My dogs will not venture outside. They will not go out to pee in the rain. There is no telling them that it isn't likely to stop 'pissing' down anytime soon. Rather than cross their legs, it would do them better to get a 'back-bone' and get over it already. Geez.
I'm practically speechless. Last night I was having a dream, in that semi-sleep lucid way that usually means you should wake up. In this foggy state I wondered about the shard of glass in my mouth. WTF?
When I finally woke up I noticed the odd sensation in my mouth immediately. It was a condition easily recognized due to past experience. Yep. I broke off another tooth. Unbelievable!
So I did some reading, looking for answers. After all the internet is an unlimited source of information and I had no interest in sleep at that moment. What I found was emphasis on how SSRIs tend to cause not only dry mouth but bruxism as well. That's a fancy word for teeth clenching and grinding. Clenching was exactly what I was doing when I felt the gritty sand-like texture of my crumbled tooth. Lovely.
Don't mind me if I come off whiney. I'm upset. I went through the pain of special surgeries, braces, and ridicule for the gaps and springs (all sorts of crazy shit that make braces seem a piece of cake) for nothing. For worse than nothing. I'd love to forget the root canals and tsk-tsking of dentists. The raised brows signaling yet another dental death sentence. A departed beloved tooth yanked from my mouth. Whatever I can afford to get done is never enough. The shame involved in the experience is revolting.
If I would have gone to the next step - a partial (pricey enough to warrant an insurance quote) it would have been money wasted. Seeing I'd be getting more work done and need a new one.
Maybe my sarcasm humor will carry me through this disheartening curcumstance. I mean, what more can I do but laugh. So I'll focus on the bright side. Nobody should notice my disgraceful grin.
I have very little to smile about now anyway.
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I was a spasm of nerves, flailing about in some sort of frenzy. When I wasn't stirring up the covers, rattling about the bed, I still managed to keep him awake with my zealous snoring. I'm a gal of many talents, you see...
I'd been a tiger most of the weekend. It didn't take much to make me growl. Nearly everything rubbed me the wrong way, and I wasn't afraid to say it did either. Being a bit obnoxious just seemed necessary.
A person has to unleash the hounds of hell every once and awhile... don't they?
So the lot of us wear our hearts on our sleeve. We eventually become inclined to rid our bodies of what we had finally mustered the strength to try. As if it wasn't hard enough to admit our short comings in the first place.
In a bid to be just like everyone else it becomes harder to recall the positive changes these mood stabilizers supply to yourself and those in your vicinity. Maybe it becomes harder to ignore the negative side effects and ugly symptoms even the latest innovations carry. Don't forget, economically these pharmaceuticals are costly habit, sanity does have a price.
So this is why many chemically imbalanced individuals attempt to go off their meds (a problematic if not fatal move without psych. supervision). We cycle through the various options often enough. I dare say that revolving door in itself is daunting.
All of that brings me to my current endeavor. The downside of being prescribed certain anxiety medication such as building up a tolerance (this requires raising the dosage over time to maintain the same effect). Another drawback is experiencing a 'rebound' effect (fast acting - short lived drugs cause withdrawal).
That is why I feel it is in my best interest to stay limited, to take only on an as needed basis. I personally test the waters by delaying the scheduled pill popping. Boy, do I try to deal with the resulting pangs of panic, and what not. But, because I use it to function, I am not an addict. Wow, watching "House" on the telly might teach ya somethin'.
Today I was forced to recall a rather un-nicety. Being forgetful the reminder of missing a pill proved quite jarring. Will I ever learn my lesson? Skipping a dose of xanax (accidental or deliberate) to keep the benzo monkey off my back, is not such a good thing...
Not a bit.
1. An organism that grows, feeds, and is sheltered on or in a different organism while contributing nothing to the survival of its host.
2. One who habitually takes advantage of the generosity of others without making any useful return.
I went to bed last night with a head swimming in a sea of dissension. The devaluation of myself overwhelmed the possibility of sleep. It sapped me of my worth and hung over me like a black cloud. Between the emotional pain and the radio in the background I looked for clues for these bouts I experienced.
I listened as the radio talk show guest spoke of an interesting theory, with all the trappings of a paranoid science fiction based metaphor. Basically it described how many of the people with senseless hate in the world are infected with a parasite of the mind. Wow, a muscle cramping reach for motive, I thought. Ok, it was a bit over the deep end too, but hear me out.
Say, for instance, someone is emotionally vulnerable and seeks advice. All it would take is a few choice words to 'infect' that persons outlook from then on. One event can make a huge impact on a persons attitude, that often defies logic or reason.
The negative and extreme way of thinking consumes a persons entire being, much how parasites do. It isn't surprising that this hate spreads like wildfire. Any of the latest headlines provide examples of this massive intellect.
The theorists went on to explain energy parasites, a sort of feeding frenzy that sampled off fear and anxiety. He then said even certain people were zappers, draining others of their vitality. Perhaps like a familiar person you might encounter, that seems to suck the life right out of you.
An open mind was an integral part of believing it or not. I began to wonder if spiritually the idea the speaker implied bore any truth. I allowed the obscure diagnosis to bounce around my brain a bit. It didn't seem as far a stretch as I initially surmised.
Laying awake in the dark...
Almost anything seems possible.
Image: "Energy Vampire"
©2005 Barbara Pollak All rights reserved
I need to find something else to replace that security blanket. That I can drown in and feel good. I guess it could be called 'brain chocolate'. Fancy that. The name does suit it.
I've taken up reading again. I tend to do this in spurts. There was a time that it was my biggest pleasure. So much can be found online, and with all the browsing and aimless surfing, there doesn't seem a need to pick up a book sometimes. Which is kind of tragic. The couch is too lumpy, and the chair is too small to curl up in, leaving bed the only comfy place to reside. So I read in bed, but also tend to fall asleep. It's not the best location.
Sometimes the thoughts in my head are too aggressive to pay attention to the text. My mind does wander. I have one pretty bad eye too. When it gets tired it closes. I'll admit, it's pretty bizarre. The other eye gets tired and eventually follows suit. The problem is I haven't mastered reading with my eyes closed...
but I'm working on it.
I hate to say it might be time for a med changes. Being tired or anxious is a constant problem. Usually I can handle it by being ok for a few days. At least enough to catch up on housework. I think the hardest part is wondering if this is as good as it gets. It's very limiting.
I notice I'm full of intention, but accomplish little. I'm not sure whether I'm too tired or if I'm simply not driven to achieve much. Other times I wonder if I'm too preoccupied by the edgy feeling on the other end of the spectrum. Both extremes are pretty damning.
At the moment I'm doing everything in my power not to go back to bed or fall off my chair snoring. Maybe if I ply myself with some more coffee.
Even going to bed has it's drawbacks
Our bed has become less of a sanctuary and more of a dog's treasure chest. Why just this morning dear Amelie was spotted playing with pasta amidst the bedding (ziti that she had run off with after begging for the night before). I stumbled to bed in the dark last night, not aware of the beds contents. It's no wonder I couldn't get comfortable as I pulled a squeaky dinosaur egg from my backside. My squirming led to my feet nudging a tasty skeletal remain. You see, our bed had also become a bone yard too. I like to think she's a puppy with a sense of humor, I certainly have been made to have one.
I had two little house guests over yesterday. Their being readied for such an outing, an event in itself. My mom was forced to take drastic measures and actually leash the little handfuls (a subject I'd been pushing for ages), since my little Peke has taken a shining to the neighbors. She's become a bit too comfortable running off into their yards, sitting on the stoop waiting for them to come out. A princess waiting for her adoration. Their breed, after all, stems from royalty.
Tatty-Ann looked so pissed off and haughty that it was comical. Chyna (her larger counterpart that lives inseparably with her sister of the litter) escaped being led by the collar by way of her bucking bronco antics. unfortunately I missed her little hissy-fit but heard it was quite a show. I guess the confine was just too stressful for her. She hopped along (due to her bad back) up the sidewalk for a visit in freedom much to her sister's dismay. Of course, Amelie and speckles made a ruckus, as usual. You couldn't get more different personalities between sets of dogs.
Several paragraphs and a cup of coffee later, I'm still as sleepy as ever. Oh well... So much for any invigorating aspect to blogging.
(begin dream sequence)
I discovered a mouse in the house, then found more. So I needed to rid them from the bizarre living structure my dream built me (rearranged thanks to sleep).
So far, not tremendously strange, right? Well my brain had decided to add a terrible detail to the mix...Yep. It turned out my house was not only plagued by squeakers but...(here's the kicker) with bunnies as well. Sweet little dusty bunnies. No pun intended.
Somehow I was supposed to come up with a way to get rid of the furry intruders. I tried to find a solution my conscience could deal with. I opted to blocked them by way of steel wool from coming into my abode. It didn't work. On to plan two...I decided to chased them away. I enlisted the mutts of mine to help carry out this mission. They didn't even assert themselves. Their barking and curious nature somehow up and left them. So that plan failed miserably.
I'd reached my wits end at this point. I had no idea bunnies were so persistent! My dream had made it very clear that I was going to have to dispose of them. To become some sort of evil bunny killer! Oh, what a wicked little trick my mind played on me! I mean, just how ugly did this drowsy encounter have to be?
The rest was everything but darling. What a rotten dream...
Nothing warm and fuzzy about it.
l felt like tearing out of the room like some animated loony, shrieking with handfuls of hair in my hands. It was a 1000 times worse than an irritating drip in the sink.
Why did I suffer this insanity? There were no falling down or tripping over dreams. There weren't any ghouls or bogeymen sneaking up on me. No haunting memories escaped from the past. Nope. No dog's pouncing, or the hubby flailing limbs in his only sleeping hell. Heck, I'd never even had caffeine fix anywhere near the time I went to bed. I wasn't agitated or panic stricken at all that day. How bizarre is that?
Maybe I'll stay up tonight. Slip away from any chance of reoccurrence. In the event I nod off, no worries...
After all, it will wake me up just like it did in the first place.
How can I break the habits that keep holding me back? The feelings I harbor against myself are immense. They have a vice like grip that keeps me from moving forward, pressing on. I disregard my potential, self punishing for simply being me. Isn't it about time I gave myself a break?
A book I'm reading expresses much the same Epiphany. We are more than our bits and pieces. A person is more than just segments of their lives. These details aren't character flaws but the breakdown, if you will, of an intact identity. We aren't defective. Those idiosyncrasies that make us are a response, not a weakness. They aren't failings. The way we exist, horrors and all have good reason. They aren't faults that blame us for being less than other people, that we are limited. So it all comes down to whether we still need those coping mechanisms.
I admit, I'm better at being dysfunctional because of practice. I've had plenty. But can't I be more than that? I'm denying myself a magnitude if I really give into the old (but comfortingly familiar) urges that are certain to lead to defeat. They may have served me well in the past, but they aren't currently providing safe-haven.
That perhaps finally, maybe, I can let some of those habitual knee-jerk reactions of mine go.
I returned from sleep's morbid conclusion with valuable insight. Sometimes dreams put things in perspective, as did mine. It may not be a perfect life in a lot of peoples standards, but it's better than my imagined alternative. One person's heaven, is another's hell. It's easy to take for granted just how lucky we are. I must admit it's astounding to greet the day feelings so fortunate.
Just think, your ordinary may very well be ideal, if shed some new light...
How lucky indeed.
I've had things vanish. They weren't miniscule in size and obvious to miss. Forgetfulness has little bearing or reason to explain such occurrences. These objects aren't simply misplaced. They don't change location. They are absolutely, without a doubt, lost without a trace.
Unless I'm mistaken, things don't just dissolve into antimatter. They don't grow legs and run off on their own. They weren't stolen, borrowed, easily tossed to the side or thrown out. Even a thorough spring cleaning fails to locate the article. After serious contemplation we each individually come to the conclusion that the physical world is not what it seems. We deduce that there is more to meet the eye. Something fishy is going on...
When gone is really gone... that's perplexing.