Weather report brings laughter--"it'll warm up today, expect 33 degrees F": Sarah Louise catches you up on everything and much much more!

And the Post Gazette front page that is in my car's backseat says, "What happened to winter?" (It's an old front page.) (My back seat is where things go to die, and books go to become overdue.)

Sitting at the Take Care Nurse-in-a-Box two weeks ago (right before I was diagnosed with the double ear infection) I read an editor's letter in a magazine that said, "Readers reading this will be saying this was the winter that wasn't." (not an actual quote, but from memory.) You'll forgive me for tossing that magazine aside.

Yesterday we had 1-3 inches of snow in the morning. We got winter, it just was a little late.

I got more antibiotics, this time for a sinus infection. Things I learned:

• Throw out your toothbrush! (I sort of knew that.)
• Warm vaporizors are great at harboring bacteria. The cold vapor ones are the way to go. That cost me $50 yesterday. This is counter to a magazine article I read, but as seen above, magazines LIE! Nurses, however, are smart!
• This one surprised me: guaf and decongestants might actually be detrimental if you're not drinking enough liquids, because they dry you up.
  

I came home, had the lovely leftovers of General T's chicken*, lay down for a nap around 7 pm, and woke up at 11 to take my bedtime meds. I was going to do a load of laundry, but nixed that idea and went back to bed, sleeping until 7 this morning. The news tells me it's around thirteen Fahrenheit. Yahoo tells me it's about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Duquesne Light (call for the time and temperature: 412-391-9500) says it's 16 degrees. One of these days I'll figure out how to make the degrees symbol show up (tell me if you know, in the comments?).

I have no committment to be at work until 1 pm, but since I was all petered out at 3:45 yesterday, the plan is to go in today 9ish or 10ish (I'm not rushing!!). I was actually at work for six hours yesterday--a veritable record!! (I worked four hours on Tuesday.)

The Pens might go to Vegas? What would they be, the Las Vegas Pens? I mean, blech!!! I had planned to go see them at the Igloo (yes, the Mellon Arena) this season but it hasn't happened yet...

Oh, and Happy International Women's Day!!

And since my last post, folks have been clamoring for other bipolar symptoms.

So here's a "Could it be Bipolar?" test sponsored by Seroquel, a drug used for bipolar disorder. The last bipolar book I took out of the library (I don't even remember the name, it was that bad) was written by a doctor who was convinced that most of the population of NYC has bipolar to some degree. That Bill Clinton exhibited bipolar leanings. And a number of other people. Forgive me for not remembering--the book was trash!! The book sort of glorified the manic portion of what used to be called manic depression. As long as it was hypo-manic (the energetic feeling you get before it's really dangerous), use it. Well, if you have bipolar, you sort of know that, and that is when you clean the house, but seriously, if it goes to manic, then you get the "what goes up must go down"--depression!! The higher the high, the downer the down.

That pause was a call from my work-a-holic mom. Yes, she has a two hour delay, but she was calling me from the school parking lot. "It's like a gift of two hours!" I am grateful for Mary, over at My Vast Veranda**, for showing me that teachers do and can have actual lives. Over the weekend, my mother crowed, I work and then it gives me more energy to do more (extra stuff) (work). She claims it's because there's no one to do stuff with (that she puts so much into her work.) I cannot fix my mama. It's really good that I'm NOT living down there right now. I told her, I'll come down to VA and make you play Scrabble with Daddy!! No one in that house communicates with each other. I go home and stir the pot. Yeah, I think I'll stay up here in Pittsburgh for a while. My need to FIX THINGS could really get out of hand if I moved down there right now.

For the first time in YEARS, I don't have a crush. It's sort of a bizarre feeling, but I feel good. (Although, the first coupla weeks were HELL, as folks that I email to can attest.) I had hoped something might happen with the guy I met at the Jubilee dinner (from Annapolis) but there was nothing on his end, no "What's your phone number," or "Gosh, I hope to see you when you come down to see your Mom in a few weeks." Which I didn't. Sunday, I went to the fellowship where I had initially met him and he was nowhere. Oh well. And at breakfast, Friday, with one of my truth-teller friends, Sasha, when I told her about playing "Dutch Bingo" with the guy when I saw him at Jubilee, she said, no, that just means God is telling you there are guys out there. Oh. So I don't think I'm heading for lifelong singlehood, if God is telling me there are guys out there, but WHERE IS HE***???

Anyways.

Hmm.

So.

So, it's International Women's Day? What will YOU do to celebrate? bobbie, of Emerging Sideways, one year celebrated by giving her and her daughter red plates (a celebratory tradition in their house.) I think I'll celebrate by GOING TO WORK for seven hours!! I think I could actually do it! Be home to watch the Office? Hey, it sounds kind of fun...

*My local Chinese restaurant is great: for about $6, I get tea, soup or egg roll, water, and an entree. AND, the portions mean I get two meals. Chinese for lunch, Chinese for dinner. YUM.

**Okay, a bad choice for a post to show that teachers have lives. But she has time to blog. And she has pets. And if you read this, you'll see she has time to read, and watch TV, two things my mother doesn't do. (Gee, do I have issues with my mother loving her job?) My mother works 24/7. I-am-not-kidding. (It actually reminds me of my father, when he was fixing the economy in Poland, in the early nineties. Hmm, do you think work-a-holism can be contagious?)

***(Charlotte, from SATC. The actual full quote is: "My hair hurts. I've been dating since I was fifteen. I'm exhausted. Where is he?")

The King of Love my Shepherd is

The King of Love my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am His
And He is mine forever. (Henry W. Baker, 1868)

The summer before I was diagnosed bipolar was a trying one. I knew there was something wrong (I'd experienced insomnia at least once a month for months on end, my work was suffering, I was often paranoid). In April, I broke up with the man I had been dating. In early June, he tried to reconcile, and slowly we did, such that we were dating again by July 4th. I was seeking God every day on behalf of myself and this relationship. My walks in the morning were not let's look at nature, but let's come before God and find out what's what. I clung to the Twenty-third Psalm. When the darkness seemed to close in, I would hold onto my desk at the back of Fox Books, in the Children's Department, and recite from memory the Psalm my mother had taught me as a child for a bedtime prayer.

The shadow of the valley of deep darkness--I was acquainted with it, keenly. So, after I started my recovery, after my bipolar diagnosis, that Psalm only reminded me of that trying time. That time of intense suffering and confusion in my life. A time when I was scared because I didn't know where I was headed. I stopped saying it, and whenever it came to mind, I shut it away, so as to not remember that dark time.

I know that God can redeem anything, and this week, Beth Moore exorted to us that the only reason we get hardships as believers is because God has said yes to Satan and God has a bigger plan for that trial. That trial will result in more glory.

This morning, I was a mess. Everything, from an email from a friend to a song on the radio triggered me to tears. I felt like I was in the middle of the desert, with no oasis in sight. But I knew people were praying for me, and I knew that Jesus is always praying for me. I recited Scripture. I checked blogs. I sent emails. I listened to Shawn Colvin, especially Polaroids, from her album, fat city. I called my father and my sister and left messages on their phones. I somehow made it through the day.

And what a day it was: calm and balmy, then blustery, then deluges of Biblical proportion. On the way to work I actually turned off the road for a few minutes, it was raining so hard. When I got to work, the sky cleared a little bit and I walked in with my jacket wrapped around me. By the time it was time to go for my birthday lunch at Chili's, the rain had begun again. Just as we sat in our seats at Chili's, the deluge began again. All day it was like this. And then the sun came out. And then the clouds came back. It's what we here in da Burgh call "Severe Weather."

At 5:30 p.m., the library had a power outtage. For whatever reason, the emergency back up lights did not come on. It was already dark outside. You picture a library full of patrons and especially children, how they might react. Thankfully one of my co-workers, Sally (yes, another one!) was with me and I took our one flashlight to where I knew there were more. After some time, we evacuated the building. At six, Sally and I left, since our shifts were over. The six o'clock people would stay until all the kids waiting for rides had been picked up and then the library would be locked and left for the night.

I had no idea if there was electricity in Highland Park, and I knew that I didn't have food in the freezer even if we did have light. So I had dinner at Taco Bell, where I did my Beth Moore homework. And I commenced my drive home. And just as I was cresting the hill on McKnight Blvd, where there's a church with a Nativity scene up front, I turned off the radio and started praying. God, I know that you love me. God, I know that you won't test me beyond what I can stand. And I started repeating scripture and recalling promises God has in his Word. And at some point, as I crossed the Allegheny River on the Veteran's Bridge, the words to the Twenty Third Psalm came to me. "He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake." "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will not be afraid." And I could say these verses, which have been locked in my brain as a memory of that sad summer, smiling, laughing, singing.

And I sang praise songs all the way home.

We serve an awesome God--if we would only humble ourselves before him, he will lift us up.

I suppose I knew that someday God would return that Psalm to me, that someday it wouldn't taste like sawdust on my tongue. It was a complete and utter surprise to me when the words just came to my mind and I could feel the joy bubbling up.

It's only six verses. But how powerful they are:

Psalm 23 (RSV)

A Psalm of David.

1The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
3He restores my soul.
He leads me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.
4Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

5You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
6Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.

What day is it?? (and other vacation thoughts)

Even my aunt can't keep straight that yesterday was Friday, not Thursday. I walked the beach twice today--once at sunrise with my dad, and a second time around 11 a.m. with my sister. I picked up some shells--mostly shards.

I'm at Litchfield Lattes, enjoying a small decaf. (And Internet access.)

We had lunch at a sweet place on the marsh. Yesterday I had crab cakes and today, fried grouper.

Yesterday after lunch Sis and I went to a used bookstore appropriately called (when you go with your sister) "My Sister's Bookstore."

Today after lunch, the rest of the SL clan started the long drive back to Northern Virginia. I leave tomorrow, early. One of the great things about church in the evening is that I won't miss it tomorrow!! I'll be back in da Burgh noonish.

I got birthday presents: two turtlenecks from Eddie Bauer, yay!, a calendar featuring verses from the Psalms, and hair stuff from my sister. Ralph and Sylvia, my aunt's neighbors from Eastern PA, who are down for a few days, gave me a crocheted and starched Christmas ornament (you'd be surprised how many ornaments I've gotten for my birthday over the years), and my aunt gave me a check which covered the books I bought at "My Sister's Bookstore": Blue Like Jazz, Pushing 30, and a few others.

I read Goodbye Nobody on Wednesday: I bought it at one of TWO Border's Books at that airport and by the time we had hit ground in Myrtle Beach all I had left was to finish the interview with Jennifer Weiner in the back of the book. I highly recommend Weiner's latest, which is a murder-mystery. The cover says "Hilarious, begs to be read in one sitting" and while I agree with the begs to be read...part, I wouldn't call the book hilarious. It is very good, though, and I think there will be a sequel. Unlike most of Weiner's books, which are set in or near Philadephia, this novel takes place in suburban Connecticut, one of those New York bedroom towns where all the women have given up their careers to raise their perfect 2.5 children.

This morning I finished I feel bad about my neck and other thoughts on being a woman by Nora Ephron (the lady who wrote When Harry Met Sally and co-wrote You've Got Mail.) It was a little bizarre reading the chapter about parenting while my aunt and parents were preparing breakfast. There were a ton of read aloud moments, but it was the wrong audience...One chapter is about her love affair with a particular apartment. Now she lives elsewhere, and she likes it, but it is where she lives--she does not have nightmares about losing it (as she did about the previous domicile.) This is a book I'll probably buy in paperback. The back cover is an author photo showing Nora pulling a turtleck up her neck (the title, the title!).

This morning my dad and I were talking about a friend of his who went to Collegiate and I thought, who do I know that went there? It took awhile to realize that it was one of the school choices for Grove, the four year old in The Nanny Diaries.

I'm a little subdued--I've been taking naps every day and having bad dreams--this too shall pass!! It's bizarre to label it as depression as I am fairly happy right now, but depression is not necessarily just the emotion of sadness but also the symptoms. Luckily, I am able to regulate my meds a little and so this morning I increased my Zoloft by 50 mg.

Tonight dinner is leftovers: last night we had Chinese carryout with candles on the pumpkin pie. Tonight I think we'll only be four at dinner--my aunt, myself, and my two not by blood cousins (they are my cousin's cousins on their dad's side) who have been working on their grandmother's beach house, tearing out baseboard heating, leaky skylights, and myriad of other items...their aunt Lilly died a few months ago.

Well, I think I'll go see if yins have posted anything of note...tomorrow I'll be back in the garret!

Pretty soon, you'll have to get by on the archives....

...cuz I got no clue if I'll have internet at the beach. So I probably won't be winning any "I finished NaBloPoMo successfully" awards. And frankly, I probably won't care.

But if I leave you with one thing (I'll post at least once tomorrow...) it's this book: I feel bad about my neck and other thoughts about being a woman. Nora Ephron is the writer of When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle. She is a funny lady. And while I sat on the sofa, emptying out purses and finding all kinds of crap, I also came across this book, which had been hiding in my second bag (you know I'm stressed when I'm carrying a purse AND a bag.) Ephron's second essay is about how she hates purses, because they inevitably become littered with loose change and tic tacs and tissues that look used even if they never have been.

If I didn't need to sleep tonight, or check the laundry's progress, or finish packing, I'd finish this book right now, in a huge bite. So instead I'll spend four minutes telling you to read it.

Oh, and take your Vitamin C. You don't want to have a cold for Thanksgiving. So far the zinc and staying on the sofa most of today probably means I'll be okay for the duration, but be careful out there! I can't afford to lose any of my good and faithful readers and lurkers to airborne germs.

Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite.

(If they do, hit them with a shoe.)

This is what passes for a post...I think I'm getting a cold...

These are the rules. You bold everything you've done. I just through the NaBloPo randomizer found someone who added comments for each one she'd done. Which I thought was interesting, but I'm not going to do that. I might comment at the end.

01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said “I love you” and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Northern Lights
15. Gone to a huge sports game
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby’s diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was drunk.
42. Had amazing friends
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe.
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your CDs
57. Pretended to be a superhero
58. Sung karaoke
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Played touch football
61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. Toured ancient sites
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the Snake River
82. Been on television news programs as an “expert”
83. Got flowers for no reason
84. Performed on stage
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music
87. Eaten shark
88. Kissed on the first date
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently
95. Performed in Rocky Horror
96. Raised children
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop when you knew someone was looking
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Touched a stingray
110. Broken someone’s heart
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a T.V. game show
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a facial part pierced other than your ears
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Touched a cockroach
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes
134. Read The Iliad - and the Odyssey
135. Selected one “important” author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair
146. Dyed your hair
147. Been a DJ
148. Shaved your head
149. Caused a car accident
150. Saved someone’s life

I think that was 44, if I counted correctly. I might take a few of these and use them as post topics. If you're interested in a particular one, comment and maybe I'll write about it! If I highlighted the number as opposed to the item, it means I did something similar or I know someone who did or I just want to remember it for some reason.

Off to do something about this burgeoning cold...

Interlude

So as I'm puzzling through this friendship thing (I wrote pages and pages yesterday as I sat in the class on mediation) I had to continue living my life.

It happens. (Life, I mean.)

And I sat in the hotel lobby and talked on my cell phone to my dad, who is my hero of friendship and mediation but probably wouldn't understand this situation at all because it's a girl thing. But then again, he would probably have a different outlook than the two women who have actually heard the details. Nope, I'm not repeating them here. The woman who didn't hear the details but just that I was very disappointed and hurt said that I should speak the truth in love and remember grace. And that I should stand in my friend's shoes for at least a minute. Then she said she'd pray for me and that I could call her before I call my friend to talk about what happened and that she'd pray while I was talking to my friend. Wow. I didn't know I had someone that would walk that mile with me.

Tonight, I'll come home, flop on the sofa and watch the first DVD on stewardship (I missed the first class.) The guy who does the DVDs is a bit eccentric but a good teacher. I think this might finally get me on how to manage my money, especially since Sally and I are going to use this opportunity to use the forms in the book to look at my money, which is why she started helping me on Thursdays to begin with--the original concept was a barter: I'd babysit for her so she and her husband could have a date, and she'd help me untangle my money. But then she came over one day and the bigger problem, the mess of my apartment was more immediate and so she helped me with that.

I think I have a few gold ones I didn't realize I had (make new friends...some are silver and the others gold).

Marian is still not working--if you're the praying kind, say a prayer for her. She's not responding to us reaching out and we kind of don't know what else to do. (And I, of all people, should understand the isolation of depression.)

Yesterday it was very interesting riding the bus back to the hotel (the Rachel Simon talk was at Heinz Field--y'know, where the Stillers play!!). You could tell which women (we're librarians--we're 95% women) understood Rachel's message and which women hadn't had a situation where they were faced with a disability in someone they loved.

Bipolar isn't labeled a disability, it's a disorder. And I pretty much function like anyone else. I have an exuberent loud laugh, I enjoy life, and sometimes I get deep into the pit of the muck of my life. On the surface, I'm fine. And yet, those that know me, know that my life is hard. Harder because I have to take meds four times a day. Harder because I need to see my therapist every week. Harder because I have to deal with these inner mood swings. Harder because when I see someone who is hurting, I want to help them so badly because I know what it's like.

Rachel talked about "curism" and how a lot of folks in the disabled world hated Christopher Reeves before his death because he was so hooked on getting a cure. (They didn't so much hate him after he died.) But how his relentless search for a cure--well, some of us know that we are better people for the broken places. We are more sensitive to others with disabilities or disorders. We understand the human condition just a little differently than someone who doesn't have a disability or disorder. If someone could cure me of bipolar disorder, I'm not sure I'd take that cure. I have developed a social network because I am one of those lucky people that need people. When I hit my hard roads when the future is bleak, I have to look at my life and see where the patchwork has unravelled. I don't know that I would work that hard at my life if I didn't have the mood swings to manage. Rachel shared a wonderful phrase that I'll share with you: she is a woman who happens to have...as if it was one of a myriad of qualities. Which it is. I am a woman who happens to love pink. I am a woman who happens to love country music. I am a woman who happens to love the city of Pittsburgh. I am also a woman who happens to have bipolar disorder.

Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms

(Rascal Flatts, God Bless the Broken Road)

okay, this is for the birds...

and I don't mean you, Sis.

We changed the levels on one of my meds as I was feeling better yesterday and today was just blech!!

However, in an effort to find a cheery something, I'll tell you the good things:

• I was able to put Babs and my coffees on my tab at Tazza!
  
• I was able to spend time with her and limpet (I mean Terzo) which was really nice.
• By the grace of God (so not kidding) I saved $700 when the officer gave me a warning. Let's see, missed a stop sign, hadn't signed my registration--go check yours, I'll wait, expired insurance card in the car (that is worth $382 right there!) Oh, and I was going 45 on a residential 25 mph road. Do you think it was the tears that got him?
  
• Watched Prairie Home Companion the movie: if you are not feeling tip top, I would not recommend this flick--it is not a barrel of laughs, and like all Bob Altman pictures, it moved slower than molasses. Which I can do some days, but not today. I did finish watching it though, and it does not (as most DVDs do) go through the stupid menu music until you finally shut the DVD player off. So there's that going for it.
• Lost my hat last night, bought a new copy at Target this afternoon, along with Jen Weiner's Little Earthquakes. Have no idea what tomorrow will be like--the only other time I worked the polls was the primaries a few years ago and primaries don't really bring in the crowds if you know what I mean.
  
• People keep RSVPing for the birthday bonanza coming up--dear internets, I wish you could come too...
• Ugh.
  
• Ugh.
• Ugh.
• In other news, Ugh.
• ....UGH.

Oh, but my tickets to go to Myrtle Beach are here! Here's me, thinking they're e-tickets and when I came home there was a door tag from FedEx. Since I won't be home all week, I get to drive dahn to the Strip (yes, sir, that's what it's called) to pick them up. So I guess that's a silver lining in all this...ugh.

Oh, and another good thing: Studio 60 is on tonight!!

Guess I'll go see what's for dinner...

Dinner is mac and cheese--yum. And while my mom just got a call from Bill Clinton, all I got was Ed Rendell (our current gov'ner, up for re-election)--thank goodness for Caller ID. Hillary called a few weeks ago when I was sick.

Stuff, n'at (n@)

So...I fell asleep with every single light on in the garret last night and woke up at 5 am. At which point I took half of the dose of meds that I normally take at bedtime. (Thank God I write under a pseudonym--I mean not that taking meds is top secret, but I wouldn't want a future employer to be reading these boring details, and then there is the stigma of psych meds.)

Anyways. So, I tried to go back to sleep, but didn't really succeed. So I blogged (prolific today?) and walked and was of course late to work. Why is it that if you wake up super early you end up late? There was a Family Circus on that, back when I still thought Family Circus was funny.

So, I've been awake since 5 a.m., am running on half my bedtime dose of meds and it's October. Oh, and I'm supposed to cut down on pop (read=soda) because I have five (count 'em) cervical cavities. That's what they're called--they're on the gumline and basically there because my meds affect my saliva and I have developed a bad habit of a mid-afternoon Coke. TMI yet?

I will be going to bed early tonight!!

So, since I've caught up with the blogs I read and also with blogs I don't always read, I decided to read Badger's archives. She started in the summer of 2004 and let me tell you, while I like the blog at the top is the most recent for current reading, it is weird to read archives that way. So I've been scrolling backwards all afternoon. (Well, since about 4:15 when I came up with this brilliant keep me awake trick.) I think one of the Blogger things they're changing after beta is storing archives chronologically as opposed to backwards chronologically. Great idea.

But it's keeping me awake. And I am smiling and occasionally laughing softly under my breath, because it is a library, even if there are children running in the puppet area screaming at the top of their lungs. (Well, there were, earlier.)

In other news, Yahoo! Mail is also available in beta, and while I like some of the new features (I haven't switched, but I read the "what's new" thing-y) it is looking very much like Microsoft Outlook, which is what I use for work. I like variety, people. I like that Yahoo! mail looks different from Outlook and that Google looks different too. I like color! I do not like small print. But apparently if you don't like Yahoo! beta you can go back. (Until when?) So, I'm in a bit of a quandry, but nothing that will keep me awake at night. (Which I could have used last night so that I could have stayed on the straight and narrow with the meds and turned off all the lights.)

Yes, I have four email accounts: 2 gmail, one for work (all my list-servs go there to die until I have a lot of time to just delete them.) and one that is now attached to my Blogger beta account. I have one for work, which I seriously was getting so much spam but it seems to be under control and I've learned how to delete the Quarentine file, so we're much happier at Chez Sarah Louise. Then I have the Yahoo! account. Which I love. It is my main mail account and I really like it. I'd love to expound on that thought and be all like "you should switch" (which you should) but the lids are getting heavy and soon it will be time to read more of Badger's archives because I'm sitting here at the Children's Reference desk for another 45 minutes. I'm up to November 28 and I just realized that maybe that is her daughter's birthday if I could do the math (she was in labor for 80 hours total.) Which is also my birthday. When I'll be 35 (we've discussed this before....)

Okay, I need to keep reading. As you were.

October is the cruelest month, actually...

So today was my day to visit Bellefield Towers, home of major studies of bipolar disorder. There are only 17 places in the nation that conduct what is called STEP-BD. (Systematic Treatment Enhancement Program for Bipolar Disorder) I was in the STEP-BD program for a while but now am in a different study, Bipolar patients of Western Pennsylvania (or something like that.) As a study participant, I see my social worker and psychiatrist at least every two months at which time I get asked questions about my sleep schedule, any anxiety, depression, etc. At each visit, I get a stack of questionaires: five pages to fill out before I leave their office and if it is a "two month check-up visit" I get another stack of about thirty pages for which I get paid $80 after I finish. Which is peanuts compared to how much this disorder has cost me in my life financially and in general over the past nine years of diagnosis and the approximately nine years I was undiagnosed.

Today my psychiatrist was late, so my social worker and I chatted about life in general. I told her how for me October is the worst month--summer in general is bad, but then September ship shapes everyone into order. But October--nothing. I suppose if I was a kid, Hallowe'en would be something to think about, but at this point in my life it doesn't carry much of a charge in the thrilling department. When I finally got in to talk to my psychiatrist (whom I adore: he is this blond Northern Italian man who is always cheerful and professional) around 2:30 instead of 2:00, he asked me how I was and I told him. This is actually the best October so far--for me. So I think that's why for the first time since I've seen him, he's divulged that all his other patients are doing pretty poorly and that October is one of the highest suicide months, up there with January and February. I backed up and said, don't think I'm doing perfectly--I cry and laugh every day when I take my walk, this is how I get through the days without thinking about how to end it all. (Although I am rarely, if ever, truly suicidal.) We talked about increasing my meds during my monthly hormone week. (This I think will be a true breakthrough.)

So if it seems that I have been posting A LOT, it's partly because to me, writing is living, and right now, I need to be living. If I am going to be grouchy, withdrawn, sobbing, laughing too loud, this is going to be one of the months it will happen. If I seem to be caught up on things that happened a long time ago or reacting excessively to things that didn't even catch a blip on anyone else's radar screen, it's because I am extremely close to the edge.

This is one of my favorite quotes. I haven't found the source, but I will, soon.

"Come to the edge," he said.
They said, "We are afraid."
"Come to the edge," he said again.
They came.
He pushed them...and they flew. (Guillame Appollinaire)

There are a lot of you out there lurking. That's fine. But don't be surprised if I am checking my sitemeter (gotta figure out how to add it back, now that my blog has switched over to the dark--I mean--beta side) to try to figure out who you are.

Today Beth Moore talked to us about tests. How God tested Abraham. He knew how Abraham would act, that he would pass the test. But God had to test Abraham so that Abraham would know how he would act, and never forget the experience. And that Abraham's test had his name on it, just like all of our tests have our names on ours. Which means it isn't a general exam for everyone and it means that we will never have to take anyone else's test. Which are both reliefs and not. Don't we always think, "If I had her situation, I'm sure I'd deal with it better/differently?" But no, we have our own homework, and peeking over to Peggy Sue's paper isn't going to help us with our particular quadratic equation.

Sitting there, thinking about tests, I remembered how it took six times before I passed my driver's test: in Maryland they test you on three point turns and parallel parking. I was maneuvering a standard shift VW station wagon--and I don't think it had power steering.

I remembered how it took three tries before I successfully rode a bike, and that was in my early twenties.

And as Beth talked about the sacrifice Abraham was being asked to make (give up Isaac, his son named for laughter), I thought about the sacrifices made by my family: my grandmother's parents when Anna Van Dine went to Brazil in 1924 to teach English at an Engineering School. She married her first husband there. She returned to the U.S., divorced. My mother's lesson in this was that "her first husband wasn't a Christian." My grandfather also had a failed starter marriage. (His first wife wasn't a Christian either.) They had already met before they went off and married other people, so when my grandmother returned from Brazil, they were reunited by help of a mutual friend and eventually married each other when they were 36. (In the 1930s, this was REALLY old to get married, and NO ONE divorced!!) My mom was born when Grandma was 40. (While that happens all the time in 2006, in 1943, it was pretty unusual.) Then my mom grew up and went off to Tehran, Iran, to teach at a Presbyterian mission school. It was like while Beth talked about her own daughter going to England, I could see the pain of my grandmother and grandfather, letting their youngest daughter go halfway across the world, in the days before email. And then when my mom married my dad, how it meant we were all always gone. My grandparents didn't get to come to school plays. We visited them in the summers that we got Home Leave (I can't remember if that was every year.)

I always knew I sacrificed a lot as a child, being carted from country to country, powerless to the changes. But I had never really thought about what a sacrifice it was for my grandparents. My parents just did it. They had the choice, I don't know that they thought of it as "a sacrifice." There were sacrifices along the way, but my father's job required the travel, and my mother enjoyed the travel. I'm just rambling. I suppose these are thoughts that I'll come back to again and again, as I puzzle out my place in my family, in this world, in Pittsburgh.

Thanks for reading! I'm listening to Really Rosie performed by Carole King right now. And now I'll finish cataloguing it...

Sleep, who needs sleep?

So I just spent a half hour labeling a bunch of posts, changing up the template, etc. Be impressed. Very impressed. I think my two favorite categories are "hair agony" (love lorn) (which translates into any situation where I'm sick of being single, and not any particular love that was lorn.) and "hockey" which is synonymous with ice skating for purposes of this blog. I'll probably simplify, it was very organic and will refine itself but I now have to fall into bed. I have a busy day tomorrow:

• lunch with one of my favorite bloggers, Eileen.
• WBS (The Patriarchs continue. Sarah died, though. Abraham weeps and pays too much to buy a gravesite.)
• see the social worker and then the shrink. Fill out tons of paperwork. Remind me to not become bipolar in my next life...
• work until 9 pm.
  

(everything is chronologically listed except for dessert -- I mean lunch.)

I've been in hiding....

("Deliver Me," David Crowder Band)

Okay, I've been reading enough blogs this morning to see that it's time for one of "those" posts.

It's just easier to pretend that I'm not a single, going on 35 year old woman with Bipolar II.

I want people to think I'm normal (which I am!) but I forget that normal means BROKEN.

We all are.

Right now, I'm the healthy one. I tease Marian that right now it sucks to be my friend. Case in point:

• Relationships are breaking left and right. It's BAD. There are shipwrecks and we need a whole new shipyard!!
  

• und so wieta (and so on, in German.)
  

I'm doing fine, thanks! But since I know what it's like to be on the floor, crying for no reason, I feel a need to reach out to my friends. Yes, my name is Sarah Louise, and I'm a fixer.

These are the things I've been doing. (If you have friends that are going through tough times, take notes!!) And by the way, if you don't have friends that are going through tough times, you probably don't have friends. (I mean that in the best way possible, but us depressives are really good at acting.)

• Showing up. I call Marian and say, I'll be near your house, do you want me to stop by? Or more forceful: I have something for you (see next bullet), I can drop it off or come by with it on my dinner break at 4:30.
• Buying little gifts. This week I've purchased little books, a stuffed pig, and a pink magnet board (they didn't have anything with flamingos)
• Buying milk and OJ. Marian's car is broken and for a few days, so was her fridge. I brought her a can of cold ginger ale each time I visited.
  
• Sharing meals. This week I've driven 45 minutes to meet someone for dinner (meet halfway!), I've taken my dinner to Marian's, I've taken her to lunch. (Well, she paid, but I drove.)
  
• Commenting on blogs.
  
• Posting fun stuff. (We ALL need distractions.)
• Being honest with my dad. It's taken 15 years for me to stand up to him and say, "Hello, I am doing my best over here, and I'd like you to look at where I was 15 years ago and remember that, not recent history" (15 years ago: I was a straight A college freshman who wrote down every penny she spent and reported back to her investors, I mean parents, quarterly.)
• NOT BURNING OUT. This is key. For about three weeks, both Marian and I were down, and it was not pretty. Besides, we are two of the best young librarians at the darn place.
  
• Keeping in touch with bosses: especially my boss in Children's, who knows all about depression and sometimes I just flop on her chair and tell her all about Marian. I also keep Marian's boss updated, either by email or in person. This is key, because Jenny hasn't a clue on how to handle Marian. I'm teaching her.
• Watching movies. With Marian, by myself. Laughter is key. Laughter is one of the best medicines out there. And it's free!! And you don't need a prescription!!
  
• Going on walks. Which now that it is light enough outside, I'm going to do.
  

Go, and do likewise. Be well. Do good. And DON'T spill my coffee.

And, as I always say to my dad, Happy Valentine's Day!

Feel your boobies (seen on a tshirt promoting breast health)

PJ just posted about mammograms and I've never had one, but I had just received an email from a friend about (well, you read it.)

Hi~Maybe you used to respond to this site, but got away from it. Well, it's time to get back. Please tell ten friends to tell ten today! The Breast Cancer site is having trouble getting enough people to click on their site daily to meet their quota of donating at least one free mammogram a day to an underprivileged woman. It takes less than a minute to go to their site and click on "donating a mammogram" for free (pink window in the middle). This doesn't cost you a thing. Their corporate sponsors/advertisers use the number of daily visits to donate mammogram in exchange for advertising. Here's the web site! Pass it along to people you know.

http://www.thebreastcancersite.com/

AGAIN , PLEASE TELL 10 FRIENDS TO TELL 10 TODAY

Please do this. Thanks.

I cannot sleep - great joy is as restless as great sorrow.

(Fanny Burney)

Restless, yes, I'm restless.

Good news--the depression has broken through chemically--which means that yesterday I had an extra zing! of energy and thus was awake until 3 AM. Doing what? Not dishes, or cleaning...

Today's German lesson: aufräumen, "to straighten (room)"

No, instead I googled everyone I knew (including yours truly) and I played umpteem games of free cell and a few games of Bookworm. I also listened to the soundtrack to Wedding Bell Blues, which movie I have seem to have misplaced in my apartment, so I spent a good half hour ransacking the piles of my wreckage and then consoling myself that I can get a factory sealed copy cheap on Amazon.com. I printed the Amazon pages--I'm not ready to admit defeat, but WHERE IS IT?

So we took down the Zoloft a notch. Today I was exhausted, so I used that comp. time and left work two hours early.

I'm at the beginning and at the end of things: in a week I'll be back at Tuesday morning Women's Bible Study, doing Beth Moore's study on the Patriarchs, which means homework every night. The following week, I start a writing class on "The Novel" to prepare for applying to the MFA program at Carlow College University. My goal is to start said program in June. Ack!

So right now I'm in between: not reading anything cataclysmic, not really making progress on stuff around the apartment. I started reading a fluff teen romance on Tuesday and finished it today at dinner.

But I have been thinking about a lot of things, and I've made a few decisions:

• The surgery I've been making a fuss about: is ELECTIVE. And I don't want to elect to take it this fall, just as I'm coming off the depression. Day Two this cycle wasn't as bad as usual, so I want to watch this and do more research.
• The decision to move forward about the MFA--this is huge.

The rest, I guess, aren't really decisions, but there is a lot to think about: how much I love my neighborhood, my job, and more than my job, my place of work. How I see things changing philosophically, per se, but I sure want to be in this particular geography for a long time.

Today was the funeral mass for Mayor O'Connor. I made a "date" with Mini, the little Italian lady that lives across the street. I knew I wanted to watch it, I knew she'd be watching it, and I figured, why not watch it together? I made her day, and she made mine. It was a beautiful mass, and they played two of my favorite Catholic songs, "On Eagle's Wings" and I've already forgotten the title of the other one. But it was neat to be sitting in Mini's living room as we mumbled along with the celebrants and congregants gathered at St. Paul's Cathedral. How cool, too, that the mayor's son was one of the officiating priests? He gave the homily.

*************

Just got off the phone with Em. She and I are in similar places--there's stuff going on that's too big to talk about so we're just talking philosophy. I wonder at her--she seems to be so strong in her faith and then she surprises me with her fears, the ones she won't name. And all of a sudden I'm the strong one. (Although, I'll admit I'm quaking in my shoes.) My early morning walks are what keep me grounded. They are right now perhaps the only thing that keeps me sane. This website has been an inspiration: I print out the prayers and take them with me on my walks.

I'm laying a few fields fallow, I guess, as I prepare for a rigorous autumn schedule. So yes, I'm restless, waiting, for what I know not...

Over time, I have become more comfortable with mystery rather than certainty. (Phillip Yancey)

This was one of those wrestling with God weeks. A friend said to me, well, Jacob didn't give up (refererring to the dream where Jacob wrestled with God and got a new name, Israel, and a limp.)

Literature on bi-polar says that a regular schedule is what will keep you in check (read: healthy, out of the hospital, etc.). Literature on first borns (me) and only borns (I was an only until 10) say that I should be organized, using a Palm Pilot, and spoiled. Well, guess what, I'm un-boxable. I have seasons where I keep a regular schedule (if you can call it that) but I am pretty free-form and my doctors are always pleased at how healthy I am. I have a Palm Pilot (or is it a Pocket PC) that I used to play the games. I'll probably sell it, as soon as I locate it in my garret and get my ducks in a row. Literature on Global Nomads says that we either wander for the rest of our lives or find a place and stay put. Yes, I have found my stay put. I do not ever want to leave my garret. (Well, not never, but I do not want to have to move!) I love Pittsburgh and am forever discovering new things to do, new people to befriend.

And I love the old (make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.) I mourn the loss of old friends but work hard at making my new ones into faux and real antiques. Change has been the currency of my life, and I want stability! I've done my globe trotting--I want to go back to the places I've been before and see them again. Yesterday I found a picture of Old Town Warsaw, Poland (Stare Miasto) which was rebuilt after WWII. (So it's really new, based on the old.) I put it on the wall by my desk at work, so I can look at it. Places sometimes mean more to me than people--I wonder if Le Petit Trianon is still there, a French restaurant where my mother and I would go for crepes in the middle of the afternoon. I long to re-visit the sculpture museum, where they had a sculpture of three pregnant women. Oh, and a Rodin.

There are places I'll remember, all my life, though some have changed... I think of Paul McCartney, now 64, and not having someone to love him like in the song (will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?).

Right now I'm in that sweet place. It comes and goes, but it's that place where I have a smile lightly dancing on my lips. This week, contributing to the sweet place:

• Grocery shopping with Babs and Terzo. She knows I rarely say no. And she found individual yogurts--6 oz! (They used to be 8 oz, at the same price but this is about sweet moments...)
• Marzipan with chocolate for breakfast (due to Babs recommendation.)
• Second dinner and beer at the Sharp Edge with Babs, last night. Oh, it is so good to have friends!
• Listening to Back when we were grownups (Anne Tyler), read by Blair Brown. (need I say more?)
• Reading blogs: Telfair is moving, bb is traveling, and Babs is reading more books than humanly possible. Oh, and Erin is finding Play Doh in her car!

This was the verse that hit me this morning (Yes, I've gotten back to reading the Bible, mornings.)

Proverbs 25:2 It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of [queens].

(I changed kings to queens. It's my blog, I get to do that!)

Because God is clearly concealing a whole heck of a lot from me these days. But he is also reavealing to me that I am such a broken vessel, in need of grace and glue. I thank all y'all who have donated your Elmer's moments to me, whether you knew it or not.

Whose am I? And what is Jesus doing? (Thoughts for a rainy Pittsburgh morning)

This morning, as I sat in my car, looking at the abandoned tennis court, rain pitter patting and then pouring down and then pitter patting and then pouring...I discovered that I had left my walkman at home. So I read about the eighth mark of New Monasticism: Communities of Celibates and Marrieds--that community is a family, whether it is made up of blood ties or not.

And it occurred to me that right now, the main relationships I'm in are without confusion of face, at this blessed moment. I know whose I am. I am God's child. I am Jesus' follower. I am my daddy's #1 daughter. I am friend of Babs, Joke, and Erin (among others). Emily loves me. So does Pete. I'm not anyone's girlfriend, wife, or mother. And that's okay. Although, when I wrote words to that effect in the journal I found in my bag, I wept.

And it reminded me of Gerard Manley Hopkins' words: "Margaret, are you grieving/Over Goldengrove unleaving?" and the last verse: "It is the blight man was born for,/It is Margaret you mourn for." Because I wasn't weeping for Darfur, or the lack of good leadership in our nation's high offices. I wasn't weeping for my abandoned tennis court. I wasn't weeping for anyone but ME. Me, the one that doesn't have a ring. Me, the one who doesn't have a child. Me, the one who shares her bed with Marvin, the teddy bear, who ends up on the floor every morning.

The sermon at church last night was on Mark 6 and looking deeply at our Christology. Do we believe that Jesus is here, now? Or are we looking at him as a good teacher to emulate, someone who lived 2000 years ago (What would Jesus Do?). Instead, we should be asking, what is Jesus doing, now. That Jesus is saying to us, "Get out of the way, FOLLOW MY LEAD." We are not Jesus' hands, feet, body. We are his FOLLOWERS. I know it will take probably all week for this concept to sink into my thick head...and so, yes, we need to examine what defines us as followers. But we must rely on HIM. He is the one that starts the change in us. HE chose US.

The call to worship was verses from various psalms and included this one: Lead me to a rock that is higher than myself. Oh the humanity. Because some moments I'd rather just settle in the valley with a nice man and have a few bambinos of my own. But as Lauren Winner says, "If you are single, then you're called to be single." (I might have paraphrased her words a little.)

I feel like I'm taking dance lessons, or preparing for an elaborate trip. Both work with the analogy of one step forward, two steps back.

John talked about how in Mark 6, when Jesus told the disciples to go, he told them to go unprepared. Take your shoes. Take the shirt on your back. (The words written between the lines are these: rely on the people you will be meeting and ministering to. Rely on THEIR hospitality.) I wasn't able to sit still--the chairs my friends chose were uncomfortable, so I spent the second half of the sermon pacing back and forth in the back of the Great Hall. John said, Jesus did not say, fill up your truck with 2 by 4s. Max out your account at Home Depot, because these people need what you can offer. Nope. Jesus went against the Boy and Girl Scout oaths: Be prepared.

Which speaks to me in volumes. I am a ragamuffin of the nth degree. I could write a volume on this. But here's the thing: here's what puts Christianity in a corner, away from the other thoughts of Life: We are supposed to be broken! In our brokenness, we participate in His ministry. I am very unschooled in other thoughts, but I think Buddhism talks a lot about suffering. But I don't think it has the joy in suffering that Christianity does. 2 Corinthians 4:7 says: "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." (NIV) Our suffering points us back to Him, the one who made us, the one who suffered far beyond what we will ever suffer or comprehend.

It is my brokenness that allows me to be a friend, because I can participate in brokenness--I (have) experience(d) great loss, depression, bipolar disorder, etc.

Change is the life of the pilgrim.

Pray that there will be more workers for the harvest, NOT work the harvest. In returning and rest you will be saved, NOT in doing. Of course, I need to practice what I preach, nothing new there.

On my wall is something I try to attain and forever fall short: Pray More, Do less. I am not there yet.

But if I can say this to others, I can say it to myself, "Don't try to get ahead of Him. It's basically how people burn out."

I'm posting this now, because I have to go meet Babs and Terzo for coffee. And because these thoughts are as unfinished in my mind as they will appear on the screen. I welcome your thoughts.

The update post and some thoughts about friendship (it's the perfect blendship)

The title's clickable. I haven't figured out the code (Babs?) on that yet. You might get a lovely pop-up, and for that I'm sorry, but hey, it's the Internet, folks. It's a html-java jungle out there.

I woke up this morning after having the same dream twice. It was the cinematic ending of a book (in my dream, cuz in real life I've never read him) by Don DeLillo, called The Road. Oh, it was a dream, it would be too complex to explain. Anyways, that's not what got me off the sofa and to the keyboard right away.

Oh, you want the update?

Wait a second, or scroll down.

My friends are the most important thing to me. Why? Because, honey, they were all I had for a long time. I went off to college and my folks went to Poland. Hello? As in six time zones away, phone calls that cost a dollar a minute, and me, sitting in the hall at the phone booth (the room phones didn't work for international calls) praying I'd get through. We're talking I'd get the message, "I'm sorry, all circuits are full. Please try your call later." Before and after I became a Christian, I just prayed. "Please God, this time!" I didn't pay attention to the polite lady with her "I'm sorry"'s. I dialed again. And again. And again. And sometimes, after dialing eighteen times, I'd get through. I talked to my folks once a week with a short laundry list of business items. So my friends, through the magic of the phone in my room or the postal service (Lorelei and I wrote so often that we had to number our letters--sometimes we'd send 3 in one day) were my lifeline. For the first semester at least, I had mail EVERY SINGLE DAY. God bless Sir Roland Hill (my ancestor, the one who thought up the penny postage stamp.)

I didn't have a boyfriend. I didn't have college friends until my second semester freshman year. I couldn't go home for laundry. My high school friends were it. They kept me afloat, literally. Both of them are married now, and with one or two children. We write less frequently, and for a while, used the phone only for birthdays. Then I got a cell phone. You know, free long distance? Oh, baby! I was talking to Boston on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.... and of course, as with all my married-with-children friends, the phone calls were full of "Come inside" or "Can you see I'm on the phone?" etc. Which I'm totally fine with. Because if the kids come with that package, I'd rather have that than have no package.

I'm still single (and pretty happy with it, for the moment). But I still need my friends, although my parents and I are closer now (we talk at least four times a week). Because in the meantime, I developed this mental health issue that is sometimes scary. And it helps to talk about life. (Enter friends.) But in the meantime, most of my girlfriends are married. I had a conversation with one of them yesterday, another Sally (how can I keep them all straight?). She said, "You know, I don't have any high school friends anymore. I mean, they live near here, but we don't keep in touch. And our college friends have reunions every once in a while, but Joe and I rarely go." Which is why I woke up with this urge to write. It's no sense calling up Sally and saying, "Hello, you got married right out of college, so you've always had Joe, plus the kids, and you live your marriage out in the same neighborhood where you went to high school."

Hey, that is wonderful. But I'm Carrie. (The single part, the girlfriends part. I haven't had a kissing boyfriend in eight years, so don't get me started.) I don't have the house, the husband, the 2.5 children. I respect the h-e-double hockey sticks out of anyone that does. I just haven't met anyone yet that I wanted to spend my life with, besides my girlfriends.

In my frantic search on Sunday to find the poem (do a search on my blog search for List Friday--it's not up anymore b/c it was tres personal), I found an old card from Lorelei. It said, "I'm glad you're a forever friend." We haven't spoken since I got back from my trip to New England. I've sent her a few emails, but that's our speed right now. I think she sometimes reads this. Maybe I'll email it to her. It is always a red letter day in the Sarah Louise household when I get a letter in her penmanship that has LKM in the return address area. (Yes, she uses her initials.)

In the meantime, I'm mourning the loss of Boston. I had no idea I would be so homesick while at the PLA conference, translating into probably one of the worst weeks I've ever had, and it had to happen while I was visiting my other high school friend. Somethings you can't control. I refuse to live in the "well, if only I had..." because that week was drenched in prayer. It was also drenched in my own brokenness. Which was the straw that broke the friendship. Which I'm mourning the loss. (Did I split an infinitive there?)

It's gonna take some time. Carole King can sure write some songs: "It's gonna take some time, this time/To get myself in shape/I really fell out of line this time/I really missed the gate/The birds on the telephone line (next time)/Are crying out to me (next time)/And I won't be so blind next time/And I'll find some harmony." (Using italics reminds me I still haven't blogged about Patricia Machlachlan. I also have a post on the letter P in the works.)

Oh, you want the update? Okay, so my gyn. called me yesterday and said I have a small cyst (2 cm), which probably will resolve itself. (We're so cyst-y, women are!) If I want to go ahead right away with the lacroscopic deal, I can. Or I can wait 6-8 weeks and get another sonogram (my bladder is giving me the silent treatment) and THEN decide if I want to do the lacroscopic deal. Oh yes. I like that. If we have the luxury to take this slow, let's take it slow. Meantime, I can find out how much the lacroscopic deal costs and if my insurance covers it. Oh, and I can stop taking the contraceptives. YAY! Because frankly, I am sick and tired of breakthrough bleeding. (Of course, I would have liked to have had that conversation BEFORE I spent $35 on the Seasonale pack, but hey, it upped my Fuel Perks.) I've started taking fish oil again (it's good for so many things, one of them being cramps) and I'm incorporating more veggies into my life. Yes, it's time that Sarah Louise takes control of what goes in her mouth--less Wendy's, more Whole Foods.

And because when I googled Fuel Perks, this wikipedia article came up, a little Giant Iggle history.

Because it takes a giant to make life simple...

I'll be here all week. Oh, and I'll be commenting on that post that says you don't have to post every day. No, I do. I'm a writer. Some day I'll be working on the novel and maybe I'll stop blogging or blog less frequently, but right now, yes, I have to post every day. I don't care if I'm clogging the blogosphere. (More on that later. My bladder gave up on the silent treatment.)

What it's like, just in case anyone wants to know

So you've already surmised, if you've been here awhile, that I do not have *one thing* that I write about. I would really get too bored.

Right now, I cannot concentrate at work. Nothing is working, I'm getting error messages, and people who could help me aren't around. So, I thought I'd craft a quick post.

Depression sucks. It's like having cotton in your brain. You can't concentrate, you want to cry, you want to eat everything or nothing. There is a heaviness, and sometimes actual physical pain. You don't want to do anything, like get out of bed. Even brushing your teeth seems like too much of an effort. Laundry piles up, junk mail piles up, dishes pile up.

Mania feels good, but if it goes unchecked, it breeds depression (see above.)
Mania feels like racing thoughts, you can't concentrate because every thing reminds you of something else and they're all good ideas, no, great ideas, ideas that could win you the Nobel Prize. You can't sleep, you don't want to! You don't sleep, and you aren't tired. Everything is fast fast fast. You talk loud, dress loud, act loud. Sometimes you get a lot done. Sometimes you just pretend to get a lot done.

Right now I'm not in either of these, which is why I can write about it lucidly. I am in a funk, but it's situational, which means my funk is based on situations in my life, not a chemical inbalance.

People that experience mental issues have an amazing tool that often backfires: it's called masking. (Well, that's what I call it.) It's that plastic smile when your world is crashing beneath your feet and the light at the end of the tunnel is really a train ready to maul you. It's what keeps people from asking for help because you'll feel better next week until next week becomes next month and next month...I masked my bipolar for about eight years before it became so out of control that I had to be "airlifted" to my parent's house. So I left Pittsburgh and recovered for three years.

Anyone that tells you "suck it up," or "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" has never really been depressed. That feeling you get when your dog dies is not depression. That feeling when you realize you are out of cash and payday is two weeks from now is not depression. Depression is when for no reason you cannot pull it together. There is no shame in asking for help. This is when you will find out who your real friends are. And this is when all sorts of people will come out of the woodwork and you'll realize that more people than you know are taking Zoloft, Ativan, Wellbutrin, and/or Prozac.

Cling to what you love. If you love pink flamingos, surround yourself with them. Find a book that can take you to another time and place. Find something that can make you laugh. Find someone that will give you hugs. Find more than one person that will give you hugs. Someone that will hold you as you sob on their shoulder, or into their stomach, depending on their height.

I once described having Bipolar to my dad sort of like having an email account. When you're depressed, everything piles up, in your inbox, in your spam box, and you couldn't care less, you don't even open anything. Or nothing is happening. It doesn't matter how many times you hit the "check mail" button, nothing is coming through. But when you're manic, suddenly, all the messages come through, and everything is important. (The analogy made more sense to me before...)

And then one day, the meds kick in, and your therapist gets what you've been whining about, and the sun shines, and you feel normal. It happens. I promise. I've been there, and I know these things.

So take a walk. It may not work, so take one tomorrow too. Keep taking them. One summer I took a walk every morning and NOTHING happened. Except that my mother wouldn't talk to me until I'd at least tried to take a walk. That was the year I stopped being just a Children's Librarian and split my hours to also become a Cataloguing Librarian. It is also the year I took five weeks off and then three months...and then worked half time until I finally felt better.

Oh, look, our time is up. (Don't you hate that?) Back to the salt mines...

"We'll be friends forever, won't we, Pooh?" asked Piglet.

"Even longer," answered Pooh. (AA Milne)

Well folks, I had plans for a nice long post detailing stuff and things, but it's already almost 8 and I have to be at the UP at 8:30. So, quickly:

• Thanks to all for wishing me well re: health. No, I have no updates (not even from the gyn)except to say I still have the cough, and um *other* issues. Email me if you really want to know. Tomorrow I really am resting (as opposed to last Sunday, where I told you I was gonna and ended up spending the day in whirlwind social activity.)
• Blogger will be out at 8:43 PST. Read more here. Ugh.

Last night I went to a goodbye party for a friend who will still be in town til July 17. So this was just the first goodbye. But I will miss him. He and his wife are among the first friends I got to know when I came back to Pittsburgh for grad school. We were all a part of a Bible Study that in the past 4 years has morphed into at least two other Bible Studies. At least three of the men who were single when we started are now married. At least one of the girls is now dating. It took me two episodes of Friends, one episode of Frasier, and a Seinfeld stand-up joke to finally get my rear in gear to get ready. Yes, I dreaded this get-together. Why?

Hello, no rings here. Oh, and did I mention that there's at least one baby? Most of these folks still attend Bellefield, so I don't see them regularly, since I attend the Open Door. They are lovely people. They are even, my friends. But it felt a little bit like the anxiety one might get going to a school reunion. I got the best compliment from Allie: "Your hair looks great long. I saw you the other day across the room and I was stunned at how striking you looked." WOW. Tell me more!

I got lost on the way over there, in part because Pittsburgh is that way. You think you know where you're going and oops! you took one wrong turn and you're on the other side of the river. (Well, not quite, but almost!) I hadn't been to Greenfield in at least a year and I thought, oh, I'll remember when I get there, but clearly I did not. What was interesting was the route I took (before I got lost) was

• past a place I used to go swing dancing,
• a place I used to live (which brought back memories of Sweet William, whistling on the way home from a party.) (We had a fight, I left early, and when I heard his whistle outside my window, I went down to make-up.) Oh, Sweet William. But he wasn't the one for me. But he was a really nice guy. Ah, wistfulness.
• past the apartment building where two women lived that were in a singles/grad students group that lasted about a year, in the mid 90s. I remember coveting their highrise--I've never lived in a highrise except in college and I have always wanted to.

So it was a trip down memory lane and then that pit feeling of crap, I am so lost!! My dear friend Kelly also lives in Greenfield. Our relationship is mainly my cell to her home phone, exchanging prayer requests and updates on our health. Maybe I'll be able to connect with her more this summer. Anyways, she had books I'd lent her at least a year ago, and every time she saw me, she told me "They're sitting on my dresser." She and her kids were walking/riding bikes on the road below where the party was, so I left the party and went to get my books. Oh it is so good to have friends. She knows me on a more daily basis than the folks at the party, so she was able to calm my anxiety. Plus, we got two hugs in--hugs are always the best!

And....it's like the pay phone after your quarter is gone, "Your time is up." Off to wash the hair, etc. and then the UP for the OD, and then to work.

I dream of a blissfully quiet Sunday...

Cue the theme to "Golden Girls" and a list of the books I scored at the yard sale

A girl can never have too many shoes or too many friends. I have been saved by my friends this week:

• spending Monday morning with Babs and offspring. We went to look at a lovely table which she bought.
• Emily gave me advice Sunday morning on smiling at guys: it's good! Don't analyse it! Don't think it to death!
• Sally coached me through not spazzing out about the diagnosis I don't yet have of the sonogram. Vickee emailed me on the same subject. I vented to both. (Did you know that women create endorphins when they vent? Now, all we need is for men to create them by listening...) (Dreaming, I know.)
• and yes, you can be friends with organizations. My two favorites: the Open Door (usually listed in this blog as OD), my church, and the Union Project (the building that houses the OD, the new Union Station Cafe, and other lovely things.) (often referred to as the UP.) (NOTE: they are both now on my links, see right, under "Local Shoes.")
• Why I love the OD: It's the bestest church I've ever belonged to. It just is. I really like the people, the music, and well...just I like it. I even love it.
  
• Why I love the UP: The new cafe--love the samwiches, love the staff. The events they hold: love the First Fridays, loved the Rent party. The building and the beauty of it: I could wax forever on this.
  

The yard sale update: (sorry no links and some of the authors aren't mentioned. I'm making ya work for this one--I got a reprieve to go into work a little late today so I'm writing this on the fly. Maybe I'll update it and link it later...)

The HP yard sale was Sunday, as I mentioned earlier. Well, the UP had a table and everyone loves the UP, so they donated a lot of stuff. Well, a lot of it didn't sell. Five boxes of books, baby! I was helping them, because the books I took were books they didn't have to cart off to Goodwill.

Read em and weep: (some I'd never pay money for, but for FREE, hey, why not.)

Penguin Classic version of Persuasion (this would make 3 copies in the collection?). This one has a "memoir of Jane Austen" in the back.

The Millionaire Next Door: This was a pretty popular book years back when I worked for Fox Books. Hey, maybe I could learn a thing or two.

Barn Blind, by Jane Smiley. (her 1st novel) As Duplicate Keys, another JS book is one of my top 5 novels (at least in today's brain), thought I'd give this one a whirl.

Crossing to Safety, a wonderful book that I discovered after I wrote a paper in college on a different book by the author. (Wallace Stegner). About two couples and how their friendships were wonderful--I probably already have a copy, but I could give this as a gift! It is really a very life affirming book. I'd say more if I remembered more--its been years since I read it.

Possession (Babs talks so much bout it)

The Way men act (copy #2) Elinor Lipman. I mean, Lipman seems to be on a downward cycle (see Bab's recent post on books) so we might as well hoard her good ones. This was not stellar, but it's readable. I've read it twice, as opposed to other Lipman's that I've read thrice at least (Then She Found me, the first comic book about adoption I'd ever read. Y'know they're all always so weepy either from the mother's or daughter's point of view. This one will make you laugh out loud.)

Complete Idiot's GT Personal Finance in your 20s and 30s. Hey, I'm not an idiot, but I'm neither a millionaire. Just so long as it doesn't tell me to make all my coffee at home.

My legendary girlfriend (I read another book by this guy, Mr. Committment) Brit guy-lit. (as opposed to chick lit. You can probably rhyme your way to another name for this phenomenon of guys writing light romance novels.)

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil: Never read it, never really felt the need, but it's a hardcover in good condition. Vacation reading?

The Broke Diaries (do you see the money theme repeating itself?)

Medieval Lives I know very little about ze mittel ages, so why not?

The letters of Abelard and Heloise I've heard about this, so why not.

I also scored some roosters which Bep will love as gifts eventually (you'd like pictures, wouldn't you, but I'm not playing that game, mateys!) Oh, and a picnic set that has a cutting board!

Author's note: Gotta love how Blogger keeps track of when you CREATED the post. Changing the date stamp to when I PUBLISHED it. And please excuse the spelling mistakes. Thank you for overlooking my misuse of it's/its in Monday's post. (In the same sentence, even!)

Sarah Louise goes for a sonogram...

Update: I won't know the results until like Friday, so rest easy. And apparently what we're looking for may not show up on a sonogram, which means we have to go for the lacroscopic deal. I will keep yins updated. Pinky swear.

There are some things I will not blog, so don't worry, this is PG. But I did take some nice pictures of the flowers outside the hospital, since my mantra is SLOW DOWN. So I actually smelled a rose.


Irises, aren't they nice?

The rose I smelled.
The rosebush from whence the rose I smelled came.

The player piano in the lobby. Can you see that some of the keys are pressed down? It's playing on its own.
Maybe you can tell a little better in this picture.


The fun parts:

• My driver's side window is still broken (to be fixed tomorrow, for a pretty penny), so to push the button to get the thing to open the gate for me to get in the parking lot, here's the routine: put the car in park, put on the parking brake, get out of the car, push the button. Puh-leeze!
• I get to registration, wait for ten minutes, only to find out I was pre-registered by phone and could have just walked down to the imaging lab first thing. My appointment was for 4:15 and I get to the lab at 4:30. Lovely. Then I sit and wait for them to call my name, they give me a lovely bracelet. So attractive, and plastic. There's your age, for all who can do quick math with your birthday.
• (Not that I care--I'm 34 1/2. Yes, I have six months to get used to the idea of being thirty five.) (Gah!)
• I go up to the waiting room for the imaging lab (yes, it's the next level of inner sanctus) where there is a sign that says sit here and someone will come get you. But it seems a completely un-manned (or woman-ed) room. There *are* two windows, but they both have mini-blinds. I look through one set and see offices, the other set is too tight to see through. (One set is beige, the other maroon...is this code?) Then there's a door that says "No entrance--authorized personnel only" and there's a woman sitting in there, reading a magazine. Another waiting room? I glumly read the sign that says "If you've been waiting for more than 15 minutes, alert personnel." Who would I alert? There aren't even any courtesy phones, and while there is a "patient concerns" phone number on the wall, I'm not technically supposed to even have my cell phone on at this point, much less use it.
• So I read Oprah's February, the one that says it will take your romance life in one month from rocky to rocking. Oh, they lie like a snake on the floor. The only slightly helpful article is about a program run by a guy in Seattle, I think. But it's like a profile you'd find in the local section of the newspaper, not an advice article for a women's magazine. I think I actually bought this issue of Oprah. Never again. And besides, does she have to be on the cover EVERY month? (Apologies to all y'all Oprah lovers. I just don't see the appeal.)
• Finally, some one comes and gets me, calling me by my formal name, the one only doctors use. Yes, in my real life, I am an -ie, y or i. (Cindy, Vicki, Lizzy.) But to doctors, I am always my formal name. (Cynthia, Victoria, Elizabeth.) This does not apply to therapists. Although I think my psychiatrist uses my formal name. I digress.
• (this part we skip.)
• Finally, I get to pee. (Part of the sonogram process is the kind the opposite of the colonoscopy--instead of expelling everything, you're supposed to hold 32 oz of water in your bladder for two hours. Lovely.)
• (this part we skip.)
• Back into street clothes, back to the elevator, back outside, back to the car. I'm free--no, I turned out of the hospital in the wrong direction. On a country road. I turn around in a cul-de-sac and go on my merry way.
• Oh, I bought the Newsweek that rebutts their 1986 article about women and marriage. Apparently, the line "more likely to get abducted by terrorists" was a joke that no one got. The author says, yes, I wrote it, the most irresponsible line in all of journalism. Well, no need to boast, now.
  
• I treat myself to a dinner at Abate. I eat too much.

The end. Oh, and I didn't know until today (I talked to the nurse at the gyn) that fibroids are different from endomitriosis. I couldn't tell you what the difference is, but I'm sure if you're really curious, you could go to Ask.com or Google.