veritas and balderdash

Unfortunately, I never know when a day is going to be good or bad, so I can’t plan around it. I get hints, when my insomnia kicks in, but sometimes I still end up having a good day afterwards. I know that I have depression, and I know that it’s probably caused from having long term pain, and I know that my body hates me and is trying to slowly kill me, but knowing something doesn’t always make it easier. I could psychoanalyze my life to explain why I am the way I am, but again, knowing doesn’t make it any easier. I very rarely allow people to get too close to me, emotionally, because I know that it’s only going to cause pain down the road. I figure I have enough physical pain, without having to deal with emotional pain as well. That would explain why most of the people I consider good friends, I have never met in person. Being anonymous on the internet is a strange thing. You can choose to be a bully and hide behind your anonymity, or you can bare your soul and hide behind your anonymity. I share who I am, and some people think they know me, but I still don’t allow them inside the messed up confines of my mind.

Today was one of those days where every single part of my body hurts. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to walk, it hurts to move. These are the days when I border on suicidal. I start thinking that the world wouldn’t notice if I was gone. Oh, a few people might care for a little while, but in a year, I’d be forgotten. These are the thoughts that creep into my mind when the pain gets bad and the depression kicks in. Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. I have no intention of killing myself, my body is doing a good enough job of that on its own. This is not a plea for intervention. It’s mostly just whining. Complaining. Venting. I get tired of being in pain constantly, and I get tired of hiding it. I get tired of becoming emotionally attached to someone or something, only to have it taken away. I gave up on happiness a long time ago. Now I just enjoy the occasional bouts of contentment. I look forward to the rare days when my body doesn’t feel like I’ve been hit repeatedly with a wooden bat. They’re becoming rarer as time stretches on. I guess, like finding a four leaf clover, it’s the rarity of the thing which makes us appreciate it more.

It’s been a rather crazy past couple months in my life. Going back to May, I’ve ended a relationship because he decided that I was his maid instead of his girlfriend, I’ve stressed over finding a new place to live, at the very last moment (literally, a week before the lease ended) I found a place, ended up moving on the hottest two days that I remember, had insane customers at work, had to deal with two cat fights between my poor sweet kitty who just wants to be friends and play and the landlord’s cat, who doesn’t know how to play (he’s old and grumpy), all the while housesitting for a friend for the past week.

I’m just a wee bit stressed.

The hard part is over, I keep telling myself. I’ve managed to mostly keep myself together, and I’m looking forward to good things happening in my future. On the downside, the one friend I’ve always been able to count on has seemingly dropped out of my life for now. I know he has a lot going on in his life right now, too, but I feel slightly abandoned. I don’t know where the future is leading me, and I’m just taking things one day at a time. Sometimes, it’s one hour at a time. Sunday, I had the misfortune of forgetting to refill the container I keep in my purse of various prescriptions, and started having panic attacks while at work. I managed to tough my way through it with the help of some great friends and meditative breathing, but it was not fun. I just need life to settle down for a bit, so I can get my bearings and set a direction.

I will preface these remarks by admitting that I am enjoying a lovely bottle of chardonnay from Washington state. Of course, the only reason I am drinking the chardonnay is that my malbec from Argentina was corked when I went to open it. Now that that confession is out of the way, I can get on with my actual post.

I have been very busy lately with a new job. It’s the first full time job that I have acquired since my ill-advised move back to southern California, not counting the short stint I did as a player support associate for an MMORPG. Slightly off the subject, since I am in vino, is that supposed to be a MMORPG or an MMORPG? I never did understand when you are supposed to use which, when the acronym changes the sound. I do know that it’s always “an” when it prefaces a word beginning with “h” such as “an historical document” which has always sounded strange to me.

Okay, so… back on topic. Maybe. New job. So, I have a full time job again, which makes me feel kind of like a grown up, which I suppose I really should be, since I’m peeking at 40 coming up really fast. I feel the years more and more, as I get older. I have discovered that I have turned into that grumpy old person who complains about how kids have it so easy these days, and how life was much harder back in my day. As much as I love having the knowledge of the world at my fingertips on my phone or laptop, I do shed a tear inside when I realize that my son has no clue what a card catalogue is, or a rotary phone. Cell phones have always existed for him, and so have mp3 players and GPS.  I highly doubt that he remembers when we drove cross-country from San Diego to Gastonia, North Carolina and I used a map to locate where we were and where we needed to be. Life for him is plugging in what you want into a device, and it giving you instant results. He has never known the pain that is researching for hours in the library to write an essay on a subject.

Sadly, I believe that technology is slowly making the world a dumber place to live in. Maybe I’m the only one that feels this way? I saw a story that stated that North Carolina was going to require penmanship (which was a requirement in CA when I was growing up) and when I posted online that I thought that was a wonderful idea, I got pushback from others who stated that handwriting is dead. Everything can be done on computers or phones these days; why should we teach our children cursive? Why should we not teach our children cursive? Or, at the very least, legible block printing. I cringe at the thought of a world where personal, handwritten letters don’t exist. Writing used to be an art. Calligraphy is beautiful. Reading text messages in “text speak” is painful to me. It takes me too long to try to interpret what is meant when a message is sent with missing letters and punctuation. I guess I’m old.

I remember when my father turned 40, and it seemed so old. Next month, my sister turns 40. Where did all the years go? I’ve glossed over my health problems previously, and I treat every birthday as if it were going to be my last, because it just might be. I hope my son is old enough to remember me fondly when he looks closely at 40.

Once upon a time, I had another blog, on a different hosting site, but they decided that everything in my life was theirs to spread around the world as common content. I do realize that blogging is an inherently public medium, but when you set your site up with a “promise” that only those who have the actual web address will be able to access your thoughts and pictures, and then list you publicly in their search engine, it’s a breach of trust to me. So, I am trying again, on a new site, with lessons learned. If you’ve found this site, then I’m assuming you’re either a friend of mine (or wish to be) or that you are a fan of Harry Chapin’s and don’t know how to spell. Either way, welcome to my ramblings. I can’t promise that I’ll write regularly, so don’t bother following me if you expect daily entertainment.