newdotcolors.fw

shit.

why did i switch out themes at one thirty on a wednesday morning when this thing needs so much damn work. i assure you i have a prototype design and THIS IS NOT IT.  This is a fucked up draft of my general ideas on how the various elements will look.

ugh how can i sleep with it looking like this. i know no one will know except me, but trust me it’s bad enough just me.

DID I USE THE TERM ‘TOTES’????  shit is right. shit is a good title. look at that crap there. i should at least…

 

2014-04-18 21.27.48

and what if I just disconnected myself from every thing, just then?

but i didn’t, of course i didn’t. however i’ve successfully driven away anyone that might still be listening right? all quiet & dark now yes?

ok good.

anyway. i have cool filters on my camera and i’m probably kidding! yay!

just checking. kind of planning on just … saying a lot of things here, and the optimal conditions for this would be silence. darkness. just us. get it all out for once. you know.

shh. (no! no. but … )

I think I overlearned not to overshare

My blogger account is a teenager. My Me-Fi number is four digits. I have tweeted six thousand nine hundred times and I hardly ever twatter! Anymore. Anyway, I didn’t invent overshare, but I was probably webcamming my ladybits  to someone while it was being invented, and if you ever wondered “has liz ever had dreams of a prurient nature about Bill Gates?” that answer is not hard to find. Nor are my ladybits, I’m sure, but I’m sure most of you know that by now, eh? One thousand six hundred sixty nine posts in this archive, with whole years gone missing — there was more, I’m not even kidding.  And you know I am almost always either not serious, or not kidding. Usually both.

Once I was a woman of many strong opinions, and I loved them. I loved arguing about them too, I considered it a form of sport — in the way that I once considered Farmville to be a form of … what? Honestly I’d love to know what I was thinking when I thought that one. But that’s not what I came here to talk about.

Once my will drove me to express my self in ways that would … what was it? Oh, piss people off, wake up the sheeple, you know the drill. I came to that stage relatively late in life, and took to it with some exceedingly fervent fervor. And then I came out as an atheist and espoused some seriously liberal politics and  … well, I apologize for the couple of years spent being a complete asshole, let’s put all that behind us and just agree to disagree if we do?

Because there came a time I became much less interested in watching my own viewpoints either go unchallenged, or face only the most trollish of challenges (the treasured ignorant enemy that one can frame oneself smart when shown side-by-side against) — where’s the fun in that? What I am most fascinated with is those who share the same facts with me, who have reached alternate conclusions — but this is such a rare thing and when I consider its stimulating possibilities, I cannot help but be compelled by the ennui to just walk away. This isn’t your textbook lazy-ass type of apathy, if I sense I can change a thing I will consider doing things designed to make differences but let’s just face it, there are not too many of those things out there and I’m currently doing a whole shitload of them and that’s all rather beside the point, because it’s the fucking grey areas that are the real problem. That and the thing where none of this is really very important at all against the vastness of existence. Then you realize the only thing we really have is our perceptions and therefore while perspective isn’t exactly *everything* it really, really is most of the things. And every one of us has our own one of those, no two alike.  Fucking perspective, it makes strangers of us all.

But what does one do when one has been blathering one’s own perspective about for a good decade or more, then suddenly … this?

Me? I went quiet. Oh not entirely quiet, I still typed many things into many boxes, but somewhere along the line I learned the X in the corner was the appropriate click for me. Stop became a mantra of sorts, no was another.  I felt silence was the most unexplored of all my options and embraced it … fitfully. At best. I hope.

I’m not trying to claim I was any good at being the kind of quiet I probably should have been but couldn’t be because there is literally no way to know what that even means, because I wasn’t, and there isn’t, and then again there might be you just never fucking know. And THAT, dear person reading this, is the actual problem here. Well, that and the fact I overuse the word ‘actual’. And the unknown unknowns. Fuck those things, and any regrets I may harbor regarding them.

I want to continue to write (if you’d call this that), and I mean to do this for as long as I’m around. I can’t help but notice that no thing really really matters, least of all a pretentious little outburst like this one, which at this moment seems rather exceptionally insignificant.

Exceptional insignificance is something I can live with.

I can live without it too.

As to whether there is any truth in this honesty, well, you tell me.

I had a whole category named “I’d sooner chew my leg off”

You’d think that would be an adequate precursor to what’s happened today, but unfortunately no.

It’s just that no matter how much you want to change, when life suddenly with a clarion call & a flourish decides to end a phase of itself that encompasses three fifths of its entire existence, well,  you notice. Well, notice in the sense that there will be a disturbance in the ennui, nothing more, nothing intense. Nevertheless, this hurts.

Wait, it whats? Hurts? No. No, this is not hurt, it is … not hurt.

Twenty years, it’s been. For some people it’s a lifetime, for others, it’s 101 lifetimes (but who’s counting) anyway, let’s call it twenty one. Years. Entangled, enraged, enmeshed, end of story, we’re done, amen.

I’m glad it ended gently, with all the sharpest shards missing their targets & the unsaid things remaining safely silent.

I am glad it ended, full stop. I am sorry for any casualties but that can &/or will not stop this gladness.

Up off the couch…

For a long time I wondered about the weird warnings on antidepressants, the ones that said “may increase risk of suicide” and I thought, what? And then I discovered I’d been depressed and (all that stuff I haven’t revealed in the rewound story) and then worked hard on treating the symptoms only to discover the very obvious reasons for this.

If I may attempt to explain, using the damaged logic of the deeply depressed, it goes a little like this:

Some shit happens, and you find yourself in a phase in your life with good days and bad days. On some days, you wake up, cry ’till you puke, get up, and get on with the day. On the bad days, you skip the getting up part. During this time, you make vague, unfocused plans to go ahead and check out, but very, very subtly. You create a drunk reddit account, subscribe to r/cripplingalcoholism, and proceed to get on with it. It’s the long slow burn, the inexorable slide to ruin, and you plan to make it in as splashy a fashion as possible, insofar as the writing on the subject is concerned. Sounds like a great ride, right? And what else are we here for anyway?

So, you have a plan. You proceed. You get on with it, as it were. And then. FUCK. Complications. You undergo a series of tragi-comedies in your existence & in a series of unlikely outcomes, you prevail. How you gonna go all “I’m gonna die” and then die NOW, bitch? Well, again, FUCK. Because the first step out of the depression is the lifting of the weight on the psyche, that heavy lethargy, the absolutely IDGAF apathy that left you practically paralytic in every possible way and therein lies the rub…

You see, that apathy, that lethargy, those things are safe ways to spend a day, incapable of working up the resolve to do any meaningful damage. When you relieve the superficial symptoms of depression, the inability to DO any thing, you are left with the same sick thoughts, but none of the inability to act on them. What you have is energetic, focused depression, depression that has a plan and the wherewithal to carry it out.

At this point you either need tens of thousands of dollars worth of serious therapy, or a set of amazing friends that make that type of shit completely immaterial.

Me? I have friends. And at the moment my depression gained the ability to get up off the fucking couch and do something, my friends were there to make sure I survived getting better. It’s being a bumpy ride but I must confess to being absolutely amazed at how badly it hasn’t gone. Yet. Forgive me, still a bit nervous.

Someday I’ll share with you some of the thoughts that up-off-the-couch but still-depressed me came up with, as far as doing away with me/her/ourselves is concerned. It was/is fairly terrifying.

The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and bruised.

The trouble with cautious optimism is that it’s such a paranoid little fuck. After yesterday’s bold musings about the endings of the depressions, the very valid concerns regarding my track record with such things started popping up out of the oddest places. Especially when the idea occurred to me that what I should really do with this story, since I started at the end, was to rewind it in increments, working back to the beginning, and see how far that would go. I would do this with one post per day until done, no matter (almost) what.

You can see how scary such a thought process might be to a punk-ass flake like myself, yes? I don’t think I have any major “being a disappointment” moments left before everyone gives up on me, you know.

But let me tell you this right now, in no uncertain terms: my butt hurts. And by hurts, I mean there’s at least one bruise I can feel with my hands. Don’t ask. And don’t worry, this is all a perfectly normal part of doing something that’s way beyond yourself in order to make a bold gesture of some sort in order to prove some thing or another, the proof-of-concept on the fixing of me that I’m always on about.

But I’m a little less nervous about the whole grand plan tonight, though, because apparently I am really serious. Because when I was preparing to leave from work at 8:17 PM after a 9 hour day and ride 10 miles in the cold and the dark, and my colleagues offered me a company car for the night, I said no thanks. And I must admit, I’m every bit as glad I made that decision as I thought I’d be when I made it. Because riding is as amazing as it always was, maybe even more so. And as far as getting to the feeling good part, that happened in an astonishingly short time this time, the energy increases with each successive ride, and I can’t explain this.

I am, however, beginning to worry about the blog every day part. This one feels forced, wouldn’t flow. Also, shouldn’t I not be blogging about blogging? Please bear with me, I’m rusty at almost everything I’m doing (or re-doing) these days.

EDIT: “I would do this with one post per day until done, no matter (almost) what.” HAHA oh that’s a good one.

I wish I could write the post I had written in the bathtub earlier.

Because it was really quite good, I assure you.

I tossed around a few ideas as to how to approach the whole talking about the depression thing, including starting at the beginning but to be honest I have no clue when that even was.  So I considered some arbitrary start points, various cataclysmic events along the way that triggered things like episodes or whatever those were. I even put together a few introductory paragraphs for some of them, but no matter where I started, it seemed like such a long, wandering way to write and all of it uphill, so decided against that approach.

That’s my excuse, and I’m sticking with it.

So let’s start with the now: Cautious optimism. I’ve almost completed a proof-of-concept that I can be fixed. I haven’t done much of the actual fixing yet, but all signs point to yes as to the answer to whether or not it’s possible. It is definitely maybe possible. Maybe even probably possible. As we know, all possible histories and therefore all possibilities exist, so … waiting is.

And tonight, I feel very, very good. It’s actually a bit overmuch, but no complaints.

Also, a long bath after a 9 hour workday with 2 10-mile bike rides is a thing of wonder. And in a weird way, none of these tonight things would have been possible without the wonders of medical cannabis, which is one of the staples in the diet of saving me.

spilled milk

Found on Reddit: most accurate description of what I’m up against here:

A large part of how I experience depression is like when you have the flu, and you feel weaker than you are, and when you try to make a fist or grip something you just can’t.

That’s how you’re whole body feels, it’s how your mind feels, it’s how your emotions feel, it’s how your relationships feel, and it’s how life feels. You have that obvious awareness that you are, in reality, much stronger than that. But at that moment it’s just not there, and you can’t get it back, and each morning you wake up you check to see if you’re strength is back, and it’s not. And you’re disappointed with your own inability, and you’re ashamed to show people that you don’t have the strength to grip and pick up the jug of milk, so you try to hide it and pick it up anyway, and you can hold onto it for so long, and then, unavoidably, your grip gives way, it falls to the ground, and it spills all over the fucking place.

So if you’re one of the many people who are wondering why I haven’t [insert thing I’ve failed to do that I said I would], … I have a bit of a mess to clean up.

road trip

This is not a tribute, though I must admit I wish it was. It was not even a help, even though that was its original intent — it failed at that. It ended up being amazing, even though I’m pretty sure I was doing it entirely wrong the whole time.

Three days ago, my dad died. I never called him my dad to his face, though I spent most of the years we coexisted on this planet thinking of him as that. At first it was pure shit-headed stubbornness, which devolved into a tongue-tied pile of failure to overcome an old habit. He was my father, as much a father as I was ever going to get anyway, and I failed to tell him that. I would advise anyone reading this to avoid that particular failure or anything even approaching it if at all possible.

Do I even deserve to tell you about the road trip, and my selfish notion that it had some significance and maybe made up for something, whether or not that thing even mattered? It was not even an epic road trip by any sense of scale; the fact it felt epic was only due to the pathetic nature of everything else around it. It was not transcendent, but it did manage to do some transcending, I think.
Continue reading

prank

Best. Prank. Ever.

It was a *lot* of work. He was up until the wee hours last night, getting everything just right.

I came home from work, and he came out to tell me that Invader Zim was on! So I went into his room, where he was sitting with his laptop open. “I sort of broke my computer screen,” he said, pitch-perfect in the kind of hopeful regret of a child who knows that Mommy will be able to make it better. To say I gasped audibly is putting it mildly — it was like a scream, but the air going in instead of out.

click to embiggenFortunately, before I imploded into a ball of mess, dad walks in and said April Fool. At least I think that’s what he said, I was a little freaked out at the time. The kiddo, who had been restraining himself from smiling long enough, beamed with all that repressed pride and proceeded to tell me how the deed was done.

First, he found this thing on Household Hacker (wait. my kid reads household hacker? huh.) So first he made one of the screens with his new wallpaper, but he realized I hadn’t seen the new wallpaper, so he had to go on the internet and find the *old* wallpaper, and then make the background out of that. It had to look just like I’d expect his screen to look, if it was completely destroyed by (say) people playing ball in the house, or perhaps running with scissors. After all, this is what moms think is going on while they’re at work anyway, right? He worked on making it just right for some time, you know how sometimes things don’t work and you have to start again? So finally, he was satisfied with his truly devastating result, so he proceeded to remove/hide all his icons, hid the Object Dock and the taskbar, and waited for me to get home.

Since it was a belated April Fool’s, I was completely unsuspecting, and he got me. I mean, he didn’t just get me, he *got me* got me.

I’m so proud :)