Super happy fun times.

So, I've been depressed a bit in my life. I talk about it a lot here, cause it's something that has effected me since I was 12 years old and lost my grandfather to cancer.  I can't currently afford therapy, so this blog serves as therapy for me. Lucky you!  There have been times in my life that were so low that I felt like the only thing to do would be to just not be anymore.  2 years ago, I went through a very, very rough patch. There was a break-up. A nasty break-up.  I was anorexic at the time, and the lack of caloric intake into my system exacerbated my depression to the point where I would get home from work, lay on the floor of my apartment and just NOT GET UP until the next day when I would start the whole thing over again. Coffee for breakfast. Small Salad for lunch. Apathy and lethargy for dinner. Rinse. Repeat.  The turnaround happened when I called a Suicide Hotline and my ATT service said the call could not be connected. And I laughed...

Technology hates me. It took me 20 minutes to get this photo on here from Instagram.

I've come a long way since then. The change started with a therapist.  It has transitioned to bombarding myself with positivity. Treating my body better.  Indulging when I need to and starting to realize that life is too freaking short to spend it on the floor of your apartment. I still cry sometimes. I still have nights where I lay on the couch and stare at the TV until I drift off, but it's a choice and not giving up.

I'm writing this to tell you about the decision I made recently to just be happy. The toughest decision I ever made. I still have anger issues, and they're next on the docket to be addressed, but they're not self anger issues anymore. I've forgiven myself.   I've started taking multivitamins. Drinking water. Eating healthier but not kicking myself when I break down and go to Chipotle/eat ice cream out of the container/eat a stick of butter just to see what it's like. I bought a LivingSocial Deal for B12 shots, and after the first week I can say that it makes a difference. I have energy. My mind is clearer, even with the painkillers that I'm taking for my jacked up shoulder.  I ate Brussel Sprouts last night.  I had a nectarine for a snack today.  I'm taking longer walks with my dog, who honestly has been the biggest happiness boost in my life. How can I be depressed and laying on the floor when he NEEDS TO PLAY RIGHT NOW?!?  How can I be worried about everything that is wrong with my life when he's eating grass and making me worry about his gut and butt?  How can I ever, ever hate myself when he loves me without judgment? He does love EVERYONE immediately, but there's a special bond that occurs when you are the one feeding him special dog treat turkey bacon.

I'm planning for a future. My future. The one that I wouldn't have had if that Suicide Hotline hadn't hung up on me. The one that may or may not include a man in it, but that will someday have a home. I've found a cute little place that I want to make mine. It'll be tough, but it'll be mine. My mom recently told me I should have a baby through a sperm donor, and imagining that life didn't upset me. It made me hopeful.  My destiny is mine, not my brain chemistry's. I can shape it and make it better than the existence I had two years ago. It doesn't depend on others. It doesn't depend on what if's.  It just depends on what now.

See?  Everyone gets dumped. 


EDITORS NOTE: MY MOM WOULD LIKE ME TO CLARIFY THAT SHE ACTUALLY SAID,"YOU DON'T NEED A MAN ANYMORE TO HAVE A BABY. AND IF YOU HAVE A HOUSE WITH A SPARE ROOM, THEN YOU CAN HAVE A BABY." SO. THERE'S THAT. 

I'm bored.

So I'm going to tell you a story.  About Habersham, cause Erin's a jerk. :) I googled Habersham, cause I was pretty sure she'd just typed a bunch of letters together, and found listings of a county in Georgia. They have a winery and a farmer's market. So. Habersham Farmers' Market it is.  As a sidenote...don't google killing roosters when you're eating a chicken wrap. Just. Don't.

Nice Melons

The rooster crowed. A piercing reminder that it was time to get up and start the day.  The little asshole seemed to be waking earlier and earlier.  I had half a mind to wring it's little neck and enjoy a nice meal of fried rooster that night at the dinner table. There was little time to contemplate it's demise though, as I had to pack up crates of fruits and vegetables and haul ass to the swanky shopping center where I peddle my wares on a weekly basis. A single man running a farm does more work than a one armed paper hanger.  Though why a one armed man would go into paper hanging is beyond me.  But from 8 am to 1pm every Saturday, I sit and watch hipster douchebags and collagen filled harlots handle the literal fruits of my labor and try to talk me down from $3 a pound for strawberries while carrying purses that cost more than my pickup.

"Are these certified organic?"  If I hear that question one more time, I might scream.

I get to the market and go to my assigned booth. I glance briefly at the paper sign indicating the name of my neighbor.  I groaned as I read, "The Tea Lady." She is the absolute worst for business.  She wears flowing scarves and calls everyone darling while trying to get them to sip her swill from paper cups she crams on a plate in order to shove them in the faces of passersby. People avoid her like the plague, and their avoidance trajectory typically takes them far past the booths on either side of her. Looking around to see if I would get caught, I grabbed the sign off her table and switched it with the sign of the booth on her other side.

More vendors started to arrive as I attempted to make spaghetti squash look appealing. I don't understand why human beings need their produce stacked and symmetrical, but if it makes 'em buy, I'm doing it.  I was so engrossed in the placement of plums to notice that my new neighbor had started unloading. Their fruit.  And their vegetables. I realized my mistake too late to do anything about it. Hoping that the quality of their product would cause more traffic to head my way, I peered over the side of my table to get a view of their goods and noticed a figure hunched down over a crate.  I saw a ponytail of brown hair with the gold highlights associated with working outdoors, not chemical treatments, pulled through a tattered baseball hat. A long tanned neck stuck out of a ratty flannel that had certainly seen it's share of days drying in the sun. I continued to stare, taking her in as she stood.

"Good God, " she said, hand flying up to her chest. "You scared me!"

"Sorry 'bout that," I answered, suddenly embarrassed and bashful now that the full force of her cornflower blue eyes hit me like a sickle bar mower knocking down an alfalfa crop. "I was just looking at your melons."

Her eyes narrowed, her hand reaching up to the buttons on her shirt as I realized how that sounded. "NO! I mean...no. I meant your melons.  Your MELONS.  I can never get mine to grow that big. " I pointed at a stack of watermelons the size of toddlers laying on the table. Her eyes moved towards the large fruit as her eyes crinkled, a smile turning into laughter as she realized what a ridiculous scene we had just made.

I laughed with her then introduced myself. "I'm Will."

"I'm Stephanie, " she said, reaching her hand towards me in a gesture of friendship and goodwill. Her handshake was firm and her hands calloused.

"Stephanie,"  I repeated, liking the way it felt on my tongue.  "It's a pleasure.  Tell me something...do you like fried chicken?"

  

Hypochondria and A*&holes

I'll admit it.  I can be dramatic at times when it comes to my health. I overreact and rely on WebMD to try to figure out if what's happening is going to a)kill me b)lame me or c) lame me then kill me.  Recently, I've been dealing with this shoulder debacle. And by dealing, I mean doing everything I can to heal faster, know more, be stronger and it's not working.

Yesterday, I went to my orthopedist and he reacted strangely to my MRI.  My supraspinatus was solid white with inflammation, and the surrounding muscles were the normal dark grey that usually shows up on the MRI. There was a also a tiny tear in my rotator cuff.  'OK, Lauren.  You're just being sensitive.  That low whistle and shuffling of papers didn't mean anything,' I said to myself.  Then the dude told me that I might have a degenerative muscular thingy, spouted off a name so quickly I can barely remember anything about it but that it might have started with M,  then told me he wanted to try steroid therapy to get the swelling down. Great. Let's do that.  They called a script in. As I was checking out, I heard the doctor in the hallway chatting with another doc about me.   Comforting.

I started the Prednisone this morning and followed instructions to a T. I had no plans after work, so settled in to some time on the couch and catching up with Doctor Who. As I was laying there, my hands started to tingle. Then turned numb. They're still numb as I type.  I didn't freak out. My roommate suggested it was the way I was laying, so I adjusted that.  Still tingling. Worse, actually. So, I looked up side effects to Prednisone.

"Contact your doctor immediately if you experience these side effects: Shortness of breath.  Pain in calf. Tingling or numbness in hands and arms."

I asked the roomie what she thought I should do and decided to call the ER where I originally went for my injury. A nurse got on the "help" line and I told her what was going on after she got out the obligatory, "What's your information so we can bombard you with mailings and emails and prove we're helping people" deal.

Here's the rant part of this blog.

"Did you lay on your arms or hands while you were resting?"

Excuse me? I'm sorry, but I believe I have been speaking pretty intelligently with you up until this extremely asinine question.  NO, I wasn't freaking laying on my hands or arms. They've been numb for over an hour, jerk face. AND NO, I wasn't putting pressure on my elbows or wrists either.  Thank you for absolutely nothing.  Now, instead of just numb hands, I am also irate.  And thank you, very much, for the comforting "You should call your pharmacist cause I have absolutely no idea.  Do you want to receive mailings from us?"

The pharmacist was equally irksome. "Were you laying on your hands or arms?"  NO, you FUCKING ASSHOLE. I understand you get calls from morons all the time. I get it.  You're jaded. But I can't feel my hands and you're making me want to numbly punch a hole in something.  Her final answer: "You should call your doctor in the morning."

Thank you. I will certainly do that.  If I can feel my hands enough to dial the fucking phone.

Rant over.

Mother's Day

My mom is awesome. Period. I love her and am glad to be slowly turning into her. With some additional neuroses.

She may be confusing at times.
Mom: "No, I don't want any presents, but there's a necklace at this store for this price and this is what it looks like, so...."

She may come up with interesting nicknames for me.
Mom: "Hopeless! Get down here!"
Me: "Mom, did you give me the middle name Hope so you could call me that? Or is it a side benefit?"

Mom, about to hang up with me cause she's tired of talking:"Ok, boo boo. Talk to you later."

She may have crazy advice sometimes.
Mom: "I read an article about a guy who only owns what can fit on his back and he just sublets apartments in New York while pursuing his acting career.  YOU SHOULD DO THAT!"

She may be a little too protective.
Mom: "Hey, you want me to go to your doctors appointment with you?"
 
She has the neatest sayings.
Me: "I have a problem....complain, complain, complain."
Mom: "It is what it is, Lauren. It is what it is."

Me:  "This person is driving me crazy!"
Mom: "You can't change people.  Only how you deal with them. But, yeah.  That person's a jerk."

She comes up with the greatest schemes.
Mom: "Ok, your 31st birthday is the 15th and we want to go to Ohio.  Let's drive to Savannah on your birthday, stay over and explore the city then drive to Grandma's house. Sound like a plan?"

Mom: "Ok, we're going on a trip to Scotland next year.  Figure it out."

She's my mom, and I love her.