I fail as a cartoon character

So, after getting our brand new (to us) washer and dryer home, we notice this lovely part has totally melted.


It's the terminal block- where the plug gives power to the rest of the machine. So, we replaced it- yay!


Of course, we kind of knew there was a blockage somewhere because the tub had issues draining recently, but we were kind of hoping it wouldn't effect the draining of the washer and dryer. Ha. It did. So, as it drains, water starts going EVERYWHERE, and I was in the kitchen grabbing celery out of the fridge coz I was hungry (yeah, that desperate for a snack, lol) and heard water pouring out of the drain. So, I run into the laundry room, and as soon as I hit the wood floor, my feet fly out from under me and I land flat on my back. Somehow, in this cartoon-esque fall, I managed to kick the living shit out of the furnace- which happens to be raised a good 4 inches off the floor. (You can see in the above picture the 2x4 the furnace sits on- that what my feet came up under and hit)

My poor feet right after the fall (ok, maybe 15 mins later, I had to change and crawl around the room for a few minutes first)



And this is my poor foot this morning in the ER.


After trying, and failing, to get to the kitchen for a drink last night, I almost passed out- to the point I heard the tell-tale swishing sound in my ears and felt pins and needles all over my body- even my vision was fading in and out. So, like any super sleepy and in massive amounts of pain person would do, I yelled my head off for Jay. Who came running in his sleep. He realized my back was dripping with sweat even though it was like 65 in the house last night, and grabbed a chair and paper towel for me... I tried to cool myself off best I could and take a few sips of water. Once my head came back, I hobbled into the bedroom and passed out til the alarm went off 3 hours later.

I called work and told the answering machine what happened, and the on-call lady called me back an hour later. Told me to go to the doc, and let her know what they said. So, I wallowed in bed needing to pee but unable to walk for about an hour, then we got up and Jay brought me some cereal so I could take my medicine, then we hobbled to the car and to the ER.

I must say, they were very efficient today! Right after they checked me in, they wheeled me right back to a room! (I was in a wheel chair) Never has that happened before. I even brought a book to read- and so did Jay. lol. The doctor came back after he looked at my xrays and was making a face. Apparently,  I have a non-displaced fracture of the 4th & 5th proximal phalanx. Pretty much, the bone of my pinky toe and the toe next to it broke in a Y shape (on its side) on the bone closest to my foot itself.

So, I'm in a goofy shoe that doesn't bend and on pain meds, which I do NOT plan on taking that often and definitely off work til the weekend and maybe off longer. We'll just have to see. Of course, I can't drive either, which is driving me nuts. I need to go to the office, but Jay is sleeping. I also need my crutches out of the attic, but again.... the boy  is asleep. I'm going to have to wake him up soon. I'm glad he's home with me today though.

In an almost unrelated note, yesterday (when all this clusterfuck happened) was the 11th anniversary of my cousin, Drew's, death.

Honesty.

I have ADD and some type of anxiety disorder. I was first diagnosed with ADD at the age of 6 (1987) and was put on Ritalin which I took up to 100mg until I quit cold-turkey at the age of 12 (1993) while I was at summer camp. I had hid a lot of the pills throughout my life anyway, so it wasn't a massive blow to my brain to quit anyway.

Mom, I guess, couldn't handle me medicated or not, so she tried to find some other way to "handle" me... she put me on some type of amino acid pills that was supposed to help reconnect the neurotransmitters in my brain that because of my ADD weren't connected. At 12 years old, I began to have debilitating migraines. That, along with being a very awkward and shy kid, made middle school hell for me. I finally quit taking those as well, and my mom freaked out- again.

I had always done workbooks called "Stop & Think" as a kid/teenager. It was logic games, puzzles, and trying to retrain my brain to think like a normal person. There was no retraining... what was getting on her nerves, what I couldn't control or had no idea was even happening continued. As I grew up though, I learned little things to help me cope. I was often the one being yelled at, disciplined, or ignored. It effected my self esteem a LOT. I know I am smart, I don't focus though, I can't mentally push myself and because of that, I don't do well, often. Enter low self esteem and I begin to feel dumb. My dad often called me illiterate as well... it wasn't because I couldn't read and write, but I often said the wrong word, or stuttered. It's a slippery slope. After a while, I just believe I am dumb. Not uneducated. Just dumb.

Little aside- I began having panic attacks while I was in college. Looking back, I probably often had problems with anxiety. I just didn't realize it, and my family's propensity to ignore me made me feel like I just had to deal with it. Much like I did w/ my ADD.

Last year (2011), I went back to a psychiatrist (or psychologist? The one that can't prescribe scripts) to get back on medication. Here are parts of his evaluation...

 

Whitney is oriented by 4: person, time, place, and situation. She is above average to superior in intelligence. She was appropriately dressed and grooming was good. She maintained good eye contact and spoke clearly in conversational tone. She remained relatively still; there was no excessive movement. Affect was appropriate; insight and judgement were appropriate. Thinking was logical and linear. There were no reports of bizarre sensory experiences of delusional thinking.

 

So, you would think looking at this, that I am not as spastic as I feel. How could someone who talked to me for only a couple hours notice that I am not stupid, yet my own parents constantly made me feel that way? It surely wasn't pressure I put on myself. That isn't the point of writing this though. I know I am smart. I ought to be able to handle things the way other people do. I ought to not have problems with keeping our bank account, or motivating myself to clean, or to remember things. I should be able to do this. That is pressure I place on myself.

This pressure, I believe, is one of the main causes of my anxiety. My inability to accept that due to a neurological deficiency, I am incapable of doing things other people take for granted. To say that makes me feel like less of a person though. I don't want to be deficient. I want to be like everyone else. I don't want to have to make allowances for certain things because I can't. Because I want to.

I was never one that thought people with certain disabilities ought to just "get over it." No one is perfect. I never pitied them, because no one wants pity. I never thought about the day to day disadvantages we are placed in. I never put it together that some things just cannot be done by certain people. At least with my ADD, I thought I could find ways around it.

You know what I've been learning? I can't. I have to now learn to ask for help, and accept the help that is given. I have to look hard at my life and notice the deficiencies and difficulties I face and work with those closest to me so that they can help me get through them. I have to learn to rely on someone other than myself. It is hard to sit here, a 30 year old woman, and admit to myself that I am deficient. Broken. Incapable. Because I am. It's not a cry for pity, or an "oh, feel sorry for me and tell me everything is OK" because it's not OK, and I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. It is what it is. And we move forward.

Will I continue to flip out for no reason? Of course. Will I stubbornly dig my heels in because I feel I ought to be able to do something I mentally can't? Of course. Will I get over my disliking help? I had better.

That's really all I wanted to say. There's a lot going on in my head right now... a lot of processing that probably should have been done when I was a child, but not everything goes how we want it to.  And that's ok. I am grateful for J in times like these. I am so thankful he steps up when I desperately need him and won't take no for an answer. I am lucky.

Why do we love zoos?

My dad and I got into a bit of a discussion about zoos the other day via email (or text? I don't actually remember). He's an optimistic idealist who wants them to be able to live in their natural habitats, while I pointed out that many species we enjoy at the zoo would be extinct if not for the selected breeding programs many zoos have. He then asked why we couldn't just breed a whole bunch of them and release them into the wild... My dad, ever the optimist.

Not the point of this though.

He sent me this article today from the New York Times Online, titled "Why We Love Zoos" - and after reading it, I wanted to share.

"Why do we flock to them? It’s not just a pleasant outing with family or friends, or to introduce children (whose lives are a cavalcade of animal images) to real animals, though those are still big reasons. I think people are also drawn to a special stripe of innocence they hope to find there.

Though not a natural world by any means, more like a collection of living dioramas, a zoo exists in its own time zone, somewhere between the seasonal sense of animals and our madly ticking watch time. The relatively quiet, parklike setting offers an oasis in the crowded, noisy, stressful, morally ambiguous world where humans tend to congregate. The random gibbering and roaring, cackling and hooting, yowling and grunting strike ancient chords in us, a feral harmony that intrigues and lulls.

Smells create a subtle olfactory landscape that stirs us: from the sweet drops that male elephants dribble from glands near their eyes in mating season to the scent signposts of lions, hyenas and other animals. Just as dancers have body memory, we have wilderness memory."

What I find more interesting about this, is that a large number of zoo visitors are adults without children in tow- much like J and I. It's a place to go, relax and just enjoy. Of course, there are the ever-present obnoxious children, normally being chased by the as-if-not-more-than-annoying-parents. Sadly, people like that are everywhere. 

I have to say, I agree, though. The sounds striking an ancient cord within us, the smells bringing back a memory we can't quite place- very similar to that of a wild thunderstorm- the calming effect they bring to many people. Of course, I think thunderstorms are a little different in that (a) some people are terrified of them (I don't know anyone terrified of the zoo) and (b) it seems to be the raw power or chaos of storms that is most calming. I don't know if I find zoos chaotic (not talking about the visitors, I mean the zoo itself).

Now, I must find another zoo to visit. My inner cave-woman is not quite satiated yet.

Heretical Soapbox

I may be ostracized for this, but it must be said.

Today is a day of mourning and remembrance for the United States of America. We are nostalgic, we shed a single tear for those who lost their lives or become a close knit community of humans for a day or two and then life continues.  We are sad because someone dared attack us. Someone picked on us! We are offended. How dare they. US! U.S. However it spells out in your head as you read it.

Did you know though, that children in other countries fear for their very lives as they go outside to play after school? A toy left in the play yard may not be quite as innocent as it may seem. They wonder if getting on the bus to go to their cousin's or see their friend may be the one targeted today.

Why don't we remember them? Why do we think that because someone dared hurt our people that we are any more important, that our lives are worth anymore than theirs?

It's because we are America. We are the world power.

But guess what.

We are also human. We also suffer. In fact, it wouldn't hurt us to be forced to face a day or two like those around the world do. It may help with the realization that our ethnocentrism has turned us into a large, loudmouthed, theoretical "I dare you" to those who don't like us.

Oh wait. You were aware that there are people out there that don't like us, right?

It's been 10 years.

Yeah, it was tragic. Yeah, it was horrifying.

But wake up. Get over it. Shit happens to all of us- all over the place. It's part of life. And we are not immune just because we are "the shit."

Even Rome fell.

From my perspective

This weekend I am at Glitch Con in NW Arkansas. It's my very first Con and I am here with two of my good friends who are both selling their wares. Feeling a little bit un-artistic since my name tag claims I am an artist but I sit at the table, camera in hand, and watch people as they walk by. Meh, so I don't sell here... but I keep telling myself it doesn't make me creative. I mean, look at me, I am adorable. :) That in and of itself takes talent after 8 total hours of sleep in two days, and both of those preceded with alcohol. I'm all about insomnia but this just currently blows.

That said, it's almost 8am. I have been up since 6:45am, wondering if I should get up or not, then trying to figure out the weird shower (we're in a handicap room b/c the trunk that holds the stuff being sold is old and heavy and doesn't have handles), and arguing with bangs that did NOT want to be straight and hair that refused to curl. I'm telling you- even my hair is protesting this time of morning. But I am loving it.

No one in a hotel is generally at breakfast this early unless it's the travelers on their way to their destinations, or the older adults. Walking from our room to the breakfast area was quiet- time to myself. Quiet, reflective, I-can-eat-my-tiny-breakfast-slowly-and-do-what-I-want-without-noise time. I was never a "me-time" person before. I have only just recently realized that I like me. I'm a pretty cool person. I like the mornings to myself. Maybe that's why I woke up so early.

Another amusing reflection is that I am sitting in this breakfast area with 4 other people, not including myself. Three gentleman and another woman. I am by far the youngest. I am also here for the Con. Normally, those people end up looking "different" ... it's fun to dress up. It's fun to be allowed to be totally yourself without judgment. I do not have problems immersing myself into that. The creativity, the atmosphere, the electricity (the people who think that because Anime is Japanese they can dress like sluts.....) But here I am sitting in the breakfast nook area with my Mac, in what I am wearing today- blue jeans, a green linen tunic with a black tank underneath it and my little boots not feeling like I don't fit in here- that I may or may not be judged by those eating around me. I feel chameleon-ish.

And I love my bagel. My head is not feeling like it's going to fall off my shoulders anymore. Amazing what food can do for a body. Tired or not.

Is this making any sense? It may or may not.  

I promise I'll be posting pictures in the next day or so. Since it's Saturday, I expect more people to be at the Con, more photo opportunities and more to write about.

I am also falling in a love with a culture I fit into that I was not aware I fit into before. I'm telling you- there's so much more to the Whit than I realized even just a few months ago. Maybe turning 30 fixed my brain so I am more introspective?

~me

The difficulty of defining yourself

I have been asked time and time again to describe myself to various people. My answer is generally an "I don't know!" or a "None of your damn business" depending on the one posing the question. So, of course, when I was pointed to this from a friend whose writing talent I admire, I had to see what would happen.

Enjoy.

I am from Spanish moss hanging from ancient Live Oak trees, from old school Mac computers and the small corner store.

 

I am from the once-upon-a-movie set, rooms filled with ghosts, and a bit of good ol' Southern charm thrown in with thick, Confederate Jasmine scented summer nights.  

 

I am from the cat tails, azaela bushes, and the sound of rain dancing across the lake, the elephant ears, gardenias and old orange groves.

 

I am from red velvet cake on Christmas Eve and a heart far too willing to care, from Wiseman and Parker and Bruggeman. 

 

I am from the martyr and survivor.

 

From be yourself and be more like them.

 

I am from beautifully decorated, stuffy pews. The do-what-we-say and don't think for yourself.

I'm from Winter Park and the Mayflower, frozen strawberries on a hot summer night and pecan pies as Fall rolls in.

 

From the outspoken baby telling her aunt to not sing, the spaghetti in her curls, and the tying of a June bug to your finger on a summer evening. 

 

I am from lonely box in the closet, the other realm where things disappear, and the once-upon-a-times that recall them from so long ago.

I am from pieces, gathered out of lives never meant to touch. I am from experiences, ghosts never meant to be created.

I am, simply, myself.

It's been 12 days since my birthday...

Things change so quickly. We began looking at moving, I went from full time to part time, I got laid off. Literally- in less than 12 days.

Things were so good 12 days ago.

The clinic is in trouble now.

We put so much of ourselves into it- so much into our work and our clients and patients... and it's gone. Ripped out from under us because someone decided we weren't what they wanted-- that we didn't look like we should.

I hope Karma comes through this time.

Friday night thoughts

Things are getting strange at work. I got a call from our vet, cutting my hours from 40+ to 34-37 a week. It's not that much, but J can't find work around this town either, so every little bit matters. We have started to look close, but out of the town. We'd have to move. I am finally OK with that. It's not Seattle or Phoenix, but it's not here.