Single Bliss...

Last night, I ate cold pizza for dinner.  I put salt on it as if cold pizza requires more salt. Kevin got some pieces of crust.  I put on an old sweater of my mom's and some sweatpants.

I took an hour nap on the couch. I have another infection and it's kicking my ass.

I woke up, watched cheesy Hallmark movies, and then decided to read.

I bought a copy of Maya Angelou's Letters to My Daughter a couple of weeks ago and just started reading it. It's great.

I turned off the TV, turned out all the lights in the living room, got ready for bed and snuggled in my full size bed with book in hand.  Kevin plopped down on the floor next to the head of the bed. He started snoring immediately.  He's had an infection, too. A poopy, squirty kinda infection.  The Pottinger household is a mess.

I laid down in the middle of the bed. Head propped on all four pillows. Tucked my legs under my two comforters, adjusting my body to the feather mattress under me for maximum comfort. I read a couple of paragraphs, and looked at the clock.  I typically go to bed at 11, but tonight I felt a need to turn in at 10:30. Light off, I told Kevin I loved him and rolled over, pillow between my legs. My phone went off.  It was my friend Anthony, wanting to know if I was up to talk. I called him. We chatted til 11:20. I hung up and snuggled in, falling asleep immediately.

I woke up this morning at 7:15.  I peed with the door open after feeding Kevin. I grabbed his leash, walked out the door, and walked him for a half hour in my sweatpants and Mom's old sweater. I got ready for work. I gave him some treats, and headed out the door for my day.

I didn't have to think about anyone else and their needs.  I didn't have to sneak out of the room to chat with my friend.   I didn't have to share my pizza or be judged for adding salt/Hallmark movie/sweatpants and Mom's sweater.  I don't have to share Kevin.  I don't have someone asking me to turn out the light so they can sleep.

Being single has it's lonely times, sure.  But the non-lonely times are pretty awesome.

Wedding weirdness.

You never really know how you've effected someone until the day they introduce you to their new spouse and say, "She's the one who inspired me to travel."

John Sheetz go married this weekend to a wonderful woman named Bekkah. They were married in a Lodge in Wakulla Springs, FL. It was perfect for them. The ceremony was beautiful. They offered communion.  I took it.  I interpreted it as a show of support for the new couple in their life together. The bread was tasty.

I've known John since we were 12 years old. We were on newspaper staff together.  We were really great friends in high school.  He was my adventure friend, and we'd end up going for long bike rides or to art galleries together.  One of my fondest memories was the two of us, riding our bikes from my house to a park on Haverhill and up Military Trail back to my house.   Senior year, we wandered around Palm Beach Island with our friends who had all been nominated for Pathfinder Awards.  I was off to tour the world with Up With People. They were all making plans for college.

During my tour, I got emails from John.  He was in Europe. He had decided to travel, too. We emailed back and forth over the year. Me from Prague.  Him while working on a boat in the Mediterranean. Me from Finland. Him from Stratford Upon Avon. I got postcards from him at home, telling me that I should go here or there. I was always jealous of his adventures even while I was having my own.

I had never met Bekkah, but thought I knew her pretty well through facebook posts. Halfway through the reception, I cornered John and pointedly told him that neither I not our friend Katie who was there had ever even met Bekkah. He introduced Katie and her husband. Then me. She said, "I've heard so much about you." He said, "She's the one who inspired me to travel."

Who knew?  Certainly not me.  It's rare to get an opportunity to hear how you've effected your friends. It was nice to hear.  I think it's something I need to say more.

The thrill is gone.

I think I'm burnt out on improv.

Our torrid love affair was going strong.  Something changed recently, and I can't put my finger on it.

There's so much good stuff going on in my improv world, but I'm disinterested.  I dread going to rehearsal. I dread shows.  I love improv, but I hate it right now.

I see posts for shows. They're so exciting!  They use exclamation points!  And fun words!  And fun pictures! YAY!  SHINY!  IMPROV! IT'S ALL MADE UP, GUYS!

They make me want to stab my eyes out.

If I never do another countdown/shaking hands/hokey pokey warmup, I may be fine.

If I never have to kill myself to get to a rehearsal after an 8 hour shit show day at work followed by carrying my 42 pound dog down three flights of stairs so I can pick up his shit before shoving shit food in my piehole while driving, I might be good.

I am now part of two troupes and I don't want to do any of it. I love the people. I love the art form. But I'm just toast right now. Darkly burnt toast that you can't even save by scraping off the surface and putting on lots of jam.  You know.  The fruit stuff, not some hastily put together show with 15 troupes who get 5 minutes of improvisation a piece.

Maybe I'm too old for this shit. Maybe I'll be better when getting home at 5:30pm isn't pitch black and makes me want to curl into a ball and watch NCIS marathons until I go to bed at 11 to try and get a good start to another grindy day at work.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Ch-ch-changes...

One of my oldest friends from middle school is getting married this weekend.

My grandmother is moving out of her house this weekend.

I got my bloodwork back from yet another doctor and my glucose levels were high. Diet time. Exercise time. Change time.

I hate change.  I hate getting old.

The good thing is I asked my mom to get me something from Grandma's house.

It's a light switch plate.

On it is the figure of a cartoon tennis player.

The light switch is his penis.

It was in my grandpa's shed.  A shed full of memories of Grandpa and I painting crafts. Me painting in there by myself after he died. The smell of plant food, gasoline, and craft paint.  I can't walk through the garden center at Home Depot without flashing back to him teaching me how to do detail work on the faces of the Santa and Mrs. Claus he bought for me to paint by myself.  I wasn't very good, but he made me feel like I was the best craft painter to ever paint crafts.

I'm gonna miss that house.  I'm gonna miss that shed.  I'm gonna have a great time at the wedding this weekend with my pup, and my friends from middle and high school.  I'm gonna hike and enjoy life and forget the fact that the home that has 30 years of memories in it will soon not belong to my family. The wall that has pencil marks for height for my aunts, uncles, cousins, brother and sister will be painted a fresh coat of white.

I had a dream the other night that I bought the house and raised my kids in it.  Kevin frolicked in the backyard. Then I looked at the MLS and realized I could never, ever afford to have that dream come true.

It sucks, but I know my Grandma is going to be happy in her new home. I'm happy for her new adventure.  And I really, really want that light switch cover.

Perspective.

I've been sleeping a lot lately. LIKE a lot. All day Sunday. Monday night. Tuesday night. I slept through the alarm I set to get going for rehearsal.  Woke up right when rehearsal was about to start. 45 minutes away. It was too overwhelming to figure out.  I had a long discussion with my mom about how depressed I feel. FOR NO REASON.

Today, my friend Aniela starts chemo. I just chatted with a member of the club who is battling lung cancer. A friend of mine just had to put her dog down. 132 children were killed in Pakistan.

I know I have it good.  I realize this.  My body does not.  My brain chemistry does not.

Depression is a lie.  But it's a damn convincing lie.

I have had a few "snap out of it" comments from people. A "go run on the treadmill to get your endorphin's up" from mom. My friend that I blew off last night told me he understands.

THIS HAPPENS. EVEN ON BRAIN DRUGS, IT HAPPENS.

Every year, the season starts and I want to hibernate.  Work gets crazy.  A lot of energy gets expended in events, negative members, balancing co-workers and membership drives. I leave the couch to walk Kevin.  Get a popsicle. Go back to the couch.  It's tough. I get that it's not just tough on me. I'm not crying all the time (just once on Monday night, but it was for a really good reason).

I'm not wanting to hurt myself.

I'm just tired.

This?

http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/anne-theriault-/living-with-depression_b_3726949.html

I have yet to read an article about depression that more accurately depicted the way I feel right now.

Wil Wheaton said that once he got on meds, the noise in his brain finally dulled to a ringing in the ears. That happened to me when I started the brain drugs. I went off the brain drugs for a few days, and now my brain just needs to catch back up. I need to deal with the health stuff going on in my life. (Surprise!  I'm anemic and have a temporarily broken uterus! Yay!) Realize that my friends love me. My family loves me.  I should love me.

To cope with this current bout, I'm going to be silly.  Post silly shit. Find videos that make me giggle and images that make me guffaw.  I'm gonna be a manic pixie girl. And get my femullet trimmed. That might be step one.

Da blues.

I've got a case of the holiday blues.

The only solution is...a poem.

I got dumped by an elf on Christmas
It was a very bad year
He had the curly shoes, the bells and the hat
And even two very pointy ears

It was one of those crawls

Where everybody drinks
Dressed like Santa, we all did shots
I thought I had been very good all year
But he had other thoughts.

We partied all night
I was naughty but nice
Dancing and acting a fool.
"It's not working out"
He said with a sneer
Shortly after I'd bought his 15th beer

My eyes teared up
Green mascara ran down my face
As I stood in my hooker Santa gear
"Merry Christmas to all"
He yelled as he drove out of sight.
"And I hope you had a very shitty night!"

Never trust a man who drinks cough syrup
He'll always end up breaking your heart
But that damn elf did me a favor that day
And left me to make a brand new start

I got dumped by an elf on Christmas
It was a very bad year
He had the curly shoes, the bells and the hat
And even two very pointy ears.

EFF CHRISTMAS!

THIS GUY IS NOT MY BUDDY! 

My sister inspired me.

I was mean to my sister.

Surprise!

She said something at dinner one night about trying to find a four leaf clover.  It was an item on her bucket list.

I scoffed.

"It's on your bucket list?  Bucket lists are for EPIC ADVENTURES, EXPLORING and DEATH DEFYING FEATS.  NOT FOR SOMETHING LIKE FINDING A FOUR LEAF CLOVER! DUH!"

I'm a jerk. And speak in all caps.

I realized that my interpretation of the bucket list is kind of douchey. (Sorry, Brooke.) The list doesn't have to be full of expensive travel or extreme sports.  It can be the little things in life that we've always wanted to do that are within our reach if we just focus on them.

I've added an item to my bucket list.

Do a single cartwheel.

I have never done a cartwheel. I don't trust gravity and my body to not break something in the process of wheeling. The other day I was teaching an improv class, and we were waiting for additional students to get there to begin.  While we waited, I suggested we do cartwheels EVEN THOUGH I DON'T KNOW HOW.  The two other ladies in the class tried.  I couldn't.  I was too scared. Scared of looking dumb or falling.

Not anymore. I'm gonna rock a cartwheel and I 'm going to look dumb doing it.  I'll scratch it off that bucket list and move on to the next item.

Seeing the Aurora Borealis in person.

That may take a while.