That’s not odd at all….

04OCT

So I have a friend. A friend like we all do. One that does …. odd … things, but things that amuse us, nonetheless.

For instance, this friend hates to do dishes.  Now most of us hate to do dishes, but my friend takes this to a new level. Like letting the dishes build up and build up. To the point that there are now dishes out on the porch of her house. In Buckets. And also, she would rather write a symphony blindfolded than do dishes at her house.  So they sit, undone, for months.

You would think this is quirky. Or just eccentric.

I don’t find it quirky at all, until I notice that she will do dishes at my house. Or after she throws a party.  THAT’s when I wonder what her rules are, particularly  that make up the game of the dishes avoidance at her house?   As her friend, I immediately look for the quick fix and I come up with this: Just use paper plates and cups and etc…that answer would solve the entire problem…

It never occurred to her. Not once.  It doesn’t make sense to me, and yet….I am entertained.

I have another friend that will do anything it takes to avoid brushing histeeth.  Seriously.  He is an adult, but this friend will use all the trickery in the dental world to keep his teeth from coming into contact with a bristled, hard, instrument. This man uses tongue scrapers for his breath, floss for the flotsom and jetsom that might stick to his gums, and mouthwash to kill the germs. He carries gum and mints with him . He will constantly ask, “How’s my breath?” He definitely does not want gum disease or gingivitis, and yet he will not pick up a toothbrush.

But the avoidance is only confined to his own home.

Again, and as his friend, I immediately look for the quick fix and come up with this: Just brush your teeth with friend/family/loved one time in the car, and brush away!  Use those wisps and portable toothbrush/tooth picks that come in an 8 pack at Albertsons. Spendy? sure, maybe, but so is getting your teeth pulled, and honestly it would make the drive to work more entertaining.

Once more, ..It’s amusing to me. 

Just what is it that makes their behave like a toddler being fed bad-tasting medicine? Practically Swinging their heads wildly around, in any direction, to avoid the pink, icky stuff on a spoon, whether it be antibiotics, a toothbrush, or some dishes? What is it that lets them go against the rules of  society?

Well number one, I wholeheartedly side with a toddler’s behavior.  No one wants that pink, creamy stuff in their mouth, but toddlers are just obvious about it. They are real about it.  They don’t really know or care that it makes their body better, right?  They simply know that at the business end of a spoon lies a messy, stinky and all around nasty liquid that is being fed to them by someone they love.  And they think, “What the?  What did I do to you to get this punishment, eh?”    So they refuse to take it, based on what they are experiencing right then.

(as adults, we probably should try putting ourselves in our toddlers shoes for a minute about that, and take a dose of it as we try to get them to do the same thing. I am banking we would make those same squinched up faces, ourselves. Just thinking of it, I’m making that face now…)

So I have these friends, and they sound … odd, at least, but when I think about them, it’s because I am entertained by their behavior. And then I realize that I have my own ….THING. The thing that I avoid at all costs because of some negative memory, or bad mojo associated with it. And then I think, I, and my friends, we can’t be the only ones that live perfectly normal lives, except for 1 odd thing.  So I start watching and I notice that we are not alone in seeming to have some habit that society asks that we take part in, and yet it seems just too much to do.

And maybe this is where superstitions came around. Maybe people who said things like, “don’t step on a crack, or you’ll break your mothers back” just had the heebee jeebies about stepping on the lines in a sidewalk and didn’t want to look dumb.  Suppose the guy that made up all the superstition that a black catmeaning bad luck…. what if he simply hated cat hair touching him or his things, and so he went out of his way to keep that stuff out of his space?  What a great way to explain his aversion to hair on his clothes and sofas.

I would say that we all could make up a superstition to explain away our oddness.  If I were to make up a suprstition, it would look something like this: Don’t pick up that clutter, or your back will turn to butter.  Or Lounging in a hot tub instead of doing bills will bring good luck. …. Naw. My most fervent superstition that I would make up would be: COOKING CAUSE YOU NEED TO STUNTS YOUR GROWTH.

I hope those stick.

Because it would go a long way to explain why  I Don’t Cook.  I go to great lengths to avoid cooking. I have been known to kick my heels against the floor when dinner time comes. I have also been known to stare at the contents of the fridge, the cupboards, and the freezer with a completely blank look on my face.

Paella koeriernavarra (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I will pare, chop, peel, boil, put together, open cans, spread, and open boxes, though.  These things are pushing it, and they will be something I am proud of at the end. Something homemade, to my way of thinking.  But I Do Not Cook.   I have ordered food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner before.  I have gotten a job just to pay for eating away from the kitchen before. I have hidden pots and pans in the backyard, just so my husband could see that there were not the pots available  to make a meal and we would, indeed, need to order pizza.

Does it make sense? Nope.  Is there a simple solution? Other than cooking, I mean?  I don’t see it, but then again, that seems to be a perspective that my friends should be taking. As for my friends, I watch and chuckle a bit.  And I realize that they are most likely chuckling now about something that I avoid.  And I am glad I am amusing to them. :0)

Cheese Puffs Are The Schnizz...

 

I love cheese puffs. 

I use them as rewards for me, because although they are not healthy, they taste like heaven in a puffy cocoon. I suck on them and can feel them just crush down into my mouth, the air going out of them. All that is left is the flavor that I savor as I finish it up and swallow. Ew? Well, to each her own. That is my reward that lets me do things like …. mop a floor, or write a story, or even perk up when I have made a mistake. 

Because mistakes are horrible for me. I happen to believe that I am not allowed to make mistakes.  

I know, no one is perfect, but apparently, this only applies to other people. I am not supposed to make mistakes. I am supposed to do things correctly the first time, and be amazing all the time. I honestly have believed that. So I am very hard on myself when I have a human moment. Sometimes I wallow in it for a time.

So my cheese puffs are there to say, “Dur, it’s just a mistake. Get over it. Other people have moved on, and don’t give a crap about your mistake anymore. No one is thinking about you but you. Have a puff and move on. Sheesh.”  That’s what cheese puffs are about.  Which is why they are so vital to me when I make a mistake with the Bipolar part of my life. 

I am not perfect while living with Bipolar. I have to admit it in order for me to move forward with it. It is my human moment part in my life, and it comes up at the most unexpected times.  Like when I stay up too late. Or when I don’t eat correctly, or when I forget to take my medicine with me on a trip. Or when I take my medicine late.  Silly things that have always been part of my life, and have been just part of me being a nerd are now things that trigger Bipolar Nerd.

It’s like my Nerd is magnified 100 times when Bipolar is in charge for the day. 

English: Typical Dollar Store, San Francisco (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Like… Not caring if I wear matching shoes. (Erp.)  Or, spending a large amount of money on things that are just silly, from the Variety Store (it seems very important to buy them at the time.)  Or, talking on the phone, texting on the same phone, biting my nails, and forgetting to care if I stop at a Stop sign.  (Cause yeah, I decide to drive while doing all that earlier stuff as well. I DO stop at the sign, but I just don’t care about it.)  Scary? Yes.  Especially because it all seems perfectly normal when I am having an especially …human… bipolar day.  Mistakes could be made when I don’t stay within certain Bipolar rules. So you can see why making a mistake is something I just can’t afford. 

And that is hard for me to admit, ergo the Puffs.

 I just figured out that I cannot do this alone. You know, living with Bipolar, and living life. So I take medicine and the Bipolar days become Sharon Days. Woot. But I also know that I cannot live life without ……. living life.  I don’t do well with doom and gloom. In fact, my journey is currently consisting of finding the humor in the quirks that happen because of this new development. You know, being in the roller coaster of the ups and downs that are part of living with Bipolar. 

So here are some funny things about me when I have an up. I mean a really…up…up.  I happen to get abit narcissistic. It looks like me looking in the mirror a lot, fixing my hair a lot, and taking five pics of me to get just the right pic so I can post it in Facebook, and make it look like it was a casual look in the camera.  On a normal day, I’d look 3 time in the mirror and take the pic as is.   But on an … UP… day, I will look at myself in the mirror 3 times as many times in a day, but I can’t seem to concentrate on what  I’m looking at, so I will look at my nose for 1 time, and my ear for another, and maybe my mouth. But I cannot look at my entire face or body because, WHO HAS TIME FOR THAT?

In fact that is my entire life on that day.  I am moving so fast that I don’t have time to think because WHO HAS TIME TO PONDER?  I will see a quarter on the ground and stoop to pick it up, but because i am going fast, I don’t have time to stop and pick it up with my fingers, so I miss it.  I stop, turn around and go for it again, and miss it again. This time, surprised that it isn’t in my hand, i squat down so i can get a good grip, and again, I miss it.  Now i’m a bit frustrated, and I think I will simply scoop it up with my hand. Nope. I get a bit of grime from the ground, but no quarter. I finally move on because i am sure that somehow the quarter has been glued to the ground and i am on candid camera. 

My daughter is watching the thing perplexedly, comes by behind me, and picks up the quarter for me to see. She is 5 then.  I have been shown up by a five-year old.  that’s funny. 

I need Cheese Puffs in my life to let me know that I have a reward for when my shoes do match, as well. Or for when I recognize that I am getting a bit too …UP…, and I just skip driving altogether. Or when I fold socks and stay put instead of spending money on dollar store toys. 

Or for when I get the quarter on the first try.  

I could get disturbed by what the …ups… could do in my life, and I have been. But I am at a place now where I am in control of it, and 99.9 percent of the time you will never know that I do battle with the Bipolar part of my life. I am safe to drive, to shop, and to dress myself. And, I guess, to write a bit. That is a win. 

Now where did I put my bag of Cheese Puffs
?

Sorrowful Truth…

19OCT

What to say when there is nothing to say?  When all my words are taken and the emotion is all that there is? What to say when my heart feels that it will pump so hard it bursts with sadness?  When being doubled over the sobbing is the only way to keep going that day? Nothing.  Nothing is said. Nothing needs to be. It is said in the tears, and the hiccups, and the mournful eyes that tear up when eye contact is made.

And that is just the first day.

What to say on the next day, when the tears have given me a headache the size of a migraine? How to think after being thrown back into sadness as, with a jolt, I remember the heartache and disbelief that came with that day?  Knowing that I am the bearer of the bad news and the bringer of the sorrow.  Knowing that if I had just closed my mouth, the day would still be sunny and bright. That life could still be… life.  And knowing that truth was still more important. What can I say?

If only bad news were just bad news. If only it could be taken in as a logical piece of news, leaving out the emotion and shock. But it can’t, and the day is only starting.

There is still life to live. There are kids to smile at, and drive to school.  There are phone calls to make, with a chipper voice so I can get a break from the hospital bill people. There is eye contact that is made with the lady down the street that just happens to be walking by as I sit on the porch, breathing heavily, to get away from the depression that lay over everything in the sanctuary I destroyed with truth.

It happened, and it can’t be taken back. No matter how much pleading, praying, or looking to the heavens is done. It happened, and every second thought confirms it.  And I can’t get away from it.

What to say, through all of this, knowing that there is a tomorrow and a tomorrow after that? Nothing. There is just doing. Doing one thing at a time, one minute at a time.  And sometimes that is doing nothing. But time goes on, and the pain eventually does turn, first into numbness, and then into a lessening.  And that is the time to talk.  To say something, even if the something is simply talking about how It felt.

Like now.

It happened 2 weeks ago, even if it seems like it happened today, and forever ago.  The loss and sorrow will be there for a long time, but I am not doubled over any more.

This sharing of feelings could be for so many situations, and have been for many situations in my life. I have had loss, and betrayal, and heartache, and that is part of living. The good news is that time can heal the heartache. And so can words. So I say them now…

I’m sorry it happened. To both of us.  I’m sorry that truth hurts. I’m sorry we are still hurting. I will be here for you, and I know you will be here for me. Let’s let love in, and get through this together.  I love you.