I want to be a non smoker.

I started smoking 15 years ago, because my boyfriend did it. Now, follow along with me, folks, that’s not a valid reason to do anything, now is it? Turns out it’s crazy addictive. Turns out I have issues coping with life stressors…and it provides a shitty escape for that too! Aren’t we learning fun new Jady facts tonight?

I hate not smoking. I hate every clean, crisp breath of non intoxicated air in my wizened old lungs. I hate all you happy non smoking people with your feasibly less life-ruining bad habits. I hate that a man started me smoking, but only I can make myself stop. I want that responsibility in someone else’s hands, someone with willpower, someone strong. I feel so freakishly helpless and pathetic right now.

I have literally planned my day for the last decade around when I could smoke and where. I have a newfound respect for everyone battling addiction, especially when it’s practically on every street corner. Say what you will about how quitting smoking is easy, detox is a beast.

Got some gum in my cheek, my vape is charging upstairs. Tomorrow, no cigarettes at all.

Wish me luck, loyal reader.

Well, that was a rough day.

I woke up, went to work, came home, drove the Husband to the airport, bought groceries on the way home, put away the groceries and cleaned out the fridge, made turkey and bacon chili, and spent the remainder of the day in a huddled mass occupying one chair or another.

I’m literally sore from clenching my back in a comma, my brain is burned with bad ideas, and my heart hurts. Obviously I am still a master of alliteration. Sanity, however…

I’m headed to bed, perchance to NOT dream, hopefully I will get some rest.

Crappy day, loyal reader.

I went to see Puddles Pity Party. It was moderately fun.

What? I’ve been silent for a while? Well who asked you, buddy?

It has been a typical hypomanic spring/summer so far. I am struggling with writing this, but The whole point of this blog is keeping track of my moods and the struggles so struggling is actually pretty much part of the plan. I am going to Oakland tomorrow night/tonight if you’re already past midnight. I have some plans and some friends to see but most of the time I have free to do whatever I feel like doing.

C is taking care of the dogs, she’s a dear and very well loved in this household. L and D are graciously taking me in for the weekend, and I look forward to letting L sweep me away to the Alamo Drafthouse for a Mr.Rogers documentary. I’m meeting people at Merchants (you’re invited) on Friday night, and going to a BBQ on Saturday.

And all I want to do is scream because the world is scary and it’s my fault.

Bipolar is a big fat stupid ugly smelly stinky rotten evil bully. It beats you up and shakes you upside down for your lunch money. (In this metaphor, obviously, lunch money is sanity.) Bipolar makes fun of you until you cry over and over. Let’s be perfectly clear about that. And the only way to deal with bullies is to give in or, even better, make the jokes faster and funnier than they can. I’ve learned how to do that in regards to my hand, sure, but lately I’ve had no sense of humor about my brain.

This is my predicament.

In a lot of really significant ways, what I’m going through is in no way funny. I am holding on as best I can but there are some serious waves on the ocean, no matter how good I know how to sail my ship. On the other hand it’s pretty necessary to make jokes because if I don’t I’m going to alienate everyone that I love. Sometimes you have to throw up a hand, unique as it may be, and let everyone know you’re still floating/treading water.

But I can’t think of anything really funny or pithy to say. This is exhausting. I want to curl up in bed and cry, but those damn lithium pills make it downright impossible. I’m so sick of being sick.

A trip to Oakland might be just the thing for me.

Goodnight my dear reader.

I thought I should write a blog

Before I went to bed

But my brain is somewhat raw

So I’ll write a poem instead

Today was good

By no means great

I ushered at the theater

Watching people graduate

Then I went home to Dante

Thinking ‘my poor sick cat!’

But the moment I walked in the door

He walked out, sauntered like a brat

And roamed the neighborhood all day

But came home to sleep

I out to bill him for his health

Snarky little creep

This evening I went to a mosque

And watched the service they held

I’m not one for religion, mostly

But I was compelled

It was basically homework

For my internship

So of the many waters of faith

I took a tiny sip

I wore a hijab

I sat with the ladies and kids

Feeling like a stranger and a fake

Doing what my professor bids

Now I’m home and I can’t sleep

At least not peacefully

Because it’s summer and all damn day

I did nothing for me

Poetry helps me out sometimes

It’s like a silly game

But this and a true vacation

Are totally not the same

So this morning, I got up and went upstairs. The husband and wished me a good morning and then said that I should probably take Dante to the vet, he had not eaten for at least three days, and he was looking very not good. So I called my vet and asked them for the soonest possible appointment. They said that they had one in about 10 minutes and I said that I would definitely be there. I got dressed and scooped up Dante who was sitting way too docilely on the couch. We took a loud (mewing) car ride to the vets office and went inside. Dante sized up the dogs in the waiting room and determined none his equal. The nurse assured us back into a exam room and we waited for what seemed like forever for the other nurse to come, take vitals, take history, and let us know that the doctor would be coming soon. The doctor came in eventually and checked Dante for dehydration, check, pale skin, check, and found a lump in his throat, check.

They told me that blood work was probably the best option and I agreed, then they took Dante in back and shooed me away for 30 minutes while the tests were run. I went down the street and got a burrito and ate it out of pure necessity. Then I went back to the office and they let me know that Dante was anemic, dehydrated, and had a super high white cell count. The doctor told me that if it was his cat he would probably put it in the hospital at least overnight, I don’t actually have that kind of money so I asked them for what they could do allowing that I would be taking my cat home with me. They gave him subcutaneous fluids in between his shoulder blades, and a shot of antibiotics that is supposed to last for about two weeks. They also gave me a syringe to feed him if I had to, although we are trying chicken broth and seductively delicious food instead.

I took the poor kitty home and he has been resting on the husbands chest for the last 10 hours. I am trying to feed and water both of them but they seem pretty content with each other so I am going to sleep since I have work in the morning. I honestly would love to just wake up in the morning and have a chipper kitty, rehydrated and no longer anemic, however unlikely that may seem. He is 13 years old and I do understand that cats age, and sometimes fall down the ladder of health rather quickly. I am trying to keep my spirits up, and I am very thankful to have a husband who will lay on his back holding a cat that’s not feeling very good for hours on end. I am rather lucky in that way.

Thursday: practicum 8-4, mind the dogs, work on macro paper, hang out with Former Roommate, sleep.

Friday: work 10-3, shower and shave, get dressed all pretty, take lyft to theater, WATCH MOTHERFUCKING HAMILTON, lyft home, sleep.

Saturday: tattoo consult, half of reflexive essay, meeting with improv Festival people, sleep.

Sunday: Second half of reflexive essay, finish macro paper, turn in macro paper, edit reflexive essay, sleep

Monday: practicum 8-3, work 4-7, sleep

Tuesday: final draft reflexive paper, turn in reflexive paper, sleep

Wednesday: possible work event, work from 4 to 6, HUSBAND HOME FROM JAPAN, sleep

Thursday: last day of practicum, 8 to 4, go home and get cute for birthday dinner, birthday dinner, sleep

Friday: work 10 to 3, who knows, sleep

Saturday: TATTOO DAY

Now I just have to remember to do everything perfect and I won’t lose my mind at all.

When I was younger, I thought that being the secretary seemed like a really good idea. It seemed like such a nice job, not knowing anything about jobs. So when I graduated, I thought out jobs as an administrative assistant. My sister had recently died and so I chose the healthcare field in which to search. (What I actually wanted was to be a secretary for a publishing house and have them be like gosh we’re all out of good books do you have any, but that seemed like a fairly unlikely scenario so I went with the healthcare.)

Years later, I was working as an administrative coordinator for a women’s health facility. Formerly incarcerated or formerly homeless or both, the women were allowed to live in the house rent-free for as long as it took them to get a job and a home. It was by no means a perfect system and we had a lot of challenges and admittedly failures, but the successes were so enriching for my soul. My director was leaving to work for a different part of the company, and when I applied for the job, they told me that the only reason they wouldn’t hire me is because I didn’t have a Masters. Thus my quest began.

And then I moved to Salt Lake City, and forgot about my goals, and just trying to get a job was so disheartening that when I finally did, I stuck with it for about a year and a half before going back to school. In the interim I did my prerequisites for the Masters program, at the community college, which took about a year. Last August I started my masters program, and I will be done with the first year of classes on April 26, my birthday.

I will be working at the Facility, about 10 minutes away from my home, for my practicum next year. Obviously I’m not going to say exactly where I am going to work, I never do, but it is a very exciting practicum because it might lead into a job at the same location. And even if this location is not hiring, this organization works in every state of the union, so if we have to move for an amazing job it wouldn’t really be that terrible.

Writing is exhausting, but so worth it. Goodnight loyal reader.

Dear Godfather,

I got your email and I actually managed to read it, and I’m sorry I haven’t responded yet. It’s been a hard couple of weeks and I admit that writing a blog at the same time that I’m writing an email back to you is pretty time-thrifty. I just thought I would let you know why I haven’t responded yet and why I feel so much stress so often, so consistently.

First of all it is springtime, which means that my brain goes into super overdrive in the anxiety portions of the brain… Portions I imagine are greater than the average human being. I’m not saying I’m special or anything rather the opposite I am at the worst possible combination of anxiety, overthinking, underachieving, continue as you will in the negative same as my brain spirals towards ridiculousness. And I know you’re probably going to say that I am not underachieving in the least, but somehow along the path of life, I got this pervasive idea that somehow whatever I do is never good enough, and That thought endures in my brain in the worst of ways. I believe it has probably helped me to achieve what I have in life, but it totally desecrates any sort of thought that perhaps I have done enough.

So I bet you’re wondering what the fairytale illustrated above is all about. It’s actually one of my favorites, the Frog Prince. In the story, a young princess is playing with her favorite toy, a golden ball, beside a well in the forest. The princess tosses the ball in the air and what do you know, it falls in the well. As the girl is sitting there crying in the loss of her favorite toy, a frog appears and speaks to her. Why are you crying, princess, he asked. She explains and the frog makes her a deal. I will fetch the golden ball, he says, and in exchange you must take me to your house, let me eat at your plate, and sleep in your bed. So the princess agrees, and down the frog dives to the bottom of the well and appears at the top of the water with the ball in his mouth. He spits it out into her hands, and the princess runs away to her castle. Later that night as she is eating dinner, she hears a knock at the door. The valet answers the door and there is the frog, exhausted, at her doorstep. The frog explains himself to the king and, being a good father, he demands that his daughter fulfill her promise. So she lets the frog eat at her plate although she refuses to eat anymore, and at her father’s prompting she places the frog on her bed at night. The princess goes to bed and miserable and disgusted. But when she awakens in the morning there is not a frog on her pillow but a handsome, assumedly single prince. He explains to her that he was under a spell and that he had to get someone to treat him with kindness before he could become a prince again. He whisks her away to his far more amazing palace, and they live happily ever after.

Isn’t that a great story? Such glaring omissions of exactly how these things happened, but that’s fairytales for you. In my mind, the frog prince is about mental illness, and how you still have to keep promises and do the right thing even when it feels miserable and disgusting. You’re not always rewarded in the end but sometimes you do get a far more fantastic palace.*

The other reason that I’m feeling so stressed is that finals are upon us, and I have a lot of work to do:

Reflexive (diversity class) 8-10 page essay with min. 6 in-class sources and 2 outside research sources

Practice class 8-10 page family assessment based on the film “Pieces of April”

Research class final essay 2nd draft submission and PowerPoint presentation

Macro class- PowerPoint presentation, 3 page essay on Macro project at practicum, resubmit final essay from last term, practicum instructor evaluation, and submit macro hours.

I wrote to my macro instructor and told them how much I was overwhelmed, considering that my macro practice at my practicum has been integrated into the actual practicum program so I have no idea how many independent hours I spent doing all of these things. That was Thursday and I haven’t heard back yet at all so I guess I’m on my own. It’s actually rather disappointing because this professor has been incredibly kind and helpful to me throughout my program, but from what I understand he’s catching a lot of flak for being too easy on people so I suppose I am in that wreckage. **

All in all, godfather, thank you so much for giving me the inspiration to write a little longer and more cohesive blog that I have lately. I really do enjoy this time writing, and I really do love you so it was a good combination. All my love from Salt Lake,

Your Goddaughter

* The original story has a side character named Harper’s or something, who is a valet for the prince who has been searching for him for God knows how long, and it actually has a paragraph about how happy he is to have his prince back although it’s not mentioned at any other point of the story. It’s one of those weird side details that never made it to any sort of Disney adaptation.

** I just got a notification that he wrote me back. Perhaps it will be a good day after all.

Tomorrow is my practicum visit day.

EVERYBODY CALM DOWN.

That means that my practicum instructor from the social work school will be visiting to talk to me and my practicum instructor at the practicum school. Did I mention calm? Because I’m not calm. Calm is what normal people tell me they feel occasionally, sometimes even often. I’m a hot mess. I just hope I have nice dreams, because lately they have been really upsetting and creepy. I just want one good sleep before I have to talk to the two people who determine my grade. Is that too much to ask?

Guess what happens when I finish my policy portfolio after work tomorrow!!!!

SPRING BREAK !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Guess what happens in the preceding 20 hours!

ANXIETY AND STRESS