Originally posted July 13/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
I've been nauseous (nauseated?) for three weeks.
I recently outgrew all of my bras... except for one. It's good to have one.
I'm exhausted.
I'm depressed.
Did I mention I've been sick? Every freakin' afternoon and evening.
I'm crying at books, movies, CBC news stories about former porn stars now reaching out to get sex industry workers to church... thank God I haven't seen any long-distance commercials recently.
I don't feel like eating, but not eating makes me sick, so I eat. And then I want to barf, anyway.
I don't want to get fat.
Most of you already know why this is happening to me. Anyone who doesn't... well, it's easy to figure out, right? I'll be excited when I'm not drinking pepto-bismol like it's water, I'm sure.
I'm worried about me.
Friday, February 5, 2010
I'm Not Scared- I'm Just Sad
Originally posted July 10/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
Not to be a pessimist, but do you ever just stop and go, "What the hell is WRONG with people?"
Not the people who take 12 items into the "10 items or less" lane at the grocery store (and really, shouldn't it be "10 items or fewer?). Not even the guy who wouldn't let you merge that one time, the one who kept his car at the exact speed to stay right beside you until you ran out of lane. He pisses me off, too, but that's not what I'm talking about.
I mean People with a capital P, humanity in general. Do you just stop and go, "What have we done?"
I guess I can be a bit more specific than that. "Western" society is what pisses me off. I put that in quotation marks because it's not just the West- it's like a disease, sperading all over the world, consuming everything in its path. History shows us a repeating cycle of the rise and fall of powerful emipres; the thing is, when this culture falls, it's taking the entire effing planet with it. And that ticks me off.
We're like locusts. Oh, we'll get pissed at a swarm of giant grasshoppers when they descend and eat our crops, but we do the same thing on a global scale.
"Oooh, look, a beautiful rainforest, brimming with wildlife, botanical wonders and tribes who still live in relative harmony with the land! Let's strip it and grow BEEF!"
"Hey, that group of folks there don't even have air conditioning! Let's improve their lot, kill their land and leave them in debt for the rest of time!"
"Extinction? Nah, that has nothing to do with the fact that we're ripping up forests and building shopping centres, highways and subdivisions... polar bears are dying? Has nothing to do with global warming... which isn't our fault, anyway..."
"No, their lives will be better if they spend 14 hours a day making wallets, shoes and dolls for our dollar stores- really! Fourteen cents an hour is great pay!"
I guess it's a product of "progress", and we can't exactly go back. We have medicines that save lives, and I'll be the first to admit that I wouldn't go back and raise Simon in an age of smallpox and polio if I had the chance. More of us are on the planet now than there have ever been before, and, thanks to the things that we think make our lives better (ie- easier), every one of us is taking more out of the Earth than we ever have before. And you can't blame "emerging" countries like India and China for wanting what we've got; sure, their billions of people will overload the planet when they all have 2 cars, but we sort of set the precedent, didn't we?
Some people say it's too late. They say that Al Gore (God love him) and his sort are giving us false hope when they tell us to use cold water for our laundry an turn off the computer when we're not home. They say that, unless we can not only eradicate the use of fossil fuels in our lives, but convince those billions of people "over there" that it's in their best interest (culturally and economically) to do the same... we're buggered, friends.
We were given so much. I can't blame our ancestors for wanting to overcome the diseases and dangers they faced in their world... I just wish it could've been different.
I friggin' hate the industrial revolution.
(Just to clarify: I think most people, as individuals, have a lot of good in them, even if they can't find it, or I can't see it. It's humanity as a whole that's the disease. Hell, maybe salmonella-causing bacteria are nice as individuals, too.)
Not to be a pessimist, but do you ever just stop and go, "What the hell is WRONG with people?"
Not the people who take 12 items into the "10 items or less" lane at the grocery store (and really, shouldn't it be "10 items or fewer?). Not even the guy who wouldn't let you merge that one time, the one who kept his car at the exact speed to stay right beside you until you ran out of lane. He pisses me off, too, but that's not what I'm talking about.
I mean People with a capital P, humanity in general. Do you just stop and go, "What have we done?"
I guess I can be a bit more specific than that. "Western" society is what pisses me off. I put that in quotation marks because it's not just the West- it's like a disease, sperading all over the world, consuming everything in its path. History shows us a repeating cycle of the rise and fall of powerful emipres; the thing is, when this culture falls, it's taking the entire effing planet with it. And that ticks me off.
We're like locusts. Oh, we'll get pissed at a swarm of giant grasshoppers when they descend and eat our crops, but we do the same thing on a global scale.
"Oooh, look, a beautiful rainforest, brimming with wildlife, botanical wonders and tribes who still live in relative harmony with the land! Let's strip it and grow BEEF!"
"Hey, that group of folks there don't even have air conditioning! Let's improve their lot, kill their land and leave them in debt for the rest of time!"
"Extinction? Nah, that has nothing to do with the fact that we're ripping up forests and building shopping centres, highways and subdivisions... polar bears are dying? Has nothing to do with global warming... which isn't our fault, anyway..."
"No, their lives will be better if they spend 14 hours a day making wallets, shoes and dolls for our dollar stores- really! Fourteen cents an hour is great pay!"
I guess it's a product of "progress", and we can't exactly go back. We have medicines that save lives, and I'll be the first to admit that I wouldn't go back and raise Simon in an age of smallpox and polio if I had the chance. More of us are on the planet now than there have ever been before, and, thanks to the things that we think make our lives better (ie- easier), every one of us is taking more out of the Earth than we ever have before. And you can't blame "emerging" countries like India and China for wanting what we've got; sure, their billions of people will overload the planet when they all have 2 cars, but we sort of set the precedent, didn't we?
Some people say it's too late. They say that Al Gore (God love him) and his sort are giving us false hope when they tell us to use cold water for our laundry an turn off the computer when we're not home. They say that, unless we can not only eradicate the use of fossil fuels in our lives, but convince those billions of people "over there" that it's in their best interest (culturally and economically) to do the same... we're buggered, friends.
We were given so much. I can't blame our ancestors for wanting to overcome the diseases and dangers they faced in their world... I just wish it could've been different.
I friggin' hate the industrial revolution.
(Just to clarify: I think most people, as individuals, have a lot of good in them, even if they can't find it, or I can't see it. It's humanity as a whole that's the disease. Hell, maybe salmonella-causing bacteria are nice as individuals, too.)
Ha ha!
Originally posted July 9/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
There was this guy at McDonalds yesterday. He came walking up to his wife (?), who was watching their kids in the play room, and slammed a Happy Meal toy down on the table.
"You know, some people have got no f---ing courtesy," he said. "I was gonna punch that old woman in the face- the old bag must've left her manners at the home."
And you, sir, are the very model of courtesy and decorum. I thank you for demonstrating that for us, and I only hope we can all be just like you some day
There was this guy at McDonalds yesterday. He came walking up to his wife (?), who was watching their kids in the play room, and slammed a Happy Meal toy down on the table.
"You know, some people have got no f---ing courtesy," he said. "I was gonna punch that old woman in the face- the old bag must've left her manners at the home."
And you, sir, are the very model of courtesy and decorum. I thank you for demonstrating that for us, and I only hope we can all be just like you some day
This Is Where I Live
Originally posted July 7/2007 in "Allison Wonderland"
Depression is kind of like the Transformers, though WAY less cool- it's more than meets the eye.
If you take an assessment quiz for Depression, you get the questions almost everyone would expect to find, asking about feelings of hopelessness and despair, thoughts about harming yourself (or worse)- pretty much emo stuff, but without the music and the drama. And if you're answering "yes" to any of those questions, you're in a bad way. The deepest levels of Depression suck you down into an inky black whirlpool where you don't know what's up or down, and you can't see your hand in front of your face. Nothing makes sense, and nothing good seems true anymore.
If you're lucky, you get help, and they find a treatment (or combination of treatments) that works for you. Maybe what you're going through is situational, brought on by a traumatic event; if you're really "lucky" (ha ha), you'll be fine after cognitive therapy and a course of antidepressants to help your brain get through the worst of it. If you're like me, it's in your genes. You don't see it coming- you're probably too tired to see it coming, thanks to either insomnia or too much of what they call "non-restorative sleep"... and you're not going to get over it. You learn to fight as hard as you can when it's getting bad, and you get over feeling weak for needing medication to deal with what so many people refuse to accept as a real disease. But it gets a bit better.
At first it feels so good to get out of that gaping, sucking whirlpool- anything is better than that. But then you realize that you're now floating on a dead, grey sea. Alone on your raft, no land in sight; no birds, no whales, no interesting crap floating by in the water.
Some days are ok, some are actually good, but there are always relapses. Sometimes a medication just craps out on you, leaving you free-falling back to square one. Sometimes you encounter one of those traumatic events that would break anyone. And sometimes you're just too tired to fight. Even if you don't end up crying for days or having a panic attack, you always have the other stuff to deal with- the "more than meets the eye" crap.
The complete emotional flatness that comes when the medications won't let you cry.
The lack of interest in absolutely everything that used to bring you joy- reading, movies, fishing, walks in the park... you'd rather be in bed.
The guilt that you try to talk yourself out of; your brain says it's not your fault, but something else tells you that you're not doing enough, that your family and friends are disappointed in you...
The not wanting to be. Oh, you're not going to hurt yourself or anyone else... but sometimes you just want to give up. You don't want to be who you are, but you don't want to be anyone else, either.
Yeah, those days suck. It's not wallowing in misery, it's not spiritual weakness or lack of faith, it's not a cry for attention. Actually, on days like that, I'd rather be left alone. It's just that old sickness coming back, just reminding you that no matter how much positive thinking you do, how you practice turning around your "cognitive fallacies", how well you think your medications are balancing the chemicals and receptors in your brain... it's there, it's yours. Just like a person with diabetes can watch her diet, take her insulin, test her blood sugar, and still have bad days, so do we. We hope this is as bad as it gets, but can't help but remember those who lost the fight. It can be a deadly disease.
Why am I writing this today? Because it's been a week of ups and downs- mostly downs. I haven't been crying, but I haven't been happy. I blame hormones for a lot of it this time around, and stressful events, good and bad. I'll get through it, just like I always do, and I'll try to be thankful that it's not worse. A bad day isn't always tears and yelling; a bad day is often just not wanting to do, or go, or be.
I just wanted to put this out there. You all know someone who's struggling with Depression, the "common cold of mental illness"- though significantly more dangerous than a case of the sniffles. Please be gentle if they're having a bad day... or week... or year. Even if we can't always say so, your friendship means so much.
Depression is kind of like the Transformers, though WAY less cool- it's more than meets the eye.
If you take an assessment quiz for Depression, you get the questions almost everyone would expect to find, asking about feelings of hopelessness and despair, thoughts about harming yourself (or worse)- pretty much emo stuff, but without the music and the drama. And if you're answering "yes" to any of those questions, you're in a bad way. The deepest levels of Depression suck you down into an inky black whirlpool where you don't know what's up or down, and you can't see your hand in front of your face. Nothing makes sense, and nothing good seems true anymore.
If you're lucky, you get help, and they find a treatment (or combination of treatments) that works for you. Maybe what you're going through is situational, brought on by a traumatic event; if you're really "lucky" (ha ha), you'll be fine after cognitive therapy and a course of antidepressants to help your brain get through the worst of it. If you're like me, it's in your genes. You don't see it coming- you're probably too tired to see it coming, thanks to either insomnia or too much of what they call "non-restorative sleep"... and you're not going to get over it. You learn to fight as hard as you can when it's getting bad, and you get over feeling weak for needing medication to deal with what so many people refuse to accept as a real disease. But it gets a bit better.
At first it feels so good to get out of that gaping, sucking whirlpool- anything is better than that. But then you realize that you're now floating on a dead, grey sea. Alone on your raft, no land in sight; no birds, no whales, no interesting crap floating by in the water.
Some days are ok, some are actually good, but there are always relapses. Sometimes a medication just craps out on you, leaving you free-falling back to square one. Sometimes you encounter one of those traumatic events that would break anyone. And sometimes you're just too tired to fight. Even if you don't end up crying for days or having a panic attack, you always have the other stuff to deal with- the "more than meets the eye" crap.
The complete emotional flatness that comes when the medications won't let you cry.
The lack of interest in absolutely everything that used to bring you joy- reading, movies, fishing, walks in the park... you'd rather be in bed.
The guilt that you try to talk yourself out of; your brain says it's not your fault, but something else tells you that you're not doing enough, that your family and friends are disappointed in you...
The not wanting to be. Oh, you're not going to hurt yourself or anyone else... but sometimes you just want to give up. You don't want to be who you are, but you don't want to be anyone else, either.
Yeah, those days suck. It's not wallowing in misery, it's not spiritual weakness or lack of faith, it's not a cry for attention. Actually, on days like that, I'd rather be left alone. It's just that old sickness coming back, just reminding you that no matter how much positive thinking you do, how you practice turning around your "cognitive fallacies", how well you think your medications are balancing the chemicals and receptors in your brain... it's there, it's yours. Just like a person with diabetes can watch her diet, take her insulin, test her blood sugar, and still have bad days, so do we. We hope this is as bad as it gets, but can't help but remember those who lost the fight. It can be a deadly disease.
Why am I writing this today? Because it's been a week of ups and downs- mostly downs. I haven't been crying, but I haven't been happy. I blame hormones for a lot of it this time around, and stressful events, good and bad. I'll get through it, just like I always do, and I'll try to be thankful that it's not worse. A bad day isn't always tears and yelling; a bad day is often just not wanting to do, or go, or be.
I just wanted to put this out there. You all know someone who's struggling with Depression, the "common cold of mental illness"- though significantly more dangerous than a case of the sniffles. Please be gentle if they're having a bad day... or week... or year. Even if we can't always say so, your friendship means so much.
A Revealing Conversation
Originally posted July 6/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
o it turns out that Clompie Stomperson in not, in fact, oblivious to the fact that her high-heel wearing ways are disruptive to those who live under her.
After an evening during which I swear she was doing jumping-jacks around the main floor of her house, I was wondering whether she even remembered that there were people down here- specifically, people who, on occasion, like to sleep. The next day Simon and I met Clompie outside- she commented again on how big Simon's getting, and what a good boy he is.
"You know, it's amazing," she said to me, "I never hear him cry. Well, except for when I wake him up wearing my shoes in the house... I have this one pair, and it's just crazy- they're so loud, I feel bad walking around in my own house!"
Whaaa-? You actually think about this while wearing said shoes? I'm guessing she only brought it up so that I wouldn't (which I wasn't going to do, anyway- why beat a dead pony-skin stiletto?); maybe she only thought of it when she saw us. Oh, yeah... those guys... in basement... noise, riiiight...
In any case, I didn't say anything. I didn't laugh politely and say, "Well, maybe you wouldn't feel so bad if you took your shoes off at the door like most people do in this country! Ha ha!" I also didn't add, "Boy, it sure gives us a laugh when your clomping wakes up a cranky toddler!" We just went to play in the yard.
To be fair, I haven't heard her tonight. Good on you, Clompie. Good on you.
o it turns out that Clompie Stomperson in not, in fact, oblivious to the fact that her high-heel wearing ways are disruptive to those who live under her.
After an evening during which I swear she was doing jumping-jacks around the main floor of her house, I was wondering whether she even remembered that there were people down here- specifically, people who, on occasion, like to sleep. The next day Simon and I met Clompie outside- she commented again on how big Simon's getting, and what a good boy he is.
"You know, it's amazing," she said to me, "I never hear him cry. Well, except for when I wake him up wearing my shoes in the house... I have this one pair, and it's just crazy- they're so loud, I feel bad walking around in my own house!"
Whaaa-? You actually think about this while wearing said shoes? I'm guessing she only brought it up so that I wouldn't (which I wasn't going to do, anyway- why beat a dead pony-skin stiletto?); maybe she only thought of it when she saw us. Oh, yeah... those guys... in basement... noise, riiiight...
In any case, I didn't say anything. I didn't laugh politely and say, "Well, maybe you wouldn't feel so bad if you took your shoes off at the door like most people do in this country! Ha ha!" I also didn't add, "Boy, it sure gives us a laugh when your clomping wakes up a cranky toddler!" We just went to play in the yard.
To be fair, I haven't heard her tonight. Good on you, Clompie. Good on you.
Newfinese
Originally posted July 5/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
For those who are planning a visit to Newfoundland in the near future (you know who you are), here are a few words you'll be hearing, with their Newfinese definitions.
Haiti- a number between 79 and haiti-one
harm- what comes out of your shoulder and ends in your...
and- at the end of your harm
art- what breaks when your boyfriend dumps you
heart- what hangs on your wall
anger- a device used for hanging clothes
yiis- affirmative
Lard- the official title of Jesus Christ
Bert- what a midwife attends
Mutter- the woman who gave you Bert
... that's all for today. Study hard. I mean... study ard.
For those who are planning a visit to Newfoundland in the near future (you know who you are), here are a few words you'll be hearing, with their Newfinese definitions.
Haiti- a number between 79 and haiti-one
harm- what comes out of your shoulder and ends in your...
and- at the end of your harm
art- what breaks when your boyfriend dumps you
heart- what hangs on your wall
anger- a device used for hanging clothes
yiis- affirmative
Lard- the official title of Jesus Christ
Bert- what a midwife attends
Mutter- the woman who gave you Bert
... that's all for today. Study hard. I mean... study ard.
Vowel Retention
Originally posted July 5/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
Simon has a lot to say. He spends a lot of time talking, but he's still a man of few words. English words, anyway.
He says tat (cat), dog, Dus (Gus), Dad-Dad, Daddy, Mum-mum, diss (this) and dat (that), and Hedder (Hilda, the dog next door); we're sure that he's said "nose", "hat" and "head" at appropriate times in the past, but he doesn't like to speak on demand, and he won't repeat those performances for us. Also, he says "nen", which means no- though he uses it a lot less frequently than I thought he would at this age. Oh, and he's started waving and saying "hi".
Other than that, he sounds like he's speaking a foreign language, and quite fluently at that. His voice is extremely expressive, with every inflection he hears us use when we're speaking to him or each other. He expresses his emotions quite clearly... he just choses not to do so in English at this time.
Simon likes consonants. He's not a vowel man. His words come out as "snazznunnz", 'wzzansz" and such most of the time. I think he's actually verbally constipated- he just needs something to loosen his vowels.
Seriously, though. Am I worried? No. OK, maybe it's a bit weird when we meet up with a kid his age who's saying "have more", "ok mama" and stuff like that, but it doesn't make me think Simon's "slow". His hearing's fine- that was tested when he was an infant, so no worries there. He's just taking his time.Apparently I was a baby perfectionist; I never said a word until I could say it perfectly. I'm sure Simon's got his own reasons, and I'm not going to make him feel like he's stupid because he's not speaking in sentences yet.
It will be interesting to finally find out what's going through his mind, what he's saying when he's telling us long stories about his cars and his tiger. Still, I'm going to be a little sad when I don't get to hear him speaking Simonese anymore.
'Cause it's really funny.
Simon has a lot to say. He spends a lot of time talking, but he's still a man of few words. English words, anyway.
He says tat (cat), dog, Dus (Gus), Dad-Dad, Daddy, Mum-mum, diss (this) and dat (that), and Hedder (Hilda, the dog next door); we're sure that he's said "nose", "hat" and "head" at appropriate times in the past, but he doesn't like to speak on demand, and he won't repeat those performances for us. Also, he says "nen", which means no- though he uses it a lot less frequently than I thought he would at this age. Oh, and he's started waving and saying "hi".
Other than that, he sounds like he's speaking a foreign language, and quite fluently at that. His voice is extremely expressive, with every inflection he hears us use when we're speaking to him or each other. He expresses his emotions quite clearly... he just choses not to do so in English at this time.
Simon likes consonants. He's not a vowel man. His words come out as "snazznunnz", 'wzzansz" and such most of the time. I think he's actually verbally constipated- he just needs something to loosen his vowels.
Seriously, though. Am I worried? No. OK, maybe it's a bit weird when we meet up with a kid his age who's saying "have more", "ok mama" and stuff like that, but it doesn't make me think Simon's "slow". His hearing's fine- that was tested when he was an infant, so no worries there. He's just taking his time.Apparently I was a baby perfectionist; I never said a word until I could say it perfectly. I'm sure Simon's got his own reasons, and I'm not going to make him feel like he's stupid because he's not speaking in sentences yet.
It will be interesting to finally find out what's going through his mind, what he's saying when he's telling us long stories about his cars and his tiger. Still, I'm going to be a little sad when I don't get to hear him speaking Simonese anymore.
'Cause it's really funny.
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