sueeeus

The tough stay home. Or, in my case, take a sick day. Yesterday revealed to me that I had not actually dealt with the anxiety from days prior, and I found myself once again unable to breathe, and finally ended up sobbing, silently, in the bathroom at work. Not good. And so not me. I know better than to let others and things get to me, yet I don’t do better. Anxiety is a killer. I live with a great deal of stress anyway, but the shortness of breath and sensations of being trapped or caged are new to me. I had to take a day off, to take care of ME. Otherwise, I was heading for an explosion. Regular exercise is an avenue of release that I am desperately in need of. However, an alternate release is… …for me… …a clean house. I’ve spent the last six hours cleaning house. Dusting, sweeping, mopping, swabbing, scouring, polishing, vacuuming, scrubbing, washing, laundering. Although I’m not so fond of the actual cleaning part, I absolutely revel in the results. Clean and orderly surroundings are good for my soul. They soothe me. They comfort me. They help me feel at home. Grounded. Centered. Strong. At peace. Like the old me. Rock on.

Some people want to forget the eighties, but for me, those were the days of vivacity; the days of unstoppable youth! I never was a rock star, but it was fun to dress up and pretend.

…by idiots…

Sometimes I get that desperate caged feeling where my stomach feels like it’s risen to my throat and it’s hard to catch my breath.  It’s a reaction to frustration.  Or a manifestation thereof.  Either that, or it’s the physical realization of the mental exercise of biting my tongue and heeding my words, reigning in my thoughts so that they don’t explode with the words that I want to express.

It could be ego.  Or ruffled feelings   If I take the initiative to get something started that can potentially help quite a few people, do some extensive research and produce a fairly detailed working draft or prototype, and I coordinate with another who has a little experience in the matter, to seek his review and perspective as to whether I’ve missed anything important, should I take offense when I realize that he has scurried off to the bosses (how does one possessive-pluralize a word ending in double-s, anyway ) office to discuss his thoughts on what I’ve come up with so far   Rather than discussing matters with me   Is that not what coordination is   I am offended.  I gather that he wants to do things his way.  I wouldn’t have a problem with that if I hadn’t already invested the effort I’ve given.  I have deep objections to duplication of effort, and I don’t like to waste my time.  I don’t do my work for glory and fame.  I don’t insist that things be done my way, but if it so happens that the way I’ve proposed is logical and considerate to and for the many over the few, why not   I maintain that it’s not an ego trip, to fight for my way.  My goal is optimization. I want to find the best way.  Not for me, but for all.  For the situation.  I try to keep that in mind when I do what I do.  Whatever it is that I do.  So.  When I realize that the insufferable chatter across the cubicle wall is about me and my work, I get ruffled.  I’ve been down this road before.  I don’t have much tolerance for this weasly behind my back behavior.  No.  Instead, I put on my headphones and turn up the volume so that I can no longer hear my surroundings.  It’s so hard to interact with unreasonable people, and harder yet to muster up any sort of respect for them.  I can’t stomach the thoughts that arise, and I find myself boxed in.

Bah.

My little man is growing up so quickly.  My, how much he has changed.  He’s no longer a snuggly baby, but once in a while he’ll indulge me.  That is, as long as he hasn’t got more important things to do. 

My little man has a new friend.  He gets so excited when he sees the moon.  Driving at night, we play a game.  Where’s the moon   There’s the moon!  He finds it, and he waves.  Where’s the moon   Did you eat it   Is it in your pocket   Where did it go   There it is!  I see it!  Do you see it ! 

Normally he falls asleep when we’re out that late, but not when he sees the moon!  He gazes out the window with rapt attention, looking for his friend.  When he finds it, he chatters jubilantly and waves hello.  Hello moon!  I hear the air move, his little arm is waving with such enthusiasm.  He fights to stay awake, so he can look for his friend the moon.  My heart fills with joy and I can’t help but smile all over.

Note to self.  To avoid astigmatic images de la luna, consider getting a monopod.  And using it.

It has been an odd day. I forgot to take my loratadine last night, and spent the morning miserable with a gunked up throat. Dust mite allergy. Bah. I fumbled about in my desk and found some chlor-trimeton, which I know is strong for me, but I took it anyway. I then spent the day in a loopy fog, and felt short of breath all day. I came home a couple of hours early, with the intention of sleeping it off, but as usual, found other things to distract me. The effects of that dose didn’t wear off until 9 p.m., a full twelve hours after ingestion. Bah! The dizziness, anxiety, and shortness of breath were unsettling, and I don’t plan to take that stuff again. Ever.

I heard a knock at the front door. Odd. We never have visitors, and it’s late. A man holding a clipboard tried to explain to me that he was representing a charitable organization that is lobbying for health care improvements for low income people. Fine. I asked questions and he had lots of papers that he rifled through and spoke about, but they didn’t make much sense to me, so I asked more questions and tried to read the things he was pointing out. I asked if the organization was a 501(3)c, and he said yes, so I told him that I give at the office and I can look into designating it through my work contributions plan. He said he was collecting signatures and money, and I said I wouldn’t mind signing the petition, but I wasn’t prepared to give him any money. I barely finished the sentence and he whipped around and left, without even saying adieu. So. I wonder if he was working an elaborate scam, or if he was just tired, cold, and not in the mood to try to beg for donations from a penny pinching engineer. He left me a flyer that looks reasonably legit. The whole time he was standing there, I was trying to keep my son from going outside, and I had horrible visions of the stranger casing my home or nabbing my child. My gut feel was distrust and suspicion. And I am torn between feeling guilty and cheap, and feeling indignant for being treated rudely. Bah. To be able to discern honesty would be a very good thing.

Meanwhile, in other unrelated, or somewhat related news (related only because these things happened today), I wasted the entire evening fiddling with my blog. I found a swanky new theme and tested it on my hard drive, then implemented it on the server. Wouldn’t you know, the server implementation threw an error, and I am at a loss as to how to fix it. And I can’t put any further effort into it, because I am already racked with guilt over the time I’ve wasted. Racked Wracked Bah!

BAH I say.

On any given day, one can wander about my home and realize that it’s not at all uncommon to encounter a four wheeler next to a bowl of vegetables. This makes me smile.

Once upon a time there was an eyesore. A wasteland of exceeding desolation. Passersby would shake their heads and look away. The eyesore grew. The homeowners looked upon the eyesore, and muttered among themselves. Years passed. At times there would be talk about a remedy for the eyesore. But nothing ever came of it. More time passed. Then one day, the heavens opened up, and a catalyst arrived, in the form of machinery. An earth mover.

The machine roared to life, and Project Median was born. The machine moved the earth, this way and that. Then the machine went away. But the eyesore remained. It was time for action. A design emerged. Some green. Some color. Some contour. Some function. The ideas whirred around until they took hold. Scouting missions ensued. Trees and shrubs appeared. A sunny day arrived.

The homeowners converged upon the median, with rakes and shovels in hand. Side by side, the neighborhood got to the business of working together to make the world a better place. And lo, they did. At the end of the day, a thing of beauty emerged.

The neighborhood looked upon the fruits of their labor and saw that it was good. The homeowners bid one another good night, and smiled among themselves, basking in the warmth of camaraderie and contentment.

Fragments from Stockton Gala Days and Gold Rush Brides waft through my mind as I find myself distracted by the yearning for simplicity, for self-sufficiency, for joying in the fruits of my labor; a more meaningful existence.

that summer fields grew high
with foxglove stalks and ivy
wild apple blossoms everywhere

From whence, such yearnings To dine from the bounty of my garden. To work with my hands. To craft. To be an artisan of any kind. To live off the fat of the land.

who were the homestead wives
who were the gold rush brides
does anybody know
do their works survive their yellow fever lives in the pages they wrote

Such a dreamer. I have yet to grow a garden. The smallest attempts I’ve made have been discouraging. Aphids and slugs. How does one grow luscious foods, sans pests I am storing inspirational links and tips on my sidebar, for future reference.

Methinks such ramblings begin in part with a troublesome commute. When the sky opens up and the rains return, though welcome, the yang to the yin is the reaction of everyday people out there, congesting the roads, trying to wield their superiority over the elements, thinking that somehow they don’t need to adjust their speed or maneuvering techniques to compensate for the weather. Times like these I long to remain home. To make my living by staying put. Let the busy world pass on by. I want to slow down. Pioneer heritage stirs within me, past generations of yankee ingenuity pull at my heartstrings, urging me to follow, to return home.

come back to me with all your heart
don’t let fear keep us apart
trees do bend, though straight and tall
so must we to others call

long have I waited for your
coming home to me
and living, deeply, our new life

the wilderness will lead you
to your heart, where I will speak
integrity and justice, with tenderness
you shall know

you shall sleep, secure with peace
faithfulness will be your joy

And then I understand. Melodies that captured my heart, from the earliest and finest memories of days gone by. These are words that formed me, that knit together with my heart and soul to form the fabric of my being. Who I am.

credits: Hosea, Come Back To Me, Gregory Norbet, OSB (Order of Saint Benedict); Stockton Gala Days, Gold Rush Brides, from Our Time in Eden, 10,000 Maniacs

I love…

• that the rains have finally arrived
• that Mr. Gadget installed fan timers in the bathrooms, without me even asking
• that Mr. Snazzy Pants has forgotten about his pacifier (and it’s a good thing, as I have absolutely no idea where the last surviving ‘binkie’ is)
• that today is Friday and there is a remote possibility that I can get a full night’s sleep tonight
• that TV season is back in swing (Prison Break on Monday, House on Tuesday, Bones on Wednesday, Grey’s Anatomy and Without a Trace on the horizon)
• that my new popcorn popper does a bang up job and meets with my (very hard to come by) approval

I do not love…

• that my blog goes belly up on such a regular basis
• that all my web sites go belly up so frequently
• that I have web sites to support
• that the culprit is probably my web host service
• that I can’t determine, for certain, precisely what is the cause of such bad behavior
• that I made a fabulous family web site for the in-law side of my family, and thus far, almost nobody uses it
• that I upgraded my fabulous family web site with super-fabulous features like a categorized photo gallery and personal control over posts, uploads, and comments, and, thus far, I’ve heard nothing but complaints from the peanut gallery regarding how slow it is and how difficult it is to use, and how it basically sucks
• that, thus far, only one person (other than myself) has even tried to use the fabulous new site, that person being a certain gadget enamored individual, recently referred to as the peanut gallery
• that I have lost the art of punctuation (which some people, more than others, and myself included, find distressing)
• that Mr. Gadget has the wi-fi capable laptop tucked away in his work van (and why   Why   “Because it’s mine,” he says, “and why can’t I keep it where I want it ” To which I ask, “what possible use is it, out there ”  To which, the non-answer is, “Because it’s mine, and why can’t I keep it where I want it “
• that almost all conversations with the peanut gallery are similarly productive
• that I can think of far more things for this part of the list, than for the glass half full list

Let me see…

Shall I whinge on the latest examples of Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars   (Except, I am an Aries, after all, and the gender barrier doesn’t always hold true.)

Or, perhaps, a whinge on the goings on and at the office   I think not.  It’s best to keep a separation of work and blog, in my case.  And besides, Mr. Gadget is quite good at bearing the brunt of my work whinges.  We unload our respective work whinges at the end of the day, as the need arises.

Shall I muse over the complexity of the endocrine system, and all that entails   I think not.  Oh, maybe just a little.  The fact that I have phases of oily, pimply skin, mixed levels of unwarranted depression or melancholy, and even moments of snarly ungracious attitude, I think hormones are busy at work, doing their thing, wreaking havoc as they wrestle for their place in the confines of this earthen vessel they call home.

Shall I lament over the state of the lives of the people I love, friends and family both Nay, such things are far too private for the blogosphere.

Shall I mention how glad I am that it has finally rained  

What about my fall lineup   Cargo pants and red shoes.  Red shoes!  (Fashion is no longer my thing.  Function.  Comfort.  It’s all about function and comfort.)

Shall I ramble on about one of my latest goals   The art of zen blogging   Zen is about simplicity, is it not   Zen blogging.  It’s nothing more than a feeble attempt at a positive spin on the fact that I don’t can’t shouldn’t spend quite so much time at the computer.  Therefore, in the interest of simplifying my life, I might not be spending as much time reading and writing in the blogosphere.

Actually, it’s a guilt thing.  The child, he cries.  Wails!  When I sit down at my desk, he cries.  Tears.  Tears!  “Mama, you should be with me, not that STUPID COMPUTER!” I read from his tearful, pained expression.  No, he’s not talking yet.  But that’s what he’s saying.  I’m certain of it.

Today we went fishing. What a day! It’s a glorious feeling, to be out on the ocean. There’s just something about it. Big water terrifies me, but it also soothes me. It’s one of those incongruous things. This was my first time fishing for king salmon. I fished for pinks or humpies (I don’t know what’s what), the last time (which was also my first time), and was quite successful. Apparently, there’s a completely different art to king fishing, and they weren’t interested in my allure.

Mr. Gadget did quite well, and landed an enormous fish that will likely grow larger yet, as the years go by and the tale is spun. Mr. Munchkin is a remarkably good sailor boy. He did so well. He wasn’t interested in the fish or the seaweed, but he loved pointing out the planes when they’d fly by.

The biggest fish was bigger than my son! It was a wild one too. Not a hatchery fish. (One learns these things when one has fish friends like ours.)  We’ll be getting our omega 3s this week.