--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Ever put something off for, say, forever? I have. Procrastination is my middle name. I put off calling a friend for so long that, the longer I waited, the more difficult it became to get in touch with that person. I felt like I was a major disappointment, and the shame that kept building became nearly insurmountable.

Well, today was the day for me to bust down the walls I’d built (yet again) and get in touch. I did, even if via IM, and I’m glad. I apologized, was told there was no need, and I feel tons better about it.

I do this falling-off-the-Earth thing, and I hate that I do it. I have let down a number of friends this way, have been told they hate when I do it, and yet I still let my depression/shame get the best of me. Time and time again. And for what? I’ve even lost jobs because of this shit.

Life is short and I’ve been squandering it. I rarely leave the house, so is it any wonder I don’t have many local friends? Fear. Fear has been ruling my life, and I don’t like it. I can relate all too well to agoraphobics, afraid to leave home, to the point where I’ve rescheduled appointments. I’ve skipped get-togethers with friends because of this shit.

I don’t know what the answer is, other than to keep doing what I did just a while ago: push through the fear and do it, anyway. Not an easy task for me, typically riddled with anxieties about anything and everything. But I’ve done it before (BlogHer, TequilaCon, etc.), and I can do it again.

It doesn’t help that I’m not working. I need to work. Ideally, a work-from-home writing situation. Yeah, even though I rarely post anything these days, writing is my key talent. So if you happen to know of anything available, please let me know.

I’m tired of burning bridges. Time for repair work.

And on a totally different note, I caved in and went to see the Hangover 2 yesterday. The synopsis on Rotten Tomatoes says:

A crueler, darker, raunchier carbon copy of the first installment, The Hangover Part II lacks the element of surprise — and most of the joy — that helped make the original a hit.

And some of the reviews?

I can’t believe how precisely everything does happen again, except that what was fresh and surprising in Las Vegas turns rancid and predictable in Bangkok, where yet another wedding is scheduled to take place.

This is pretty much one of the laziest… most careless and unimaginative sequels I’ve ever seen. It’s not even so much a sequel as it is a filmic pat on the back to those responsible for making the first film such a success. It’s a self-congratulatory and mostly unfunny REMAKE of the first film…

Adheres to the old maxim “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” yet somehow manages to break it while not fixing it.

All of these snippets are correct. The Hangover 2 is exactly the same flick as the first one, except this time, there’s no surprise element. Everything is duplicated – just in Bangkok instead of Vegas. It may be a little bawdier than the first one, and there ARE some laughs, but for me it was a letdown.

Yet another “forgotten” evening of debauchery and danger, where the three main characters attempt to put the pieces back together the following day. The stakes are the same…they’ve got to find someone they “misplaced” and make it back before a wedding, this time Stu’s. Mike Tyson makes an unbelievable appearance. There’s even the same plot device at the end credits, where you see all the photos taken during their forgotten night. These aren’t spoilers, mind you, I got all this info just from reading one review of the film.

WORTH: the dollar cinema, if you have one in your town. Otherwise, wait for it on video if you simply feel you must see it. Better yet, watch the first Hangover again. It’s much funnier and better executed.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

What does depression feel like? That’s what ads for antidepressants ask us, as they parade about cartoons of sad rocks rolling lazily along a sparse black and white landscape. Right now, it feels like this enormous weight sitting on my chest, one that refuses to go away.

I look fine on the outside (even on Twitter), but I’m not. You’d think I’d be happy about going 7 weeks (today) without a cigarette. But in actuality, quite a bit of late I feel as if I’m on the verge of a panic attack. I face each day with dread…another day to face with far too much time on my hands and no way to pass that time.

I know, I realize that many people complain about not having enough time, so it sounds crazy to bitch about having too much of it. Trust me, it’s a grass-is-always-greener thing. There is such a thing as too much time. I have a fine appreciation these days for certain idioms, like “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

My brain is my worst enemy. I cannot imagine living the rest of my life this way, and yet somehow I manage to do just that. I lay in bed, awake, for hours at a time…wondering. How can I continue skating by like this, day to day, no income other than disability, not working, living with my mother, so scared at times that I can’t leave the house, spending 20 minutes just trying to decide what to eat, the weight on my chest, hopeless? Every action I take seems pointless.

Someone left a comment on my last post, saying something to the effect of “just forget about working and let the bills take care of themselves.” I don’t know if they were attempting to be humorous but I didn’t find it very funny. Much as my life may seem like a joke, it’s not a joke to me. Granted, my sense of humor is more than a tad lacking right now.

I see the future and it looks bleak to me because I’m alone. And that’s something that really shakes the bajeezus out of me. Who do I have to take care of me when I get old? I know, what the fuck am I thinking about this shit for at 44? Because I’m likely closer to death than I am to my birth. What? I said it looks bleak.

This is more than a mid-life crisis, I assure you. I feel like I’m drowning and it’s been building for a while. All comfort seems to elude me. TV, music, books, Twitter and Facebook, even talking with friends…it all falls flat.

I would prefer non-existence over this. As the Old 97’s sang once, “Parts of me have already died.” I’m NOT suicidal, for the record. Don’t go calling anyone to slap the white jacket on me and throw me in a rubber room. I’m just in a really bad place, and at a total loss about what to do.

I see that “30 Days of Truth” blog meme going around. I’ve thought about trying it, but it’s an awfully lengthy way to gaze at my navel even more than I’ve already been doing. Besides, my blog has already turned into nothing but depressing Truth.

I feel like my best years are all gone. I feel like I’ve run out of things to say, and that no one could possibly find me interesting, let alone want to hang out with me. I dread gatherings of people now more than I think I ever have. Can’t imagine facing anything like BlogHer or TequilaCon in my present state of mind. Hell, I struggle just to go out to dinner right now.

I have fucked up virtually all aspects of my life, and there are no do-overs.

Don’t you just wanna party with me? Honest, I used to be funny. I just don’t know where that man is any more.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

It’s day 8 now with Mom in the hospital and me making it a second home. A week ago yesterday that we almost lost her. Hoping this is her week to go home, but that depends on her white blood cell count coming down.

They say nurses are the worst patients and I understand why. They have a lot of insight into what’s going on, ask lots more questions than “normal” people, and think they know what’s best, often refusing to do what is ordered.

With Mom, it’s little things that make a big difference. For instance, her bed position. She keeps wanting it flat when she should be on at least a 30-degree elevation. Her lungs have fluid in them, so being flat only makes it harder to breathe. Does she listen? No. She just keeps readjusting her bed.

Me, I’m stuck between being a pain in the ass and doing what’s best for Mom. Be easier if she was in a coma, I think.

Then there’s the big smoking issue. Do I do as my sister suggests, clean the house of all ashtrays and throw away all the cigarettes? Febreeze the living shit out of everything? Because Mom keeps saying how much she wants a smoke, and I’m thinking that’s just what she needs. Not. It’s been 8 days since she had a smoke. Her body is detoxed, as they say. At this point the desire is all mental.

And am I ready to quit myself? Anxious and stressed as I am, I don’t think so. But I can’t really expect Mom to quit if I don’t. Ugh. I know if someone threw away my cigs against my will I’d be pissed. But should I care? Tossing away all the smokes would be a healthy thing. It’s the smoking that is causing some of the troubles she’s facing right now with her breathing and lungs.

When you consider everything, especially that her husband died of lung cancer 6 years ago, it seems retarded that she still smokes. Me, too. I helped take care of him those last months and it wasn’t pretty.

Fuck. I’m an asshole if I toss ‘em all, I’m an asshole if I don’t. In the meantime, there’s a reprieve because Mom isn’t going home today. Or tomorrow. She isn’t strong enough to even make it downstairs to smoke outside here.

But soon. She is walking slowly up and down the halls. Just a matter of time.

Everything and every decision seems a ginormous task right now. Checking the mail, getting the morning paper, calling people, picking up more baby powder from the store. It’s all draining. Add to that the fact that I’m supposed to eat three meals a day. Ugh.

Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime. Mom’s tray is here, the food growing cold while she sleeps. I should wake her and get her eating, then head down to the cafeteria to get myself something.

Mmm. Hospital food.

(written on my iPhone so pardon the errors)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

It’s the strangest thing, being in the hospital, or having a loved one in the hospital. You’re trusting your life with people you don’t even know. The nurses, the doctors, the aides. Don’t know them from Adam, and yet every time I leave the hospital, I trust them with the life of my mother.

I don’t know what is scarier: trusting strangers with Mom, or having me be her caretaker. There’s a reason I didn’t go into the medical field like Mom or Karin: I can’t hack it. But I’m about to take care of Mom again, after weeks and months helping her after knee surgery. In what fucking universe does that make sense?

I watch Karin undo cables and cords, reattach blood pressure cuffs and IVs, and I think “I could never do that shit.” I do not do bodily fluids well. I don’t do the caretaking thing all that well. I always feel inadequate.

I don’t understand the medical jargon, which flies fast and furious. Karin does. Hemoglobin, white counts, red counts, plural effusion, potassium levels, xiphoid and hemostasis…blah blah blah.

I feel like a little kid left in charge of a city. Scared, frustrated, and way out of my depth. Just a matter of time till disaster strikes.

This getting older thing sucks, particularly when everyone I know gets older, too. I dread being in a hospital bed some day, all by myself, no one to depend on except strangers.

One thing at a time, though. Mom will be in the hospital at least another few days. Hoping she doesn’t catch pneumonia while she’s here. She gets up to go to the bathroom, sits in the chair for a while, we need to get her walking down the hall.

I just hope this isn’t the beginning of a long series of health problems. My parents all have health issues.

And I’m left feeling like that little kid. Quaking and clueless.

(written on my iPhone, so excuse the spelling and grammar)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

I’ve been very absent from here of late. That’s because there are only so many ways I can say I’m depressed. And there are only so many ways I can say that there are only so many ways I can say I’m depressed. I’m sick of myself, so I can only imagine how sick you are of me whining.

Enter Monday. Mom had a colonoscopy, which seemed to go just fine. Till we got her home. Then she announced she was feeling really bad. Dizzy, nauseous, stomach aching. The stomach, she just figured was gas pains from all the air in her gut post colonoscopy. Turns out no.

Thank God she had to use the toilet, rather than just taking a nap. That might sound odd, since she passed out on the way from the bathroom and hit the floor (carpeted). But hear me out.

If she had just gone to sleep, I would not have known that she was bleeding internally. We would have lost her. Yeah, seriously.

Instead, I called 911 and the ambulance came and got her. Turns out that a 60/30 blood pressure isn’t a good thing.

Her stomach was increasing in pain at the ER. A CT revealed bleeding in her abdomen. She was in surgery within 30 minutes for an exploratory.

I knew it was very serious then, as rapidly as they took her to surgery, even without any medical knowledge on my part. I’ve seen plenty of House episodes. She’s a nurse, Mom, as is my sister, Karin.

Turns out that they had to remove Mom’s spleen, which must have been perforated during the colonoscopy.

Nobody said how bad it was until a nurse gave a surgery update. “If you hadn’t gotten her in here when you did, she wouldn’t have made it through the night.” Fuck.

Again, thank God she didn’t just take a nap when we got her home Monday. Gives me shivers just thinking about it.

Now Mom is in ICU, but only because there aren’t any other beds available at the hospital. Her numbers are looking far better after they gave her a couple units of blood the other day.

Likely, she will be in the hospital till sometime next week. Karin is here till today or tomorrow (she lives 3 hours away). Really is a blessing having her here. She knows what all this lingo means, what it means to have an 8.7 hemoglobin. I am clueless.

Thanks for all of your prayers via Twitter and Facebook, texts, and phone calls.

Now I type this on my iPhone and think about the road ahead. Again. Mom has had a crappy year thus far. First, breaking her kneecap, then this almost right after she finally got back to work.

Banner year indeed.

I’m left once again pondering the fragility of life. Seeing how close we all are to the Other Side is pretty scary. It’s easy to take it all for granted. Seeing the huge 13″ incision along Mom’s stomach and chest…we are all just a skinsack of guts and bones. Christ.

Then I go step outside for a smoke, which seems pretty fucking dumb. What can I say? I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

(from my iPhone in the hospital)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Enjoyed last night’s episode of 2HRadio with Cissa, where we talked about all sorts of things, including last weekend’s SillyBring. She and Shannon both wrote about the weekend on their blogs.

We had six of us for Sillybring: CheekySweetie, Shannon, Cissa, Whostolemyzen, NoelleD, and of course myself. Even though I brought my camera, I didn’t get any shots (aside from when Shannon and I went to Gatorama).

So let’s go with a couple of good photo sets from Cissa and Shannon, because they had the presence of mind to take lots of pics.

Here’s Shannon’s photos on Flickr.

And Cissa’s.

And my photos from Gatorama, which include the grinning Pepe LePew, who is getting laid. Lucky fucking skunk. If I want to get laid, I have to recruit crack whores…and even they are a tad picky.

Because I’m lazy and undergoing a series of anxiety attacks the last couple of days, I’m going to bulletize SillyBring.

• Shannon’s first night in Sebring nearly brought a live possum to her chair on my front porch. It was a big fucker, too. I shooed it away like it was a dog, half chasing it across my yard so that Shannon wouldn’t freak. Fortunately, despite having a run of bad luck lately, this particular possum was not, in fact, rabid, and did not leap for my throat and bite through my jugular. I assured Shannon I’d never seen a possum before, let alone had one walk up my sidewalk straight up to me…I don’t know that she believed me.
• Gatorama once again proved to kick ass. It was the one time I had my camera with me throughout the weekend. I was too busy enjoying everyone else’s company beyond that. We both got to hold a baby gator and croc, see TONS of gators in the lake (all of whom seem to be Jewish, since they swam for bagels like they were heroine), and the fucking skunks (literally). Also hung around long enough to see the gators being fed, which was something else. All in all, a fun afternoon with a VERY Floridian activity. Gator jerky available in the gift shop, please come again.
• CheekySweetie arrived a day before SillyBring to hang with Shannon and I before the other ladies got to town. Love, love, love her and enjoyed having two of my fave women together in one location again. Her laugh always gets me to smiling and laughing myself…much needed.
• Met up with Cissa, WhostolemyZen, and NoelleD at the Blue Lagoon for lunch (corn nuggets!) on Saturday. Fun and hilarity ensued (for pretty much the next 24 hours). WhostolemyZen and NoelleD and the others soon realized that corn nuggets are much like crack. Cissa was not overly impressed. Witches, whaddya gonna do?
• The next few hours were filled with shopping at Ross Dress For Less, Michaels, and some other clothing store. Shannon has been losing quite a bit of weight, and wanted some girl power to help her find clothes. The mumu looked great, but she went with different looks for some reason.
• There was much Foursquaring going on all weekend, of course. Vying for Mayorships in new venues was exhausting, but I wound up Mayor of a couple more places, even if it meant ousting some friends in the process. That’s right, bitches, I’m now a Super Mayor!
• We all spent quite a bit of time in our hotel room…2 bedroom suite, 2 bathrooms. It was perfect for the 6 of us to gather and hang. We also spent some time in the pool and hot tub. Mmm.
• Dinner at Don Jose’s Mexican that night. My Mom joined us all. It was Angel’s first time at a Mexican restaurant!
• The Why Not Lounge was perfection that night. Ladies drink free from 10-midnight (y’know, thinking of my ladies) and the people-watching was out of this world. People straight out of “Deliverance” were at the next table. I was just waiting for the banjo music to start. There were lots of big eyes (as SillyBringers stared openly at family members grinding on each other during songs, incredibly drunk folks who couldn’t talk or sing but tried anyway, and an amorous couple getting it on in the ladies’ bathroom) and laughs. Oh, and branding…can’t forget the branding. Shannon and Cissa and I sang karaoke, while Angel, WhostolemyZen, and NoelleD said “There’s not enough booze on Earth to get us up there.”
• Next morning, the girls came back to Shannon’s, Angel’s, and my hotel room and hung out some more, doing girly things like hairwraps for Shannon and Angel. I figured I’d forego the hairwrap, since my hair is maybe half an inch long.
• We went to Bob Evans for brunch (yay for blueberry crepes), lots more laughter, and ultimately our goodbyes. We took a few more photos outside, hugged and kissed each other farewell, then Cissa and WhostolemyZen and Noelle D took off for home.
• Shannon and Angel and I hung out at my house for a little while before Angel went back home. Then Shannon and I, though sad to see everybody leave, kinda vegged out and napped. I may have uttered the words, “I’m too old for this partying shit” once or twice.

And that was pretty much SillyBring. Shannon stayed another day, we enjoyed some mindless TV after our naps on Sunday. She made a delicious steak dinner for my Mom and I. Think we played some more “Price is Right” on the Wii before hitting the sack, exhausted. Next morning, more mindless TV (including RuPaul’s Drag Show). Enjoyed Shannon’s company immensely.

Then it was time to drive Shannon back to Orlando International to fly home. We listened to the Kick-Ass soundtrack on the way, having both LOVED the movie. Dropped her off at the Southwest check-in, hugs and kisses, and that was that. I drove home, sad to see Shannon go. Sad to see the extended weekend come to a close. Sad to be back in Sebring all by my lonesome.

And not to be a bummer, but my depression has really been taking a nasty turn for the worst, ramping up throughout the week ever since Shannon left. Nothing seems to be clicking for me…no matter what I try, I’m not feeling it. Reading, TV, music, being online, even rubbing one out – fucking anhedonia can suck my left one.

My naps aren’t all that great because (I think) of the Abilify. Which sucks, because naps are one of my escapes from reality. I feel paralyzed and overwhelmed, too. So much to do, some of it complicated, all of which led to anxiety attacks yesterday, where I had to constantly remind myself to breathe.

You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to forget to breathe, yeah? I thought so, too.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

I’m a good tipper. I’ve had many friends who wait tables and I know they bust their ass. You have to really be a crappy waitress to get less than 20% from me, yes, because I’m appreciative, but mostly because I don’t have the patience to do what they do. Or the coordination. Or memory. I hear you’re supposed to remember what people order and shit.

It’s the waiting I have trouble with in my life. Sure, I’m easy-going (mostly). I try to be patient – and sometimes I succeed – but mostly I suck at it.

2010 has been kicking my ass thus far, and the past week hasn’t done much to show me that it’s about to change any time soon. I’m tired of my life, I’m tired of the waiting. The Year of Resolutions can blow me right now. I’ve been so depressed of late that nothing seems to be getting done…not checking sugars the way I should, haven’t been working, haven’t been going to the Y. Suck it.

Friends say I need to grab the Universe by the balls and give them a tight squeeze. I think that’s a great idea, I answer, as soon as the universe lets go of its vice grip on MINE.

I lost a close friend this week. Not lost as in “she died” or “I misplaced her.” There was a series of blowouts in recent months, and this past week served to show me that waiting on a satisfactory explanation was a waste of time. Months I waited, and for what? Nothing. In the end, rather than talk about it, I got cut off entirely – blocked – and that’s been quite the blow for me. I thought we had a far deeper relationship than that. Seems I was wrong.

I realized a while back that the very thing I was waiting for (an answer that would make sense) wasn’t going to materialize. No answer would make everything that’s been happening OK. I was hoping things could be salvaged, but then the decision was made for me, and here I sit, writing off what was a very important relationship.

I’m seeing lately that patience, which they SAY is a virtue, is really a sucker’s game. Waiting by idly for someone else to make a decision often brings disappointing results.

The question now is how do I know what is worth waiting for (or if anything is worth waiting for)? How exactly do I grab the Universe’s scrotal sack without the incessant junk-punching it’s giving me?

I’m gonna start with less waiting. I’m worth more. It’s counter-productive, particularly when it’s the kind of waiting that precludes me from making a move until the other person makes their move. I have shit to do, I have a life to lead…Lord knows what that looks like, but I’m sure I have better things to do.

If I’m not important enough to deal with, fine. If you’ve got other things on your plate, fine.

Just don’t be fucking surprised if I’m not still waiting on your ass when you’re finally ready to get to me.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Days like today I kinda just want to say “Blow me, world!” and throw in the towel. Stick my head in the sand, make it all go away, leave me the hell alone.

Therapy was a bitch yesterday. I can’t even go into specifics. Let’s just say that one of many recurring themes discussed was my proclivity to take on too much of OTHER PEOPLE’S shit.

Then I listen to this song and try to let it soak in. The meditations of OK Go.

Dear Jeebus, let this garbage pass.

This Too Shall Pass

by OK Go

You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down
And you can’t keep draggin’ that dead weight around.
If there ain’t all that much to lug around,
Better run like hell when you hit the ground.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

You can’t stop these kids from dancin’.
Why would you want to?
Especially when you’re already gettin’ yours.
‘Cause if your mind don’t move and your knees don’t bend,
well don’t go blamin’ the kids again.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

When the morning comes.
When the morning comes.

Let it go, this too shall pass.
Let it go, this too shall pass.

Let it go, this too shall pass.
(You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

Let it go, this too shall pass.
(You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

Hey!

Let it go, this too shall pass.
(You know you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes.
(You can’t keep lettin’ it get you down. No, you can’t keep lettin’ it get you down.)

When the morning comes!

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan