Alphabet Soup

the boxes (and bags) OF DOOM

I don’t know what started it, but there has been a trend among my friends to post articles about ADHD.

I’ve already been diagnosed with a few things, with bipolar being the #1 diagnosis - from several doctors, and even a few therapists - so bipolar is the benchmark.

Anyhoo… one of the things I’ve seen several times is the tendency to put clutter in boxes so that it doesn’t have to be dealt with immediately, but it’s removed from sight. And, oh, holy fuck, does that make so much sense. I’ve had clutter boxes my entire life. Once I found out I was bipolar, I decided that this was a symptom of it. I clean during manic phases and I box during depressed ones. What happens when I’m forever depressed? MORE BOXES!

So, yeah. In the spirit of full disclosure, this is about two or three years worth of clutter boxes (and several bags). We painted my office last year and I’m just now finally working my way through the Boxes of Doom!.

Why the Boxes of Doom!, you ask? Because, half the fucking time, they’re filled with memory landmines.

You know, those things you randomly stumble across that rip open wounds that had been slow to heal in the first place? Yeah. Those.

I’ve gone through three boxes this morning and I have cried during every one. My offer letter from the Cats was in one box, photos of my parents and I at Disney World in another… just weird shit that I am not equipped to deal with right now.

And, can we talk about that photo with my parents? The photo is of myself and my parents in front of the castle and we are wearing matching Mickey Mouse shirts. OH. MY. GOD. We were that family back in 1980. We were wearing MATCHING SHIRTS. (I’m pretty sure it was my idea, too.) I make fun of those families now… and I am obviously the one that started the trend. Fuck. Me.

I still have boxes and boxes of clutter - and memory landmines - to get through, but I’m pretty sure this is what the articles are talking about.

I feel both seen and attacked, and I don’t like either.

(I suppose the joke’s on my most recent former employer… I had two clutter boxes at the office and a clutter folder on my desktop and a clutter folder in my inbox. In my defence, those things did not appear until Ida decided to visit Louisiana this year and I was overloaded with minutiae. Oh well. I hope they have fun with that.)

I’m full of contradictions and hypocrisies

I may run at the speed of turtles swimming through peanut butter. But I run.

My Christmas present to myself was the top medal hanger… I haven’t done the #threewords in a long time, but I’ve been using Twelve’s words / the unofficial motto of the Whovian Running Club to guide me. Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind. Sadly, the only thing I’m good at is laughing hard.

We didn’t celebrate Christmas at all this year. Not one bit. No special dinner, no last minute “I feel like I need to buy you something”, not even a bone for the dog.

I don’t know. Neither one of us is feeling it this year. Which is fine.

Everything is fine.

 

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When you’re young, you got time
When you’re old, you built a life
In between you’re just along for the ride
Nothing’s in a straight line, like the wrinkles on your eyes
Try to take it one candle at a time… - Pictures, Matt Nathanson

I’ve been on a steady pace of a new job just about every year and a half, two years for a long time. That’s when the honeymoon period is over, and the bipolar starts to affect things. Which, at this point, is probably a good sign to start seriously thinking about disability.

This job change completely blindsided me. I’d actually been doing well, and was mostly happy, but… there’d been some… hiccups. Definitely wasn’t expecting to be forced to choose between engaging in ethical behaviour and doing what was expected of me. I have a very odd moral code, but the things I believe in, I do not waiver on. One of those things is taxes. I am, apparently, on the side of the government because I believe they should be paid. The owner and I had several differences of opinions, but this last straw was the last straw. I’d already been looking for freelance gigs I could do on the side, and it was easy enough to find a real 9-5, so I’ll be back to normal after Dopey.

But anyhoo… it’s the reason I’m kind of stuck in my head.

We watched Emmet Otter’s Jug Band Christmas, as I’ve done every year since 1977, and it felt different this year.

I’ve been missing my father a lot lately. This year has been a bad one - I’m the same age my mother was when she died, and April 30th was the 20th anniversary of my father’s death - and I haven’t been able to get through it. Not that turning the calendar to a new month is going to make a huge difference in the facts of the matter, but there are no major milestones in 2022 that are triggering. Unless celebrating our 20th anniversary is a trigger… which it kind of is, but we will unpack that baggage in August.

I don’t know anymore. I know I blog a lot about being bipolar, but for every entry there’s a ton of things that I never say. I never really work through my shit here, in real time, and I probably won’t start any time soon. It’s easier to dissect it, in writing, well after the fact. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not tempted to do so.

So with that said… Christmas is hard. It is always hard. This year seems harder.

2022 is around the corner and I can’t be more thrilled for a fresh start.

In the meantime, I’m going to take it one candle at a time.

I think about this world a lot and I cry

UConn’s last pure white husky has crossed the rainbow bridge…

I’m a fucking mess right now.

I can’t even deny it… tear tracks are running down my face and I haven’t been able to stop the tears for days. (Other than when I need to pull my shit together for work, of course. They can’t see how broken I am.)

It started with the announcement that Jonathan XII had died.

Yes.

A dog that wasn’t mine… that I wasn’t even close to… is dead and I can’t deal with it.

I suppose, all things considered, I should have seen this coming.

I’m past exhausted.

I’m not sleeping.

I’ve barely been eating.

And, I’ve been waiting for this day.

My complete and utter breakdown.

The day the depression brings me to my knees.

Catharsis.

Why was the death of a dog such a big deal? How could something like that move me to the tears I so needed to shed?

Easy.

Despite my… complicated… relationship with my mother, she was a UConn grad, too. There was always a little bit of me that wished - that still wishes, if we’re to be honest (and when have I ever lied here?) - that she could have been there for those years. She was already dead by the time I was applying for colleges. Didn’t know that UConn was the absolute last school I wanted to go to. Because of her. Didn’t know that it was the only school I applied to. Also because of her… and that’s a story for another time. I’m already fucked up enough without revisiting that time of my life.

Standing at the practice field, staring at the Towers dorms. Dating a guy who actually lived in her fucking building. Having to walk past what was her room. She had left enough of her behind in a scrapbook that I was able to find her fucking room. And I don’t think I ever told the boyfriend that… maybe in passing, but not in enough detail.

SO. UConn. It was a place where I was able to finally define myself as something other than Helen’s daughter (even if I carried that weight around for four years). I lived through so much craziness over four years and I don’t regret a moment of it. We always wind up where we’re supposed to be, even if we don’t know it at the time.

Going to UConn was the beginning of a wild ride… again, it was a decision I will never regret and I will always be proud to be a Husky… and a hussy, because we’re Bus 4, after all. And a white Jonathan will - even after all this time - be my husky.

And the last white one is gone. With a generic husky taking his place.

My UConn is gone.

My mother’s UConn is gone.

Replaced with an imposter.

And, while you may not understand why, it hurts. Badly.

To make matters even worse, I just finished a piece of Drarry fan fic that has brought me to tears over the past two days.

Fuck, I wish I could write like that.

Seriously.

It started with Draco in New York, recreating himself, working with at-risk kids and turning his back on all things magical and Malfoy. He ends up sharing dreams with Harry, and it is like the slowest burns of slow burns. Of course, I didn’t cry when Evan killed himself. I didn’t cry at the too real emotions that Draco was going through. Nope. I bawled like a fucking baby when Harry showed up in New York. And then I cried harder when he left. And then I cried even harder when he came back. It. Was. Beautiful. I love when fics break me like that. I really do.

Oddly enough, that level of heartache spurred me on to clean up the mess I made in the Otayuri fic I’ve been working on… until that vicious editor in my head decided to speak up. Yes, editor, I gave up on the slow burn. No, that wasn’t what I wanted to do. No, there won’t be any age-inappropriate scenarios. Yes, this is all Otabek Altin’s fucking fault. Three drafts, three fucking drafts, and he’s all ‘eyes of a soldier’ and Люди могут забыть, что вы сказали. Могут забыть, что вы сделали. Но никогда не забудут, что вы заставили их почувствовать. People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.  (God bless Google and Russian language blogs for giving me the ultimate apology quote…)

But the editor did what they set out to do and, well, imposter syndrome.

So, I just wasted a bunch of time rereading all seven of my published fan fics, all the comments, and just started at my statistics.

I’m never going to be a Sara’s Girl, or bixgirl1, but they all did better than I would have thought.

For me, not you, I submit the following for those days when I feel like I can no longer make the words do the thing good because englishing is hard:

 

 

Oh. Fuck.

all I need is a 16 minute mile… and to NOT die

Soooooooooooooooo

Assuming the new wave of Coronavirus doesn’t cancel the races, I’m running both Wine and Dine and Marathon weekends.

Yes.

THE FUCKING DOPEY CHALLENGE. #DOPEY2021 IS REAL (although a year late)

I have no idea what I’m doing - I had planned on skipping the race this year. But it’s the 50th anniversary of the House of Mouse and I plan to be one and done, so why not?

My newsfeed was packed full of people wanting to register so I didn’t think I had a hope in hell of making it in.

Yeah… my luck is never that good. LOL

One more time for those not obsessing over these races with me:

Wine & Dine - 5K, 10K, Half Marathon - 4 medals - one for each race and one for the two course challenge (10K + half). That’s 22.4 miles over three days. The 5K is optional, but why the fuck not? It’s a practice run for January.

Dopey kicks it up a notch - 5K, 10K, Half, Full Marathon - 6 medals - SIX! - one for each race, then the Goofy Challenge (half + full), and then the Dopey medal. None of the races are optional. That’s 48.6 miles over four days.

There is something wrong with me.

Speaking of things that are wrong with me…

I get lost in video games when I can’t get lost in my head. There’s too much noise in there right now as I start to approach being stable.

The mood swings are lessening. The depression is no longer such a heavy weight on my shoulders. (Still there, still affecting the day-to-day, but there is finally - FINALLY!!!!! - a light at the end of the tunnel. AND it’s not a train!)

All because we hired an AP person…. and now I don’t know what to do on the weekends.

But, anyhoo, all that to say, I’m addicted to the Sims 4 again. (I’m also oddly into watching speed builds on YouTube and I still can’t wrap my brain around how that’s a valid form of income…)

One of the Simmers uses two mods that I was really interested in and I decided to try them. (MC Command Centre and UI Cheats) Then I fell down the rabbit hole of custom content and other mods.

There is a bipolar mod. A BIPOLAR MOD.

And one that brings drugs into the Sims. You want to grow weed in your place? OK. You want to sell weed? MMDA? Coke? Heroin? Yup. All of it.

You can even make your sim an alcoholic / stoner / addict. It shows the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ of a chemically altered life.

Of course, I had to check that shit out.

So… I made a sim that highlighted the “best” parts of my mother:

Bipolar? Check

Smokes weed from time to time? Check

Constantly drunk? Check check

Yeah… that sim didn’t last too long before I cheated to get rid of the bipolar and and make them sober.

Plus, you know, I play to escape reality… not live it in a virtual world.

I haven’t looked too deeply into the 18+ mods and custom content because… I don’t know… they feel too dirty for the Sims. But if I were into that… my sims could be a prostitute, run a strip club, be a porn star, make sex tapes, and leave dildos and condoms all over the bedroom. Like seriously… if that’s your cup of tea, you’ll find everything you want and more.

Yeah… that’s not really for me.

It was kind of eye opening to see just how much content is out there, though. I’ve never been into mods and custom content, but I downloaded a bunch of “safe” things - just boring, vanilla, game play modifications.

I’ve got a bunch of things to do this weekend, so I’m going to end it here.

(Besides, there are cows and llamas and chickens to buy after I build my country house in Henford-on-Bagley!!!) MOOOOOOOOO!

(and holy shit - this entire post is textbook mania in a written form. whoops)

Don’t Panic! / Not Again!

And so, Don’t Panic - the most recent BotF winner - heads into the finals

I should have posted this AGES ago, but the last Battle of the Fandoms team I was on was Hitchhiker’s themed. It’s a bit of an odd book, one I don’t read often enough, but it was transformative when it came into my life. I can’t read it without thinking of the ex who forced it on me (and who I almost stole it from.) We are still friendly and I’m glad… he was such a huge part of my life.

I digress.

Right now, I’m running for another Hitchhiker’s team in the ‘season finale’. This team will most definitely lose. (There are a LOT of miles between us and first place. Possible, but highly unlikely. I mean, ANYTHING is possible during Racery.)

Normally, I let it bother me… but after a bunch of low milage Racery events, I’m done.

D.O.N.E.

Done.

I’ve gotten to the point where work is almost manageable. I’ve been working half weekends instead of full ones, so that’s progress.

I ran my first miles for Not Again last night. A 10K. The first long run in a while.

And…

Fuck me.

It felt good.

Running hasn’t felt that good in ages. Probably since COVID shut the world down.

Bipolar is a random bitch… some days I’m on top of the world and some days, the Ick is so bad, I want to dig a hole and hide.

Not going to lie, self-care hasn’t been high on my priority list. Surviving has been. Which includes getting the disaster that is the accounting department under control. (It’s been a year-long process…)

My new AR person is finding five figure mistakes - invoices there weren’t collected in a timely fashion. We still haven’t collected all the receivables from Hurricane Laura. That was 9 months ago. Most of that is the fault of the insurance company we worked for, but still. Then there’s the two guys who owed $20K+ - she never followed up on either, even though all the insurance proceeds went to the homeowner. Her replacement hunted one of them down - turns out the homeowner opened a claim, but the job contact was the tenant. We went after both of them until they finally paid us in full. In MAY.

Then, there’s still the small matter that I can’t get the books cleaned up. Every time I try, I seem to fail. Still haven’t closed January 2021.

Or the fact that I’m trying to squeeze HR and IT into already overflowing days.

I’m on my second AP person in a month and so far I think it’s love.

Better than the first one, at least.

So, yeah. I’m back to running. Back to training for Dopey, even though runDisney has been radio silent regarding the future. I’m not even sure I want to run Dopey any more, but I think that’s the depression talking.

I’ve signed up for ALL the Boston races since they’re offering all of them as virtual. No time requirements. I’ve already run the 5K. The 10K is at the end of this month, the half is in mid-September, and the marathon is in October.

This means that I will have my first marathon under my belt in 5 months. FIVE MONTHS.

That also means that I could upgrade my entry into the Palm Beach Marathon to the Marathon. It also means that I might run Miami, too.

I don’t know.

I have motivation again.

SERIOUS motivation.

OH! I almost forgot! We were watching some documentary on BBCAmerica and there is a fucking festival for people who like to watch cat videos on the internet.

Let that sink in for a moment.

The talking head said that people who watch cat videos find their anxiety lessening, they seem to be less depressed…

I HAVE FOUND THE PERFECT CURE FOR MY DEPRESSION AND IT IS NOT MEDS.

IT IS FUCKING CAT VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE.

My shrinky-dink is going to fucking love that. Especially since I can’t take anti-depressants.

It might also explain my desire to own a cat again.

Of course, we can’t because the dog hates them.

He just turned ten and knowing him, he has another full decade or two before he leaves us. So, there might not be a cat in our house for a long time.

But that’s OK. I have YouTube to get me though the dark days.

 

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The Battle Fish is improbable, yellow, prone to winning, and definitely the oddest thing in the universe. It feeds on the miles logged by other teams and transforms that energy into miles for Don’t Panic. It absorbs all unconscious mental frequencies from each member of the team. It then excretes into the minds of every runner a telepathic matrix formed by combining the conscious thought frequencies with an insatiable desire to win. The practical upshot of all of this is that if you stick a battle fish into your Racery team you can win Battle of the Fandoms. The miles you log are fed into the Racery application and designate the Don’t Panic team as the Season Two, Episode Three victors.  Possible side effects may include extreme giddiness, a desire to compete in all Racery events, the overwhelming need to translate English hashtags into German, fatigue, and some blisters.