Life as an Extreme Sport

fading in to flat

I’m tired.

I feel like I have to preface anything I say with that. I’ve shifted back to what some of my friends refer to as “Kelly Standard Time”; my own, insomnia driven “sleep” (I use the word ever so lightly) schedule. Drugs can sort of make me sleep, but not really, anymore.

And so I’m tired. The tiredness feeds in to all sorts of negative things, and this Friday night, as I get ready to chemically fall asleep before midnight, I find that I feel hollow. A shell with strings, going through the motions. A single ship in the sea, a solitary star in the sky…how many phrases can I come up with to creatively say I feel forgotten by friends and colleagues, that I feel alone? Probably quite a few, and it’s illogical – I know it’s illogical!

Feelings aren’t terribly logical, are they? I would have made an awful Vulcan.

I’m tired.

Out with the Old,…

It’s 2007. My instinctive response is “good fucking riddance to 2006, and here’s hoping the next one is better” (but I know better than to taunt the universe by making it any sort of challenge). But Discardian had an interesting tip up a day or two ago that suggested we – and I assume she meant social we, and not just you and me we – have a bit of a binary, black/white, good/bad way of looking at life. We see the highs and lows, and not miss the rest.

Now while I have often told friends that the nice things about the lows is that you can’t see the highs without them, I am often guilty of overlooking that in the middle – the not extraordinary, the not horrible, but that which moves us forward in life. Or holds us back, if we let it.

2006 is always going to be a hard year to look at, even when memory takes the edge off the sharpness of Mom’s cancer, or the loneliness and difficulties my first semester of graduate school brought. And it will round the edges off those highs, too – my letters of acceptance, teaching my first class on my own, reading my first feedback reports that were just about me, writing something as big as my thesis (and finishing on time!), graduating, the fun things I’ve done in NYC and people I’ve met and so on.

But 2006, I think, will also be remembered as a year where I made a lot of forward movement in my life. I see a lot more clearly where I want to be, down the road, and the things I’ll need to do in order to get there, and I’m on my way doing most of them. Yes, life keeps throwing challenges in my path… but Phillip told me something, once – it must have been three years ago? My husband had left me, my best friend had died a horrible death, and I simply could not get my act together. I couldn’t juggle all the balls I had in the air, and I let them all drop. I was sitting in his office, telling him that just as soon as life calmed down I’d have it all together, I’d be better. And with his typical bemused expression, he glanced over the haphazard stacks of books between us and told me that life just keeps coming, it never calms down and never gets better. It’s always one thing after another, and we all juggle; what matters is how we do it.

I learned to juggle, and I did pretty well. But now it’s a new game; the ante has been upped, and the stakes are higher. My sneaking suspicion, though, is that I’ll learn the rules to this game soon enough, and then I’ll shine as brightly as a I did before.

2006 was a bitch of a year, dragging me all over the map, not just emotionally but literally. But if I was pressed to admit it, I would admit that I’ve probably grown more this last year than the past few combined – and that’s saying a lot. I might not look fondly back on the year, but I suspect I will eventually be very grateful for the contributions it has made to who I am.

And so I raise a glass to 2006, and to all of you. May 2007 be everything you wish for, and more.

routines of a sick house

My sister is out, picking up some groceries. My father is watching the Seattle/Tampa Bay football game, and I’m sitting in my bedroom picking silver threads of my mother’s hair out of the scarf I wrapped around her bare neck last night, as we left her stylist. Earlier, I reached into my purse and took out a green hair clip full of her hair, and moved it into a plastic bag.

The hair was wet when I took it, but dried into whispy white and silver strands over the night in my warm bedroom. Now it’s just a mass the size of my hand, tucked behind my socks in a drawer, waiting for the right photos and the right lockets for everyone.

I haven’t been writing much because I often don’t feel like there’s much to say. Life in a sick house has settled into a bit of a routine that varies very little by day. Wake up, clean up, try to eat, take my temperature to make sure the various aches and pains I feel as a normal part of my malfunctioning body are nothing more than the normal, pick up the house where I can, keep the animals entertained and fed, shine positively around my mother, be helpful, keep out of the way.

Eating and sleeping have become challenges. Well, sleeping has always been a challenge, but now the Lunesta doesn’t even appear to be helping consistently, or for long. I had done well at keeping on EST for my first few weeks here, but since feeling a bit under the weather earlier this week have slipped to what friends affectionately refer to as Kelly Standard Time.

Yesterday, I simply forgot to eat. I realized this in the evening, when I developed a splitting migraine, and put together that the cause was the lack of food over the course of a long day. I haven’t had much of an appetite for a while now, not that I ever have a healthy one, and just got enough out of any routine to forget to eat the entire day.

Neither of these things are good; part of living here, being here, is taking care of myself so that I can take care of others (and so I don’t get sick and become a burden, or worse, a risk). So I need to yank myself back on a schedule of eating small meals every few hours, of balancing the nutrition, and back to trying to sleep “right” – medications and bed at a certain time, lights out, rest, relax.

It’s easy enough to type out what I know I should do, but it’s an entirely different method to act upon it.

Urbi et Orbi

In this year’s Urbi et Orbi, Il Papa has said something rather startling:

In his address, the Pope also made a reference to the controversial case of Piergiorgio Welby, a paralyzed Italian man who was denied a Catholic service because he had asked to die.

“What are we to think of those who choose death in the belief that they are celebrating life?” he said.

The Catholic Church falling in line behind some form of physican-assisted suicide would be a startling (and welcomed, at least by me) thing. It would be well out of line for a Pope in the Ratz’s position to make a sweeping doctrinal change like that – typically, after the reign of a Pope like John Paul II, the next Pope is a short-timer who’s just there to tide over until the next long-term candidate can be groomed. Few changes are ever really made, especially at such a core level – this is definitely something to keep your eye on.