I miss me. (and my size 8 jeans)

"You don't seem like your normal happy self."

Well, no shit.

Actually, I don't usually think of myself as either normal or happy, let alone both. But I guess the difference is that I haven't been wearing that mask of normalcy very well or consistently recently. It's just so damn exhausting. And unless you have to put on mental and emotional preparations everyday much like the average person gets dressed or does their hair and make-up, then you probably don't understand the energy that that preparation requires.

Good for you. Really.

But on the days that I can't even be bothered by showering let alone getting dressed or doing my hair, what makes you think I have the energy to mentally redress myself?

I actually rather miss myself.  

I don't even know, anymore, if I miss the real me or simply miss the ease at which I could wear my mask of normalcy, but either way - I miss it. I miss being snarky and witty and irreverent and intellectual and even occasionally charming. I miss me. This moody and depressed and insecure and pissed-off person really doesn't sit well on my psyche. Like most of my clothes these days - it just doesn't fit.

(but please don't get me started on the clothes not fitting thing - I can't even get my mind around the shear circumference of my body right now)

I find myself in a constant push and pull as I try to figure out where I stand - with myself, mostly, but others as well. Medication changes are always hard too. You can't have as many meds flowing through you as I do and change them without expecting to have some moments of readjustment and loss of equilibrium. Some days I think things are improving. Some days I feel very disconnected. And some days I am just worried and scared that I'll never be able to find the right combination to keep me stable.

I meant to write this as some sort of update to the last entry but I really don't have an update to offer. Like I said, some times I think things are better, some days I don't. So I guess I'm just still existing.... and waiting to see where that goes.

Interestingly though, to me anyway, I gained a bit of reflective insight recently. (Not that it has managed to effect any change but it was still an interesting insight.) I was talking to a student recently about cutting. I've never been a cutter myself though there was a time in ninth grade when I thought it would be a good idea to scrape a large area of skin off my arm with a house key.

(Cause yeah, that made sense.)

Cutting doesn't make sense. Not to the cutter or the people around them, but the behavior persists. You see, sometimes the noise and the agitation gets so great - inside your head - that you can't silence or calm the chaos. In an attempt to focus the noise - to scream louder than the screaming in your head - you take that energy and turn it on yourself.

That? I do understand. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I tend towards self-destruction. I'm not suicidal - and most cutters are not either, in case you were curious - but I do tend towards self-destruction. I want to blow things up. I want to scream louder than the screaming in my head. But that rarely manifests in clear cut (pun unintended) self harm. Instead, I over eat. I binge eat, even. I drink too much - not even for the buzz, so much, cause that's hard to come by most days - but mostly because of the volume.

Yeah, I don't really understand it either.

I mean, I do understand it, but it doesn't make sense. It's not any healthier than cutting. But the mechanism is surprisingly similar. In addition, there's the "benefit" of the weight gain. (sidenote: some psychologist somewhere at some point decided that fat people are fat because they find some sort of benefit in being fat - otherwise they'd be thin. Not so much; I'd like to argue that sometimes the benefit is in the action, not the outcome.) Anyway, there is a part of me though - and likely always will be - that doesn't believe that I deserve to be thin. So maybe there is benefit in there somewhere.

It supports my warped self-conceptions and my need to live down to my expectations of never being good enough.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?'  Actually, who are you not to be?  Your playing small does not serve the world.  There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.  We are all meant to shine.  It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.  And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."  ~Marianne Williamson

I'm not afraid that I'm inadequate. Part of me will always believe myself to be inadequate. I'm afraid that that part of me is wrong. And how do I reconcile that with the screaming?

I am such a hypocrite.

I owe many apologies to many people. If I owe you an email, phone call, or some sort of otherwise consistent communication, and I've been completely lax in follow through on those - I'm sorry. If I've sent you texts or emails in a somewhat altered state and/or just pestered you out of a need to not have to listen solely to the voices in my own head - I'm sorry. I think I tend towards extremes. I either can't connect with people when I need to or I over compensate by reaching out to those who don't want/need my witty pesterings. (please note: in my mind, everyone needs my witty pesterings. (this is part of my problem.)) If I owe you anything else, including but not limited to, framing, design advice, a lunch/dinner date, and/or anything else that requires even the smallest output of energy - I'm sorry. Chances are, that shit ain't getting done.

Anyway, I went to see my neurologist the other day and a simple "so, how have you been doing" turned into a steady 20 minute litany on how NOT-well I've been doing and ended with her sending me out of her office with a bag of drug samples and an order to see my doctor for a medication check ASAP. That visit took place three days later and my antidepressant dosage was upped by 50% on a daily basis. We're currently in the "wait and see" stage of this process to see if the increase helps at all.

Helps with what, you may ask? For starters, feeling completely overwhelmed by nothing more than everyday life. For example, getting up and showering. Making dinner. Doing my shot. Paying my bills. Putting gas in my car. Doing laundry. You know, the hard stuff. Way too crazy to tackle.

I'm also waiting to see if the fog lifts. The fog that makes me feel like everything and everyone in my life is somewhat disconnected from myself. Like I am simply a spectator watching the spectacle of my life unfold in all it's banal glory through a pane of smudged and smokey glass. Hard to care what's going on when you can't even see the details clearly, right?

I'm waiting to see if some of the aches and pains subside. You know those commercials where they talk about the "pain" of depression? That shit's for real. Okay, maybe not the little black cartoon cloud that follows people around, but the pain is real. I'm just achey. It's nondescript but completely draining. And it sucks. Sure, I guess it could be MS. But maybe it's depression. And maybe it will go away.

Bah.

But, the hypocritical part comes in that I talk to students every day who are on similar medications. Students who may be new to these meds or old pros and I tell them all the same thing - be aware of how you're feeling. If something doesn't feel right, find a way to give voice to that disquiet and fix it. Don't settle for feeling sad or alone or helpless - because there are other options and other things that can be tried if your current meds aren't working. And the only person who can assess how well those meds are working, is you.

Um, duh, dumbass. So why did it take so many months to finally, inadvertently, blurt out that you're falling apart?

*sigh*

I don't know.

I guess I'm tired of the bitching too. Tired of feeling like shit and tired of having to give voice to that fact. Most days? I feel like shit. That's my norm now. AND I'M TIRED OF IT. I'm tired of living in the grips of some disease. I'm tired of not just living my life. And mostly, recently, I am very very jealous of those who can get up, get showered, pay their bills, do laundry, don't have to take meds, and don't feel constant aches and pains.

Then, after that small pity party for myself, I feel like a complete tool - because I know there are people who have it way worse than me too. So then I beat myself up for a bit for forgetting that fact.

*sigh* (again)

It's kind of endless like that. Some days are better than others, but most are like that. And it takes a lot of energy to get up, get showered, pay the bills, do laundry, go to work, etc etc, without just curling up all fetal-position-esque and asking in the loudest scream possible to be left alone. Because if I do that? That's when I get the 30 day vacation in the quiet white room with padded walls. And that would be bad.

Well, maybe not all bad. I hear they have the good drugs in there.

"It's too hard to be your friend."

I sometimes wonder if our friendship could have lasted if were it not for the MS. But, at the same time, I wonder if our friendship would have been what it was without the MS. You met me at a very odd time in my life. It's too hard to extricate my thoughts and memories of you from the turmoil that I was, at that time. Because of that, for better or for worse, you will always hold a unique place in my past.

I live in the past a lot more than I like to these days. Although, on a positive note, I've started spending more time solidly in the present as well. I've given up looking towards the future; putting off doing something until some other objective has been met, worrying about what might be.... I've realized the future is a myth. But, when you are spending so much time solidly in the "now"? You have more time to look back. Especially, you know, when you're ignoring the future.

I'm waxing way more philosophically than you'd have liked - sorry. You always preferred my snark and quick wit to anything too serious. Frankly, I prefer that too; don't feel bad. But that face takes a lot of energy to maintain. And truly? I don't know that this letter is even being written to "you" anymore, as much as it is to the cluster of friends who have decided (in ways both large and small) that my friendship isn't worth maintaining. Though, you were the only one, ever, to put it in such black and white terms; "it's too hard to be your friend."

That was a hard pill to swallow. Mostly because, it's true, sometimes. I'm a huge hot mess. I was a different mess before MS, but the MS-ed version of my messhood is messier than most, I know.

The irony of the situation (if by "irony" you understand that I mean "shit that really pisses me off") is that I am actually an excellent friend. Or, at least, I always thought I was. Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe what I am is an excellent counselor. Which, I know I am. I guess maybe the issue is that I don't see the blurry line between the two? Too many of my friendships have been one-sided for so long.

What I mean is, long before I was a counselor, I was a counselor. I was always the one to turn to, for advice, for help, for a shoulder to cry on, for favors large and small. I never resented being that person; I'm good at being that person.

But, I never learned how to be the one who needed help. And when I did need help, I turned to people who didn't know how to give it. It's not your fault that our friendship wasn't built on an even foundation; I'm just as much to blame. I guess I was just so used to compensating for that imbalance that when I finally couldn't hold the pose any longer - I fell.

Hard.

And you weren't there to help me back up.

I don't know who's to blame for that.

Something wicked this way comes.

I hate days like this. Especially when they line up, string themselves together, and don’t give me a moments rest. It’s not the uneasy agitation that I mind so much - though, it is ridiculously tiring - but it’s that those feelings usually signal the start of worse times to come. I can’t even blame it on the hormones - I’m not on the evil red pills right now anyway, but I am due for another cycle. I’m certainly not starting that cycle until this mood passes. I cannot imagine the apocalypse that would follow if I took them now. I also hate blaming all my mental and emotional swings on my meds when the truth is this: I blame MS.

In that first year, even before the official diagnosis, I had a lot of dark days. A lot. I even went for about 6 weeks without sleeping more than 3 hours a night. (That was bad. Really bad.) I didn’t want to acknowledge, at that time, that my issues may be MS related. I knew that’s what that year’s worth of testing was about; they were trying to determine my diagnosis. I knew it was likely going to be MS. But it was so much more convenient to ignore the fact that a very scary brain MRI had turned up unexpectedly in the first place. All those tests and bloodwork and doctor’s visits that year? what? didn’t everyone have that? Psh…. whatever, I was choosing ignorance and I was sticking with it.

March 13th 2009 changed that. I finally went to my one-year-later follow up visit (only two months later than I should have) and my neurologist looked at me very matter of factly and said, “well, you have Multiple Sclerosis.” Not-so-blissful ignorance: shattered. End scene.

I spent the next year falling prey to massive meltdowns that came, seemingly, out of nowhere. Eventually, I learned to listen to my body better and when the hallmark precursors would make their presence known, I would take it easy. Sometimes I could even avoid some of the more serious physical meltdowns. Not always, but sometimes. And that felt like progress.

The shit of it is, I don’t really know how to stave off the emotional meltdowns. I am aware of the precursors though. This simmering unrest? It’s my MS equivalent of a Kansas tornado warning system. You hear that siren go off and you better head for cover. It usually boils over into anger or crying fits or totally irrational unstableness.

Yeah, it’s super fun.

In these times of unrest, I find myself very torn. I don’t want to be around people. I don’t want to talk to people. I don’t have the energy to invest. But, at the same time, part of me hopes the right person will reach out and lead me out of that darkness. Trouble is, I don’t know who that person is. I don’t know if I’d let them get close enough to try. And yet, I am vaguely bitter at everyone for not trying.

(no offense intended; trust me, you’re better off not trying.)

((no, really.))

I actually hate people for living their lives without these feelings. Without having to worry about the tornado warning. And that’s *totally* ridiculous because I know everyone is dealing with their own shit too - different shit than my shit and sometimes shit that’s far worse than my shit - but I still harbor bitterness. Which, I then feel badly about. And then again, I totally don’t.

Maybe “torn” isn’t the right word. I’m clearly a head case.

I wish this storm would pass already.

This post makes it clear I have read too much SK in my time.

You know how, with some people, it's said that they have a "wall" up? Something that keeps people out? Puts a barrier between themselves and others?

Yeah. I don't have a wall. Or even walls, plural. I have a tower. A tower wrapped in barbed wire, lead, kryptonite, and old rusty razor blades.... wait, no.... I mean, is Superman trying to get in this tower? Hardly. And that's just too much shit. It's simpler than that.

Plastic.

It's wrapped in plastic.

You know, that really hard impenetrable plastic that they conform around all children's toys and electronics that you have to practically cut away with a buzz saw and almost always end up cutting yourself on? That shit. *That's* around my tower, muthafucka.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Tower.

(must focus)

At the core of my being, there lies a dark, quiet, well-reinforced, tower. It's huge, really, in this area that is expansive beyond expanse. It rises beyond eyesight and sits central to my soul. It is within and without at the same time. It defies physics and reality but it's real.

And it's dangerous.

I don't address the tower often. It sits there quietly, doing what towers do: keeping things in that need to be kept in; keeping things out that need to be kept out - for their own good, really. But every once in awhile, quite unfortunately (because it never ends well), someone stumbles across the tower. Sometimes people go looking for it. Sometimes they just get lost and end up there.

And yeah, it usually sucks to be them.

Regardless, there have been a few people who have reached the tower, reached the epicenter - my epicenter - found an unguarded (sometimes unknown) door, and foolishly pulled it open. All the mess that comes spilling out? Invariably leaves them sorry that they ever wondered what this tower nonsense was all about. Always.

They leave - sorry they ever came - and the tower reinforces itself more securely. Sealing up any known doors and hoping there aren't any others that have been overlooked. The reminder of the hurt that the open door caused? Gets sealed up in there too.

(Not to be all dark and overly melodramatic, but sometimes I can't help myself.)

It may seem odd to many - I live my life in a very open and exposed way. I share too much, I care too easily. I'm okay with that - because I choose what I share. There was a time when that wasn't an option and wasn't my choice; it was demanded of me. I think the tower started then - for the little inside dreams and fears and scars that I simply wanted to keep to myself. But it grew, over the years, and came to contain some pretty serious and ugly stuff. Stuff I choose not to share. Stuff that tears at me and defines me, at the same time.

It actually provides a pretty fucked up core of stability, strange as it seems.

If it were to fall, it would surely mean the end of me. It keeps the craziness from the manageable and allows me to function. But the urge to self-destruct will always be strong; stronger than I like. (as a side note: I find it endlessly fascinating and confusing that some people never feel that urge.... it's almost unimaginable to me.) But I think it's that urge that, unfortunately, still draws some people to the tower. Something in me wants them to find it, see it, understand the ick within, and pull me from the darkness - or, just keep me company there for a little while.

And yeah, that never ends well.

I am the least "adult" adult that I know.

I turned 34 this month. I am in no way fooling myself into believing that this makes me an adult. In fact, I am even more convinced that this whole aging thing is a hoax. Aging certainly isn't linear and it seems every bit of me is aging at a different rate.

For example, a friend of mine likes to tell me that I'm eternally 22 at heart. I think he chose 22 just so my inner self wouldn't be subject to eternal harassment by the po-po for being drunk all the time, but the truth is, I don't even feel 22 most days. Some days I don't think I ever outgrew my teens. Other days I'm ready for social security. (in that, some days I am borderline senile, subject to falling asleep before primetime television, and I have two different days-of-the-week pill cases.)

My body? Ugh. I am as fit as an overweight 60-something. Although, that might be offensive to 60-somethings. MS definitely makes me feel older than I am, physically; from the twitches, to the stumbling, to the aches, to the injection scars, I am much more beat up than my 34 years would imply. And with a rack this size? And gravity?? You don't need to understand physics to understand the issue there. To be fair though, I have not a single grey hair and the smattering of pimples that my skin constantly produces would suggest someone much more youthful than 34. (I use the term "youthful" very loosely here.)

Financially? Ha. Just, ha. I still don't have a savings account and I think nothing of charging something that I don't really need but really must have despite already carrying a balance on my credit card. My debt to income ratio is for shit. Seriously. Adult? Psh. As if. Today though, I made my second financial step towards adulthood: I started a 403B. To be fair, the lady had to explain to me what a 403B was and I randomly selected an amount to invest each month without figuring out how it would impact our ability to pay our bills every month in our living-paycheck-to-paycheck existence, but yeah: 403B. Yay me.

(my first financially responsible "adult" move? (in case you're wondering) Getting half a mil worth of life insurance on both me and my husband when we had Callie. Because with an unstable mother and a father who rides a motorcycle? We owe her at least that much. Probably more.)

I just don't feel 34. I feel simultaneously older and younger than that everyday. Older when the pain hits or I happen to, I don't know, look in the mirror or try to button my jeans, and yet much (much) younger when I blow out the second set of speakers in my old as hell and poorly maintained car while rocking out to LMFAO or Kanye West. Granted, I feel slightly older when it's Aerosmith or Journey, but it's just as loud.

Also? As a final nail in the I-don't-know-how-old-I-am-but-I'm-sure-as-hell-not-grown-up coffin? I just made spaghetti for dinner. Kick-ass homemade sauce (so adult) with chicken nuggets covered in mozzarella cheese because I'm too lazy to make chicken parm (so not). I mean, I have college friends who wouldn't even stoop to that.

And, oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention: I have college friends. Meaning friends currently in college. Which, of course, confuses the hell out of my friends who are actually adults. Because what could I have in common with people who aren't even old enough to drink legally? Other than a need to drink, bad skin, rash decision making, and a lack of a moral compass?

Well, frankly, that's enough for me.

Reflections from an outpatient surgical suite.

I cannot pee on command. How are you supposed to pee when you aren't allowed to have anything to drink all morning? This completely baffles me. And my bladder. I am a camel.

Generally speaking, doctors don't seem to get my sense of humor. Nurses? They do. But doctors? Not so much. Maybe at some point in all those years of med school their sense of humor gets shoved aside in order to make room for knowledge on how the limbic system works. I don't even know what the limbic system is, so maybe that's why I'm so funny. Or maybe I'm just the only one who finds me funny. Either option seems equally possible to me.

I've decided that, overall? my health really isn't all that bad. Do you know how many questions I had to answer "no" to today? High blood pressure? No. High cholesterol? No. Asthma, breathing issues, chronic bronchitis? No, no, and no. Irregular heartbeat? No. Allergies? No. History of cancer? No. History of stroke or aneurysm? No. (there were more, but I really don't remember them all.) Then, when the next doctor came through, she lead with the question of "how's your overall health?" and I had to answer honestly: "it's okay." She flipped through my chart and asked the next most obvious question, "but you have MS...?" Yep. Yep, I do. But considering all the other shit that I apparently *could* be dealing with? I'm sort of feeling okay about it. It's just MS, after all.

Half a liter of IV fluids later, and it's back to the bathroom for me. Seriously, people: CAMEL. I managed to squeeze out a few sad little drops. I felt like a urinary failure. My bladder was shamed. But it was enough to confirm that my uterus was not harboring any fugitives. My uterus appreciated my bladder's efforts, at least, and the nurse was amused.

I am convinced though, now more than ever: my body basically shrugs off any and all attempts at sedation. ("I don't take drugs; I am drugs." maybe Dali had it right.) Nothing phases me anymore. I find this fact neither comforting nor troublesome; I find it fascinating. Am I feeling at all woozy? Um, no, should I? Did you even administer the drugs yet? Oh.... you did.... hmm. Interesting. I was hoping for a nice little moment or two of floating lithium-like happiness. Instead, I got a morning without caffeine and big ass needles in my spine. This was not on the brochure people. I'll take a shot of whatever the incoherent lady in the stall next to me had, please and thank you.

To round out the morning, the lovely recovery nurses offered me juice and a snack. Much like the protocol of the vampires at the Red Cross blood drives, actually. I think the real purpose of this is practice is to, on a subconscious level, induce fond childhood feelings of snack time in kindergarten. I mean, unless your kindergarten experience was traumatic. In which case, those nurses better watch who they give those crackers to. But the last time I had a snack of graham crackers and apple juice, it was probably followed by a nap on a mat with 20 other kids.

And really? A nap wouldn't be so bad, right about now....

If you believe in this kind of stuff. (which I do.)

So, the other day - September 24th, to be exact - I was all, "yay! it's time for the Libra birthdays!" as I was under the impression that I had so many more Libra Facebook friends than any other zodiac sign.

(because, as we both know, there's the real world and then there's the FB real world.)

((and we both know which one is more important.))

24 hours later (because apparently these are the things that weigh on my mind) I decided to actually check the numbers. Here's what I found:

• Aries (March 21 - April 20): 29 friends
• Taurus (April 21 - May 21): 31 friends 
• Gemini (May 22 - June 21): 30 friends 
• Cancer (June 22 - July 22): 29 friends 
• Leo (July 23 -August 21): 31 friends 
• Virgo (August 22 - September 23): 28 friends 
• Libra (September 24 - October 23): 29 friends 
• Scorpio (October 24 - November 22): 26 friends 
• Sagittarius (November 23 - December 22): 34 friends 
• Capricorn (December 23 - January 20): 35 friends
• Aquarius (January 21 - February 19): 21 friends 
• Pisces (February 20- March 20): 26 friends

 (please note: apparently 40+ of my FB friends exist outside of the zodiac.... whoa.)

 

Wait a minute..... where did all these Capricorns come from?? Capricorns??!

Okay, so, that being said, I went back and looked at the people on that list. Not that all my almost-400 FB friends aren't equally important to me.... but yeah, they're not. So, I went back and counted - out of those people - people that I would consider to be a close friend, someone I have/had a significant connection with, and/or someone that I just really genuinely like.

(not that I don't like the rest of them....)

((wow, I am just not going to dig myself out of this one.... moving. right. along.))

This is what I found: 

• Aries (March 21 - April 20): 5 friends
• Taurus (April 21 - May 21): 7 friends
• Gemini (May 22 - June 21): 4 friends
• Cancer (June 22 - July 22): 7 friends
• Leo (July 23 -August 21): 11 friends
• Virgo (August 22 - September 23): 11 friends
• Libra (September 24 - October 23): 16 friends
• Scorpio (October 24 - November 22): 10 friends
• Sagittarius (November 23 - December 22): 9 friends
• Capricorn (December 23 - January 20): 6 friends
• Aquarius (January 21 - February 19): 4 friends
• Pisces (February 20- March 20): 6 friends

Now that's more like it.

I know I have a lot of important Libras in my life. I equally know that I am seriously drawn to Leos and Virgos - always have been. I never actually gave much thought to the Scorpios although maybe I should have. Interesting. There's definitely this bell curve type distribution centering around my own sign.

(ha, bell curve. Shit just got real.)

I'm a Libra myself and I am a Libra. Almost every time I read one of those "Libras are blah, blah, blah...." I am the blah, blah, blah. Care to know more? (I realize the answer is probably no, but too late now, if you've been reading this far, you're kinda pot-committed.)

Traditional Libra Traits:

• Diplomatic and urbane (please note: I do not know what "urbane" means.... so hopefully it doesn't mean "knowledgeable about obscure words", cause yeah, that would be wrong.)
• Romantic and charming (obviously)
• Easygoing and sociable (totally)
• Idealistic and peaceable (everyone should be) 

But, on the dark side....

• Indecisive and changeable (ummmm, maybe....?)
• Gullible and easily influenced (what, who, me??)
• Flirtatious and self-indulgent (that's a bad thing.....? whatever ;-))

A bit more about Libras:

Librans are among the most civilized of the twelve zodiacal characters and are often good looking. (yeah baby....) They have elegance, charm and good taste, are naturally kind, very gentle, and lovers of beauty, harmony, and the pleasures that these bring. Their characters are on the whole balanced, diplomatic and even tempered. Librans are sensitive to the needs of others and have the gift, sometimes to an almost psychic extent, of understanding the emotional needs of their companions and meeting them with their own innate optimism - they are the kind of people of whom it is said, "They always make you feel better for having been with them." Their cast of mind is artistic rather than intellectual, though they are usually too moderate and well balanced to be avant garde in any artistic endeavor. (which is why I am artistic, but not an "artist") They have good perception and observation and their critical ability, with which they are able to view their own efforts as well as those of others, gives their work integrity. They like the opposite sex to the extent of promiscuity sometimes, and may indulge in romanticism bordering on sentimentality.

The negative Libran character may show frivolity, flirtatiousness, and shallowness. It can be changeable and indecisive, impatient of routine, colorlessly conventional and timid (never!), easygoing to the point of inertia (guilty), seldom angry when circumstances demand a show of annoyance at least; and yet Librans can shock everyone around them with sudden storms of rage. Their love of pleasure may lead them into extravagance; Libran men can degenerate into reckless gamblers, and Libran women extravagant, jealous, and careless about money sometimes squander their wealth and talents in their over enthusiasm for causes which they espouse. (or just wine, apparently.)

Libra governs the lumbar region, lower back and kidneys. Its subjects must beware of weaknesses in the back, and lumbago, and they are susceptible to troubles in the kidneys and bladder, especially gravel and stone. They need to avoid overindulgence in food and especially drink, for the latter can particularly harm the kidneys. (hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!)

I'm not going to list every single sign (you're welcome) but you should totally go check out your sign from the links above. Even if it's not something you believe in, you might be amused to find how your sign description compares with how you view your own personality.

One thing I will note though: My husband is an Aries and my daughter is a Gemini - two of my "least" drawn to signs. Yeah. Our family dynamic should be interesting.

If you believe in this kind of stuff, that is.

Things I learned this week.

I can be counted on in a crisis. Totally level headed. Just don't ask me to hold a raw egg while sitting at a table and *not* expect it to end up broken.

Even when pressed? I have a really hard time identifying three possessions that are important to me. Equally so? it is hard to pick the three "most" important people to me. (there are far too many.) I am absolutely fine the complete imbalance of those two things.

I am, at the same time, totally crazy and totally amazing. (I have this on good authority.)

There is always someone who has it better than you. And worse than you, too. Don't compare war wounds. We all go to battle sometime.

I can't spell. Seriously. Thank god for those red squiggly lines and autocorrect. (they make me look smarter than I deserve.)

Some days, my iPod is out to get me. I am convinced of it.

Truth happens. Most frequently, when I am drinking.

Sometimes, I completely lose my mind. Fortunately, it has always come back. (kind of like an old cat that wanders away for three days in a storm and just when you're certain she's probably gone for good, she shows up on the deck all, "what? was I missing? meh, whatever....")

Jeans make everything more palatable. Including three days of discussing mental health, addiction, and suicide.

On a totally related note: I cannot handle three days of discussing mental health, addiction, and suicide. True, that wasn't the sum total of the conversations, but I get enough of that already. I'll happily write some college recommendation letters now. Please and thank you.

Some people actually had genuinely happy and well-adjusted childhoods. This concept is wholly unimaginable to me. And, frankly, concerns me. It should, in theory, fill me with hope for my own students, but the plain and simple truth is this: I don't know how to relate to well-adjusted people. I'm still not even totally sold on their existence. (well-adjusted people and aliens: we may never know for certain.)

I am 100% sure that I will irreparably damage my child(ren). Despite any hopes/intentions to the contrary.

"I'll never stop loving you. You exist in a place where time stands still, where the conversation never ends, I carry you in my heart always." (seriously, this was said to me.... texted to me, actually.) ((and it just might be the nicest thing ever texted to me.))

I still love this song.

I have a lot of time to think on my way into the city. (maybe too much time.)

I hated that place because I never really fit in there. I never felt comfortable. I was too garish too loud and not ever going to be one of them. But I didn't want to be perfectly polished. I didn't want the fancy car or the manicured nails. I didn't want to be quiet. I was happy for an excuse to leave. Now everytime I pass through I'm painfully reminded how I spent those years trying to pass. Or, at the very least, not call too much attention to myself. The loud un-filtered language always gave me away. Fuck them.

The city is different and I'm beginning to see how easy it is to blend and be alone while being surrounded by masses of people. No one looks twice, really, for either good or bad reasons; they're all consumed in the same busy comings and goings as everyone else. It's a weird dichotomy but more comfortable than the snide scrutiny of the main line.

The thing that fascinates me is that I don't change in that roughly two hour commute. The person who walks into HUP at 9:45 is the same person who left my home at 7:30, but it's like crossing a river of prada-wearing, Lexus driving, piranha in order to reach my destination. I go from my place of comfort to a place of comfortable indifference but in transit I have to pass through the valley of judgement.

Hate.

And really? I think I'm out of metaphors. I don't know how I lasted there for two years. My only comfort? I was lasting on an island, in the middle of that river. An island of misfit toys... existing comfortably among the other misfits.

(huh, guess I had one more metaphor left after all.)