I'm not sure why I can't just let bad things be bad and good things be good. But I can't.
I think I'm good with the love thy enemy thing because my worst enemy is myself and I am totally into me.
A while back I talked to a retired psychologist who offered in passing that he'd had experience working with schizophrenics. I asked him about it, tips for communicating specifically. He said that there are four elements of communication: the speaker, the message, the context, and the recipient. He said that schizophrenics mix-up these elements or replace them with something. I don't have as much opportunity to communicate with schizophrenics as I used to to figure out if this is true and if so, how to respond. I am not schizophrenic, but there might be a formula to explain how I get things wrong, I think it has to do with hoping that I matter to other people beyond what I do for them and imagining signs of what really isn't there.
Fall
Apples drop
Plums and pears plop
Down to the ground where
Dogs gobble them up rotten bruises and all.
A few pills have made me eat like a dog, teeth chomping through food is better than the teeth grinding through discomfort. What would be a good word or phrase for return from vacation? Reentry is standard. Occupation? My return to my occupation of home has been covered in a pus-y rash. Just at the time Jews wear white vegan clothes to symbolize their purity, my flesh was contaminated and unclean. It was hard not to view it as a spiritual as well as a dermatological disease. I'm still suffering, more now from the lack of sleep brought on by itching and cleaning up the ooze.
I know some of the people in this video:
The end of Summer and my initial post-divorce phase, a high school reunion trip back home, High Holidays, the budding Occupy America movement, a full moon, and this sleepless pariah sober--save for the recent steroids--time has led to much introspection. One thing a particular mad man didn't mix-up, is that my job is a problem. Tuesday dead and abused kids' families knocked on my computer for money, I don't have much of anything to give them. I'm going to ask Penelope Trunk for career coaching. Another thing he got right was about the drinking. I knew both of these things already, before he told me, but sifting through all of the wrong things he said and finding those truths made them clearer.
I'm not committed to sobriety, squatting to pee in Golden Gate Park is most likely how I got this disease, without which I might not have stopped my death march to fun for some serious thought.
Maybe my contrary arguments are just an addict's way to hold on to something harmful. Or as another guy has posited, a desire to win. I couldn't see myself as competitive, since I'm not driven toward achievement. And while I've never identified myself as a perfectionist, this article, I was directed to by my soon-to-be career coach's blog comments, defines a perfectionist as someone driven by fear of failure. I can see that in my behavior. I can identify myself as "someone who has difficulty dealing with personal mistakes." (One mistake I won't get over for a long time is choosing a baguette over a round challah for a wonderful Shabbat dinner with my gay twin and her friends.) But in working on doing so, I think I've gotten pretty good at dealing with the mistakes of other people.
Now, maybe if the tears would stop dripping down my cheeks, I can sleep. (Sounds emo, but I'm using tears metaphorically and refer to the cheeks that aren't on my face.) The time stamp shows the first time I saved this entry. My fear of making mistakes has led me to continue editing this post which has been rolling around in my all week. The Prednisone focused my insomnia. It's almost 3 now. I got a Dr.'s note to be off work tomorrow so I don't have that "shit I have to wake up in 5..4..3..2..1 hour stress.
She had no tips for how to live with this poison oak, just medications possibly unnecessary, ineffective and with side effects. She couldn't get my sorry ass out of her exam room fast enough. I almost didn't take them, but realized I'm stupid about so many things, I'd better take advice where I can find it. My older son has been silent about OSW on Facebook, but linked to this leading me to question my resistance to doctors. My misery suffered due to a mere rash reminded me how terrible it is to have a health problem. Compound that with not having access to treatment when you want/need it is horrible. Maybe there is something I can do to help those in need of medical care. Maybe not. I failed with dentistry.
3:03=mom in sideways time.