The year in review or where the fux did the time go.

Well, about this time a year ago I was waiting to hear about closing on my home, Sans Souci (with minor soucis, as it were).  I closed on January 20th 2015 and the 21st of January I instantly had buyer's remorse as I went to the now vacant house with the contractor to place the mezzuzahs on the door posts, back and front, and trip, for the first time, up the small step that leads to the living room.  I saw the kitchen, bare of cupboards and holes in the walls and thought "what the hell have I gotten myself into?"  Which led to lots of extra therapy sessions with Hyphen and other therapeutic moments.  I became a mess of emotions; leaving behind memories and lost friends, embarking on a new life in my 60th year.   Also, leaving behind a Hyphenated Hyphen who in March was severely injured on her way back to Okemos, leaving me bereft and therapistless to deal with the coming weeks.  And for her to deal with massive injuries I thought she'd would never come back from.  More on this later.

The week of March 23rd I was summarily packed up at the old residence, a process that took two full days.  The 25th of March the movers came and the furniture came and the cable company came and the house was about 99% finished.  The real moment came when Sophie's son came and helped me trap three terrified cats for the move five blocks away.  The first cat was easy, the big guy, easily trapped and crated.  The next, a little more difficult.  The last, my oldest and kinda the favorite of the babies, proved to be reluctant to move.  Poor Bubba!  He was scratched from arm to shining arm.  But once moved and released the assembled cats hid, save for Simcha who chose to explore and go with the moment.  I eventually found Yankel in basement on a shelf and thought I had lost my guy Gonif as he was not to be found.  Found out later he had found a safe place in a nook under the new platform bed.

As I was preparing to return to work some of the plumbing went south, but was easily fixed.  Two days later the furnace went.  $3,000 later the last of the major repairs on the house were done.  By the 13th of April I was ready for my Passover delayed but annual Opening Day of Baseball Season party, replete with hot dogs and buns from Chicago to be cooked on a new grill.

Things were settled.  I was getting settled.  The bills were rolling in.  Taxes, new appliances, furniture, bedding, everything nearly new, a clean slate.  More on this later.

The weather turned warm enough and I started working on my yard, which the previous owner had left a mess.  I was able to get the leaves cleaned out and the stumps of ugly bushes removed.  It was about this time that I noticed I was losing weight, in a good way, by having something positive to do after work and not mindless snacking and couch potato-ing I had been doing in the condo.  It was then that DZ challenged me, of sorts, to get a FitBit and I began walking the rambling sidewalks that were my new neighborhood.  Five miles a day.  I went from 160 to 133 (my current weight) in less than a six months period of time.  Not too shabby for not really trying to lose weight.  I had a patio installed in the back yard, with thoughts of having Sophie's 70th birthday party and fire pit out there but my bones gave way and I did break a leg.  Ten weeks in a boot.  I was miserable.  The yard went to hell, except for the back yard which I had the good sense to hire a landscaper.  But in the height of summer, my favorite time of year, I was home bound a great deal.  Missed a lot of work.

And that was the summer of miscontents.  I had a temporary therapist, the Bird, who lasted as long as her song did.  Then was the duel betwixt Calvin's Mom and Hyphen 2.0, which lead me to Hyphen 2.0.  I felt engaged and was working on complex issues, somewhat relieved that I had found a safe haven.  Oh, my friends, I felt as though I had found the best therapist of all time.  Only to find out in, was it October? that she was planning to retire this coming spring.  I was, once again, bereft.  Thank goodness for the reflexologist and our sessions of talk therapy.  That lead me to LPA (for lack of a better acronym for the newest therapist...our American Girl).  To wit, and to woo, I am set for the time.  I also fired a number of doctors whom I assessed were being a trifle passive/aggressive in their treatment of me.

So here is is the last day of work for the year.  I reflect.  The last day of work for Sophie and Petunia's mom.  My Spartans are in Texas set to take on the evil empire of Alabama and their lousy crimson tide.  What the hell is that any way?  And a floppy nozzled elephant for a mascot.  Give me Sparty any day.  Friends are coming over tomorrow and Friday.  We are having a burger luncheon in honor of our retirees...more parties to come.  Go Green (and for some reason the cats cannot be trained to say "Go White" on command...go figure)

Well, with some fits and starts that was the year in reverse.  A fine year.  A hectic year, a year of psychic losses.  We finally gave Jerry his rest.

I was sitting in the library's mail room this morning, welling up with tears, not at the thought of Sophie's last day at work, but of all my Hyphens.  Seems that Hyphen has recuperated enough to winter in Florida with her husband and is deciding whether to return to practice in the spring, perhaps.  I know not the mind.  I know I won't go with her.  With Hyphen 2.0 I felt a genuine connection, was working and having great sessions, many of which ran over as we dissected the workings of my mind.  Thus the tears this morning.  Those two Hyphens will never be recovered or revisited.  The two women I spent time with in deep and dark discussions are lost.  When I left my first therapist in 2005 I left knowing that I had made great strides and we had no more work to do.  With the Hyphens things seem so much more unsettled.  I have written Hyphen a greeting and I am sorely tempted to write a note to Hyphen 2.0.   That's probably not going to happen.  I wish them well, but for Hyphen 2.0 I wish she had told me before I connected with her of her imminent plans to retire and that we had not made that connection.  Am I the better for having seen her?  Not right now.  Too much work to do to get to my happy place.  And some of the obstacles to that place were put in the road by 2.0.  Maybe I should have had the exit session with her for some closure.  Too late now and I am not going to put a cherry on the top by wishing her well and saying that is was too bad we had such a good connection.

For the new year I will need to sit down with DZ and work on getting my finances in order and rein in the spending on the house.  The Winter Solstice has come and gone and days are incrementally getting longer.  Today it is safe to walk home, yesterday, not so much with the snow and ice.  The spring is coming, I know this in my bones.  I will see Sophie tomorrow, I know this for a fact.  I will call her tonight, I know this for a fact.  How the American Girl (LPA) will work out remains to be seen.  Life is full of uncertainties.  And I am one of them.

Happy New Year...Go Green!!!  (damn cats...)

Homage au Sophie (Verklempt rating 3.9 stars)

I know I haven't written much of late.  Blame it on the holidays and the resultant moodiness brought on by the season.  Yes, once Hanukkah is over and the season regresses into the more popularly celebrated holidays, moods strike me.  Some trivial, like a mess of cats exploding in a fountain of puke, some major, like my failure to set boundaries with Stan on the issue of getting together and playing on a regular basis.  I can deal with it for an hour, but, my goodness, he stays and stays.  Today he is coming with his wife so maybe they won't stay as long.  I like Stan's wife, Toba, quite the archetypal Jewish mother type.  Which brings us to Sophie Horowitz.  The artificial coming of the Jewish/Methodist mother.  As her last days at work approach I am hard pressed not to say something very sentimental about her retirement, her last day being the 30th.  Oh, sure, there will still be the evening phone calls, the shows at Wharton, the symphonies, dinners out, as well as just because visits.  Just Because.  Thirty some odd years ago, more like thirty one at the end of the day, when I was already wrapped in the bosom of the MSU family, Sophie came to work at the library and through some quirk of fate we became friends.  Maybe brought together by the Soul Sucker, more more likely introduced by a third party of more friendly times.  And a few months after she started we became fast friends.  Breaking together to get a smoke (oh yes, dear friends, in those days we both smoked...both now ex-smokers of a long time, me thirty years come February 17th 2016).  She was a savior for me, although at first she was closer to the Soul Sucker than me, but in my descent into madness in 1989 or so, she and her husband were my salvation.  I was put on medication that made me so dopey in the morning that they would pick me up at home, afraid for me to walk in, and get me a strong cup of coffee and a sticky bun.  And in those rough days I would call her every night and we would talk for an hour or two until my evening medications kicked in enough for me to fall asleep.  At some point we were both very close to the Soul Sucker, but in time we grew closer to each other and farther way from her.  Maybe it was a similar sense of humor and intellect, an empathy towards each other, a sense that perhaps we were sisters of another mother.  When Sophie's husband passed away the Soul Sucker tried to really co-opt Sophie's life and became her caretaker and watcher.  To the point that she would monitor Sophie's time off, time off without pay, Sophie's family, her family, her family...

Anyway, when the break with the Soul Sucker came, now two years ago, during that horrid ice storm of 2013, Sophie and I became all that closer.  And with the retirement of the Soul Sucker, our bond, that is Sophie and me, became all the stronger, in part, as we hashed over how the Soul Sucker tried to control our lives: me with my therapy and medicated trips to see the psychiatrist to get more meds (duh!) and Sophie with her worthless family, her time off, her inability to retire.  Ah, yes, that is what the Soul Sucker was concerned with...that Sophie be able to retire.  In the end the Soul Sucker was merely projecting her own fears and concerns onto Sophie.

With the Soul Sucker out of our collective lives we morphed into a relationship that has transcended work.  We are, in spite of playful sisterly bickering, as close as two friends can be.  And with her retirement there will be a void in my work life, but not so much my away from work time.  Oh, sure, I will miss the breaks, the lunches and the rides on a daily basis, but I have a fill in: a pseudo Sophie.  And yes, we shall call her Sonia...Sonia Moskowitz.  Toba is already taken.

So we shall have a last playful lunch with friends and co-workers tomorrow and, weather permitting, I will walk home as I don't want to say goodbye to my friend.  Better to say hello again later that night.  I recall when a former co-worker, who has since passed away (and now I live across the street from her old house), left.  On her last day I wept like a child.  I don't want to spend tomorrow weepy (thank God for Valium).  Tomorrow shall not be a weepy Wednesday, but rather a new beginning to a relationship that has miles to go.  Yes, it will be different without her here.  I will have to program her home phone into my office phone, a number on speed dial for emergency purposes, like my other retiree buddies...

And I would be remiss if I didn't mention that tomorrow's lunch will also honor another retiree of the same day, Petunia's Mom...It shall be a day of carry out hamburgers from the best burger joint in town and Petunia, along with her Mom, will take us there and back.  Back to a last lunch with two friends.  But also the first of many lunches, dinners and breakfasts with friends.  Soon, in say three to five years, I shall joint the ranks of the retired.  Right now I can't imagine that chapter of life, that is my work life, being over and perhaps a final chapter to begin.

To my dear friends.  I wish you contentment, peace, happiness and good health.  May we always be friends and dear to each other.  And a special nod to Sophie who has always been there for me and will continue to do so.  Or else!

It's about to get better

The winter solstice is upon us.  Tomorrow marks the longest day of the year and from there it is all uphill to longer days and shorter nights.  Alright, so you won't really notice this so much for a month but, hey, it is ongoing.

I think about my grandmother Dorothy this time of year, along with the solstice.  Hard not to.  But it has been thirty years since her death and her youngest sister just died two years ago at the ripe old age of 105.  I lit Yahrzeit candles for them and put them in a hurricane style lamp and put them on the from porch lest the cats set the house on fire.  Actually when I lit the candle I lit it for all my great aunts and uncles as I doubt anyone else in the family is doing it.  I sent a check to the synagogue, like a good doo-bee.  All the while waiting for the solstice and the start of the descent into spring.  Of course with the weather being what it is lately I doubt that the snow shoes will get much of a workout this year.  Raining like all get out today.  Dark and dreary.  Here it is after 9:00 a.m. and really it is still quite dark.  But, hark, the solstice is coming.  Let us be light and airy.

Thirty years...OMG...

The Un-Hyphen

The new therapist seems to be working well.  I had a few bad days last week and was able to get in to see her and work out some issues.  Sophie thinks I have SAD but I really know I just have the D of it.  Not the best time of year for me.  Last night was the thirtieth anniversary or Yahrzeit, of my beloved grandmother Dorothy's death. She was riding in a funeral procession in a car driven by her sister Betty and two of her sisters with her when the car was hit by a Monthomery Ward's truck, killing her instantly and severely injuring her sister Betty.  The other two sisters wer shaken up but otherwise good.  I received that wonderful phone call at work on a Friday afternoon.  By 4:00 I was home in Detroit and had the "pleasure" of telling my mother that her mother was dead.  She seemed nonplussed until she had half a fifth of bourbon and thought she should show some sign of grief.  I was, how do you say, numb for about ten years.  I was unable to grieve or process what had happened.  Years later when I was in a mental hospital the grief finally overwhelmed me.  So I lost my grandmother, ten years and my partner at the time,

Last night, with the proceeds of my change jar and my Tzedakah box, I made a donation in her name to my synagogue and took friends to dinner and then we went to a great jazz concert where I managed to fall asleep any number of times.  I had lit the memorial candle for my grandmother and pondered all that has happened than brought me to this place thirtty years later.

Still pondering today I took a few walks and went to look at Christmas lights in the neighborhood, including a strange nativity display with C3PO and R2D2, among other oddities.  The house, if interested, is located on Touraine, two houses north of Saginaw in East Lanaing.  About three blocks east of Coolidge,  I hear tell that it plays the Imperial March as a passerby passes by.  How that affected my mood I don't know.

I am a bit moody right now, in spite of Star War's nativity.  I was concerned that my porch lights might be misconstrued as a sign of me celebrating Christmas so I changed the lights from white to Green, an homage to my Spartans.

Things continue to be emotionally tough on me but I shall persevere.  Last week in a mood I came home to a houseful of cat puke and I lost it.  All I could do was think of how I wanted to hurt myself.  Alright, I know that isn't a rational response, so I called the Un-Hyphen and also JB and talked myself out of that.  I cleaned up the puke, called Stan and said I couldn't play music with him that night and took a few Valium and a rest.  So I saw the Un-Hyphen twice last week.  I see her again Tuesday.

And that is what has been going on.  Depressed and grieving I moved through my week.  Hopefully this week, well, who knows.

Repose

Hanukkah is over and Christmas and New Year's approach.  Seasonal depression is upon me.  I don't mind the cold and snow but no sun...that is the rub.  I need my sun to keep my cheery disposition.

UnHyphen is working out well.  I had an additional session with her this week as I was uncertain if I wanted to keep working with her but the session went well and I feel relieved to have the newest search for a therapist over and and done with.  I had a thought that maybe a therapist who was Jewish might be a better fit but none in the area take my insurance and I am not about to shell out $200 an hour out of pocket to facilitate this possibility.  So for the time I will stick with UnHyphen and ponder if I want to see the original Hyphen if she returns to practice.  If Hyphen 2.0 had worked out long term that wouldn't be an issue.  Now I am thinking about Hyphen as a possible solution.  The only thing about the UnHyphen I do not like is the mandated Blue Care Network 45 minute hour.  It used to be the 50 minute hour and who knew I would miss those five minutes.  Now Hyphen 2.0 sessions would run over an hour (a real hour) as she liked working with me, or so she said.  But UnHyphen sticks to a schedule and sees a client every 45 minutes.

I had an incident with my primary care doctor a bit back.  It was not the first time she kept me waiting over an hour to see her.  But I was, ostensibly, the first appointment of the day and one hour and fifteen minutes of waiting made me walk out of the office with my lab results in hand and a demand to have a new primary care doctor assigned to me, all that was without seeing my doctor.  The last time she ran over an hour late I kind of laid into her about my time being valuable and not having enough time to constantly wait for her overbooked schedule to accommodate my needs.  Thus, a new doctor.  I thought maybe she was doing this on purpose as she didn't like working with me.  Maybe she didn't and this was her passive aggressive approach to dealing with me.  In any event I am seeing a new, yet to be named, doctor or nurse practitioner.  I just need someone to order labs, read them and they give me my regular prescriptions on a yearly basis.

Other than that I have been entertaining a great deal and enjoying having the house as my place to do so.  Sunday coming I will go pick up my holiday cheese order from the farm market.  They have a particular favorite, a chipotle espresso cheddar.  A little heat a little coffee taste and a hearty heigh ho cheddar.  Also the triple creme brie with almonds and apricots.  The new two events with be the new year's bowl games, featuring a victorious MSU team and then a quiet New Year's day dinner, replete with a rib roast and Yorkshire pudding.  Percy and Phyllis will be there as will Mustang Lady and her GM husband.  And an old friend from the library who wishes to meet this new beau of Phyllis.  Then a weekend to recover and then no staff holidays until Memorial day.  It should be a good chance to start building up my vacation time.  Right now I have minor hand surgery planned for the 15th of January to release a trigger finger.  Then it is smooth sailing.  Well, not so fast.

Seems one of the jamming Jews, a emeritus sociology prof, is intent on playing music with me once a week.  He isn't very good but he is enthusiastic.  This is another case of me needing to set some boundaries.  When he comes he stays over two hours.  One wouldn't be bad but two is torture.  I need to say to him I have to get something around after an hour.  He is coming today (but can't come the next two weeks...aw, shucks).  So I shall gird my loins and see if I can, indeed, set some boundaries.

And so it goes.

A wished for hissy fit

Hasn't materialized as of yet.  But it is earnestly and a heartfelt desire.  Geez, where is the Magic Plastic Tuna's angst when you want it?  AH, maybe she has yet to peer over the cube's walls to see the pretty bulb on every other window.  How festival, how full of Christmas cheer.  Let not the naysayers quibble about the war on Christmas...it ain't happening here. My Hanukkah cup of cheer requires some Christmas overtone.  Why, hell, I went out late the other night to see the Christmas lights in the neighborhood.  Its is something we Jews do this time of year, not unlike the mandatory Chinese restaurant visit on Christmas day. Almost obligatory.  A part of the Jewish Holiday ritual.

Still...I wait and hope. 

Amazement

Much to my surprise and amazement the gas company landscaped my front lawn this week, removing the eyesore that was the mounds of dirt on my front lawn.  That has served to cheer me up.

This week after therapy my pal from Jamming Jews stopped by and wanted to play music for a few hours.  I, again much to my surprise, agreed and he stayed for solid hours. Seems I have trouble setting boundaries.   He can't read music and has no sense of timing or rhythm so it was a mournful two hours, especially coming after a hard therapy session.  I, again, much to my amazement, agreed to have him over next week.  I will say one thing for him, or maybe two:  He is earnest about playing and enthusiastic as well.  It is unfortunate that his playing doesn't quite match his enthusiasm.  And he kept trying to say I was not playing the melody as written, which in fact I was.  God help me.

And speaking of which,  I suspect the MPT will be all up in arms over the Christmas decorations that have appeared in the workplace over night.  Or at least I can hope.  I want a rant...a good one...full of sound and fury, as Macbeth would say, signifying nothing.  Oh, my world for a temper tantrum.  Any minute now.

Once again I did not sleep much last night, staying up late to watch MSNBC and then unable to sleep.  See, I had to do laundry around 8:00 as I was napping on the couch only to be awakened by the dulcet tones of Gonif Cat puking on me.  Off went the clothes, into the shower went I and then down to the laundry room to do the wash.  By 11 all was washed and dried and the puking festival was yet another unpleasant memory.

I have neglected to open any Hanukkah presents the last two nights as one: I was tired and depressed, and two: I was depressed and tired.  Tonight I shall make up for lost time.  Sherpa, Sophie and myself are going to the Dickens' Dinner on campus and look forward to a festive evening.  Mayhap with the festivities I will feel like opening a few presents.  Sophie is taking me grocery shopping today and them home while we wait for the magic hour of 7:00 p.m. and the start of the festivities.  Maybe between the "offensive" Christmas ornaments and the MPT my holiday spirits will be renewed and I can rejoice in my holiday.

So until then adieu, adieu...

They're baack

Final construction Has begun....

Post big dig, prior to the bigger dig.

The new hole in front of the house.  Watch out for the holes.  I haven't been out farther to assess the damage to my lovely rose garden.  Hopefully they come back today to finish up and fill in the holes.

My new home adventure or the Big Dig

Photos later but first a story.  For a while, a month maybe more, I just caught a whiff of natural gas when I entered my house.  No one else seemed to notice so I wasn't too concerned.  But yesterday I thought " Nu, so get it checked out". So I did.  Now my front lawn and half the street is dug up fixing a major rupture to my gas line coming into the house.  And, oh lucky me, we did not have to evacuate the house last night, just stay up until 12:30 a.m. while they put in a temporary line to the house.  And, oh  yes, they'll be back today to put in a permanent line and hopefully they won't need to demolish the porch to get to the rest of the gas line.  So at least I had heat and hot water last night but I think the rose bed I put in last spring is no more.

So when the skies lighten I will send pictures, a.k.a. the rest of the story.

Abrupt ending

I guess I ran out of space during my last post so here I am tying up loose ends.

The Soul Sucker ditched Sophie and me because we were and continue to be rude, crude and socially unacceptable.  Now Sophie is afraid of running into her and has no intentions of making up.  Me, She wouldn't give me two seconds of thought but  I  think she'd like to make up with Sophie, which, plain and simple, ain't gonna happen.

As for the Rat Bastard cousin, he is dealing with his own Alzheimer's and is carted around from place  to place by his, wait for it, Jewish-Scottish man servant.  I believe there is some justice in that.  I rarely speak to anyone on my mother's side of the family. Rat Bastard's kind will alway have their way but will also someday have their day.  First Alzheimer's, then next I shall send a plague of locust to be followed by my favorite plague of all, frogs.

Just tying up some loose ends.

Wide awake in spite of the fact that I fell asleep like a trooper.

Or a grouper, but that sounds fishy.

Here I sit broken hearted, sighing as it were, with the wide awake soon to be Prozac'd cat Yankel mewling and voicing his discontent over the lack of treats that are available to him.  Now he is snuffling like a porcine beastie looking for truffles.  What a menagerie I have in just one cat.

I had awoken about 2:00 a.m. To find that Gonif cat had once again trapped himself inside the bathroom by closing the door with him inside the bathroom.  He does this often and never signals that  he is trapped or upset.  He just patiently waits until someone, in this case me, opens the door for him.  And as for Simcha Cat he is blissfully asleep in my bed, not once opening an eye to see what the 2:00  a.m. racket is all about. So that is the morning cat report.

I tried going back to bed, but that seemed a no go.  I went back to bed only to have rushing thoughts.  First it was about 2.0 and wanting to know when she will vacate my thoughts.  I actually need to spend a few sessions of therapy on that.  Next thought my great aunts, Martha Betty and Sally.  Three of my great grandfather's daughters who never married and always lived together.  I have lots of photos of them, mostly of the three of them on a cruise, dressed to the nines sitting at the captain's table.  So I got up to look at these photos and thought how lovely they looked, how youthful, well in their nineties.  They were three absolutely fabulous women in an era where women were expected to marry young and have children. In a sense I was one of their kids.  Always pleading poverty that was far from the case, my mother would have the Aunties, for that is what we called them, would buy me my winter coat every Hanukkah.  And after I outgrew the need for a new winter coat every year, they would still give me a small check, $10 a piece, that never found its way into my hands.  Mind you when I as sixteen and basically had achieved my height of five foot, that was a nice bit of change I could have used.  I was teaching guitar and had a purse with my stash in it and no matter where I kept it my mother would find it and I would be out $10-$20 at a time.  So maybe it was good that my dad kept the monies from the checks and applied them to my education, although as it turned out I received a scholarship so the money went to books and Saturday nights out with friends after basketball games. But still to have your mother take money from you was a harsh wake up call to the bitterness of life.  But, I digress.

The Aunties.  Sally died in her ninetieth year, a victim of Alzheimer's.  Next Betty passed away after her 105th birthday, and Martha, my dear, passed away at 105 as well.  That seems like forever ago but this will be the third year I will light a Yahrzeit candle for her on the anniversary of her passing.  I still have the electronic form of death notice in my inbox.  Makes for jolly good reading.  And after her death the family, such as it was, came apart at th seams.  The rat bastard cousin, who had drawn up their will made sure that his children got the bulk of the estate (like hey really needed more money...look up Vesco Oil online sometime and you'll see what I mean).  They were so cold hearted as to deny the children of a much beloved nephew who had passed away as much as a cent, which made their aunt furious, which resulted in an exchange of letters between all parties concerned and the ending of any contact with that rat bastard's family.  I think they took advantage of a old woman and played her like a violin.  I am grateful for what I received but they hid so many of her assets that it would have taken a boload of attorneys to straighten things out and that would only benefitted the lawyers.

In addition to making the end of a this time also brought to an end a relationship that Sophie and I had with the person now known as the Soul Sucker.  I had asked her for a ride to the funeral of Aunt Martha in December and she refused telling me she wouldn't take her new car down to the Ferndale area. I was furious but my friend Phyllis (Pre-Percy) who at the time was enduring a case of Sam and Ella food poisoning, took me, God bless her.  This lead to me avoiding the Soul Sucker for the seven days of shiva, which she kept pestering Sophie about, and when I finally got over my anger at th new car remark, I ate lunch with her and Sophie again, she left the lunch table in a huff, which is her new car, and proceeded to write Sophie and me off forever.  Now I wasn't too unhappy with this turn of events but Sophie was dazed and confused.  The Soul Sucker then made out like we were the worse people in the world and about two weeks after this she abruptly retired. No need to go into more details.

New therapist and the S.O.S.

TB, the new therapist, is good.  We had a nice get to know you session and I go back in two weeks.  That said, I am in a major funk as of this morning.  Yes, Jamming Jews went really well, thanks to my able pseudo Jewish support tag team of Sophie as well as Percy and Phyllis with Percy getting into a rather animated discussion during the break with the Rabbi.  It went fine, it really did, and I was finally able to relax Sunday.  Now it is Tuesday and the funk has returned.  Woke up with a panic attack and couldn't get back to sleep.  Then read a missive from my union that involved the MPT and that set off the funk.  Nothing I hate more than someone getting a free ride.  Now I just feel out of control and wanting to just have the winter fly by.  I thought that since the house is new at least the first year of watching the seasons change would make winter a little less dreary.  Nope.  One snow and I have had it.  I am afraid of falling and with that comes the depression.  I have hand surgery set for January 15th and that should take care of the problem of the trigger finger.  The last injection enabled me to get through the performance.  But right now I just feel a heaviness of heart, a burden of life upon me.  I don't know how else to explain it.

Depression is insidious.  Churchill, Winston that is, or rather was, described depression as a black dog, not that he had anything against dogs, that was just his naming of the feeling.  To the French is bête noire, or the black beast.  The French are better at ennui.  Back to Camus, a Existential plot to kill him, I believe, existed as he was about to renounce and admit that we must think of Sisyphus as happy.  Why, I do not know.  Here I sit with that black dog nipping at my heels.  Some of the depression is due to the holidays, and who wouldn't be depressed.  I've had a hell of a life.  Death and destruction abound and I an orphan of the storm.  It wouldn't be a holiday without a Yahrzeit for my dear Grandmother Dorothy.  I feel that fast approaching and I just want the snow and cold gone and for life to renew itself in spring, when I have the dual Yahrzeits of my parents.  Ah, hope springs eternal.  Dueling Yahrzeits.

Anyway, far be it for me to say I have put and keep myself here.  I dislike being here, in a funk that is.  I can't cheer up, buck up, or any of the other ups.  For me depression is a slow chemical burn in my brain that works its way down to my toes.

Here in the US, every year at Thanksgiving, we are supposed to pause, and be thankful for all we have been offered, given, have, achieved, etc., in the past year. It is a wonderful holiday, a time to spend with friends and family, to break bread, celebrate, tell stories, and of course, watch American football, and doze on the sofa.
But what about for those of us for whom being thankful this year, or another year, or any year, it’s just damn hard to feel thankful?

And I just don’t feel all that thankful right now. In fact, I feel a little bit resentful. I feel angry about it, actually. It can be hard to be thankful when bipolar, depression, and life’s difficulties are constantly challenging one’s ability to hold on

First sighting of the day

Yes, I just had my first virtual 2.0 sighting of the day.  Doom and gloom are in the air.  Make me depressed that I left things so incomplete.  Must make a memo to move on.  But until then I am having a virtual meltdown and like yesterday and the day before have taken massive amounts of Valium, ok, two...in an effort to move on.  I am very stress about the Jamming Jews and making a torte for the fancy dessert part of the evening.  My fault entirely for blowing off so much practice time.  My heart is just not into music right now.  I hate practicing and playing.  I have, in truth, cancelled all lessons until I feel more like playing.  If ever.  Maybe spring will help...but no, I must garden and putter and there is so much to do.  Maybe summer when I putter less.  Putter, ponder or play.  That is the question. Is it nobler in the mind to ponder the slings and arrows of practice or to merely putter like the amateur I am. 

Excelsior.

Ah, for the love of 2.0

Yes, I have been a bit weepy and sad over the loss of 2.0.  To the point that if I see the name or see a city in Australia I immediately think of the therapist I would have liked to work with forever and what set me off into this pit of depression.  Doing somewhat better and the new therapist and I start this coming Monday.  Feeling a bit off, sad, and a bit off, sick...as in very lightheaded and what I like to refer to as urgy.  I had some surgery a few years back that makes it impossible for me to puke.  And I have felt nauseous and sick to my tummy for a couple of days where a good puke would have been welcome.  But not so much.  Thanks to the Polar Vortex and her approval of major surgery over laparoscopy made it so. 

I am anxious today as we have a rehearsal for Jamming Jews and I have to sing and play this week.  I thought I was out of the singing business but not so much.  All the songs I thought Dr. Stan was going to sing are now relegated to me.  I had to change some keys as my voice isn't what it used to be.  I did practice this morning and get some more complete sheet music.  I am all a-twitter and anxious about tonight.  I need to eat a nice lunch as I will have no time to graze before I leave for rehearsal.  My feed has been off of late.  That's the urgy talking. 

And my hand...a trigger finger on my left hand which will require surgery in two months, was injected with cortisone on Monday and truly it still aches today and is still triggering.  In addition I have a nice bright bruise where in injection was made.  OUCH!!!

But more to the point I have been super busy, super manic about some things and very depressed about others.  Been on a virtual spending spree.  That demonstration we went to, a Taste of Parma, bankrupted my taste buds so now I require, yes, require, the finest balsamic vinegar, the finest DOP prosciutto and parmesan.  Oh, my good friends coming for Thanksgiving, what a treat you will be in for.  I ordered lovely cheese from my cheese monger which I can pick up Sunday from 11:15-11;30 a short distance from my house.  Hopefully by next week, after Jamming Jews, after the new therapist, I can slow down for a bit and enjoy a few days of rest.  That is what I need the most of, a little less mania, a little less spending, a little less depressed moments over insignificant things like Sydney and Canberra.  MUST MOVE ON.   And do so graciously and not take anyone down with me.

So that is what I have been up to.  My new glasses, cyberglasses, will be in after Thanksgiving.  I must get fasting blood work done next week.  Doctors, doctors, and more doctors.  Dang!!!

Long week

Well, first the good news.  I actually got some sleep last night.  Took double the dose of Deseryl but I think I got about six hours of sleep.  Thank God for the weekend when I could afford to double,up and down.  I am not focusing with one eye closed.  Actually using both eyes.  I decided to get computer glasses as the screens keep looking smaller every day.  So that will be more money out but for the good.  Put together two end tables tonight that match the coffee table so it is like having a new house all over again.  Tomorrow Shutterbug and I will go to brunch and he will put together the sound bar for the tv in the bedroom.

New thought.  I hate that it gets so dark so early.  I really  don't have time for a walk after I get home.

Jamming Jews is really taken shape and we have rehearsals the next two Wednesdays.  Monday, accordingly, I will have to work my musical ass off to get ready for the concert.  One of the jamming Jews is trying  to roll over most of the parts originally given to me.  I am ambivalent about why he is better at singing and playing Turn, Turn, Turn.  Not quite a pissing match yet but as another woman and myself did all the leg work while he was traveling the world seems somewhat petty.

The therapy situation has hopefully resolved itself.  I have a new therapist a mere nine minute walk from the library.  Unfortunately I don't meet with her until the 23rd, after Jamming Jews, when things should have settle down and I really can focus on all I have neglected.  Like sleep.  Lately I have looked and felt like hell, and in the process developed a sinus infection on Tuesday and missed work on Wednesday.  The rest helped but I was still exhausted.  Today not so much.

It's pitch black out and it isn't even 6:00.  A beautiful day followed by cold darkness.  MSU plays Nebraska tonight at 7:00.and I have on my lucky shirt and my green porch lights.  Thankfully I don't have to watch the game as I am going to the symphony tonight.  Watching the games makes me too anxious so  it is better to have a ideal plan like the symphony to keep my mind off the game

And finally the sad news.  My  unsenkable Molly Brown lost her beloved cat Teddy today due to congestive heart failure.  As my vet has said it is the hardest decision you make to make but a,so the most humane,  I will think of you tonight, my friend, and hope you keep yourself together and navigate through this period.

JB is taking me to the symphony as Sophie has developed  a cold/sinus infection and is better off home.  The thing about whatever I have been going through is that I just keep going.  My appetite sucks and have been navigating on soups and juice, maybe a cup of Greek yogurt in the afternoon.  My sinus infection didn't help matter.  I actually had a nice fever and was verily delirious Tuesday night.  Just loopy.  Better the next day.

So really nothing earth shattering about the going ons just too exhausted to write.  Calvin's Mom blew me off and I was literally cast adrift.  That is now resolved.  When I go see the new therapist I will have an agenda.  I will make a list of what I need and should talk about.  I might even do that in this forum.  Who knows.

The confidentiality agreement

With 2.0 precludes me from revealing the exchange of letter between us.  She did want me to come for one more session to achieve closure.  Fux closure. I am angry and hurt and hoping Calvin's Mom will consider taking me back.  I just need some continuity in treatment.  The three letters she sent were gentle and apologetic, although she did hint I may have over-reacted a tad.  Maybe that is true. I shall ponder that.  But suggesting in a PollyAnna fashion that I had a good life so why the depression was naïve. There's an old joke about twin boys.  One is an absolute pessimist the other the eternal optimist. Their birthday approach. To the pessimist they give a roomful of every conceivable toy.  The kid looks in his room and says "is that all there is to life". To the optimist they give a roomful,of shit.  Well, soon they hear a whoop and holler coming from the optimist's room.  They enter only to find the boy digging through the shit. The parents are in a quandary.  They say to the boy. "Your brother was so sadden by a roomful of toys, yet you are happy with a roomful of shit" "Well" yes the boy says "but  I figured with all this shit there must be a pony".

Well, I am the first child.  Moody and depressed.  The house has made me happy but today with the time change it was dark so early.  Is that all there is to life?  It there a meaning to life?  We all will die, not knowing how or when, but it will happen  room full of shit isn't going to produce a pony.  Life may or may not suck.  And does one really have to imagine Sisyphus happy.  Rolling that damned Boulder up the hill only to see if roll to the bottom and lather rinse and repeat.  Ah, well, this too shall pass.

The reponse

Well, Sophie has read the responses from 2.0 but I have not so there is really nothing to report.  Other than the fact that I collapsed last night into a puddle of nothingness, forgot to eat dinner due to extreme fatigue and awoke this morning at 2:00 a.m. and, miracle of miracles, was able to continue sleeping.  So now I am afraid to read those two letters from 2.0, which she claimed to not have read until 10:30 p.m. (that much I did see) and I am sure the letters are as gracious as mine were hostile.  Well, maybe not hostile but a little on the angry side, shall we say.

With some sleep under my belt I am feeling better, save for my stomach which is rebelling from all the caffeinated products I consumed yesterday: from two Cokes, to a handful of Stay Awake tablets and, of all things, chocolate caffeinated mints.  Yes, the tummy is less than happy.

Also, I had a very productive meeting with the psychiatrist, and when I emerged from his office I had sheaves of paper with various and sundry prescriptions, most of which were to help me to sleep a more restful kind of sleep.

Upon arriving home I found Mr. Snay working his electrician's magic on my new porch lights, which, happily enough, change colors on command and right now I have them set to orange for Halloween.  They are very bright and really illuminate my front porch, which is all I expected.  But to have green lights for home football games, blue for Hanukkah, etc., was totally unexpected and a delight.

So, dear friends, the haze has lifted and I am basically afraid to read the letters from 2.0 for fear that they will sink me back to a pit of despair.  I'll save them for next week.  Yes, I am chickenshit about things like that.  I just want a happy and restful weekend and that I shall have...

The letter sent (to be followed, when applicable, by a response)

"As I am overtired and overwhelmed and deep in a pit of depression.  I need one, just one, compelling reason why I should continue seeing you, as much as I get out of our sessions, with you planning to retire in the spring.  I require a great deal of continuity and having lost one therapist very suddenly I really don’t think I can work with a short range goal ending in spring, and then starting all over again with a new therapist.  Yes, I am seeing Dr. Picone tomorrow and will discuss this with him but right now I am hurting and having a great deal of trouble concentrating for work and have totally withdrawn from friends.  I think I know what the answer will be but maybe you can come up with something that will provide me some solace.  Who knows." 

Here I sit, broken hearted, paid a dime...

Alright so it is a brain fart, but one nonetheless.  It's 2:25 a.m. And I just had a major kitchen disaster when I went to get some juice.  I dumped a bowl of juicy pineapple all over the floor and threw today's lunch halfway across the kitchen in response (sorry girls).  Lunch is intact, which is more than I can say for me.  I am in the depths of a deep, dark depression, enhanced, in part, by Hyphen 2.0 and maybe to a lesser extent by the first and original Hyphen.  So here it comes, Sophie, and it is not open to discussion.  I had written Hyphen 1.0 a get well note and she responded with things like "you are in my heart and go gently".   Well, since her accident, which is really the worse fear of any therapy patient, that being the loss of a therapist to conditions beyond control,  I opined to 2.0 that I feel badly about my decision to not see 1.0 when she resumes practice in May...that I preferred to see 2.0, to which she responded that she was going to retire come May and I should go back to 1.0.  Fux and double Fux.  How could she even take me on as a client when she knew she might retire in nine months.  So my sleepless pit of depression deepened.  What am I to do?  How can I continue to see a therapist knowing that come May I am going to have to start anew with a new therapist.  And not seeing a therapist is not an option, being bipolar and all and on medication and under direct orders from my psychiatrist to see a therapist on a regular basis.  A psychiatrist whom I am seeing today, as a matter of fact.  More medication (yes, Soulsucker, the only reason I have a psychiatrist is to maintain my current level of medication...you moron).  So I called Calvin's Mom and asked if she might see me again, even though she was my second  choice at the time, and I'll ask the psychiatrist for a referral to another younger psychologist and then make my mind up, such as it is.   Sent 2.0 an email, delivered at 12:30 a.m., which asked for "one compelling reason why I should continue to see her given her transitory situation".  I feel like I can't go back to see her now, now that the pit is deep and swirling.  I really like 2.0 and thought I could work with her for a while but that is no longer an option.

So how do I feel?  Sleepless for a number of days, in spite of taking sleeping pills before bed.  Yesterday I was constantly cold, which is another feature of my depression.   I finally warmed up in bed so that after the pineapple miscue I was able to bring myself to take a shower.  I have withdrawn from friends and made sure to tell them that it wasn't about them.  I don't know how 2.0 will respond, if she will at all, to my email.  I am anxious, more of a litany of symptoms that are plaguing me now. Music, which is my solace is not right now.  And today, which is now Thursday, we have a meeting of staff to discuss phone ringer settings, an issue I think that has been directly raised by the Magic Plastic Tuna, because , God forbid, she should be annoyed by anything like a phone ringing.  As if her phone doesn't ring several times a day and she engages in long discussions with Medicare or her ex-husband about working conditions in Tech Services.  I believe she is creating a hostile work environment and management is permitting this to happen.  Every time I raise an issue about noise levels and MPT's contribution to that level of noise I get no response.  But let her craziness reign supreme and it is fodder for a Tech Services wide meeting.  I am not of a mood right now to suffer fools gladly and she is on my fools' list.  Depressed and angry, that is I.

So what should you do?  Nothing.  Don't ask me if I want to do something for a diversion.  Don't ask me if you can help.  Don't.  That is my advice.  I will pull out of this in time, as it has already progressed from the tearful stage to a more complex depression and I do see the psychiatrist today.  And he will adjust medication and I will cease seeing 2.0 and merely move on, slowly at first and then more to your liking.  I'll be back...just give me time and space

Somewhat simply somnolent sophmorically speaking said Sue

I have have been very tired all week.  In fact I am on my second Coke in less than two hours and the letters are morphing into words that only have meaning with my eyes half shut, seeing double and typing on a wing and a prayer.  I am just not getting sleep at night, from anxiety attacks that wake me up to the discomfort of the left hip and groin.  And then the little things at night, such as unfinished business or Gonif Cat locking himself in rooms by closing the door behind him in a very loud fashion.  Yesterday I fell asleep at my desk producing a full page of the search mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm and so forth.  I can't say today is better.  Both the self important Urinal is here, as is the MPT, who usually takes Fridays off.  I would think my level of dissatisfaction at this conflation would make me miserable but it has only made me weary and keenly aware that my fingers and eyes are not connecting. And the brain in on permanent vacation.  And miles to go before I sleep. 

I am meeting with Dan the Man at 11:45 for lunch (breakfast) and I hope I am less comatose by then

Sleepless redux

I awoke at my usual time, that being 1:30 a.m., and realized that all these mornings that I have been waking at 1:30 or 2:00 a.m. it has been with a great deal of free floating anxiety.  This morning was the worse and I absolutely could not calm myself, not even with two Valiums.  I was too shaky to even play my mandolin or guitar this morning, something that usually soothes me.  Nope, today I must call How's your day, AKA Hyphen 2.0.  I need to deal with the anxiety issue and find out what is making me so anxious.  Right now I as shaky as a leaf on a tree about to fall into fall.  Must find some balance.  Sophie is out today and I am almost out of Valium and she's my medicine chest of late.  I can't think or concentrate which makes for ideal working conditions.  Fux and double fux

I will be on the phone quite a bit today and I am sure to hear about it from the MPT.  Although she has been getting a fair amount of phone calls relating to her turning 65.  And, yes Virginia, I can hear those conversations above the din of my iPod.  So for calls I must call orthopedist about bone density scan and about getting x-rays of my old fractured hip that is really bothering me these days.  A call to How's your day about anxiety.  A call to JB to change some arrangements for a ride on the 17th of November to the orthopod.    That should be about it.  Soph may call again after she gets a shot for her migraine.  I, today, am bereft of hope that things will ever be normal again, or what seems normal on any given day. 

So hush little baby (momma) don't say a word.  But there isn't going to be a mocking bird.  They have gone south, a departure I should like to make.   Good thing I get lunch with my financial guy this Friday.  Some of the anxiety is over money but this too shall pass.  Worry about this and that and what do you know I am buzzing with anxiety.  Add a dash of depression and you have a wonderful day ahead of you.  Enjoy!

I have been a bit remiss

I haven't written in a while.  Been busy and still not sleeping well, even with the Restoril, which is a very mild, apparently too mild, sleeping pill. Oh, I will sleep well for three of four hours and then I am awake.  Some of this is due to pain in my left hip, the one I broke eleven years ago. The hip aches down the thigh to the knee.  I have four rather large screws in that hip up high but most of the discomfort is down around the knee.  Last night it started yelling at me at 1:30 a.m. and in spite of some aspirin I am still in pain.  Yes, I will tell the orthopedist about this when I see him in November, get new x-rays and see what he says.  It's not miserable pain, just a constant ache.  Oh, well, getting old ain't for sissies

I am flying solo today as Sophie is taking her sister Ethel to get her cataracts taken care of.  Later, after therapy, Sophie's granddaughter is coming over to help straighten up the garage and then we will go to Sophie's. House to get her tablet going.  I have some errands to run on campus today and should get a walk or two in.  Last night 6 p.m. I decided I had to go to Walgreen's and get some lotions and potions. Unfortunately it gets dark fast these days and I was cavorting home in th dark.  I put out some Halloween decorations that are sure to annoy the neighbors.  Motion and sound activated gremlins in the tree and a motion activated candy bowl on the front porch that is in the shape of a spooky tree trunk that growls and moves its arms.  Delightful.  The light up zombies will go out the night of Halloween.  Then I was in bed by 10 and up again at 1:30. What a bitch

I was putting together a list of retirees from the library to have on a mailing list.  One retiree, the Queen of Tempeh, wrote right back and we have been conversing since.  She lost her husband of forty years recently and is so bereft you can feel it tangibly in her emails.   We have had several good exchanges of emails and I set my aunt Marilyn on her as I think they might be able to strike up a friendship.  The Queen is very lonely and misses the give and take of a good discussion and of course this is right up Marilyn's alley, so to speak.  In the meanwhile I will continue to write and offer what solace I can.  But then I was in worry mode for my friends and their spouses.  I guess death, or the idea of it, is never too far from my mind.  In writing to the Queen of Tempeh I realized how many people I have already lost.  So more morbid thoughts followed me.  It was good to get out last night and walk while trying to process this.

The evening as windy but mild.  A good night to set out Halloween decorations.  And, of course, I bought more candy and swiped for myself a small Almond Joy and a smaller Kit Kat morsel.  That was dessert last night.  Maybe tonight the Sherpa, AKA Sophie's Granddaughter, and I can work outside and also get a walk in.  I do enjoy a cavort at dusk.  However it is supposed to rain today so we may just work in the garage and get the lawn furniture put away.  I'd like most of the stuff off of the front porch and put in the garage.  Have her break down boxes and make room in the garage.  And, as they say in the Mikado, I have a little list of stuff that won't be missed.  Get that done and move on to Sophie's tablet and then have another restless and pain-filled evening.  What a bitch.

And that is the theme for today.  Pain and a bitch.

2:42 a.m.

Yes, that is what time it is.  I woke up about an hour ago and have since been unable to fall back to sleep.  So I figured since Sophie is picking me up a little later this morning I would just get up and move to the couch. Got dressed and turned the TV on and am just chilling and resting like my daddy told me I should if I can't sleep.  Just resting the body.  Th mind is going a million miles an hour.  I will go to the music room in a trice and practice my Jamming Jews program.  We are supposed to meet next week and I want s actual playlist I can work off of. I am going to play Somewhere over the Rainbow and Catherine is to sing it but we haven't gotten together yet.  All of this seems so up in the air that it is causing me some stress.  But at least I can go in and grab a guitar and play.  Work on those calluses

What is also causing my wakefulness is the ache in my bad hip, the one I fractured eleven years ago, has chosen now to act up.  But it is hurting the length of the femur.  Ah, for some Restoril.  Mayhap I shall call Picone and ask for another refill.  I have just got to get more than a few hours of good sleep a night.  Otherwise that will set off the cycle of mania and depression.  MUST GET REST!

I did have a good session with 2.0 yesterday and I will look into more mindfulness exercises.  The one nice thing of late is that my new glasses have come in and I can, as the song goes, see clearly now.  But every little, and I mean little, ache and pain in my legs is a potential fracture.  I am obsessed with the osteoporosis DX.  I just can't seem to walk enough to calm me at work.   Maybe I will attempt a walk to get sandwiches for lunch.  I also need to get my labs done in the next few weeks but won't do both tj same day.

But, bottom line, I apologize for belaboring my health issues,  I am just afraid I am falling apart, both physically and emotionally.  Seems like everything of late has been in crisis mode.  From the cats' behaviors to my appliances acting up.  No great mystery here.  Time to pull in and revert to quiet self to minimize damages and just turtle-like my behavior.

But in parting some zen....sometimes you lose, sometimes you learn.

More words of wisdom

Pondered upon tonight

When in danger
Or in doubt
Run in circles
Scream and shout!

I be a poet, eh?  I am also feeling a bit peckish.

Mental

If you haven't figured it out by now you never will.  I just got done with my evening's shopping, my bipolar roller moments of the day.  I figured why not get more cotton percale sheets as they don't wrinkle.  This was instigated by me after discovering that one of the cats, most likely Gonif/Leif, had puked under the covers of the bed.  He likes to crawl under the blankets during the day, burrowing beneath the quilt to a warm position and of course if you must puke why move.  So at 1030 I am changing the bed and reversing the quilt so that all the shedded cat fur is harder to detect.  And two of the three cats are sacked out currently on the bed.  We are watching football, switching to baseball.  Cubs won tonight and here is hoping that they make it to the NLCS.

So my bipolar expression consists of compulsive shopping and lack of sleep, the two now conflated with the ending of the day.  I am tired but not sleepy (nor Doc or Dopey) (and really did the seven dwarfs have those names?).  Well, having given away a few quilts I replenished. my stash tonight with neutral colors that won't show fur as badly as the current quilt.  They were cheap and the sheets are straw color.  It's important that the colors coordinate as I am a whore to style.  I have paintings yet to be hanged that coordinate with my color scheme.  All of this is very important.  Percy and Phyllis will hang those paintings this weekend.  And Percy will install the compulsively purchased sound bar.  And then I am done, or am I.?

Alrighty then.  Gonif is literally climbing the wall standing on tiptoes while balanced on the headboard of the bed, another reason to stay awake as I might have missed that golden vision.  Actually the boys are nearly ready for bed, save for Simcha/Sven who collapsed on the couch hours ago in a move to conserve energy.  The two older boys sleep with me while Simcha visits us later in the evening/morning, usually accompanied by a few well placed hisses from Yankel/Lars.

Gonif is staring at Yankel which usually precedes a tussle.  Tussle, that is a great word.  Sophie and I were exchanging good words today.  Peckish, toothsome, tussle, formication, all good words rarely used of late, to which auto fill has entered Puckish, which is also a good word.  I love words.  I used to keep a dictionary by my bed when I was growing up for fear I wouldn't know the exact meaning of a word and if I didn't know the exact meaning of a word I would look it up compulsively.  I would also jump up and down from the couch to check the dictionary in the den while watching television with Grandma and Dad.  I consider myself something of a wordsmith because of this peculiar habit.  I recall one of my favorite Hanukkah gifts was a Webster's Dictionary.  One day I would like to have my own OED but I really don't have the bookcase room for such a large tome.

Tonight I have my bite splint in as I am wearing down my teeth by constant grinding.  When I first broke my leg I was gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached.  I have almost worn my front teeth down to the nub.  So tonight I am grinding on a plasticine mouth guard.  I usually end up taking it out during the night, misplacing it in my stupor.  Stupor, what a great and descriptive word.

Well the dishwasher has finished running so I might as well take the dishes out and put them away.  Maybe get a juice.  And wait.  Wait for sleep that may or may not come.  Sleep don't fail me now.

No bed-blogging

But I might have well done so the last few nights.  I seem to be in a no sleep mode of operation.  I didn't relax enough to fall asleep much before midnight and got up at 4:15 a.m. so I could practice music.  And you'd think I'd be tired as this has been going on for over a week.  But no.  I am wide awake.  At 11:00 p.m. last night I was rummaging through the kitchen looking for my recipes and success at last, found the recipe for my fabulous linzer torte.  I will be making that Sunday for dinner guests, of which Sophie is one.  I promised to make her a linzer torte for her birthday but was on crutches and baking a torte was not feasible.  So this Sunday is the promised torte.  And a lovely dinner with friends from work, including Sophie of course.  Weather permitting we will sit outside and light the fire pit and break that in before the end of the season.

Yesterday I was very busy.  Read two newspapers, walked (slowly) to the farm market and planted over fifty bulbs while being ably assisted by JB.  When we were done we sat on the porch and had out beverages and enjoyed the beautiful fall day.  I had my hands full with washing clothes as well and that didn't wind up until almost 6:30 at which point I collapsed.

The lack of sleep is nothing new, but the last ten days or so it has gotten worse.  Getting by on three to four hours a night is not great.  Not even good.  Something to discuss with 2.0.  I did, however, get a good hour of practice in and am feeling better about the guitar playing.  Somewhere over the rainbow sounds really good and I can play from memory now.  The Hebrew songs I can play but not sing.  However, Bei Mir Bist Du Schon is sounding great. That was all I had time for this morning.

Looking forward to another blustery day at work.  Hopefully the MPT can shut up long enough that I can do my work.  For someone who constantly complains about ambient noise, from chatter to lawn mowers in the gardens next to the library, she is less than considerate about the noise she creates, and boy does she.  Sad to say that regardless my complaints management sees fit to do nothing.  And, in this regards, MPT takes no responsibility for her own noise.  Additionally, as she sees fit to tell everybody, she catalogs five books a day and the rest of the day is for socializing.  And Management sees no problem with the level of production.  MPT's cataloging leaves a great deal to be desired.  And it seems that a number of catalogers seem to feel comfortable forsaking authority work and leaving the clean up entirely in my hands.  Makes for a long day some days.  I am like the street cleaner after a parade of cataloging, sweeping up the debris and the occasional horse dropping.

So, on four hours of sleep I proceed.  Sophie and Junior Sophie are coming over today after work to work on computers and go shoe shopping in my closet.  Yes, I am giving up the honorific of Imelda to a more reasonable collection of shoes.  Maybe we can grill out tonight if the computer takes that long to set up.  Or I will grill out tonight after dark.  Dark comes so early these days and will come earlier still in a few weeks.  Oh, DST, thy sting is powerful.

Headphones on, volume up!

Must have been

I am bed blogging...that is to say I am sleepless and blogging from bed with the three Viking cats, reflecting on a comment that a friend made regarding my renewed joy for/of life since the de-booting.  And I guess I had been down for the past eight weeks, first from the pain then from being cast, so to speak, an invalid.  Consider that word...in-valid., not valid. That's how I felt.  And while friends were supportive and I was able, after a while, to joke about clunking around in a boot, I was depressed. And weary of having to HAVE so many taking care of me.  That was the hardest part. Some of the  depression was due to the need to find a new therapist, which did resolve itself nicely with the finding of Hyphen 2.0 but the devolution of The Bird, the dread of going to therapy with her and the lack of empathy from her office as I was desperately seeking solace and the leg issue conflating, as it were, made for a miserable ending of my first summer in Sans Souci.  Now, de-booted, I find I have loads to do in the yard to get ready for winter.  And Friday I have forty tulip bulbs coming, a housewarming gift from my aunt in California, that will require planting this weekend,  as it is supposed to be a delightful weekend and a good time to work in the yard.  I also have twenty daffodils bulbs to plant.  JB has offered to help plant and I think Sunday would be the best day.  Friday we have the symphony and Saturday we have football and Bill Maher, the latter at the Wharton.  Yes, Sunday while the cats pillage we shall plant.  And I promise, Sophie, not to overdo it as regards the leg.

October promises to be a busy month socially.  Shows at the Wharton, a Jammin' Jews rehearsal and of course Halloween with the zombie flamingos, legless in flower pots (not the mums however).  I am actually looking forward to Halloween and have sufficient candy for a number of tykes.  Pumpkins, along with the killer mums, populate the front yard.  I tick off things I must do: take in the hoses, the solar powered bird baths, the setting up of bird and squirrel feeding stations, et cetera.  Not to mention the planting of bulbs of the flowering type.  Yes,  this will be a busy weekend.  Sophie is taking me to Kroger's as I actually can shop for myself this week and actually start cooking real meals, not the heat and serve I was doing or the constant ordering in of food stuff.  And I have loads of produce on my shopping list.  I have two dinners for friends planned this month.  As I enumerate the things I have to do I realize that one, I am happy, and two, I am a tad overwhelmed.  All due to the de-booting.

Leif just attacked Lars as he slept...awkward sentence.  The Viking Leif attacked the sleeping Lars as Sven watched with trepidation.  Would he be next?  Not so.  They are sacked out and Lars is camped on the floor a victim of full frontal attack by the smallest cat in the house,  the ten pound Leif, aka Gonif, attacked the twenty five pound Lars, formerly Yankel, while Sven alright Simcha, watched with bemused delight,  I don't know at what point in my convalescing they turned into Vikings I just know they did.  They were Western European for a while, starting with a football Saturday renaming ritual by Eduardo.  Alright, the truth is I was bored and booted and feeling sorry for myself.  So why not have Vikings for cats.  Sophie's cat, Morty, suggested the pillaging option, offering a broad sword for their first pillage.

So it has been an hour and I am not closer to being tired, marveling at the auto-fill suggestions.   Someday I will just let the gibberish stand as is.  Nonsense on the order of Lewis Carroll. Might as well get up.  Sleep did fail me now.  Might as well be productive and read.  Damn Viking cats.

Day One

Day One of the new no boot era.  Time to bell the cat.  People can no longer hear my clunking approach.  I walked more today than I had in a long time.  Topped off by a session of reflexology with the best reflexologist in town.  What a great way to relax.  I also was able to do good today by donating coats and blankets to EVE.  Bird feeders are full and I am wondering if finches migrate in the winter or if I will have them and nuthatches all winter and the need for their special seeds.  All of this felt good and having had a good and busy day at work I am now ready to make a meal and watch the Cubs (who I am rooting for) play the Pirates (who I am rooting for) in a wild card baseball game. How can I lose...or more to the point, how can I win?  So I may end up watching old Law and Order episodes and catch the score in the morning. Four games tomorrow I believe...baseball nirvana.  So all is right with the world.  The Viking Cats (Sven, Lars and Leif) have decided to go out and pillage tonight so it should be a quiet evening.  Hopefully they limited the pillaging to the house, as they are afraid of the outside and I did lie to them.  I told the if we bought this house they could lay on the porch while I read the paper.  Well, the screens need to be replaced and there are two outdoor cats that roam the neighborhood and you know how cats can get. So they will pillage the house. Get treats and go to bed.  Lovely.

Time to make a meal.

Attack of the killer Mums

Yep, I gots 'em.  The biggest mums on the block.  So big, in fact, that a couple stopped their SUV and marveled at the sight, inquiring as to where I purchased them.  Actually, they magically appeared on day, much to my surprise.  Too big?  I think not.  Here is one of the two giant mums.

Bootless in East Lansing

Not quite Sleepless in Seattle but something even better.  For the first time since July 20th I am without leg pain and finally bootless.  Happy, happy, joy, joy.  I am walking a little gingerly, favoring the right leg.  But it is a bootless leg and I am happy.  Now if only my new glasses would come in I could quit doing my best pirate imitation so I can focus.  As it is my right eye is closed as I see double with both eyes open.  It's hell getting older but it beats the option.

Oh, what a day.  From having a slip and fall at work and worrying for four hours if I had injured my leg and nursing a hurt elbow (nice and purple thank you) but spilling only a little water from the cup I was carrying.  Sweating out the X-Ray. Being told I could wean off crutches, which I told him I already had done, and weaning off the boot, which. I had been doing at home, I took the boot off and put on the shoe I wanted for so long.  Over eight weeks of pain and crutches.  Almost passing out at work a few times and missing a Hyphen 2.0 appointment and feeling guilty when she called me the next day to see how I was doing.  Oh, what a time I had.  And all the great friends I have who helped out, from doing laundry and making a bed, to collapsing boxes and carting them away.  And a special thanks to Sophie Handelman and Ethel Nussbaum who did my grocery shopping for those eight weeks and more.  And cleaning litter boxes and feeding the boys.  Great friends.

So, after the debooting JB and I got me some lunch and then we went pumpkin shopping.  Home again and she, good friend that she is, helped me get clothes around to donate to EVE along with some blankets.  Them we had a field day watching MSNBC and doing our own commentary.  Off again To see Hyphen 2.0. I had what I thought was a good session.  I still  need to process the loss of the original Hypen but that will be for next week, along with a diatribe about my rat bastard cousin.  And need to get around to a lot of stuff at the house, but for right now I will be gentle with myself.  I think I will visit Jerry tomorrow and see if Sophie will go with me.  More closure.

But for now, save for needing glasses that are forthcoming, things are good.  Life is good.  I need to do a great deal of work outside the house.  Get ready for the dread of winter which may be bearable in the new house as it will be a new type of winter.  Giant mums populate the front yard along with pumpkins.  And the zombie flamingos.  I am set for Halloween.

I feel like I need to close with something on a deeper level.  I have two sacked out cats in bed and one on the couch.  Trigger finger is still triggering so no guitar playing tomorrow morning.  No jamming Jew.  Alright deep thought.  No matter where you go, there you are.

Today is THE day

Or it better be.  The boot must go.  As will the crutches.  And, no, I am not going to run or even walk a marathon the first day out.  Maybe not even the second day.  Right now I can't even manage the crutches with the trigger finger on my left hand.  I had a steroid injection at the base of the finger yesterday and it is, to say the very least, a little sore.  I am wearing a full Hyphen 2.0 outfit today as it is also therapy day.  So I am looking, to say the very least, sharp.  But the boot must go, to be placed in the basement along with other memories.  Yes, today is the day.  Two shoes, no limping.

I think I am due for a better streak in the coming months.  It has been since July 20th when the leg first headed south without me and I was walking on it for another two weeks before it was cloaked in said boot.  Ah, the pain, the sixty-four Oh, Gods I uttered at lunch one day when the pain was at its worse as counted by Sophie Handelman.  The day I nearly passed out at work and couldn't make it to therapy.  A few days after the first orthopedist opined that I didn't need to wear a boot.  Jackass.  

And just now to add insult to injury I wiped out on the way back from getting water.  My right leg went out from under me in a smooth motion.  I went down on my right elbow and hip, without, I say with injured pride, spilling the water I was carrying.  What a way to start out a day.  Fux and double fux.

So that said, the day has to get better.  Here's to bootless, tootless Tuesday.

Sorry for the downer

Well, as I was processing the events of the past week I may have waxed maudlin.  In order that I might lighten your day and mood I repeat the words of the late Chuckles the Clown "a little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants".  Or more to the point, as Sophie Handelman oft reminds me, Unicorns have rainbow farts.  Just remember that the next time you see a rainbow, a unicorn or pass gas.  Rainbow farts.  Not Skittles, but Unicorns.

And now we resume our regularly scheduled day.

Closure of a sort

Last night as I was pondering the universe, like you do, I finally felt a sense of closure regarding Jerry.  The whole situation of mixing his ashes with the composting materiel and the placing of the mixture in the hole where the tree was planted somehow seemed surreal at the time.  Last night I bid adieu to my old buddy Jerry and his Jerryisms of misspeak.  My favorite Jerryism was when he spoke about his mother who was in the hospital at the time and he said "she's stabled but she still is a little horsed".  Or his reference to his antihistamine at the time, Trinalin, as Trinidad.   His love of a few "questionable sites" on the internet.  The ones I had to shout over as I entered his apartment to check in on him.  And, finally, that fateful day I came home, full of good news, and checked in on him only to find his lifeless body on the floor.  That was horrific for me.  And I supposed for him as well.  He had been fading, his health failing, which prompted me to check in on him daily to make sure he ate and had enough beer and cigarettes to last him for a few days, but I never expected the final view of him, laying there on the floor, looking rather peaceful, I must say, in repose, in death.  Now I have his memory and a visible sign of his life in a beautiful sugar maple tree near Beaumont Tower across the street from the library.  A tree I think I will visit in a few minutes just to see it and tell him a goodbye that felt incomplete a few days ago.  Reverend Percy did an outstanding service and I keep reflecting on some of his words of solace.  A living testament to Jerry's commitment to MSU.  I feel like I need a few moments alone with the tree and Jerry to really say goodbye.  It seemed easier with my parents.  The closure I sought with my dad came the day of the funeral.  Somehow seeing his body wrapped in a shroud laying there was numbing but also final.  That service was quick and to the point and we said our goodbyes.  I did have a nice number of family there with me and paid for a luncheon post service.  That was awkward but no one wanted to come to the old house in Detroit so we moved from Ferndale for the funeral to Southfield for a luncheon, where I sat with his brother and my cousins and we broke bread.  I was numb but cognizant of the fact of his passing.  With Jerry, until this week, the process seemed incomplete with me moving him around the condo, giving him to Toni when I moved, moving him to Sans Souci for a visit, moving him to the Percys' and finally opening the box containing his ashes and mixing them with the compost.  That, too, was numbing.  But last night it seemed finally done.  He is at rest with the earth and part of the living earth and, as such, his memory lingers on.  I rarely get to Ferndale now to see my parents, really only when there are funerals in the family.  But I do stop at their graves and leave a pebble or two as a token of my visit.  I may place a pebble near Jerry's tree today and really say my final goodbyes.  But I think after daybreak I will go out to the tree and just commune with nature and Jerry and misspeak myself in remembrance.  As Jerry might opine "this too shall past".  Past it has, as well as passed.  Goodbye old friend.