Don't Hate Me Because I'm Brain Damaged

"Procrastination is like Masturbation: In the end you're just screwing yourself."

Is it procrastination if you forget to do it? My current situation is clearly karma kicking my ass for bitching at my husband about forgetting to do things. His excuse was always, "Well, I knew I had to do it, but then... I don't know, the phone rang, or something came up, and I just forgot."

It was enough to make me want to spit.

Now I'm the one doing it. The universe has an exceptionally twisted sense of humor.

Today I screwed up and forgot about a lunch meeting I'd arranged with a friend. This, mind you, was a meeting that had been scheduled for Friday. On Friday I showed up at the restaurant half an hour early and then couldn't figure out where she was. I left after 25 minutes only to find out when I went home that a) I hadn't actually responded to her email confirming the meeting, and b) it was for 12:30 not 12:00.

I am a train wreck. The sucky part about crap like this is that I was so sure I had the correct time/date etc. It was in my head. I also thought I'd responded to the email. Apparently, what happened was that I thought about responding. I considered what I would say, I formulated a response, and then....something came up, the phone rang, etc. and I forgot to do it.

The pity of it all was that while I was dressing to go and getting all excited about having a nice lunch with good conversation, nothing triggered in my head that I hadn't actually confirmed this meeting. Nothing triggered while I waited at the restaurant. Nothing triggered at all. Zip, zero, zilch, until I went home and checked the email and then, only then, a sneaking suspicion crept in and whispered, "Did you send her an email with a definitive 'yes'?". When I checked my Sent file, the answer was "No".

I can't tell you how many times I've done things like this. Not only is it frustrating to me, it's also annoying to my friends and family. Honestly, I'm not trying to be an asshole, I just can't help it. It wouldn't be so bad if I'd always been an asshole, but I think that, before, I wasn't an asshole, or, at least, not this much of an asshole. Now, I look back on my less assholey times with fond remembrance and nostalgia.

Most of my friends "get it". They know what's going on and cut me a great deal of slack, which while wonderful and appreciated, sometimes makes me feel worse because it highlights the differences between us. THEY are GOOD friends, I am a BAD friend. The subtext here is that I don't deserve GOOD friends. But enough with the self pity, I'm trying, and I'm lucky enough to be surrounded by many people who are understanding and patient.

There are so many different things that are destabilized because of this injury. You can compare it to a crack in ice or glass - what might start as one crack or impact spiders out into hundreds of tiny cracks that destroy the integrity of the entire piece.

Isolation is not helpful, I know that. So although I feel like I'm a horrible friend, I still need to contact people and interact with them. It's all too easy to cut myself off completely. Social interaction is tiring, I have to be "on" in order to respond intelligently and have conversations. I forget to make phone calls, I forget to send thank you notes. Currently, I owe four people thank you notes, and one person a sympathy note. At this point, it's a sympathy/apology note since it's been weeks since the loss. I hate this. All of these people that I am snubbing and offending are people I care about, and although they probably feel like I don't give a shit about them, I do think of them often, will love and regret and anxiety and wish that I could be better for them, because they deserve better from me.

I keep thinking that at some point this will get better, my life will calm down, I will find a better system, my brain will miraculously snap back into fighting form, and I will be my old self again. When that happens I will make it up to all the friends and family members who went through the "bad times" with me. They will all smile fondly and nod, murmuring to each other that it was just as they suspected, an unfortunate phase. They knew I'd get better all along.

Sadly, that isn't going to happen. This is me. I shall continue to forget to return calls. Birthday cards will be purchase but remain unsent. Presents wrapped and stored and then forgotten. Appointments will be missed. Just remember, if I accidentally hurt you with an over site or memory slip, I hurt myself as well. We're in this together, I just hope you're all still in this with me.

When Life Gives You Tomatoes, Make Tomato Sauce

"It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato." - Lewis Grizzard

My husband and I have just finished "pantsing" 30 lbs of tomatoes. "Pantsing," in my house, refers to blanching and peeling. According to my Mom, you cut the top off the tomato and then "pull the pants off it." It's as accurate a description as any.

These will be cooked down with copious quantities of garlic and fresh basil and oregano and onion and jarred for the winter.

I didn't want to write about anything weighty today. I wanted to just be normal for a change, and I have, for the most part, accomplished that. Today's activities included picking blueberries in the yard, eating, breathing, shopping at the farmers' market, talking with friends, cooking, napping, sex, reading, making jewelry, pantsing tomatoes.

And loving, there was loving too.

Flailing

"Action is at bottom a swinging and flailing of the arms to regain one's balance and keep afloat." Eric Hoffer (1902 - 1983)





I feel like I am flailing. It's a great word, "flailing". Today was just one of those days. I was useless for a bit and then started cooking. Cooking is a special kind of alchemy that calms me when little else will.





The first thing I made was an apple-peach sauce. Think apple sauce with a peach thrown in for good measure. It was pretty good and Gram ate some. She's not eating well, so I'm doing my best to entice her.





Also on the menu today:


A strange version of "Magic" cookie bars...you know... graham cracker crust, sweetened condensed milk, chocolate chips, coconut, etc.


Orzo Soup


Rice Pudding


Roasted Chicken with an Orange Soy Sauce


Barley Salad with Edamame and Corn and Mint





The garden yielded two bowls of tomatoes and tomatillas so tomorrow will be spent whipping up a small batch of Marinara.





I was planning on renting a table at the local farmer's market tomorrow morning and having a mini yard sale, just not in my yard. One person's crap is another person's treasure - or something like that. Instead, I will probably not sleep again tonight and end up waking later than I want and spending the next three hours in a daze.





Monday night is my first class of the Fall semester and I am not ready. I don't want start yet. I'm not finished with summer. Once again, I feel as though I have missed the season. So much is lost. So much is missed. I spend far too much time scrambling and trying to catch up and never feel like I have any time to just be where I am.





Mindfulness, I know. We'll see what happens when I tell the Doc that ordered my to practice mindfulness that I didn't have time.





One of my friends recently commented that she was jealous of my time to write this blog. I assured her that is was not easy to find. I scrape a few minutes every night to write here, but I never know when that will be and often it is the last thing I do before going to bed. I haven't written every day like I planned and the first time I missed, felt awful about it. Guilty. I felt guilty. Now I know that, like so many other things, it doesn't matter to anyone but me. Still, I wanted to keep that promise but it is important to be kind to myself and do what I can.





That is something I am still learning - what I can and cannot manage. It's going to take me a long time to figure that one out. Right now, I can try to be here for my family when they need me, Lord knows they have been there for me enough times. So in lieu of doing anything useful, I will do what I can.





She ate the sauce. She ate the soup I made for her lunch. She ate the chicken and rice pudding tonight. I keep thinking that I will keep her alive with the force of my will. My head keeps saying, "I just can't handle her dying now." My response is, always, "When could I handle it better?"





It's awful to think things like that. When would be a better time for your Grandmother to pass away? And I think, well.... when I'm in a better frame of mind. To which I can also counter, "Oh, great, you'd like her to wait until you're having a really good day and then she can kick the bucket?" I'm forced to admit that doesn't sound like a great plan either.





See, it would have been so much easier (for me, anyway) if I had bought it in the accident. Then I wouldn't have to worry about members of my family dying.





When I was a kid I often worried about the people I loved dying. It's probably a normal phase of development. I would pray that we would all die together, in some tragic mass accident. Instantly, of course, so none of us would suffer. To my six year old brain it seemed like a perfect plan. We would all go down together. No one would have to be alone.





Now I know better. We're all alone in the end. And there's not a damn thing we can do about it.

P.S. It seems necessary to explain the picture that goes along with this entry. I searched for an image for "Flailing" and had a host of "Flailing Arm Man" pics appear. These things are at once disturbing and strangely naive and tend to make me want to cry and laugh at the same time, something I've been doing quite a lot of these last few days.

Lights, Tunnels, Etc.

"It's weird...you know the end of something great is coming, but you want to hold on, just for one more second...just so it can hurt a little more." Anonymous



The closer I get to real feelings, the less I want to write about them. My grandmother is still not doing well. She should be in a hospital but she won't go. This I understand - I'm the same way.

I'm worried tonight. Everyone in my family dies on Saturdays. Tomorrow is a Saturday.

She's afraid she'll die in the hospital and that's why she's refusing to go.

This is making me...well...it's difficult. My emotions are more intense and less controllable than they used to be and the last month or so has been difficult even without this. Honestly, I don't know how I'll deal with her death. We are close. I grew up in the same house with her. I live next door now.

I wanted to have a baby. I wanted her to meet him or her.

It's possible she will bounce back, but I don't think that will happen. She could die tonight. I hope she doesn't but I also hope that when she does, she goes quietly, in her sleep, without fear, knowing that she is loved.

All Is Lost

"The scientific theory I like best is that the rings of Saturn are composed entirely of lost airline luggage." Mark Russell (1932 - )

I've lost something again. It's something important. Actually, it's the most important thing - information. Somewhere in the house or car is a note that I need, badly. I know it was in my car a week and a half ago. The car went to the shop for a touch up paint job and it was on the seat when I picked it up.

For the life of me, I don't know what the hell happened to it after that. Today, I cleaned out the car, went through several bags, two purses and three piles of paperwork, all to no avail.

Not finding this particular piece of information, which, naturally, is information that I cannot replace (it's not something I can just look up online) will be a serious problem for me. On the upside, I cleaned my car, two purses and went through three piles of paperwork.

I also organized all the receipts found in the car, purses and paperwork. My pile of medical expenses grows weekly. At tax time I will be happy about my current spat of organization, but at the moment I'd rather have that note.

Maybe if I give up hope of ever finding it that damn thing will turn up. Isn't that how it always happens? The lost item turns up in the last place you look, or the day after you needed it. The problem is I need this and I need it NOW. Any help from the universe would be greatly appreciated.

The Fear of Death

"Those who welcome death have only tried it from the ears up." Wilson Mizner (1876 - 1933)

My grandmother is dying of congestive heart failure. She may die tonight, she may be dying for the next five years. As they say, we know not the day, nor the hour. Still, her imminent, or not so imminent demise weighs heavily on my mind. We took her to an emergency doctor's appointment today and for the first time her usually flippant physician looked concerned. He also wanted to admit her, which she, of course, refused.

I'm freaking out about this, and can't decide what is more bothersome, her dying, her fear of dying, or my fear of dying which is highlighted by the former.

Several weeks ago my uncle had a brush with death. I'm becoming all too familiar with the grim reaper and he's standing a bit too close for my comfort these days. It seems like there is a shadow standing right behind me.

Honestly, I fluctuate between being horrifically afraid of death and praying for it. It depends on my mood. When I'm feeling depressed or in pain, shuffling off this mortal coil doesn't seem like such a bad deal. On good days, I will cling to this life with all the strength I have.

For months after the accident, and, truth be told, even now on the bad days, I lamented not dying in the car accident. You see there was a moment right after the impact, when I thought the car was going to roll, and it seemed to be moving, out of control, and I couldn't see anything through the smoke from the airbag, that I knew this was going to be a serious accident. And there was a point where I thought, "I could die here. Right now. I could die." And I said, "No!" Although I can't be sure, I think I may have actually said it out loud. "No! I am not going to die today."

There wasn't a lot of fear, it was just a rejection, an absolute: I did not want to die that day.

It was only later that I thought about it and thought that dying suddenly in a car accident was probably a better alternative than languishing and having time to contemplate my mortality. Since the accident, I have examined my mortality far too often.

I still don't know why I didn't die in the accident. When the accident arrived they said someone who called 911 said that one of the drivers had been ejected. The EMT thought it was me. Somehow I got myself out of the car and argued with one of the helpful folks who stopped to assist. They kept telling me to sit down but I knew my knee was injured and was afraid that if I bent it to sit, I wouldn't be able to straighten it again. I was fairly disoriented after the impact but I remember feeling very happy that I was still alive. That lasted for several days after the accident, the complete bafflement at the reasoning behind why I was alive didn't kick in until about a month afterwards.

The happy to be alive feeling is long gone, the feeling that I should have died in the accident lurks beneath everything in my life, and the questioning - "Why me?, Why didn't I die? What purpose was there for me to survive? What are all my injuries supposed to teach me?"... all those questions remain.

I don't want to be afraid of death, mine or anyone else's but I'm not quite sure how to get to that point. I also don't have a graceful exit planned for this entry, but I guess that's usually how things end, not the way you planned, not when you planned. They just end.

Land of Confusion

"If confusion is the first step to knowledge, I must be a genius." Larry Leissner

Yesterday, I drove an hour to an appointment I thought I had, only to find that instead of cancelling today's appointment I had cancelled that appointment (yesterday's). This is hard to follow. I'll try to explain.

Ok. I had a med check appointment with my psychiatrist today. I thought I had an appointment with my therapist tomorrow. I wanted, no, needed to see my therapist (it had been a couple weeks, a couple rough weeks since my last appointment) so I called to cancel the psychiatrist appt. which I thought was today. When I showed up yesterday they said I didn't have an appointment, that, in fact, I had called earlier to cancel said appointment.

Ahem.

I said, no, I called to cancel the appointment tomorrow. They said, "No, you're still on the schedule for your appointment tomorrow." I tried to breathe deeply and think good thoughts.

At that point my therapist came into the office and asked what I was doing there. I explained the situation and we all looked at the schedule again and found that yes, they had cancelled my appointment for Monday which I thought was with my therapist but was really with the psychiatrist. Oy. So the appointment that I meant to cancel WAS cancelled it was just not on the day I thought it was on.

Ugh.

Did you follow that?

Oh, and they also discovered that I was scheduled for another appointment on Wednesday with my therapist, which, obviously I didn't need.

ALL very confusing, I know, but it was cleared up and everything was ok in the end.

Even thought everything worked out allright, I still felt like an idiot. This is a shining example of what I do on a daily basis. I get confused. I forget things. I mix up dates and times. If I start a task and the phone rings or I get distracted, odds are that task never gets finished. Not until, usually days later, it occurs to me that I never finished unfortunately, by that time, it's usually too late or I'm missed a deadline or majorly messed up in some way.

I'm trying to streamline things. I'm trying to organize and clean up my workspace. I'm trying to minimize stress and clear out the dead weight.

I work better in low stress, clean designed, minimalistic environments. If I really want to live in a place like that, it means I have to redo my entire house. Minimalistic was not a work that anyone had every used to describe my style. I've always been more of a controlled chaos kind of girl. Now, it's a whole different story.

I need space. I need light. I need someone to come and help me change my entire life.

In the past year I've gotten much better at writing things down so I remember them. My calendar is my best friend. Still, I miss things and that usually leads to debacle's like yesterday's schedule fiasco. Some of it is getting better. Or, I should say, I am getting better at dealing with my new brain and adapting my behaviour to what my head needs. But I am stubborn and don't like change.

Slowly, I learn. That doesn't stop the confusion, or frustration, or screw ups, but hopefully, in time, it will reduce them.

Today Sucked

"Promises that you make to yourself are often like the Japanese plum tree - they bear no fruit." Francis Marion (1732 - 1795)

I promised to write here every day. Saturday...well...Saturday just didn't happen. Today I don't wanna write. The day started out crappy, then got better, then crappy, then better, then spectacularly crappy.

I don't want to write tonight. Besides, I'm in the middle of a fight. After that, I'm going to bed.

Traveling With a Broken Brain

"Those who face that which is actually before them, unburdened by the past, undistracted by the future, there are they who live, who make the best use of their lives; these are those who have found the secret of contentment." Alban Goodier

This weekend was wonderful. I hope I'm not tempting fate by saying that, but it's true. The trip to Baltimore and Arlington was tiring but enjoyable. It was much more social than I thought it would be and entailed more social interaction than I am used to.

There was an outdoor art show at Inner Harbor and I ran into some artists I knew. Sometimes I forget that this is how other people live. They have friends, they do things...fun things. Their lives are not entirely caught up in dragging themselves through work and chores and crawling into bed exhausted and in pain all the time. Sometimes I think I've forgotten how to enjoy life. It is so easy to get caught up in the scramble and fight of everything that frustration is the only thing I can see.

This weekend, today especially was a welcome respite from all that. Although it was still difficult. I was in quite a bit of pain by the end of the day, having a "normal" day was worth it. Spending time in Inner Harbor, at the Aquarium, with artists and friends, was more like my "old life" than anything I've experienced in quite a while. We'll see how much I end up paying for this tomorrow.

I will stretch tonight and am heading to bed the minute I finish typing this, but, if I don't sleep, tomorrow is going to be a difficult day. I start my online class in the morning and have two doctors' appointments one of which is in Allentown, an hour away. I've done a lot of driving in the past two day and will have more tomorrow. It would be nice not to have to worry about these things. I wish I could just do whatever I wanted, without budgeting my energy and timing doses of painkillers and muscle relaxants during long trips. But it might be manageable.

Important things to keep in mind for the Brain Injured Traveller:

Pack MEDS

Stretch

Limit Car/Drive time if possible

Spring for a decent hotel with a good bed (sleep is worth it)

Stay hydrated

Maintain a sleep schedule if at all possible

(The schedule thing goes for eating as well)

Pack TWO sets of meds just in case you lose one

Don't over pack, especially if you will be carrying bags

Build in extra travel/prep time to avoid rushing and stress

If you are driving, write out directions, write in LARGE easy to read print

If using a GPS or other technology, familiarize yourself with the route before the trip

Wear supportive, comfortable shoes (sacrifice fashion for comfort if you must, you'll be in unfamiliar territory, this is especially important if you have balance/coordination or sight issues)

Try to travel and non-peak hours (this avoids stress and limits car time)

Don't over schedule activities

Pack sunglasses (glare fatigues eyes and causes headaches)

And the most important....be mindful of what is happening NOW and enjoy it.

Should I Stay or Should I Go Now?

"Indecision may or may not be my problem." Jimmy Buffet

There are days when choosing a cereal for breakfast can reduce me to tears. On those days I have learned to abandon the choosing process altogether and have frozen waffles, ideally with kiwi, blueberries and agave syrup. Then there are days when I actually have what might be considered an important decision to make. Those can be nearly impossible to manage.

Today, for instance, I thought I'd made a decision and then totally freaked out about it.

We were planning to go to Baltimore. Actually, the plan was to visit my husband's cousin who recently had a heart attack. He's fine now - back to work, all is well, etc., but I think it gave my husband a scare. His cousin is several years younger than he is. And they haven't seen each other in a while, and the cousin has a newish baby and we owe them a visit. In addition, cousin's mom is in town and that made this weekend even more appealing. (My husband is fond of this Aunt.)

So, the plan was visit w/ hubby's clan on Saturday, stay the night is Baltimore and then see the Jellyfish exhibit at the Baltimore Aquarium, spend the day wandering around Inner Harbor and then head home in the early evening. We booked at room. We bought tickets. Everything was in place.

Then I went over to my mom's house to check on my grandmother. She was watching Oprah. Suze Orman was on telling people what they could and could not afford. (Suze would tell us we can NOT afford to go to Baltimore.) And I freaked out. Panic. Full blown, shaking, nausea, the whole enchilada.

My Executive Functioning is on vacation. Permanently.

I called my husband and told him to cancel the reservations. We couldn't go. Nope. We can't afford it. Not now. Not ever.

He explained to me that this was going to cost a whopping 200 bucks and I needed to chill out. I was adamant. We were not going. Going would ruin us. We would be destitute. We weren't going anywhere until HE had three to six months worth of salary safely stashed in a savings account. Then, and only then, could he even approach the subject of a weekend trip with me.

I was a basket case.

I felt like I had chosen the Count Chocula when I really should have had the Fiber One.

All this on top of the fact that I'm freaking out about the upcoming semester and still have work to do for the classes I am teaching. I'm in panic mode about my own earnings and potential earnings this Fall, especially since I won't be paid for the class I'm teaching online until mid semester. (If you are teaching an online class, the assumption is that you don't need to pay monthly bills. ((Shit. I wrote that yesterday, or the day before, didn't I?)) ) (I was wondering when I'd start repeating myself here.)

Did I mention the house is still in complete disorder? I'd wanted everything perfect and well organized before the Fall semester started so it would be easier to deal with the new schedule. I can't tell you how many times I dash from my car to the house, to my car, to the house, and back again, grabbing things I'd "almost" forgotten on my way out the door. An organized home would streamline these processes and greatly lessen my stress. This is all good for my brain and just makes everything better.

Let me recap: we were wasting out last dime on a trip to the aquarium, I had tons of work to do this weekend, our house looked like a war zone and I was hungry. Never discount the importance of hunger when someone is teetering on the edge of a breakdown. Hunger will always push them over the edge.

I took a Valium.

It was the easy way out but I was not going to be able to function otherwise.

After the drug kicked in, I managed to whip up a lovely dinner (Picadillo in Zucchini Boats, Fried Plantains, and an Orange, Watermelon and Cantaloupe Salad.), while my husband took some art stuff to my studio, thus creating more space in the house. He's straightening up the upstairs while I'm writing this and things are looking better. We decided before dinner to go on the trip anyway. I will take my laptop and work in the car on the drive down, and there is WiFi at the hotel.

All will be well. Disaster was averted (at least I hope it was). Hopefully, we will have a lovely trip and I'll get my work done and we won't end up in bankruptcy. And I might even figure out how to stick to a single verb tense in my next entry.

This constant quivering indecision and second guessing, however, is unsettling. At best, it makes me feel like a five-year-old, at its worst, it makes me feel crazy. I could write more about this and I will in the future. How the idea that one innocent decision leads to irreversible results that can affect your entire life (if I hadn't stopped to get orange juice on the way home, I would have passed that intersection earlier and never gotten in the accident)....well... it's enough to paralyze you if you let it.

I try not to let it get to me, but some days, like today, the "what ifs" get the better of me.

Oy Vey

"A pessimist, confronted with two bad choices, chooses both." Jewish Proverb

The Fall semester looms on the horizon. The school where I teach starts on Monday. The administration has added an additional week to the semester necessitatin an earlier start date. I long for the days when the Fall semester actually began after Labor Day. Alas, those days are gone.

My classes, the ones that I'm taking, start the following week.

I feel overwhelmed already and suspect that is not a good sign.

This semester starts my practicum which I am excited to begin, but it will add another iron to my fire and, naturally, I am nervous about beginning this new phase. I hope I will do well. I hope I will like the work. And, most of all, I hope I will be able to do it.

Honestly, I don't know if I will be able to handle a regular 9 to 5 schedule. It's been a long time since I worked a schedule like that. 2001 was the first year I taught and for several years I owned and operated a catering company as well. Neither job was 9 to 5. Catering was intense and the hours were, at times, gruelling and much more than 40 hours per week, but it wasn't steady. Steady is the part that scares me.

I can do intense bursts of activity but I need time to recover afterwards. Nine to five gigs don't usually work recovery time into the schedule. Oh, sure, there are weekends, but you have to get through five straight days before you get there. I'm not sure I can do five straight days.

Honestly, I'm really worried about this. Obviously, I don't want to fail at anything I do but especially not the classes I'm taking or my practicum/internship. The problem here is that I also need to work. But that too presents problems. This semester I'm teaching an online class and I'm on the schedule for one regular class. Unfortunately, the "real" class is an hour away, and the class is an hour and a half long. If you've done the math you see that I will be in my car for almost twice the time that I will be teaching. It doesn't seem to be worth the effort.

But. There's always a "but". The school has changed the way it pays adjunct who are teaching online classes. Now, instead of getting paid every two weeks, they will send two checks, one at midsemester and the second after finals. Apparently they think that if you are teaching an online class, you don't have to pay monthly bills. So if I decide not to teach the "real" class, that means I won't see any money until some time in October.

Did I mention that they cancelled my second summer session class for lack of enrollment but denied my unemployment? That means I haven't had a paycheck since...oh....the last week in July.

August. September. October.... that's a LONG time to wait for a paycheck. A long time.

Note the rock and the hard place.

So do I push myself beyond my capabilities? Do I sell out and cut back on the classes I'm taking and try to pick up more classes to teach? Do I just list every single book I own on Amazon marketplace and hope that I sell enough to pay my credit card bill?

There is no good answer. And so, like the proverb, I shall choose both. I will keep the classes I'm already signed up for. It's important that I get through this program sooner rather than later. Hopefully, I can scrounge up enough money for books and hopefully I can make it through the semester without having a total breakdown or collapsing from exhaustion.

In the meantime, I'm going to be getting as much sleep as possible for the next three days.

MSG is the Devil

"What is food to one, is to others bitter poison." Lucretius (96 BC - 55 BC), De Rerum Natura



I ingested some MSG today. MSG and I do not get along. Now I can't blame my brain injury on MSG but I can tell you that it certainly doesn't help it.

MSG is an excitotoxin. Basically, that means it makes your brain "fire" more than it should. It excites the chemicals and ramps up the chemical reactions, which may cause cell damage and death. (It has in animal testing.)

Food manufacturers put it in food because it makes food taste better. It has been called the fifth taste, Umami, which is sort of savory. Forms of MSG occur naturally in things like cheese and tomatoes and meats, but the natural form does not react like manufactured MSG does in the body.

In my body, it causes pain in all of my old injury spots, headache, and muscle tension. Given all the things that already going on in my body none of these symptoms are good options.

I've found a combination of things that seems to lessen the effects of MSG if administered fairly quickly after MSG ingestion. They are Vitamin C, Essential Fatty Acids (Fish oil or Evening Primrose oil), and Benadryl. I take at least 1000mg of vitamin C but sometimes as much as 3000mg and typically use an effervescent vitamin C powder.

I should probably say here that this is not medical advice nor is it meant to replace the advice of a doctor.

The only downside with this "treatment" is the Benadryl which tends to knock me out for two to three hours. It's 7:30pm and I just woke up from the nap I started at 5:30. Even after I get up I tend to feel just a little out of it after a Benadryl nap. Tonight, for example, I was planning on making Picadillo with rice and fried plantains. My husband just asked me what was for dinner. I think I answered some other question and when I realized my mistake we said, at almost the same time, "How about pizza?" "Yeah," he said, "It doesn't look like you're in any shape to cook." When I tell you that I used to own and operate a catering company and have cooked on numerous occasions under less than ideal conditions you can understand that my current inability to brown ground beef is significant. (I'm still not sure how I'm managing to form sentences here.)

So what I'm saying is that MSG is probably not the best thing for brain injury people and neither is my home remedy for dealing with the MSG. Along with the physical symptoms, I also tend to get snappish after eating MSG. This is a sign not a symptom. Symptoms are self-reported (pain, muscle tension, etc.), SIGNS are observable by others. The connection between my mood and MSG was made several years ago when I came back from lunch at a fast food restaurant (fast food is notoriously laden with MSG) and one of my coworkers remarked about my, ahem, bad mood. She may have used the word "bitchy" but you get the idea. She then asked me if I'd eaten fast food for lunch. "Why?" I snapped. She then informed me that she could always tell when I'd eaten fast food because I got bitchy afterwards. Hmm.

Imagine a person with brain injury who is already experiencing emotional symptoms like decreased tolerance to stressful situations and increased frustration and anger and add in the MSG excitotoxin and you can easily see how this can end badly. Top it all off with an increase in pain and it's a party.

The problem is avoiding MSG. It's in almost all processed food and many foods that are prepared in restaurants. Almost any soup that you purchase in a restaurant, if they are not made from scratch, will have MSG in it. It's in almost all soup bases and broths. It is in many sauces and almost all salad dressings. I've even seen MSG in crackers. Crackers for God's sake!

Sometimes even the most vigilant MSG avoider will accidentally slip like I did today. Just something to think about, even if you don't have a brain injury. It's also something to consider if you have children. What happens to your kid's brain when it's jacked up on MSG? Do you really want to find out? Maybe you already know - what happens to them when they eat that processed "food" do you notice any changes? If so, maybe you should blame it on the MSG.

Do NOT Under Any Circumstances Alert the Universe

"While the fates permit, live happily; life speeds on with hurried step, and with winged days the wheel of the headlong year is turned." Seneca (5 BC - 65 AD)

Don't tell anyone, but today was a good day.

(Pain x Sleep Debt) - (Accomplishment - Frustraion) = Mood

"Sometimes it is harder to deprive oneself of a pain than of a pleasure." F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896 - 1940), Tender is the Night

While I managed to call in the refill of my Neurontin prescription this afternoon, I forgot to pick it up. Until 9:05, that is, when I remembered and recalled that the reason I'd refilled the 'script was because I was out of Neurontin.

Neurontin is Gabapentin which is apparently only approved for use as an anti-seizure med, but is also used for Diabetic neuropathy, other pain disorders and, in my case, sleep problems. At least that what my doc says he prescribing it for. Who know really. Maybe he figures it works for my pain since that is was usually keeps me up and wakes me up.

I've been waking earlier and earlier. It sucks, frankly. My neck is still very sore since the fender bender and I just can't get comfortable. I should probably see my Chiropractor but funds are a bit tight right now. Sure, insurance would probably cover it. Guess I'll be making that call tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon is a trip to the Dermatologist. She's taking out the stitch that closed the gaping biopsy hole on my jaw. Truth be told I should just take it out myself but it gives her purpose, and god forbid if I screw it up then who would I blame?

11:30 it technically past my optimal bedtime. I'll be taking the cocktail in a few minutes and hoping it kicks in. Today I was mostly useless. I made a few phone calls that were hanging over my head but other than that... well.... let's just say I've had better days.

Tomorrow. I'm hoping for good things tomorrow. If, that is, I can get some sleep tonight.

Coming Clean

"Cleaning anything involves making something else dirty, but anything can get dirty without something else getting clean." Laurence J. Peter (1919 - 1988)

Oh, Niecy, divine Goddess of the Clean House, Patron Saint of the Perpetually Foolish, intercede for me now. Send your team of cleaning, organizing and design experts. Bring your yard sale angels to my aid. I am overwhelmed. I humbly admit that I am powerless over my clutter and that my tears have proved an ineffective cleaning fluid. Bring me your salvation. Give me a Clean House.

I watch "Clean House". (It's ALWAYS on, so this isn't as difficult as it sounds. I think they've actually launched a Clean House Channel. Or else it's just a House Channel, showing only episodes of "House" and "Clean House" and, very late at night, "Little House on the Prairie."

I watch "Clean House" in the hope that it will magically inspire me or grant me the sustained energy to magically do to my home what their trained team of experts and minions do, through the magic of television, in half an hour. It never happens. With the best of intentions I start what I like to think of as "the Great Project" and get about two hours into it when something distracts me or I have to stop for some reason and, yes, you guessed it, I somehow NEVER FINISH.

This is why I need a cleaning and organizing intervention. There should be a team that specifically works with brain injured folks and helps them reorder and retool their spaces and their lives so they are more efficient. If I wasn't in need of just such a service I'd probably have started that business by now. Alas, I can't do that until my office is clean, or at least until I can see the surface of my desk.

I've been alternating between my office space and my bedroom. Neither one is finished and, honestly, I've given up believing that either ever will be. The best I can hope for is "mostly done" or maybe "better than they are now". Yes, that would be an improvement. For instance, there is a treadmill in my office. I'd like to use it for exercise and not just as a flat surface for piling boxes of stuff and books.

Part of the problem is guilt. All this crap cost money and it's a shame to just throw it out. Books are especially difficult because I think you should be able to sell those. Too bad there are no used books stores locally. (Note to self: Local Book Exchange - another possible business opportunity?) Instead I'd have to schlep heavy boxes of books to either Havertown or New York or Kutztown or Allentown. Each of these booksellers has their preferences which means organizing and dividing the books before taking them to sell. And taking them to sell doesn't necessarily mean actually selling them. Book buyers are notoriously picky. Which in itself is a personal attack, each time they reject a book it is a commentary on you. It says, "YOU were stupid enough to buy this book but no one else would be."

There is always Amazon. In the past I've sold books through them. It's simple really, all you do is list the ISBN number on the website and it links to the book listing and then you log in your price and the books condition. You get an email when someone has purchased said book and then you ship it off and Amazon deposits the cash in your account. Brilliant, really. Except that I'm afraid to do it now, sure that I will forget to check my email or forget to mail the book or screw it up somehow and bungle the whole sale. I do have a pile of books that I want to list. Someday. It's been sitting there for well over a year.

There just has to be a better way to do things. All my doctors keep telling me to lower my stress level because it will help the cognitive symptoms. Lower stress = clearer thinking and better sleeping. But they've never seen the Wreck of the Hesperus that is my house. My friends haven't really seen it either. I'm one of those people who shoves things into closets and cellars when company is coming. Of course that just adds to the problem since stuff that was once in a place where I knew where it was, is now someplace else. Unfortunately, the part of my brain that still works fairly well is the visual. So I remember where things are by remembering what they were near or on or some such visual cue. When things are moved, especially if I didn't move them, I haven't a clue. This translates into hours and hours of searching for things I need as well as tons of redundancy. Many times it's just easier to go buy a new stapler than to search through the entire house to find the one I have. I have at least seven now. They are all, at the moment, missing.

The Problem With Joy

"I finally figured out the only reason to be alive is to enjoy it." Rita Mae Brown

Today I went to the Mount Gretna Art Show with my Mom, one of our ever-rarer girl's days out. And it struck me that the art that appealed to me most was the art that expressed a sense of joy. Invariably, the artists themselves seemed livelier, happier, than their dreary art making counterparts. One artist who created whimsical fused glass pieces, after I complemented her work, smiled and said, "I have the best job in the world." That wasn't just a line. She meant it.

I realized that I don't typically share my joy. The things that are most important to me and truly closest to my heart are hidden, kept safe where no one can harm them, or through them, me.

The problem with joy is that I'm afraid of it now. You see, the day of the accident was a really good day. The last really good day I've had. And now I'm afraid that if I'm happy again something else bad will happen.

The greater my happiness, the greater the smackdown I get from the universe, therefore, I can't allow myself to be happy or joyful, or, if I do, I certainly can't share it or even really admit it.

This is superbly twisted logic, I know. Still, I can't shake it.

The trouble with trauma is that once you've gone down that road and really experienced something bad, even the good stuff hurts. The good stuff hurts because it reminds you of what you missed, or what you don't have anymore, or is so fleeting it's like a little glimpse of the heaven you can't have and then you're right back where you started.

I don't want to be afraid to be happy. I don't want to be in pain all the time - physical, psychological or spiritual. I want to be able to share the joy I do have. It's in there...I just wish I were brave enough to admit it and let it out.

I Am a Waste of Space

"The most useless are those who never change through the years." James M. Barrie (1860 - 1937)

Fuckers. I hate everyone. I HATE THEM. All of you. I don't even care who you are I hate you.

I am insanely pissed off right now. And crying. They are the tears of the impotent. I am the most fucking useless person in the world. I should die. It would free up some oxygen for someone more worthy.

I can't do anything right. I can't even make a phone call. I can't remember to pay my bills. I can't keep my house clean and organized. I can't keep appointments. I forget everything.

Please. I just want this to stop. I just want to go back to normal when EVERYTHING wasn' t hard. Everything is difficult now and I just feel so fucking useless. Even when I try to do something correctly I screw it up.

Today I called to register for my Fall classes. I got an answering machine. I decided to call back since it was around lunch. When I called back, just now, I got ANOTHER answering machine that told me that their office closed today at 3. (Of COURSE it did. EVERY office closes at 3pm.) And that any message left regarding registration would be process on Monday and subject to the Late Registration Fee.

Because I'm in a shitty depressed place today I'm ready to tell them to shove their fucking degree and keep their "Late Registration Fee" and the rest of my tuition. This is stupid and irrational. I know that. But I'm still pissed that they didn't mention on the first message that you'd better call back by THREE because after that we're all going home and F-U if you call later.

Nice.

I wish I had a job that started at 9 and ended at 3 every day. Nice work if you can get it.

Fuckers.

(I curse like a sailor when I'm "in the bad place". I'm "in the bad place" today. You may have already noticed that.)

I was supposed to be camping with some friends this weekend. That was before my husband decided to work and I got jangled in the stupid fender-bender. This couple will surely hate us(me) if they don't already. I don't return calls. I bail on plans. I am useless.

Things I need to do:

Pick up another pair of glasses

Pay bills

Clean

Organize

Register for classes

Call my lawyer

Call my other lawyer

Call OVR

Go through my trashed paintings

Do a painting for an exhibit on Sunday

Clean

Cry

Pay more bills

None of these things are going to get done. They're on my PermaList. That's the list of things that I always have to do, and never do.

Oh, yeah, and I have to send an eviction letter to my tenant. Fun.

What I want to do is go to the shore. I really need a couple of days (weeks) near the ocean, minus the destruction of last Sunday. That would help immensely. Of course that isn't going to happen either. Neither am I going to be able to buy the insanely cheap house at the beach because a) I suddenly have no money because my last class was canceled and my unemployment was denied, b) my husband refused to refinance our warehouse building while he actually HAD a job and c) I still haven't gotten the settlement check from my lawyer.

Crawling under my desk and curling up into a little ball seems like an appropriate action right now.

On Anger

"I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry." Maxine Waters, in Brian Lanker, I Dream a World, 1989

Don't get mad, get even. If you can't get even, well, then you just get madder and the vicious cycle starts all over again.

There must be a way to effectively deal with anger, but I haven't found it yet. So I stew. And I try to make it into an amusing story figuring if I can laugh about it I won't be quite as enraged. Laughter and rage have a hard time coexisting. Still the anger lingers.

What am I angry about? Well, there's the raw deal that allows the guy who slammed into my car when he was drunk off his ass and driving a borrowed vehicle because his license was suspended (for DUI) to go about his business relatively unhurt and unaffected while my life has changes in myriad inconvenient and painful ways. He laughed, by the way. In the back of the police cruiser after they dragged him back to the scene of the accident, he laughed telling the cops that they wouldn't be able to prove he'd been driving and how he was going to refuse the blood test. I'm still a little tweaked about that, yes.

I'm angry about loss. This list of things I've lost because of this accident and this injury is so long that it actually deserves it's own entry. (I'll get back to that.) Just to cover a few of the highlights, I've lost my car, an Element which I adored, the first "nice" car I purchased for myself. It wasn't even a year old. I've lost months of work and the ability to do much of the work I was doing. I'd been teaching college English, comp classes, lit, etc., but I really can't edit now. Editing someone else's work demands a type of divided attention that I no longer possess. I've lost time and money and joy and, and, and...

I'm angry that this lingers. There are ways that this has changed me and some of them are permanent. I will forever have a hearing issue, actually a Central Auditory Processing issue. I hear perfectly, it's my brain that can't interpret what I hear. I will forever have double vision in my right eye and focusing problems. I will forever have aphasia and memory lapses. Well, not forever. I guess all those little problems will be resolved when I'm dead.

Did I mention the PTSD? Yeah, I'm mad about that one too. There are days when getting in a car makes me want to cry. I still have panic attacks in cars even if I'm not driving. Still. It's been over two years.

I'm mad that all of this happened on what was, up until the accident, a really nice day, a good day. Sometimes I think it was the last really good day I've had. Sometimes I think it will always be my last really good day.

I'm mad that I hurt. I'm mad that I'm mad. I'm mad that my tolerance is lowered...significantly, and that makes me grouchy. I'm mad that the painkiller that works and doesn't make me a zombie or an addict also chemically castrates my sense of humor.

I'm mad that I haven't had a day when something - pain, fear, legal bullshit, doctor's appointments, insurance red tape, hasn't reminded me of this stupid injury.

I'm mad and I don't know how to stop it. There's no good answer, no resolution. "Getting over it" just seems like giving up. I try. I do. I try to focus on the positive and what I have that's good but somehow that bad stuff always creeps in to spoil it. Perhaps I'm afraid to be happy. It's silly but part of me thinks all this happened because I WAS happy that day. It's almost as thought the universe suddenly became aware of my happiness and it was just too much or I didn't deserve it and so, BAM! it decided to knock that happiness right out of me. Mission accomplished.

It's all very Greek mythology. The little know Greek god, Taxidevo, God of Travel, saw that I was driving and happy and envied my happiness. In a fit of rage he hurled a speeding truck at me, destroying my joy and cursing me to spend the rest of my days as a half deaf, double sighted, meniscus-less husk of my former self. Well that will teach me to flaunt my happiness. Really, he could have just as easily turned me into a "SLOW" sign and rooted me to the spot. It would have been basically the same thing.

So what do I do with all this anger? I haven't found the answer yet. I try to "process" it. From what I can tell that means letting it out in a controlled manner, but like the Lernean Hydra (I'm on a Greek mythology kick tonight) it keeps coming back. Cut off a head and two grow in it's place. Even Hercules buried the final immortal head. Maybe that means that in the end, I'll just have to bury this anger as well. At the moment it seems infinite. "There's always more where that came from," is the whisper that echos from the bottomless pit of my rage just when I think I've exhausted it all.

Someday, maybe I can shut that voice up for good. Until then, I'm mad as hell and I'm sorry if I yell at you. (Unless you deserve it, of course.)

Nothin' But A Heartache

"It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence." Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)

I think, perhaps, my marriage ended tonight. My heart is violent, and he can no longer stand to look into me and see how much anger and disappointment and despair clashes around inside. Maybe he never could.

I have often thought people stronger than they are, and found myself disappointed when their weakness showed. It tended to reflect my own; that was really the part I couldn't stand.

In many ways I am inside-out now. Never good at outright lies, I could, nevertheless, hide my feelings fairly well. As a child I was bullied in school; a walking cliche, the fat, smart girl with glasses. It became necessary to hide my true feelings. My mother's advice was, "Never let them see it bothers you. If you don't get upset, they'll lose interest and leave you alone." It was the emotional equivalent of playing dead until the bear gets full and stops gnawing on you, and equally painful. But it worked. Years later people who had terrorized me in junior high became friends who were honestly shocked when I told them how much their threats and teasing had upset me. "But it never seemed to bother you," was the typical reply.

I was good then; now, not so much.

My anger is right there - just below the surface, visible like a strong pulse. And honestly, I'm tried of trying to hold it in. It is hard. I don't have the strength anymore. Especially not when I am tired or stressed or in physical pain.

So this relationship, which had been so fraught with drama and difficulty from the start, is dying. Maybe it never should have been in the first place. There was a reason we didn't get married 15 years ago, perhaps it is still a valid reason today. Maybe it's the reason we are falling apart now.

We both know that if we weren't married, we would not still be together.

So why are we?

Insight(full) or Empty?

"A moment's insight is sometimes worth a lifetime's experience." Oliver Wendell HOlmes Jr. (1841 - 1935)

I had an insight today. Should have written about it then, at the moment I noticed it. Now, I can't remember what the hell it was.

It had to do with....something...something important that I wanted to write about here. Something to do with brains and health and maybe cognition or energy or general health.

I lose so much now. I want it back. I want to find the place where all those lost thoughts are collected. If everything you experience is still locked somewhere in your brain, then they are there - somewhere. I just can't find them at the moment.

Things I was reading about today:

Neurontin and it's use with brain injury

Brain chemicals

GABA

Seborrheic Dermatitis

Local Social Services

I was hoping that remembering what I was researching might illuminate my lost insight. No such luck.

Today I encountered a semi crazy homeless man. My Dad was driving me (Miss Daisy) to appointments today since my fender bender Sunday night has left me with an extreme aversion to driving. So I had a Dermatologist appointment. My phone fell out of my purse when I was getting into the car after the appointment. We went back to retrieve it and as I was walking back to the car, I noticed a man, face down in the shrubbery.

I thought he was dead. Who lies face-down in mulch with their shins and feet sticking out into the parking lot?

Crazy homeless people, that's who.

I went to investigate, he woke up. We had a chat. He knew what town he was in, and told me that he was in the hospital (this was corroborated by the hospital ID band on his left wrist) and that he was homeless, and couldn't walk very well, and didn't know where to go.

Oy.

I tried to point out one of the local social services outlets which was about half a block away but he wasn't quite following. I told him I'd try to find help. He walked in a small circle in the parking lot, looked lost, then sat down on the curb again.

When I got home I made some calls. Sure enough, there was a male released from the hospital psych unit earlier in the day, but they couldn't give me any other info. I ended up calling the Crisis Line, and the operator referred me to the police call center. They said they would send an officer to check on him.

On some level I could relate to this man. His confusion, his utter defeat, when he simply looked around and, not knowing where to go or what to do, just sat back down on the curb - I understood that. Maybe that's what I wanted to write about.

And there's the magic click. It wasn't that at all - it was the link between brain injury specifically childhood brain damage and impulse control problems and violence. On Sunday night I stopped at a Burger King, don't judge, there were no better options. While I waited for my food I watched the young black man behind the line as he struggled to fill the orders. It was not busy, but he was clearly overwhelmed. An frazzled, older white man, who appeared to be the manager, was dashing back and forth from the cash register to the food station correcting the orders the young man had filled incorrectly and gently guiding him. I watched as the young man glanced back and forth between his order screen and the french fry bin. He filled a small fry container. He looked at the screen. He dumped out the fries and picked up a medium which he filled. He looked at the order screen, he dumped out the fries. He repeated this with EVERY SIZE FRY CONTAINER. Eventually, the manager went behind the line and whispered something to him, then he chose the medium size and filled it again.

The young man looked like he might have been a Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Baby. There's something in the eyes -too wide set, too vacant, that gives it away. Hell, he could have been a crack-baby, or just dropped on his head. But it was clear that the world of fast food prep was taxing his limited ability.

I thought about how difficult it is to lose ability, and how difficult it must be to have never had it in the first place. If you didn't know any better, would it make dealing with your disability any easier? Is it just as frustrating when everything is hard and it's always been that way? Or is it just life, what you're used to? Does this man know he's at a disadvantage? Does he care? Should we?

Then this morning, when reflecting upon how angry I was went the idiot who rear-ended me Sunday night said, as though it were nothing, "I just wasn't paying attention," I thought about how difficult it was for me not to whip out a tire iron and bash in the hood of his car. There have been so many instances since the accident when I was a hair's breadth away from violent altercations with people who pushed me to the edge of my patience. It occurred to me that I, at least, had a "normal" that I could refer to in moments of crisis. I could look back to my "before" as know that prior to the accident I would not have responded by wanting to throttle the offender into unconsciousness.

People who have had brain injuries as children do not have the luxury of a previous "normal". Their lack of impulse control is all they know. How much more difficult for them to learn appropriate emotional expression and conflict resolution?

That's what I wanted to write about. Sadly, I have no graceful ending for this entry. On some level I should rejoice in the fact that I did remember my original intent. At the same time, I can't stop wondering about the gentleman in the planter. He will probably fall between the cracks. He did not appear to be a danger to himself or others so hospitalization is unwarranted and he won't get a court ordered committal. There are no local homeless shelters. He was clearly in need of some sort of MH/MR intervention and assistance. Whether he will get it or not is anyone's guess.

One Art

by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

I didn't write last night. (I posted twice the day before, that has to count for something.)I didn't post because when I arrived at the boardwalk I found that the wind had blown down my tent and destroyed all my artwork. We spent the next two and a half hours cleaning up the mess and packing the remains. By then the sun was shining and it felt like it was 100 degrees.I decided to leave early and go home (we were supposed to stay until Monday). When I got close to the bridge into Philly, I called C. who told me that HIS car keys were in MY car. He hadn't called earlier because he "fell asleep".

Five minutes later, as I was stopped at the toll booth, I was rear-ended by the car behind me.My head started to hurt fairly soon after that and I knew I was going to be sore today, but I just wanted to get home and go to bed.

About a mile from my house my car started making a strange noise.My right rear tire had gone flat.

When I got to my office, I was determined to blog anyway but I found that I'd left half a glass of ice tea on my desk. While I was away the cat knocked it over and it spilled all over the desk and onto the keyboard which was now not working correctly since it was sitting in about half an inch of water.

At that point I just went to bed.

I went to the ER today as I woke up this morning with a 9.5 headache and was unable to turn my head to the left more than about 5 degrees. I also had pain down my left arm. No breaks, but I could have told the Doc that.

He told me to go home, take OTC pain meds and go see my family physician if the pain in my arm didn't go away.

Clearly, I have some sort of target on my car. The universe hates me. I pushed people into ovens in my past life. There has to be SOME REASON for all this crap. I know that nothing in life is "deserved". Good people don't have good things happen to them. Life isn't fair, etc. But honestly, I'm a statistical anomaly and I'm getting really tired of it.

Untitled Headache

"Every head has it's own headache." Arab proverb



As I expected, last night's lack of sleep led to a migraine today. I was just slightly above useless for most of the morning and early afternoon. Eventually, I began to think that shoppers could sense the miasma of pain that surrounded me and perhaps it was hurting sales, so I retreated to the motel and napped for two hours.

When I woke up I still had the screaming headache, but I was clearer mentally. I stopped at the drugstore on the way back to the boardwalk and got some Ibuprofin liquigels. I find they are the best non-prescription thing for my special brand of migraines.

It worked in about half an hour and things were much better after that. We stayed open for several hours to take advantage of the night crowd on the boardwalk and I'm now back in the room.

Hopefully, I'll be able to get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow is the last day of the show and it's an early day; we end at four.

I haven't got much more to say tonight. I'm still not functioning at the top of my game. Let's just leave it at that for now.

2:46 a.m.

"The worst thing in the world is to try to sleep and not to." ~F. Scott Fitzgerald

Pay no attention to the time stamp on this post, the clock on my computer is wrong. The clock on the table beside my bed is correct, however distasteful that may be, and it reads "2:46 a.m.".

Now it is 2:47.

I could keep posting like this. Listing the minutes I am awake.

There's no way to tell exactly what is keeping me up. It could be pain. My jaw aches. This is from my back, and shoulder, and neck. Now my head is hurting as well. This is the punch-drunk headache that comes with lack of sleep and sleep has been all too rare in the last four days. It could be my lower back which is also hurting. Who knows? Does it matter?

All that matters is I am awake. Again. And it is now 2:50.

I never realized how bright this laptop screen is until now, using it in a darkened room.

Maybe it's the bed, lumpy and unknown. Or the A/C unit, which began clicking intermittently about an hour ago. I got up and turned it down, fearing that it had iced over. It's an ancient window unit that the management has permanently installed in the back wall of the room. Maybe it used to be a window. It's hard to tell. there is a window above the dresser that was obviously boarded up. Although "boarded up" is perhaps too harsh a term, invoking images of plywood and crack houses. The window is no longer a window, however there is a pinprick of light that comes in through the upper right-hand corner. The laptop is too bright for me to see it right now.

One of the characters in David Lynch's "Twin Peaks" said, "Sleep deprivation is the shortest road to insanity." I believe that is true. I also believe it was a character in "Twin Peaks" but I may be wrong. I'm wrong about a lot lately. My ratio of wrong to right is directly proportional to the amount of sleep I don't get.

You can imagine how wrong I'm going to be tomorrow. I mean today.

My husband is snoozing happily on the other side of the bed and I hate him for it. Hating people who have the ability to sleep is my new hobby. The jealously I feel for "good sleepers" brims with rage. I want to wake them all. Why should they get to sleep when I can't? What horrible thing did I do to deserve the curse of insomnia?

The worst part about all this is that I know how integral sleep is to healing, especially healing for all the issues that plague me. Your brain doesn't get better if you don't sleep. Sleep deprivation increases ALL of my other symptoms: aphasia, fuzzy thinking, forgetfullness, irritability, emotional lability, sensitivity to pain, etc.

I know this, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Before bed tonight, I took my prescribed muscle relaxant, a painkiller, and two gabapentin (Neurontin) which is actually an anti-seizure medication that is used (off-label) for sleep and pain and apparently a host of other things. Everyone keeps telling me how great this drug is, other than having a possible side effect of weight gain. Hmmm? Is that why I look like a beached whale. Of course not sleeping can also disrupt metabolism and cortisol levels.

Everything is connected.

It's 3:03.

If I were in Atlantic City I could wander over to one of the casinos and sit there playing the slots till dawn. I wouldn't even register the passing of time; you can never see any windows from the casino floor so you don't know if it's day or night. Cities like Atlantic City and Vegas were made for insomniacs.

4 a.m. is probably when I'll fall asleep, if I'm lucky. Maybe not even then. Before I started writing this I was planning where I might be able to sleep tomorrow. Is there room for me to stretch out behind my tent on the boardwalk? Could I lie there like a homeless drunk, sprawled on the wooden decking, arm slung over my face and sleep while the crowds shuffle past the line of artists' tents? Am I that desperate?

The answer to that last question is definitely "yes". I'm not sure about the others.

No-Tell Motel

"A hotel isn't like home, but it's better than being a house guest." William Feather (1908-1976)

I'm here at the motel. I'm hoping that a) there are no bedbugs and b) the mattress is not some purgatorial wrack upon which I shall thrash for the next 8 hours before the cries of the children lodging in neighboring rooms heralds the breaking of day.

I'm hurting already which does not bode well. Six hours in the car today after a bad night last night is not the best combo. Still, I just took "the cocktail" so that should help.

All in all, a good day today. I sold some paintings and some prints and the day itself was beautiful. And there were crepes for dinner which always makes the day better - these were especially good, buckwheat crepes with dark chocolate and peanut butter.

I'm in rather desperate need of a massage. My left shoulder is riding a bit high and curling forward which affects the neck, which affects my head. "This shin bones connected to the...." well, you get the idea.

I was supposed to have been doing a daily mindfulness practice which was prescribed by my doctor. I was supposed to have started it...oh.... two weeks ago. Today, when Guadelupe called to confirm my appointment with the good doctor on Tuesday morning, I told her I would call back to reschedule, justifying this because I haven't had time to get the MRI she ordered.

Really, I embarrassed that I hadn't done the mindfulness.

How sad is that? I feel guilty because I haven't done my mindfulness practice.

I can hear it in my head. I open the door to go out and from the next room my mother's voice calls, "Lor, did you practice your mindfulness today? You promised to do half an hour."

So, ideally, I should be mindful of the fact that I feel guilty for not being mindful. That's the idea of it anyway. And it's supposed to make me stress less and make all these other things that I have difficulty with less difficult.

Monday. I will start practicing on Monday. Half an hour a day. I promise.

In the meantime, I will try not to be mindful of the lumpy mattress and ineffective air-conditioning.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

"I know just how frustrating it can be when you're tired and exhausted, but you still want to draw something." Ward Jenkins, Ward-O-Matic, 03-23-2005

This is going to be a short one. I'm more tired than I've been in a very, very long time. Originally, I was supposed to be driving to Philly, staying overnight at my uncle's place and then driving to Ocean City in the morning. Scrap that. Now I'm sleeping at home and driving to OC in the morning. That's a four hour drive before a day long art show.

You cannot imagine how inadequate my resources are to handle this.

I'd driving myself so I can stop and see my uncle in the hospital. Blessedly, this gives me a bit more time to sleep. Yay for that extra 15 minutes.

My art stuff is as ready as it will ever be. My fuse grows shorter by the minute and I found myself both snapping at people and crying today, both for no apparent reason. I think I'm just tapped out. Unfortunately, the "big push" is yet to come.

Increasingly, this show looks like a bad idea. Still, I am pleased with the work. The prints look great. I am, however, dangerously low on business cards and the ones I ordered did not come in. Alas. I also just now remembered that I wanted a Mailing List sign up sheet which I have not yet printed out.

So many details. I'm bad at details now.

I know I will forget really simple things that I'll kick myself for when I'm there. I'll feel stupid and inadequate. I am also painfully aware of the ridiculousness of beating myself up NOW for the things I will probably forget tomorrow.

Everyone thinks I will sell at this show. Hopefully they will be correct. Right now, it's all I can do to drag my zombified self into bed. Tomorrow is another day.

P.S. The photo has absolutely nothing to do with anything I've just written. I was searching for images related to sleep and this bear sleeping bag came up. I just thought it was clever and funny and wanted to share it.

When Blood Is Thicker

"Family isn't about whose blood you have. It's about who you care about." Trey Parker and Matt Stone, South Park, "Ike's Wee Wee", 1998.

Today I won third place in an art show I've been trying to win something in for the past four years and my uncle almost died.

It's always the good with the bad isn't it?

He has what is called a "saddle embolism" and it is basically a huge blood clot that extends into both lungs. It's not something you want to have. This all started on Saturday when he began having chest pains and trouble breathing but he didn't see a doctor until yesterday. It is a wonder that he's still alive.

The doctor who performed the clot-busting procedure this afternoon said it was the largest embolism he's ever seen. My family, we excel.

I got a strange phone call yesterday and thought for some unknown reason that it was the retirement home calling to tell me that my grandmother, my Dad's mom, had passed away. I called my mom at work to check with her, but she hadn't heard anything and thought I was nuts. There was a moment when, standing in front of my sink in the kitchen, I said aloud, to the universe, "No one in my family is dying this weekend. Do you hear me?"

Apparently I sensed a disturbance in the force but just couldn't pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. Moments after I called my mom, my uncle called her to tell her he was admitted to the hospital.

So, needless to say, my schedule is trashed, I'm worried about him. Everything hurts. Sleep? Ha! And I am nowhere near done all the things I have need to do to prepare for this art show. I should be staying up to do another painting. Instead, bed might be the better option. At least if I attempt sleep, I can kid myself that I'll get up early and finish the painting.

The one that won, incidentally, took me three hours.

In other news, I just got the grades from my last two summer classes. A's. The good with the bad.

Given my uncle's precarious health, it looks like I'll be driving to Ocean City in my own car in case I need to drive back to Philly for any reason. I say that like it's nothing. "For any reason." What I really mean is - in case it becomes clear that he is going to die. We all knew what I meant anyway. Still, it means that I won't be able to sleep on the drive down and parking will become an issue since I only get one parking pass.

I also still don't know where I am staying. I'd promised myself that I'd go to the beach for a week if I got straight A's. Now I don't know if it's a good idea. I still have bills to pay before leaving for this adventure. That is one of the things that has increased exponentially in difficulty since my injury. It now takes me HOURS. It's painful and I do it inaccurately. I dread bill-paying. Of all the activities of daily living it is the one thing I wish someone else would do for me. Who takes care of things like that for people who are incapable of doing it themselves? Who will do it for me as I age and become completely incapable?

See, it's all about me isn't it. I'm selfish and sad.