Dog Dancing

Okay, so here is a scheduled post to give y’all a little chuckle at my expense. Just in case you miss me.

Friday, before we left, I had a bunch of that last minute run around crap, that a Pro-crastinator does. One of them being the annual veterinarian visit for the dog. (I told you I should live in the parking lot)

Boogie, is a huge baby. I can only lift parts of her body, because she becomes dead weight while trying to move her when she isn’t having any of it.

So….I get her into the car fairly easy, but I have to listen to her noisy panting, so I jacked up the air conditioning and the radio. All is well, again…until we reach the parking lot of the veterinarian.

She wouldn’t get out of the car. I tried pulling on her, using my big tough Alpha voice, I tried lifting her front end, I tried moving to the other side of the car. I tried pushing on her butt.

I finally had to do some jumping up and down, and a ceremonial-type dog dance in the parking lot, to coax her out of that car. The dance didn’t work at first, but eventually, she put her front feet on the ground, and I lifted her butt out. It took almost 10 minutes to haul her hind quarters from the backseat of my car.

All this, for the entertainment of the office gals waiting to see how I was going to get her out of the car. You see, my husband usually takes her due to this difficulty. He doesn’t have the same experience with Boogie. No, that behavior is reserved for me.

She weighed in at 110 pounds, which is where she should be. Then I maneuver her to the farthest edge of the waiting room, in order to avoid scaring any little dogs, or be challenged by another big dog.

We are finally shown to the exam room, where someone came to take her for her annual blood draw.

I sat down and waited.

I sighed and put my head down, as this was the last, last-minute thing on my agenda besides packing.

My pants were unzipped.

Perfect ceremonial dog dancing attire.

 

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I Don’t Belong Here

I was going to write this as if it were a story of someone else, because I felt like someone else. Not the person I thought I was. I also have to hurry because my time is limited. I will be without internet service for a while, but look forward to catching up on all your blog posts I’ve missed.

Today, was my visit to my Pill Pusher (Psychologist).

His office is located in a place with Institute included in the name. It’s a huge complex in Suburbia. There is a huge sign stating that the premises are monitored 24-hours a day.

I have to pass by the “Day Hospital” section, to reach my doctor’s office.

Past the lovely little bridge over a small creek.

It’s a lush looking place when all the leaves are on the trees.

There are many different buildings in the style of 1970′s architecture. I swear, I could hear chimes and soft music playing in my mind, as I wound my way around the parking lot. It’s one of those zen places for the mentally ill.

The parking lots were quite full, and that made me sad, but good at the same time. The people from those cars are getting the help they needed today.

And that’s when I realized that I am there because I suffer from mental illness. I felt a tear fall down my cheek.

I don’t ever want to be a visitor at the Day Hospital, or the long-term care facility. I will do as my doctor says, even if I think I’m flattening out. There always has to be a solution for me, and I am determined to find it.

I don’t belong there.

 

 

 

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Things You Didn’t Know You Needed Thursdays

Since I was on the subject of Ms. Neighbor, Destructor of Vegetation, I thought this may be of some use in our yard.

DB383049_1-w335Yes, a life-sized Bigfoot, or Yeti–whatever you want to call it.

Where we hail from, it would be called Bigfoot. I’m not sure why they are calling this life-size, because the large statue is only 6 feet tall. I always thought that Bigfoot was larger than man.

But, what do I know—I’ve never seen one, and we have camped in their stomping grounds.

 

bigfoot-tree-sculpture-xl

Or better yet, maybe this one to hang on one of our oaks to let New Neighbor know I have my eyes on her.

These can be found at the link highlighted above, or—yes, you can find them on Amazon.

I thought they were totally useless items to plunk down hard earned money, but now I’m rethinking my original thought.

Hope y’all have a happy Thursday!

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They’re Taking Away My Sanctuary

I do have a gratitude entry, and I will post it after my bellyaching.

I can’t wait to move to Nowhere, Missouri. I now have some more motivation to kick my ass into high gear and get our house ready to market, and that house ready to move into.

I have written about my love of sitting on the deck and loving how the trees kind of block us in. I can pretend we’re not in suburbia, but in our own little backyard haven.

We have new neighbors.

The neighbors who moved, were the only people in the neighborhood that we knew beyond the nod and wave. She was more of a “naturalist”, had very little grass in the yard, and grew fruits and vegetables instead. The rest of their yard was left native. While I don’t miss her fertilizer of choice, which produced the steamy smell of manure during the humid days of summer—I do miss having them next door.

We have left a good section of our property native for the privacy, but that’s a long, boring story, and part of it has to do with the stinkin’ County and their cruel design plan for a portion of our property.

The point—because of all the native undergrowth and trees, during the summer, we have quite a bit of privacy. Without the leaves, we can see 7 or 8 backyards of the houses in the neighborhood behind us.

Ms. New Neighbor is taking that away, and I am extremely sad.

The worst sound to me, other than incessant dog barking, is the sound of a chainsaw. They’re a buzzing next door, and the freakin’ dogs are barking their silly heads off.

I’m plotting some revenge—mwahahaha!

But I made an agreement with myself, and even though I want to run next door to make sure she knows exactly where the property line is, I have something I’m grateful for.

Miralax.

Yes, that old-fart supplement to keep our bodies on a regular schedule.

Obviously, I don’t need to go into too much detail, because — well, I’m sure details are not necessary.

However, it isn’t supposed to have a taste, but I beg to differ. It isn’t a nice compliment to my morning coffee. I add it to my water with lemon. If my tongue tells me there is a taste to it, the lemon takes it away.

Miralax is what keeps April happy–which makes the rest of the household relax.

Okay, now I have some work to do purging some crap, because next week, some of us will be in Nowhere getting rid of 18 years of nicotine build-up.

I hope you find something to be grateful for today.

 

 

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Hey! April! What Are You Grateful For?

Day 1

A new day.

Another random challenge for myself—write what I’m truly grateful for. Some big things, some very tiny, but wonderfully beautiful things nonetheless. Hopefully, a way to stop the noise of negativity, self pity, and outright frustration. A way to reduce the overwhelming feelings I sometimes have.

I write what I do (the venting), because I’m not perfect. I’m not always positive. I haven’t reached the peaceful mind yet–but I won’t give up. There are times I can’t even find something funny.

I will probably throw in a bunch more of my struggles, because there is someone out there who feels alone. It’s not okay to be ashamed of depression. It’s what matters to you, not what other people think of you. Hiding from the stigma is added fuel to the growing fire of depression.

So…….

Today, I am grateful for the man who chose to marry me 26 years ago.

He has been the best support person, father, and friend. He has held my hand even when I wanted to withdraw and isolate myself–actually, I’ve never been successful hiding from him, and I’ve even contemplated under the bed as a hiding place.

He laughs at the same things I do, and we compromise when it comes to the form of entertainment we share. What I find enjoyable, is torture to him. What he finds enjoyable, is torture to me. However, there is always, always a middle ground.

Even though I don’t think he understands depression, he sees how it tortures me. Because of him, I have grown to be the person I am today. Even though I’m still a work in progress, I’m pretty sure I will reach some peace as long as he is standing beside me.

I want to be the person he sees through his eyes. The me he sees is much more beautiful than my view. For that, I’m truly lucky. For that, I know I will eventually believe the same.

 

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Woogie Woogie Woo Woo

Get ready–

You may not want to read this post because it’s ugly—and very wordy. If you suffer from depression, this may not be a wise choice for you either. It’s a good example of how the world of depression and anxiety ebbs and flows. To anybody reading this who does not suffer from a mental illness—count your blessings.

Fair warning.

I’m going to freakin’ whine—April-style.

And, hopefully acknowledge what I do have to be grateful for.

I’m pre-coffee. I have to drink stale coffee of my favorite brand, it’s just not my favorite flavor. Why do I still have it?

Why do I keep 50 little plastic containers from Chinese take-out? I’m in the stages of pre-hoarding, and I’m afraid of throwing out one cent worth of anything.

Even though stale, I have coffee.

I wake up every morning with a pain in my armpit. Apparently, according to various Torturers, it’s due to nerve damage from surgery, Video Assisted Thoracoscopic Surgery – VATS, to remove the cancerous lung nodule. However, I continue to Google why my armpit hurts. It’s one of those things I do over and over, expecting a different answer. I was one of the “lucky” ones. Thankfully, I didn’t have to have a Thoracotomy. That’s one of those big words, along with rib spreader, they use in hospital dramas on television. I understand the recovery is extremely painful. While my recovery was painful, I suppose it could have been worse.

Just in case I may have some other odd thing about my body/health. I have read articles describing how to dig around the armpit to feel the lymph nodes. Apparently, I’m supposed to feel my ribs? Crap.

However, I woke up this morning, and I’m thankful for that.

I knew I was awake because I had the pain in my armpit.

One of the things I have had on my mind–obsessively–is that I have a friend suffering from a rare form of cancer. I think she said that there are like 3000 cases diagnosed in the U.S. each year. I’m sure y’all can Google the other types of cancer diagnosis statistics, but her cancer is rare. So guess what? There is very little funding to research treatments for it.

My friend was recently sprung from a month-long incarceration at her local hospital. Just one of her many, many trips to the hospital. She updates though the CaringBridge Network, but we have recently been receiving updates through her sister. Which means she’s fighting awful hard.

She is a “virtual” friend that I met through another friend. We have talked over the phone and over the computer, but I have yet to meet her in person. When she is healthy enough to have visitors, I would actually hop on a plane, or drive the 12 hours to a HUGE stinkin’ city to see her, and give her the hug I wish to give her. My life has been better with her enthusiasm, encouragement, and the example of how she chooses to live her life. I am blessed to know her.

While on the subject of fighting and pain, my sister–the only sibling I have left–reminded me of what she has gone through. Well, actually she was describing how much of a rock her husband has been—but they survived the 7.1 earthquake in the late 1980′s in San Francisco. A couple of hurricanes while my brother in law was stationed on the east coast. She has suffered from Multiple Sclerosis for over 30 years and lives in constant pain (my armpit pain is like a mosquito bite to her, I’m sure). She is also a cancer survivor. She has lost the same dad, grandparents, and siblings that I have. You know what? She always seems to have a happy-go-lucky attitude. I’m proud to be her sister, and I’m humbled.

I have to go to the stinkin’ grocery store. Mainly, I don’t want to, because tears are a-flowing this morning. It’s bad enough slogging through that dreadful store, but to do it in the mind frame I’m in, I need my babysitter. What a pitiful statement. At least I’m physically able to go there. While mental illness can be debilitating, I thought I had most of mine under control.

Another problem—I’m having is a ginormous feeling of being overwhelmed.

About everything.

My cat that was sick, is now better. However, he has developed a behavior problem which I have to perform serious stealth tactics to correct. At least he’s peeing in the bathtub, and not other places. He’s on anti-depressants because the veterinarian thinks he has a mental illness. Ha! The Crazy Cat Lady, who suffers from mental illness, has a crazy cat—with a mental illness.

I’m trying to find something good here….he is lovable, and I love, love, love him. However, he’s giving off some bad ju-ju, and it’s another subject I’m obsessing over. Instead of the peace I receive by snuggling with my cats, I’m annoyed by their constant neediness for attention.

A lot of my crazy-cat’s problem, has to do with the multiplying of other house cats, and that wild puppy that belongs to The Wee One. The puppy who will soon be causing havoc on a daily basis. I’m excited to have two of my kids back home, but why, oh why do they have to be animal lovers? At least I feel good about the part that their animals are rescue animals.

Oh, and the old dog that I love to humiliate, doesn’t seem to be doing well. She recently had her old lady tune up, but she pants a lot. I know it’s hot, but we have air conditioning. So…I’m stressing over whether or not to return to the veterinarian again. I feel as if I should just live in my car with all my animals–in the parking lot of the veterinarian’s office.

I was rather proud of the progress I’ve made in our home office. I had it almost down to a system of purging daily junk mail, and keeping myself from creating a huge mess. I was about to post a before and after photo until I realized, through many different rooms and closets, I have boxes and boxes of “important” papers. I suppose my theory of out of sight–out of mind, didn’t make the stuff disappear. Now the office is messy, but it’s contained in boxes for the most part.

I’m a stinkin’ ancestor of the squirrel family. Crap!

My nest area around the living room couch is a disaster. I will leave it at that.

I have now had my third cup of coffee, and there are still tears. Not of defeat. Just tears from who the hell knows.

I feel as if I’m letting my husband and sons down. My daughter is really busy with school right now, but I miss the heck out of her. I’m so happy to have some Face Time with her. I’m thankful for the technology, and my ability to figure it out, so that I can see her little face. She’s growing tomatoes though container gardening on her deck. She showed me her baby tomatoes.

The worst part of depression for me, is that I can’t show, or I withhold the love I feel for the people I love. I don’t hug, tell them I love them enough, pay attention to what they are saying. I deeply feel it, but for some reason, I can’t show it. That makes me feel the worst about myself, which continues the cyclic pattern of my depression. Not only does my behavior hold me captive by depression, it truly hurts my heart.

Every night before I go to sleep, I say to myself–tonight, I’m going to have the most wonderfully peaceful sleep—and I do—but it’s a medicated sleep.

Yesterday, I had such a battle with anxiety, I seriously thought I was having a heart attack. However, I’m more than familiar with the feeling, it was anxiety. However, I still fear the heart attack, all the same. Not only that, I don’t feel as if I can breathe. Now, that’s a scary feeling.

As I wake up each morning, I have been trying to tell myself something about it being a beautiful day……….

…….until I feel that pain in my armpit.

 

 

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Okay, So I Have a Few More Wizard of Oz Comparisons To Life

Coming out of an episode of clinical depression is comparable to when Dorothy opens the door to the land of Oz.

But, everything isn’t vivid color. I begin to see some color, and it is such a relief that I get a little giddy, but I’m filled with trepidation. Is it real? How long will it be real?

I notice some greens, then some blues, yellows, and so on–until it’s there–red! All vivid, and I have a sense that everything will be okay.

Gradually.

But, I revert back to the behavior of pretending. I don’t see the colors on some days. I think they’re behind me–but nope. I get smacked with that old obsessive thought monster. Thinking myself away from that monster takes a herculean effort some days–days on end–practicing mindful thinking with patience, instead of impatience.

How does one live with, and have patience with a person who struggles to get out of bed each day?

I feel as if I have to hide my behavior from my family. Hurting them, continues to deepen my sadness. Honestly, it makes me a rotten person to be around–I can’t even stand to be around myself.

Knowing how to stop the focus of what is bad, imperfect, or out of my control–that’s the trick.

I want—but I can’t get out of my own way.

Learning how to face my fears that prevent me from doing what I want, is a stinkin’ daily battle, and I’m growing rather tired of forcing myself to do anything–everything–something.

Some day, I will master living with loving mindfulness, especially for myself.

I simply wish I had more confidence.

Meh, I’ll go climb, and conquer another crap pile. I’m finding that my accomplishments to clear the physical chaos is starting to have some benefit.

 

 

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Are you Following Me? I’m Following You–Apparently Not Well

I understand that I have to pay attention to keep one step behind technology, but there are blogs I was following, and now it shows I’m not. No wonder I haven’t seen some posts.

So—-am I three steps behind with technology, or did WordPress do something to mess with my mind?

 

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It’s Friday—so what?

It’s 2 pm.

She’s in her pajamas. At least they are clean—not the pajamas from yesterday.

She knows that in order to grow, she has to explore beyond what is contained inside the cocoon of her home.

She has to think about others in a healthy way, and not obsess over their struggles. She wants to help, but can’t find a way—because her way is blocked by her own walls.

Everything beyond the cocoon is frightening.

She laughs.

What’s the worst that can happen?

Patience is not one of her virtues, but determination is.

sigh

It would have been easier if she had taken the solitary path of becoming a mountain woman.

Nobody would care if she smells.

 

 

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Things You Didn’t Know You Needed Thursday

Because I have been “organizing” my clutter piles—actually they are starting to look more like nests a mouse would make.

538217185412128084_10ba215f2011I thought this would be appropriate to share. Of course, you can buy them on Amazon, and I’m going to have to stock up on more than a few of them.

Happy Thursday!

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