Captivatingly Articulate

For the last month or so, I've been in a little bit of a funk.  I'm not sleeping especially well, having a lot of anxiety dreams -  in one last night, I got written up at my job working at Walgreen's for speeding in the parking lot.  By one of my old bosses from my real job at Harry's nearly 30 years ago.   I also got conned into wearing someone else's uniform, and my family was pissed because I was late for dinner.   I never worked at Walgreen's, but it's a version of a dream I have fairly often where I realize I'm on a schedule for one of my old retail jobs, and I know I can't do it.

So, of course, I wake up more exhausted than I was before I went to sleep.

Add to that, Piper is crazy itchy.  I know it's pollen/allergies - thankfully, unlike her predecessor, it's not so bad that she chews herself raw.  But she's itchy, poor thing.  I need to get her going on Benadryl or the like.  But she scratches and chews throughout the night, and she wants to get up around 5:30... she's confused. Bless her heart, as they say.

So, sleep is lacking.  Which means I am trying to wake up each day with sugar and caffeine, and of course, those are quick "fixes" that do nothing to solve the problem in a meaningful way.

When I was in college, I started a notebook, a list of things that were "good" or enjoyable, or made me happy.  It was little things like catching the bus on time, and hot showers or small coincidences in conversations.  It was an exercise that was to combat my depression, or at least, to remind myself that there were forces out there, greater than me.  I ran across that book a few years ago, and I was pleased that even 23 years ago, I had the common sense to realize that nothing is permanent, even feeling like you are mostly standing in a storm with a too small umbrella.

Big pharma helped, obviously, but I know for a fact that my list was not wasted.  After all, the good things I listed numbered in the thousands.

Come to think of it, I wonder if the Dear Evan Hansen people owe me some money...

No, they don't.  It's not a revolutionary exercise.  There is nothing new under the sun.  That's the bible, and that's older than me, and anyone on Broadway and all our shrinks.

It makes me think that I should probably do that again.  After all, back then, I didn't have many of the distractions and attractions I have now.  No Uber, which must be a boon to college students today.  No dating apps, no smart phones.  I feel like I dodged a bullet on that one.  I was bad enough with dial-up and landlines.  In fact, they weren't even "landlines" because that is all we had.  Phones.  Cordless, sure, but telephones.

But I have so many little bullet points of things that I like.   Goat yoga, a dog hanging its head out of a car window.  The smell of moss, Chick-fil-A diet lemonade, post-it notes in a variety of sizes, liquid band aids, the music of They Might Be Giants, the downy woodpeckers that live in the tree that sits at our fence line.  Bubbles.  Clinique Angel Red lipstick.

And it defies gravity!

The flapping sound that comes from dogs' ears when they shake their bodies.

Piper, mid-shake

And so, when I'm out of sorts, I need to remember these things and appreciate them.

Life is made up of very few GREAT BIG THINGS and tons and tons of clusters of tiny things.

And I need to remember that.

I also need to remember to take my medication, and make regular therapy appointments.

And eat right.  And drink water, and exercise, and get fresh air and sunlight.

The Lord loves a working man.  Don't trust whitey.  See a doctor and get rid of it.

The fundamentals, you know.