I didn’t want to get up this morning. I thought if I could stay in bed all day I could avoid life altogether. I recognized this for the bad idea that it was and got myself up. I heated up some leftover fish and sweet potatoes even though I didn’t feel like eating. I know that I have to eat. I don’t eat enough on weekends. I probably don’t eat enough on the other days either. I need lots of money and a personal chef.
I finished my assignment for class. The next thing is the paper and presentation. Five more classes left!!!
I watched a little Law and Order Criminal Intent, worked on an art journal page, and cleaned up my work area a little. Then I put my clean clothes away. It’s always an accomplishment when I put my clothes away.
Art journal page in progress.
I sat outside and meditated for a few minutes. It went well. I was able to keep my mind sort of blank by telling myself to “come back” every time stray thoughts crept in. It was a good start.
I consiered writing about my dad’s health situation, but I think I owe him his privacy. Suffice it to say that I’m worried he will never be his old self again.
I still haven’t gotten an appointment with my doctor to have my depression meds increased. I really should. I suspect the coming months will be kind of tough for me.
I talked a big game when I was in the hospital about cooking health meals for myself. So far, I have not done this. I have been eating good things, but I’m relying mostly on frozen vegetables that are already seasoned. The current excuse I’m using is that I’m taking a class and keeping up the readings requires a lot of time. My other excuse was that I had to go to physical therapy two times a week. Physical therapy is over, so I’m down one excuse. I said I was going to organize the kitchen. That has not happened. We are looking into getting a new refrigerator. I think that will help.
I am doing good in some areas. I’ve been going to the Y consistently, and I’be been increasing the number of sets I do on my leg strengthening exercises. I want to increase the endurance of my calf muscles, so getting more time on the treadmill is a must. I recently learned that people with MS can increase their endurance by taking breaks between bouts of exercise. I did 25 minutes on the treadmill and 5 on the bike today. I’m pretty tired. Maybe I’ll try 10 minutes four times tomorrow with some stretching in-between. That might work.
My anxiety comes and goes. I think a lot of it has to do with this class I’m taking. Sometimes depression overtakes the anxiety. This is preferable.
It seems that things are not so simple. You know, I bet they actually are and I just can’t or won’t see it that way.
The prompt is grain and once again I’m not inspired. I considered writing about rice. I could talk about the importance of including whole grains in your diet. Those topics would require some research, and I’m just not in the mood. I guess I’ll go to the dictionary and take a closer look at the word grain.
Dictionary.com shows this definition as being from medicine: “A relatively small discrete particulate or crystalline mass.” I like the word discrete. There’s something elegant about it. For some reason it brings to mind a slender woman wearing a slinky cocktail dress. She’s standing behind a pillar or sculpture almost as if she’s hiding from someone. That image reminds me of a photo I took of myself when I was living in Champaign, Illinois. I did a lot of self-portraits back in the day, and still do. I had two single-lens reflex cameras, and a darkroom set up in my bathroom in the Clark Street apartment. I made some arty prints in my make-shift darkroom. Photo processing got to be more trouble than it was worth in the end though.
In the kitchen on Clark Street-digitally enhanced version
Photography could take me back to the word grain since prints can sometimes come out grainy. That is a reminder that I need to start learning how to use my new digital SLR.
I don’t have much more than a tiny grain to say in this post.
I’m in grad school for Library Science and I’m taking what I think is my last class this summer. I feel like the dumbest person in class. A few of these people are working on dissertations. Most of them have undergraduate degrees in fields much more rigorous than mine. They just know more stuff than I do and it makes me feel like an imposter.
The class is History of Libraries. We started with the ancient world. This is a period I have no interest in. Then it was the dark ages and medieval period. I’m sorry but I just don’t care that much. Don’t get me wrong, I’m learning things. I’m just not interested enough to add any insightful comments to the class discussion.
Speaking of feeling like an imposter, I also feel that way when it comes to art and certainly to jewelry making. It has been several months since I’ve done any jewelry related activities. I’m going to have to re-visit the wire work techniques that I was learning way back whenever.
I doodle while in class, sometimes with pencil and paper, sometimes wth an art app. Here’s something I made while the instructor talked about how they stored books in the 15th century and other fascinating things.
It started as a doodle.
I’ve got a lot of crap going on in my life just now, but, in reality, everything is okay. There are some things that I’m worried about, but everything is okay. Right now everything is okay.
I wake up in the morning and forget to be anxious for a while but it creeps back in. I’ve found that messing around on my phone makes it worse. Thinking about this ridiculous presidential election makes me anxious. Thinking about food makes me anxious.
I’ve had enough!
I think the thing I have to do is ask the doctor to increase my anti-depressant dosage since I know it helps with anxiety. Maybe I need a new drug. I’ve been on this one for 15 years after all. I’ve got to do something because living like this is not living. Living like this could cause an MS relapse. I can’t have that!
And why am I not doing yoga? Why am not meditating?
I know that everything is okay and that things will work out fine. Right now everything is okay. It really is.
Coloring helps a bit.
When I was in grad school the first time (in the dance program at the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana), my friend Daphne and I formed a dance company. Daphne was from Oklahoma and she got us a couple of gigs there. So we drove my Nissan Pathfinder to Oklahoma City.
Somewhere on Interstate 40 I looked up at a billboard and I swear I saw the number 25 on it. As we got closer to the sign I realized there was no 25 on the sign at all. I assumed it was something mystical and moved on.
Flash forward a couple of days. We’re at the community center (where one of our shows is scheduled) waiting for someone to come and unlock the doors. I think of the billboard with the mystical 25 and wonder what it meant. Then I look up at one of the bricks in the wall that I’m standing next to. I see a $25.00 price tag stuck to the brick. Is that ridiculous or what? To this day, I am convinced that the number 25 holds some sort of power for me.
That’s my story about a brick.
I wish I could live up to my own hype
I wish I could do things right
I wish I could touch the stars at night
And burn as bright
I wish the birds would talk to me
I wish they’d tell me how to be
I dearly wish I could just be