Taking steps towards being okay

Only in silence the word,
only in dark the light,
only in dying life:
bright the hawk's flight
on the empty sky.
            - The Creation of Ea, 
              A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula Le Guin

I pick it off the top of a stack I bought at a giant book sale back at summer's end. The first words I read, before chapter one of A Wizard of Earthsea, are like the red letters.

Talk-therapy with my sister yesterday over pizza brought me out of my head for the day. But by tonight I needed more and Daniel listened to over an hour of descriptions of my screwed-up mind lately. Clearer now, with a promise to Angela to start blogging again this very day, and every day, I am here doing what I have thought about doing and should have been doing for months now.

I began this blog out of conviction that happiness is self-created. In the time since I last posted in February, pathetically about an anniversary post that never happened, I have felt unworthy to post on a blog about overcoming depression. This is because I have been in it. I've been experiencing pretty extreme episodes of anxiety for a few weeks now, and it feels like carrying a giant crushing stone wheel that keeps rolling over me as I try to throw it off. But I have begun the process of trying to outsmart it.

Feeling surrounded and trapped lately by random possibilities like disease and sudden death, the opening verse of Earthsea shushed my mind for the "word," and recalled the contingencies, the appositives that allow life to be the precious thing it is. If it weren't for the bad, the good would not be.

So, in answer to what threatens my happiness and my stability in the dark moments: thank you. Because the evil little gremliny creatures stalk my sanity, I learn I can conquer them.

And mostly, thanks to God for, indeed being God, speaking through who and what God will.

This is the start of something better for me - this moment.

Middle Earth meets the Middle of Nowhere, and notes on thrift stores

A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.

When Gandalf said this he was referring to, well, wizards in particular. But I'm going to apply that to bloggers, too. Well, this blogger at least. So here I am not early or late in my post, but precicely when I need to be.

I do think that Gandalf and the whole of the Fellowship are with me in some way every day. When I'm sitting at my desk at work or I'm bored in my tiny apartment, I sometimes wish that I could live in Middle Earth. Rivendell in particular. Oh, and...after Frodo took the Ring to Mordor and Sauron was destroyed. I don't think I could have fit very well as a character in any of what came before. I kill every plant I touch, so I couldn't be a very good hobbit. I'd never survive the climb over the snowy slopes of the Caradhras in the Misty Mountains because I hate the cold, and I'd be no good at navigation as a member of the Fellowship because I can never get anywhere without the maps on my iPhone.

But I'm pretty sure I'd be a good Elf. I'd have to learn the Quenya or Sindarin but I've kind of always wanted to do that anyway. Wow, I just locked in my status as a big huge nerd, I think. Whatever.

So, my local library in Greenville County recently had a smallish exhibit of artifacts and interesting pieces from the Inklings, the literary group in Oxford England that met between 1930 and 1949 (according to Wikipedia), whose most famous members may be said to be C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. I do like Lewis, but it was the Tolkien and LOTR materials that I was most interested in, and nearly shrieked into the quiet of the library when I first saw them.

I had to stop my hands from opening the glass case and holding those first American editions of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and rolling up the posters and sticking them in my bag. I'm pretty sure the library would not be okay with that, if I've learned anything in my studies at library school thus far...and I assure you, I have.

The exhibit wasn't that extensive, but it had some very cool things to boast. It had first editions of Lewis's works as well as Tolkien's, and artifacts from Lewis's home at The Kilns, and some autographed copies of books by the Inklings, and more.

I wasn't sure if I was going to make it to the library to see the Inklings exhibit before it ended on January 23rd, but I just woke up one Saturday morning and knew that was the day, and I was going to make time for it. I took Daniel because he likes Tolkien and Lewis, too. It was a very nice day, one of those days that puts you in a good mood for a few days afterward.

In other news of my life, Daniel and I are in the long process of buying our first house. Offer was accepted and the groundwork of the loan has been done, and now we are in the waiting period for the loan to go through the underwriting office, which, as I understand, can take anywhere from no time at all to forever. It basically sits on someone's desk at the loan office until somebody finally takes mercy on us and pushes it through. Such is life. But, I'm already imagining how life will be in our new house. It has a huge fenced backyard, so Aggie our silly greyhound can take herself out to pee and poop. But, knowing her, she'll probably just stand outside at the door until one of us walks out there with her. She's like a little child.

I'm going to thrift stores and combing craigslist for cool cheap furniture and such. I recently bought a green velvet couch for forty bucks off craigslist. It's in my parents' basement right now until we get the house. I really enjoy craigslist. I even have a craigslist app on my iPhone. Daniel has his game apps like Angry Birds...and I have craigslist.

I went to a thrift store in Greenville yesterday called SOS. My friend had bought this really awesome chair from the 1960's there, so I thought I'd see what else they had. I got there about 20 minutes before closing and didn't see anything that I absolutely had to have. But it's so interesting to go around and look at the stuff that people have had in their houses for years, decades even. One interesting piece was this drafting table. It was huge and old and very used. A piece of paper posted above it said it came from some architect who lived in Greenville who was well-known. Named McMillan or McM-something, I can't recall.

I have no need for a giant old drafting table, but for a moment I felt like I was looking at a museum artifact. I started to just stare at it and imagine what kind of innovations and buildings were conceived and drawn on that table. Thrift stores are kind of like museums in a way...

...that sounds like a completely different blog post.

As a final note, guess what?!! The very first anniversary of my blog The Pancake Plan is coming up soon! I'll be posting on that day for sure, and I'll try to make it something good. ;) It's February 16, mark your calendars!

Vagabonds

Usually I can't explain my absence without feeling like I'm making excuses. This time it's different.

It happened about three weeks ago. Daniel and I had fallen into a light sleep while watching tv at about 11PM on a Thursday. I hate sleeping with the television on, because I just end up waking every hour or so and never feel like I'm really resting. So, I awoke enough to ask him to please turn it off, and he got up to turn the heat off too. It was then, as I was turning over to fall asleep again, that I heard yelling in our apartment building. At first, I thought it was some domestic fight until I heard, amid stamping and raised voices, the ultimatum word, fire.

We bolted out of the bed, and a fierce red glow bathed the hill outside our bedroom window. We didn't know how much the flames had engulfed yet, and scrambled to throw on clothes and grab cat and dog, fragmented logic mingling with panic in our minds. When we opened the front door, we were somewhat relieved to find our hallway yet untouched by the flames we heard growling through the top two floors. People were rushing in and out of their open apartments, yelling to each other. We put the pets in Daniel's Outback, and I ran in to grab my bag and the car keys, leaving our door wide open. I came back out and realized Daniel was barefoot. I wanted to go get his shoes but a big crash from within the building forbode any further entrance.

We sat silent in the car, driving away as the giant flames surged towards the sky through the roof of our apartment building. The cat meowed, his cracking voice anxious as he hopped around inside the car.

"All our stuff," I said, my hands shaking.

"It's nothing. We have each other," Daniel said, reassuring me and grabbing my hand.

"I'm glad we got the pets," I said, letting the fact settle my mind a bit. Our little family was safe.

"Me too. You did a good job, girl. You were brave."

Tears clouded my eyes, and the firetruck sirens screamed as they neared the apartment complex.

We didn't want to stay and watch it burn. Instead, we told a police officer at the scene who we were so they could know we got out safely, and headed to my parents' house.

We stayed with my parents for a few days until we moved to our friend Jason's house, to the vacant room where Daniel lived before we got married. So many people helped us out during this hard time, including may parents and Jason. My work family at the bank pitched in and gave us a monetary gift, which we didn't think we would use when we received it, but have since used every penny to help rebuild the trappings of everyday life we too often take for granted. We re-bought toiletries of every kind, as well as grocery items and miscellaneous things.

Thankfully, our stuff wasn't scorched. Istead, it incurred smoke damage and water damage from the hoses that put out the fire. Everything smelled like smoke, even my shampoo bottles and makup.

We had renter's insurance to replace anything that was damaged beyond repair, and they gave us a different apartment to live in for a while, though we hope to find a house in the next couple of months. Now we are unpacking boxes and trying to sort our lives again.

So it's been a rough holiday season, but we are still here, and I'm thankful for so much. Hopefully soon I'll be able to post a happy tale of how we found our first house.

We are trying to cultivate flowers in the ashes.

The Neighbors

Good morning world!

It's getting chilly here in Greenville, and the rain has been a transitionary of sorts from the warmth hanging on to the edges of summer to, finally, a smell and nip on the air of fall.

Waking up in the morning gets tougher, too, and I wonder sometimes if humans have some natural instinct towards hibernation in the cold months. But, fortunate for my schoolwork and my mood, I woke up at 7:45AM when my alarm clock sounded and rolled out of my cave of blankets into the cold, still-dark of the apartment. I realized only after I had walked around for 30 minutes shivering in my robe that we haven't even changed the thermostat over from cool air to heat. I took care of this problem and flicked on the heat switch.

Apartment living puts one in weird propinquity with strangers, neighbors, the Indian family that lives through the wall of our bathroom. Often I hear the woman singing or humming a tune while she showers as I sit on the toilet. The bathroom door closed should give me the assurance of privacy, but listening to someone you don't know singing in the shower right behind you while you're relieving yourself is a strange sensation. This morning, I washed my face and brushed my teeth to the sound of a rough, sleep-deepened male voice, the Indian man speaking to his wife in their language about what, I tried to imagine.
"I need you to iron my shirts, they were too wrinkly last time." Or, "The guys at the office are going out for drinks after work, I'll be home a little late tonight." I imagine all the possible topics being devoid of any real emotion, because the tone in his voice is all business, no tenderness.

There are many Indian families who live in our apartment complex. They all work at the big corporate headquarters of a giant company across the busy road. The men go to work and the women can be seen walking up and down the parking lots and streets at the apartments, pushing baby strollers or carrying grocery bags. They still wear the shocking bright pink, orange and turquoise silk saris trimmed in gold from their home country. They let their beautiful, exotic children hang, run and slide at the playground until late afternoon, when they head home to prepare for the men to return from work. Most evenings, this is about the time when, if I am walking down the hallway from our small apartment, curry and saffron hang heavily in the air.

Then, when the men come home and have eaten their dutifully prepared dinner, they will all congregate in carefully pressed pastel shirts on the sand volleyball court beside the playground. A few boys are allowed to accompany their fathers to this men's club.

The women aren't slighted in this. I've seen them gathered, all watching their small children play in an alcove of a parking lot, chatting and laughing grinning their stunning grins.

This morning, I did my routine along side the family that lives in the adjacent apartment. I may have been changing my underwear while the moustached young Indian father was sipping his coffee and thinking about tonight's gathering at the volleyball court.

Sometimes I smile say "hi there" to the woman if she opens her door during the day as I walk to my car. She is only about my age but already has two children, and I feel as if I could relate to her if I tried. She only looks up as an afterthought of being polite most of the time. I realize she doesn't feel the same about us as I do.

Things That Happen to a Girl

I woke up late this morning. Late because it was 9:34AM and Daniel and I were supposed to go running at 8AM. Both of us lied there under the same thin blanket, me with no job and him putting off getting up to go in to the school and get ready for the kids coming back in a couple weeks. It's okay we woke up late, pretending we hadn't made ambitious exercise plans this morning, because we looked at each other for longer than we would have, reminding ourselves that we are lucky to love so deeply.

After he left, I pulled myself out of the bed and out in the living room to the couch at least, because I know staying in the bed will only make me sad for an empty, still-warm half of the bed. The new greyhound, Aggie, who used to be called Jeserell when she didn't belong to us, followed me close behind from room to room, her usual practice. I washed my face and put on clothes, and ate a bowl of Cheerios while I watched Curb Appeal on HGTV.

I knew I had things to do today. For one, I missed my call from the unemployment insurance office last week because we had to go to a funeral in Lexington, so I was supposed to go to the office in Greenville this morning and reschedule. Bad idea that I started out at just before lunchtime, because when I got to the place in the shit side of west Greenville it was spilling out its doors with other people who probably missed their phone appointments too. This scared me off. And the parking lot was crawling. I said to myself, I'll try again tomorrow, wake up early and beat the rush. Oh, I've tried calling. Phones are always busy.

I suppose the most important thing behind all of this, behind the motions I go through and the TV shows and the good intentions, is my sustained mood. Lately, it hasn't been sustained and it certainly hasn't been good all the time. All of what I've just told about I did while trying to hold up a fragile, self-forged feeling of okayness. I've been sad lately...no, apathetic. Nobody's fault, just a place I've fallen into and am now trying to pull myself out of. But this morning, when my eyes opened, I felt the apathy resting over me again, but I made a choice in the moment and said no to it. Of course, that isn't good enough to last all day, but it worked for the next few minutes at least, and so I knew it would be hard but I could keep making the choice to push away the bad feelings all day. I'm still trying.

Driving downtown, I heard a song by Patty Griffin, "Long Ride Home" from the Elizabethtown soundtrack, and sang with her so loud in the car. It made me feel good, so I went to Earshot and bought a whole Patty Griffin album, called Children Running Through. I'm listening to it right now, and it's different a little, different than I expected. I expected a more bluegrassy album but she has a lot of jazz and even rock influence in this one. I don't know what I think about the whole album yet but I love her voice. It helps me have nice feelings inside, which was the whole point why I bought the thing.

Yeah, I'm not really supposed to be spending money right now since my temp job as a Tech Writer is over and I'm trying to get a Library Assistant job with the Greenville Library, which is turning out to be a slow process. I'm in between a few things right now, not just jobs. I'm waiting to start going back to school again, my classes start in a couple of weeks. I'm in between video games, I guess you could say, because I've played the hell out of the Sims 3 for the last few weeks and now I'm burnt out. I guess my apathy is a feeling of waiting, being in between.

I'm getting myself through, though. I've fallen apart a couple times, cried for no reason apparent to people outside myself, like my husband. He helps me through those times as much as he can. But the difference between this time and the past is that I've been here before, and I've learned more each time how to cope.

Lesson #1: Lying in the bed alone in the morning is pretty much the worst thing to do during these times, and should be avoided at all costs.

Lesson #2: Watch some TV. It helps.

Lesson #3: Don't blame your reason for crying on something your husband did to hurt your feelings three years in the past. It will just end up making him cry too. (Yes, I did that)

There are plenty more lessons, but we'll save them.

Also, I am pretty sure I'm some sort of psychic, or whatever word for psychic you want to use to fit your worldview. It's not something I've just realized, but recently it's gotten a little freakish. I have the occasional, unexplained moments of deja vu, but I have also been able to conceptualize or guess the details of things before I even know them. For instance, and I know this is going to sound minor, but it freaked me out: I was driving to my apartment and there was a white styrofoam cup on the curb, and before I saw where it was from, something about seeing the cup made me think randomly about this restaurant called Joy of Tokyo and all of a sudden I wanted to go there. So, I got closer to the cup, and I could see red lettering and realized that it said Joy of Tokyo on the side. How many restaurants have white styrofoam cups and it just happened to be from the restaurant I was thinking about. This instance alone wouldn't mean much if it weren't accompanied by occurances of a similar nature. And it's not like I'm trying to do these things, they just happen.

Not to mention the insane dreams I've been having lately. For the past week, I have woken up early in the morning with my heart racing and the memory of dreams so real and so exhaustingly action-filled that I will just walk around in a daze for at least 20 minutes, with sounds and elaborate scenes from them reverberating throughout me. The real world doesn't even compare, neither does any fiction or film, to the adventure and the emotions I had in these dreams.

And all of this isn't the end of it. I would go into more detail, but a couple of the dreams I've had involve people close to me. I will say, however, that a few months ago, I dreamed that someone I knew (who I hadn't seen or spoken to in over a year) was going to die. Not month later, this person actually passed away.

I've only told my mother and my husband about these things. I've said to myself I wouldn't tell anyone, but it's getting weird lately, and I don't know what the purpose of it all is, or if it has a purpose at all. I'm not even sure I believe it is all linked, or that what is happening is something para-normal. I am sure that if anyone reading this blog can give me any insight or personal experience of their own that relates, I would be happy to not feel alone in dealing with it.

To close out, here is a photo of Aggie, our new greyhound, a 3-year-old girl who wags her tail all the time and still has stitches in from her recent spay: