Operator, Can You Help Me Place This Call?
If at first you don't succeed, try and try again.
This laptop is weird. it feels weird. Is it because I haven't used a desktop PC or large laptop for so many years? Or is it my clumsy, arthritic hands? My Essential Tremors have definitely gotten worse in the years that have passed.
One bump and this laptop double clicks everything. Its a lot fancier than anything else I have used. The screen is also touch activated
This laptop is weird. it feels weird. Is it because I haven't used a desktop PC or large laptop for so many years? Or is it my clumsy, arthritic hands? My Essential Tremors have definitely gotten worse in the years that have passed.
One bump and this laptop double clicks everything. Its a lot fancier than anything else I have used. The screen is also touch activated
I just breathe on this thing and something pops up on the screen. Almost always misspelled and full of extra lettersssss.
I know if I want or feel the need to blog again, my poor frozen thumbs won't be aable to handle it. I actually developed bursitis in my right elbow. My physical therapist spotted the cause immediately.
"Do you text lot?" Well, yeah. Who doesnt? The only friends who chose to speak on the phone instead of texting are Skinny and Dru. Its hard to believe there was a time we all had flip phones and it took too long to have long conveersations through texting. Im usually shocked if someone answers their phone. Oh crap. I cant pre-think of what inane thing to say to this person who can misconstrue my thoughts if its read out loud.
One thing that stops me from writing is the fact my hands are seriously busted. Between the diagnosis of Ankylosis Spondylytus< a form of arthritis and my Essential Tremor, the act of writing by hand or typing a keyboard is much slower and filled with mistypings. My handwriting is barely legible even to myself.
This laptop does have speech capability. I have no clue how to activate it. I did maanage to change my format to several languages before I finally got back to English. Im kinda cracking myself up. Computers have come a long way since my first desktop in 2000. Everything was self taught or friends from the television website talking me through stuff.
I sit here and wonder what to type? Not much happens that seems to incite my need to write it down. Is it the meds? It was something that always concerned me. Its hard to believe how many years have gone by since that train left the station. Or, should I say, "train wreck?"
I do wonder why alcohol fuel my creativity and non-stop need to write everything and anything, down. I look through papers and notebooks and there was always song lyrics, Memos or lines from something I felt compelled to write down.
Blogging felt like a creative outlet. Now I sit here, numb to that need to get it out.
Sobriety killed it.
I realized that years of Prozac does change your emotions. I was the type of person who would cry over songs or sappy commercials. I even cried happy tears. I can remember sobbing with joy the first time I gave my niece her first pony for her 11th birthday. I miss that cry baby. I felt life hard. Good and bad....I felt it through my whole heart and soul.
At some point it was squashed. I began to drink on top of my meds. Looking back I know it was because of the counteraction of the meds that were numbing me from incapacitating grief and fear. Mostly fear. It didn't matter how far we moved or how many times I went to therapists. I could not shake off that fear. It took three hard falls before I finally accepted drinking while on meds would not work.
I miss it. I honestly do. I miss that meeting up with friends for happy hour. I miss sitting down after work and enjoying a glass of wine. A lot of bonding with my mother-in-law stemmed from just that. Sharing a glass of wine and catching up on our work day. We talked about a lot of things. She filled me in on my husbands childhood. She worked for the Legislature so she knew both sides of a political view. I truly enjoy her company. Her father was a horse wrangler. The antiquated word for horse handler. He worked in the film industry. He trained horses for some of the biggest western movies and even stunt doubled for actors like John Wayne. My husband spent summers with his grandfather. Tagging along, learning both about horse training and what goes on behind the scenes of making a movie. A childhood I imagined for myself while I grew up, horse-less, in a suburban world.
My mother-in-law shares my husband's great sense of humor. It is a commonality that seems to keep us glued together.
When we first moved here to Nevada, It was only temporarily. I just wanted to get as far away as I could from Prick. I was finished with court hearings and dealing with his physical presence. The fact that my hometown was an area most people stayed was proving to be too much for me. Restraining orders were a logistical nightmare. Every time I turned around I encountered someone who knew him or was connected to the situation.
I occasionally feel a nostalgic homesickness for what I had. The truth of it all, nothing I had is back in Pennsylvania, anymore. Skinny will send me photos of my old neighborhood. It is wall to wall developments of huge McMansions. The traffic is so heavy they expanded on the main road I lived off of. My commute to any job would be pure Hell. My last visit back to the area felt like I was a stranger in another land. First chance the real estate prices rose, I sold my house.
The last time I was physically in Dru's home she asked me if I was ever moving back?
I flashed back all the farms I lived at, the barns and shows I worked and a split second of my family, or I should say~lack of, I could honestly tell her, "Never."
I loved traveling with those horse shows. I loved car trips at the spur of the moment,whim. I loved our car trips across the country. We rarely followed maps. Since my husband did it so many times visiting his family from various states he had lived in, he had an internal compass that always landed us at perfect destination. Whenever we traveled back to Pennsylvania I started to resent having to stay and visit with family. It was definitely becoming last on my list of happy memories.
It took me awhile to find peace with that. So much of what I wrote about in the past was about what I loved about where I lived. It was hard to let go of the happiness of what was. It was hard to see it no longer existed.
I can't answer why some of us hold on to energy of what we see and hear? Why one person can hear a particular song and have it bring tears to your eyes.Why one can get up before dawn and drive somewhere specific just to watch the sunrise.
I do know for awhile I drifted in a sea of numbness. Prescription drugs specifically doled out to numb that part of your brain that can't get over the past hurts. If someone asks what hurts the most? The fact I stopped feeling anything. The fact I took it to such an extreme made me I forget who I was.
It's hard on those around you. When I stopped drinking I was a shell of the person I once was. I sat and stared at my Kindle. Not comprehending what I had just read. I watched complete rubbish television. It didn't matter what was on. As long as it was on at all I could stop the trash talking inside my own head.
When I began weaning off the the prescription meds that's when it kick starts. I would suddenly start crying. Even I didn't know why. It's just the neurons are learning they have free reign again.
I picture my brain is like a pinball machine. Bing! Don't hit tilt! Damn it! I'm crying. Why? That commercial just hit the cry button.
I'm not sure what dose I'll end up with. I know deep down I'll always need something. Neurologically speaking, I'll always need some help.
I just finally came to that point in my life where I feel it's needed to cry at everything. I'm not working. I don't have to artificially hold it together. I don't have that need for fake happiness because I'm working with people.
Who knows? Maybe a song will come to me and inspire me to blog again.
If it doesn't?
"Do you text lot?" Well, yeah. Who doesnt? The only friends who chose to speak on the phone instead of texting are Skinny and Dru. Its hard to believe there was a time we all had flip phones and it took too long to have long conveersations through texting. Im usually shocked if someone answers their phone. Oh crap. I cant pre-think of what inane thing to say to this person who can misconstrue my thoughts if its read out loud.
One thing that stops me from writing is the fact my hands are seriously busted. Between the diagnosis of Ankylosis Spondylytus< a form of arthritis and my Essential Tremor, the act of writing by hand or typing a keyboard is much slower and filled with mistypings. My handwriting is barely legible even to myself.
This laptop does have speech capability. I have no clue how to activate it. I did maanage to change my format to several languages before I finally got back to English. Im kinda cracking myself up. Computers have come a long way since my first desktop in 2000. Everything was self taught or friends from the television website talking me through stuff.
I sit here and wonder what to type? Not much happens that seems to incite my need to write it down. Is it the meds? It was something that always concerned me. Its hard to believe how many years have gone by since that train left the station. Or, should I say, "train wreck?"
I do wonder why alcohol fuel my creativity and non-stop need to write everything and anything, down. I look through papers and notebooks and there was always song lyrics, Memos or lines from something I felt compelled to write down.
Blogging felt like a creative outlet. Now I sit here, numb to that need to get it out.
Sobriety killed it.
I realized that years of Prozac does change your emotions. I was the type of person who would cry over songs or sappy commercials. I even cried happy tears. I can remember sobbing with joy the first time I gave my niece her first pony for her 11th birthday. I miss that cry baby. I felt life hard. Good and bad....I felt it through my whole heart and soul.
At some point it was squashed. I began to drink on top of my meds. Looking back I know it was because of the counteraction of the meds that were numbing me from incapacitating grief and fear. Mostly fear. It didn't matter how far we moved or how many times I went to therapists. I could not shake off that fear. It took three hard falls before I finally accepted drinking while on meds would not work.
I miss it. I honestly do. I miss that meeting up with friends for happy hour. I miss sitting down after work and enjoying a glass of wine. A lot of bonding with my mother-in-law stemmed from just that. Sharing a glass of wine and catching up on our work day. We talked about a lot of things. She filled me in on my husbands childhood. She worked for the Legislature so she knew both sides of a political view. I truly enjoy her company. Her father was a horse wrangler. The antiquated word for horse handler. He worked in the film industry. He trained horses for some of the biggest western movies and even stunt doubled for actors like John Wayne. My husband spent summers with his grandfather. Tagging along, learning both about horse training and what goes on behind the scenes of making a movie. A childhood I imagined for myself while I grew up, horse-less, in a suburban world.
My mother-in-law shares my husband's great sense of humor. It is a commonality that seems to keep us glued together.
When we first moved here to Nevada, It was only temporarily. I just wanted to get as far away as I could from Prick. I was finished with court hearings and dealing with his physical presence. The fact that my hometown was an area most people stayed was proving to be too much for me. Restraining orders were a logistical nightmare. Every time I turned around I encountered someone who knew him or was connected to the situation.
I occasionally feel a nostalgic homesickness for what I had. The truth of it all, nothing I had is back in Pennsylvania, anymore. Skinny will send me photos of my old neighborhood. It is wall to wall developments of huge McMansions. The traffic is so heavy they expanded on the main road I lived off of. My commute to any job would be pure Hell. My last visit back to the area felt like I was a stranger in another land. First chance the real estate prices rose, I sold my house.
The last time I was physically in Dru's home she asked me if I was ever moving back?
I flashed back all the farms I lived at, the barns and shows I worked and a split second of my family, or I should say~lack of, I could honestly tell her, "Never."
I loved traveling with those horse shows. I loved car trips at the spur of the moment,whim. I loved our car trips across the country. We rarely followed maps. Since my husband did it so many times visiting his family from various states he had lived in, he had an internal compass that always landed us at perfect destination. Whenever we traveled back to Pennsylvania I started to resent having to stay and visit with family. It was definitely becoming last on my list of happy memories.
It took me awhile to find peace with that. So much of what I wrote about in the past was about what I loved about where I lived. It was hard to let go of the happiness of what was. It was hard to see it no longer existed.
I can't answer why some of us hold on to energy of what we see and hear? Why one person can hear a particular song and have it bring tears to your eyes.Why one can get up before dawn and drive somewhere specific just to watch the sunrise.
I do know for awhile I drifted in a sea of numbness. Prescription drugs specifically doled out to numb that part of your brain that can't get over the past hurts. If someone asks what hurts the most? The fact I stopped feeling anything. The fact I took it to such an extreme made me I forget who I was.
It's hard on those around you. When I stopped drinking I was a shell of the person I once was. I sat and stared at my Kindle. Not comprehending what I had just read. I watched complete rubbish television. It didn't matter what was on. As long as it was on at all I could stop the trash talking inside my own head.
When I began weaning off the the prescription meds that's when it kick starts. I would suddenly start crying. Even I didn't know why. It's just the neurons are learning they have free reign again.
I picture my brain is like a pinball machine. Bing! Don't hit tilt! Damn it! I'm crying. Why? That commercial just hit the cry button.
I'm not sure what dose I'll end up with. I know deep down I'll always need something. Neurologically speaking, I'll always need some help.
I just finally came to that point in my life where I feel it's needed to cry at everything. I'm not working. I don't have to artificially hold it together. I don't have that need for fake happiness because I'm working with people.
Who knows? Maybe a song will come to me and inspire me to blog again.
If it doesn't?
You can keep the dime.
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