my life needs his Mom and the reason I somehow live through those lonely moments of depression in a crowded room. I know each day my son will make me smile, even through the deepest depths of any depressive day. To see that sparkle in his eyes and to hear his laugh is truly magical healing.

P.S. I read a blog entry by one of my fav bloggers, Jenny Lawson aka The bloggess, about depression: http://thebloggess.com/2012/01/the-fight-goes-on/). She has a Silver Ribbon and is raising funds for charity by offering pendants and buttons with the message, “Never Give Up”.

Twitter: A Writing Exercise

I decided to enter yet another social media realm, Twitter. At first, it was just to see what it was all about andthen I decided it would be a really amazing way to learn how to edit myself down to a mere 140 characters, including spacing and punctuation. Below are a string of tweets sent out to the world before I actually had people “following” me other than one friend who told me that Twitter was a great way to just send your thoughts out into the universe. The exercise was more cathartic that I would have ever imagined. Most of my tweets have become less poetic, but I would recommend what I now call the Twitter Poetry exercise.

Love is like the ocean. Vast, seemingly never ending, gentle rocking like a cradle. Like the ocean it can rage like a northeaster.

Love is like an ocean. Crystal clear Bimini blue with 100% visibility. Like the ocean depths, where no light has ever visited.

Love is like an ocean. It can offer a safe harbor or dash you against a hidden reef. You curse yourself for not seeing the obvious.

Love is like the ocean. You may feel like a seaworthy vessel but the ocean can sink you nevertheless.

Love is like the ocean. Wounds sting but heal quicker.

Love is like an ocean. Sails fill with a nickel of wind but remember you might end up dead in the water again.

Love is like the ocean. Sirens beckon, you are overwhelmed with the mystery of its depths.

Texacanized

I still don't totally understand how I ended up in Texas, or should I say, ended back in Texas. I did take a 2 1/2 year break, but I've been back for 11 years. Once you get here, it gets harder and harder to get out. Texas is a big ass state! It can take a good hard day of driving to reach the closest state border, so I guess you just say awhile. 

When I first arrived in Austin, I pronounced the Spanish named streets like my 8th grade Spanish teacher (Mrs. Morales) taught me. Now I've learned to talk like a Texacan. Manchaca is pronounced Man-Chak. Guadalupe sounds like Gwad-a-loop and San Jacinto? San Jay Sinto... so much for that rule about J in Spanish.

Another amazing first moment made me think that there were no other Jews in the state or someone Jewish had a great sense of humor. I saw a huge red neon sign that said:

I later learned it was a grocery store chain. H is for Henry E. and B is for Butts (I don't think this is a Jewish guy). We still say, "We're going to the HEB, need anything?" BTW. there are a few shelves in each HEB of Kosher food, right close to the other "ethnic food."

Right close? A Texacan thing to say. After so many years, it is a bit alarming that I barely notice the Texacan in my daily speech. I have been known to say, "I'm fixin to..." or the dreaded, "might should.." without blinkin. Oh my goddess, see.. a "g" just slipped away! This, from a woman who uses Yiddish expression nearly every day and still says "Aw-range" and Straawberry like I left New York a few weeks ago.

Another Texacan thing is to brag about how I've managed to survive the worst recorded summer heat in Austin history. As I have previously blogged, weather is easily a 30-minute conversation...with a stranger...while in the HEB check out line... after everyone seems to have gotten out of church gets out on Sunday (everyone is in their Sunday best jeans), after the Friday pay day. It seems like everyone gets paid every other Friday in Austin. The next top ten topic of conversation after weather is High School or College Football, but that is another blog.

I realized a few weeks ago just how Texacanized I have really become. We've been thinking about putting aside some cash for a second vehicle. All of a sudden, I want a wait for it... (Hold on to your hats! Oh right, only Texans wear hats all the time) A TRUCK!!!!

Not an SUV or crossover. A truck. Not to freak out anyone too much, I want a little truck. No big tires for me. I do not want a truck that requires a step extension. No F anything, more like a truck so I can put stuff in the back, like firewood. Small enough so a couch or bed WILL NOT fit. I don't mind helping a friend move boxes but I am not opening a moving business. Big Truck? Kiss your weekends goodbye!

I can hear my friends getting a giggle about this. I am sure a serious intervention will take place. "Really, Why on earth do you want a truck?" I really have no logical explanation. I used to say, "I want a pony" every time my son started his list of "I wants"  and he laughs. Now he catches himself mid list and says, "I know Mom (eyes rolling). You want a truck." Maybe I want a truck because every month is Truck Month at just about any dealership here in the Big State. Or maybe it is the "Texas Edition" that just wins me over.

I'm supposin as a Texacan that I'm fixin to get a small truck right soon enough ya'll!

Reconnected


It has been one year and four days since I had an internet connection in my home and now... I'm back. I no longer have to type with my thumbs. Imagine trying to type a blog entry of value with your thumbs. At first, we cut the net as a way to be more frugal in our spending (read: so broke I couldn't pay attention)  but then we just kinda decided it did not have enough value. Without internet my son, husband, and I read more than our normal "I love to read" amounts. We played board and computer games. I spent more time trying to complete my knitting projects. I say tried because I am making two blankets made up of squares using whatever yarn I have and neither is finished. 


We also cut off cable/TV. We watched every DVD and VHS movie in our collection and those of our friends. I still love "American in Paris" even though I've watched it more times than I can count before we disconnected and now my son can sing along with Gene Kelly. How can that be bad??? The downside was not having real-time access to the news. But I soon realized that I wasn't watching the real news, just talking heads. I ending up getting my news from NPR and online via my smart phone. 

Now I can sit down when the mood strikes me and actually create a blog post and immediately publish it. Now I can read a whole web page of news without shrinking and enlarging a bazillion times. Now we can watch movies on Netflix without waiting for our one movie to arrive in the mail. Now we can access the PlayStation Network and my son can be sucked in for hours (not really, we allot 40 minute time slots). 


So what drove us to reconnect? Well, the school year started and my guy should have access to research for projects. My husband has a new job and he can work from home. I've been active in reforming Austin's chapter of the National Organization for Women. So it was time for us to rejoin the modern world. However, I plan to have a minimum of three disconnected days a week, once the thrill has subsided. 

The Hive

Perhaps its been awhile since you have been part of cubeworld. Corporate culture is faced with radical change. Every desk holds a portal to the web... tempting even the most dedicated worker to be sucked in without adult supervision. Personal email, instant access to your bank balance and perhaps Ebay?

Image via Wikipedia

Mr. C, also know as The Man, the queen bee, has combated the web with a series of abstract policies to keep their worker bees in check. They have creative names like "Social Media Contract." All worker bees pledge they will mind the hive, each year you you digitally acknowledge your pledge. "I (enter bee  name here" promise to use the web to support and product the honey."

However, this may not do the trick. Unit leaders are compelled to remind their recruits that Facebook has a time stamp for every bee update. I'm sure that Mark Zuckerberg envisioned Facebook to be a  wide open field of clover where a bee can be happy and carefree.

Beeware: The Queen has a dragnet, phising software to rack the net and catch their bees being crazy bees of the clock. Is it just me or is Corporate America becoming our nosey neighbor peeping through the curtains every time you leave for the day? Has the bee voiced their First Amendment right? is it within corporate policy?

Doucing is an old/new name for a new kind of discrimination. I'm a good worker bee, I have high worker bee ethics and I'm grateful for the benefits offered by the hive, a predictable pay check, and benefits.

But! I'm a radical bee after hours. I use the skills that make me a good bee outside of work. I write. My name is Star and I'm a blogger (Hi Star). It has come to my attention through the buzz of the hive that what I have said in my blog may violate the hive policy. Buzzzzzz, I have never, ever identified my hive. There are a few hives right close (yep, Texas, an at will state) to my hive.

So my fellow busy bees, I have defriended my hive workers in the field of clover and would like to remind all bees that your stinger really is in your own ass. So watch where ya sit and stop buzzing around my field of clover.