Cranky Fibro Girl

Harnessing the healing power of snark

This Is My Brain…

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Do you remember this commercial from the 80’s?

Picture of an egg: “This is your brain.”

Picture of an egg frying in a pan: “This is your brain on drugs.”

Well, I’m feeling a real affinity for that commercial this morning. and I’m thinking that I could revive that ad campaign by making my own, updated version of that commercial. Only mine would not be about substance abuse. Mine would say, “This is my brain after four days of an extremely inflamed shoulder muscle, which was then poked with what felt like really sharp sticks, but was actually a licensed health care professional using medically approved health care tools.” Catchy, huh?

The purpose of my commercial would be to illustrate the process my mind undergoes as it searches for the perfect, most articulate, most precise method of utilizing swear words to describe this particular pain. (Hey, I never said my commercial would have any deep or meaningful purpose.)

Step 1: I mentally inventory all the “bad” words I know, often trying them out in a Fill-In-The-Blank, Complete The Following Sentence With The Best Word sort of situation.

For example, “_____, my shoulder hurts!” Or, “My shoulder hurts like_____!” (This is where all my years as a language teacher really come in handy.)

Step 2: Once I’ve settled on the perfect word I play around with it a bit, to see if there are any ways that I can embellish it.

For example, Can I string it out by adding extra syllables? Can I stress it in a different way? Can I pronounce it in a funny accent?

Step 3: Next I look for a catchy theme song or a kicky advertising jingle, in order to set my words to music.

I don’t need to provide an example here, because I know that if you’re reading this post, you’re already experimenting with this process for yourself.

Step 4: Generally by this time the pain meds have begun to kick in, so my song drifts down to the level of a mantra, or a tribal chant.

For example, “BUM, bum, bum, bum, BUM, bum, bum, bum, BU-um, BUM.”

I’m not really sure what happens next because, if all has gone according to plan, at this point I am finally asleep. Or, at the very least, I am enjoying the benefits of a heavily medicated stupor, cradled by this gentle lullaby: “BUM, bum, bum, bum, BUM, bum, bum, bum, BU-um, BUM.”

Let’s Get Physical

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So we had a little excitement here this morning, when my husband called me into the bathroom to show me how one of his eyes was bleeding.

As I believe I’ve mentioned before, normally in our marriage my husband is The Person In Charge Of Being Calm, and I am The Person Who Gets To Freak Out. But clearly that arrangement wasn’t going to work for us today. So I dug down deep inside myself, and was able to come up with a tiny reservoir of calm. In this way I followed the wonderful example of my mother who, I believe, developed her inner reservoir of calm as a result of Raising A Son.

My brother is a chemist, and one of the things that makes him such an excellent scientist is his curious, inquisitive mind. However, what that meant for him as a child was that he was totally unafraid to try anything. And who had to be there to deal with the results? My mom.

When my brother decided that it would be really cool to have a pet snake, who was in charge of feeding the snake and cleaning out its cage? My mom. When he decided to start lifting weights and built his own personal gym in our attic, who was his spotter? My mom. When he needed to be taken to the emergency room so many times that we joked that he had his own frequent visitor card, who was always there to play Florence Nightingale? My mom.

In retrospect, despite all of his various injuries my brother might actually have been an easier child to deal with than I was. All of his stuff was pretty straightforward-blood, bruises, and broken bones. I, however, was the child who, at age seven, asked my mother to explain to me how it was that a person could have a body that would die, but also have a soul that would live forever. I was also the child who came to her in tears at age twelve, caught up in an existential crisis triggered by the fact that I had just realized that I was powerless to stop the passage of time. So in comparison, dealing with a child who had a concussion after falling off a bike without a helmet on might actually have been a refreshing change.

But for me, having to deal with any kind of physical problem is always a challenge. I think it’s because I just forget about my body until something hurts really badly. Then I am always surprised to remember that I am, in fact, a physical being, and not just a giant disembodied mind, moving through the world and pondering The Meaning Of Life.

So that was my other problem today. In addition to just being really squeamish, I was also experiencing a burning arm agony so intense that all of my waking moments were spent fantasizing about hurling my body into something extremely sharp, like a jagged pane of glass or a harpoon, in a desperate attempt to relieve the pain.

Happily this did not prove necessary, and after visits to our respective doctors my husband and I are convalescing at home, waiting for the pizza guy to deliver our generation’s comfort food, and receiving the well-wishes of our three cats.

“I heard you were sick, so I threw up this hairball just for you.”

“In sympathy for your illness, I stole this place mat from the porch and chewed it into submission.”

“I’m so sorry you don’t feel well: Here’s my ass.”

Florence Nightingale’s got nothing on them.

Random Access Memory

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I’ve been very conscious of my mind lately, as I have been making a concerted effort to quiet down the mental chatter that is frequently taking place in my head. So this weekend after much breathing, visualizing, and cognitive retraining I was able to connect with a place of intense inner stillness and quietness.

And what did I encounter in this amazing place of clarity? A deep insight into the mystery of life? A powerful connection with the Divine? Actually, yes. But in the middle of those incredible experiences, somehow there was also still room for the following thought:

“Whatever it is I think I see, becomes a Tootsie Roll to me.”

So what that says to me is that apparently, I will never truly understand how the mind works, no matter how much I may study it.

For example, why is it that I often have trouble remembering simple things like my age and my phone number, yet I can recall almost the entire sign language alphabet which I learned in 1977 when I was in kindergarten?

And it’s not just my mind I don’t understand, either.

This weekend my husband and I were visiting some friends, one of whom was telling us about her brother’s recent wedding. She began by describing how her brother called her on a Thursday to tell her that he was getting married that following Monday. So she and her mother decided to fly out and help with the preparations. After running around all weekend they finally made it to the day of the wedding, and she and her mom were with the bride-to-be as she was getting her hair done for the ceremony.

Our friend: “So, she finally found someone to do her hair. He was a little person. You know, that’s what you’re supposed to call midgets now.”
Us: “Huh. That’s different.”
Our friend: “Yeah, so as he was doing her hair and riding around on his scooter…”
Us: (interrupting with snorts of laughter)
Us: “What?! He was riding a scooter?!”
Our Friend: “Well, yeah, because he couldn’t walk. So, anyway, I had to be his assistant and hand him his tools because his partner had to go out.”
Us: (the snorts have become shouts now)
Us: “What?! He was a gay midget hairdresser?”
Our Friend: “Yeah. But his partner isn’t a midget. He’s a regular-sized person.”

At this point further conversation became impossible, because my husband was laughing so hard that he was crying, and I was laughing so hard that I fell off of their couch and onto their living room floor.

But believe it or not, that was not the funniest part of this story. The funniest part was the fact that our friend told us this story with absolutely no reaction whatsoever. She. Never. Laughed. Once. And she honestly did not understand why we were in hysterics. She told the story in a tone of voice that suggested that gay, scooter-riding, hair-dressing midgets are a time-honored, traditional part of everyone’s nuptial experience.

I don’t really have anything more to add to this story, which I truly believe was a gift from the humor heavens. So to close, I will share with you the additional mental gem I received during my weekend of quiet contemplation:

“Pass, pass, pass, pass the Old El Paso.”

It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

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No, I don’t mean Christmas. I am talking about The Day That Daylight Savings Time Finally Ends.

I passionately love this day, and each year I prepare for its coming with the same fervor and anticipation usually reserved for more far-reaching events, like, say, the coronation of a new king or queen, or the discovery of a miraculous wonder drug.

I’ve not met many other people who share the intense happiness I feel when this day finally arrives. I try to sum it up in the most compelling terms I can for them. “We get an extra hour of sleep!” I exclaim, while choking back tears of joy. But they just don’t get it.

But I don’t let their lack of comprehension ruin my second favorite day of the year. (My favorite day of the year is my birthday, when I am celebrated just for the fact that I exist. And my third favorite day of the year is “Shiny Ring Day”, which is the day when I take my jewelry in to be inspected and cleaned.)

Interestingly enough, the people who don’t quite understand my excitement at The End of Daylight Savings Time are often the same people who take issue with my choice of holidays. When I share my favorite days with them they feel the need to get offended, perhaps on behalf of all the other holidays I didn’t choose, whose feelings I’ve apparently wounded.

“But what about Christmas? Or, your anniversary?”, they splutter, confident that they’ve hit on the two days absolutely guaranteed to make me feel the maximum amount of guilt, and see the error of my ways.

Clearly these people never read my blog, because if they did they would realize that, if my husband is unfazed by my belief that our couch has “magical healing powers”, most likely he is not going to mind that I make up my own holidays.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love all holidays, and I can deck the halls and trim the tree with the best of them. But somehow, none of those other activities bring me the same thrills of satisfaction I receive when, just for a while, the days return to the rhythm and schedule that is most natural to me. And, just like with my other favorite days, just for a while, it really does seem as if the world actually does revolve around me.

Emily Post, Where Are You?

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While I wouldn’t say that I am highly skilled in all forms of social etiquette, I feel like I at least cover the basics pretty well.

I hand write all of my thank-you notes, making sure to mention by name the item I received, as well as specifically discuss how I am using it in my life. When I am invited to dinner, I ask the hosts what I can bring. When we have company I make sure there are clean sheets and towels, as well as lots of toilet paper in the guest bathroom.

So I usually navigate the waters of social interaction with fairly minimal turbulence. But this weekend I found myself in a situation that pushed my abilities in the social graces to the edge.

My husband and I were invited to be the first dinner guests at the new home of some friends. After presenting them with a housewarming mum and taking a tour of their new place, we sat down to dinner. Once again, I thought I was doing pretty well. Napkin in the lap? Check. Elbows off the table? Check. Not talking with my mouth full? Check.

Apparently I need to pay a lot less attention to these pesky minor details, and a lot more attention to what is going on around me. Because when I finally returned from my little self-congratulatory tour and tuned back in, I realized that the entire table was caught up in a heated discussion involving chimpanzee sex, and its’ biological and ethical implications for all of humankind. And I had no idea what to do.

I felt exactly the same way I did when I was conducting one of my first coaching sessions, and the client mentioned a situation with which I was completely unfamiliar. I was mentally rifling through all of my various manuals in a frantic search for help thinking, “That’s not in here!”

Just to double check I went to the bookstore today and consulted with some of the authorities on etiquette to see what they might have to say about this situation. While I did not find anything that specifically addressed the topic of chimpanzee sex, I did find these helpful conversational-related tidbits.

From Letitia Baldridge: Bad Conversational Moves

Discussing how our society is going to hell. (Good to know).

“So, is it true that your child has________ (fill in the blank with a disease or condition that is life-threatening, and/or has a giant stigma attached to it)?” (Um, are we really at the point where we need a book to tell us that this comment is inappropriate?)

From Miss Manners: Conversation Starters

Dear Miss Manners: What do you consider a good conversational opener?

Gentle Reader: Almost anything except, “I’ve been on a wonderful journey of self-discovery lately, and I’d like to share it with you.”

So now, of course, I totally want to use that in my next conversation. Who’s up for a chat? Anyone…Anyone…?

Thanks To Ebay, Now I Can Go Home Again

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Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

With the holidays officially beginning (for me, at least) in a few days with Halloween, I decided to do some research and see what would be involved in re-creating the holidays from my childhood. If I ever did decide to do that, it might look a little something like this:

1 polyester Princess Leia Halloween costume, including paper mask with cut-out eye holes and an elastic band stapled across the back (which immediately becomes layered in condensation as soon as you take a breath, and pulls out little pieces of your hair every time you turn your head): $10.00 on eBay

1 set of large, ceramic Christmas tree light bulb strands, with at least one dead bulb which no one thought to mark last Christmas when we took the tree down: $25.00 on eBay

The rush of adrenaline that comes from knowing that at any moment you, your Christmas tree, and possibly your whole house could burst into flames due to the extreme flammability of all holiday products manufactured in the 1970’s: priceless.

You Might Be A Crazy Blogger If…

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Saturday Morning, The One Day You Can Sleep In…

6:50 am-7:15 am: Your three cats take it in turn to physically harass you as you lay in bed, in punishment for your being out of cat food

7:16 am: The cat currently on “harassment rotation” uses your chest as a launching pad to leap up and attack another cat who, apparently, is not sticking to the schedule

7:17 am: Your husband is awakened out of a dead sleep by the sounds of you swearing like a sailor

7:18 am: Mopping up of all the blood

7:23 am: After clearing the bedroom of all cats your husband leaves for the grocery store which, fortunately for you, is open 24 hours a day

7:25 am: With nothing left to do but go back to bed, you find yourself mentally constructing the funniest way to present this story on your blog

7:30 am: Typing…

Things That Make You Say, “What?!”: Special Retreat Edition

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I have just returned from a fantastic four-day retreat, the theme of which was “Wild Child Wisdom”. As you can probably imagine, spending four days with thirty-one other “Wild Women” created the opportunity for a number of “What?!” moments. Below I have listed my favorite moments for your reading enjoyment.

The center where the retreat was being held was an hour away from the airport into which we all had to fly. As the arrangements were made to transport us all to our final destination, I ended up riding with someone who had rented a car and wanted people to ride with her and help her navigate. As anyone who knows me (or has read this blog) knows, I am a little challenged in that area. (And here in Atlanta, it gets a little warm in the summertime.)

I really don’t think I have the words to do this story justice, so I will just give you all the ingredients and let you imagine it for yourselves.

1 Car
3 Women
2 Passengers, Neither of Whom Are The Driver, But Both of Whom Are Prone to Motion Sickness
Only 1 Front Seat
3 Sets of Directions, all starting and ending at the same place
3 Sets of Directions, all of which were completely different

Believe it or not, nobody puked, we did finally get there, and we were actually on time. I have absolutely NO idea how that happened. Voodoo, maybe. You never know exactly what’s gonna happen when you get a whole bunch of women together.

Once we had all checked in, we were each given a goody bag filled with amazing gifts that different artists, writers, and other creative folks had donated for the weekend. In order to make sure we didn’t miss anything, our fearless leader and retreat organizer went through her goody bag in front of the whole group and called attention to all the items one-by-one. I think this particular item was our favorite.

What she said: “And here is an offer for some business coaching.”
What we all heard: “And here is an offer for some bitchiness coaching.”
What we all said: “I don’t think any of us need coaching in that area.”

After we got all of our goodies we went around the circle and introduced ourselves. One of the women spoke about how coming to this retreat was a really big deal for her because she often had problems getting out of the house and being around groups of people.

“But,” she said, “this is great. You guys aren’t irritating me at all!”

I think that will be filed that under the heading of, Most Dubious Compliment Ever Received.

Next the evening was dedicated to various small presentations from different members of our group, describing the different workshops that were coming up over the next few days.. One of the retreat participants who specializes in event planning helped to organize all of this, and she said that her husband was a bit, um, taken aback by some of the phone conversations he heard during the planning phases. One night he hesitatingly inquired about a particularly disturbing call, asking,

“Um, honey, did I hear you asking about fairy wands? And, were you wondering where to put them?”

So we made it through our first evening, and then the next morning I was hailed by a fellow retreatant who stopped me to inform me that, “Hey, last night my roommate and I did a ‘Jenny’.”

(Important Side Note: If someone claims to have “done a Jenny”, most likely it will not have been something good.)

“We got off the elevator, and we didn’t know whether to turn left or right. You’re contagious.”

That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I hoped that people would become fans of my blog.

All too soon the weekend came to an end, and it was time for us to say goodbye. As I was walking around the room hugging everyone, I got to one cluster that included the keynote speaker for the weekend. She is a pretty well-known author and speaker in the art and creativity world and as I approached, I heard the woman talking to her say, as if it were the most normal conversational response in the world,

“One day you’ll have to go out on the balcony and show your tentacle.”

Clearly that was not the moment to join that particular conversation.

Finally it was time to go home, and I was fortunate to be on the same flight as one of my fellow Wild Children. She was remarking on how excited the airline seemed to be about the fact that they had five different snack choices for us, and she said,

“You do realize that we’ve only heard the annoucement about what to do in case of a crash once on each flight, but we’ve just heard the announcement about our snack choices for the eighth time.”

Take Me To Your Leader

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So this spring I’ve been taking a marketing class in order to learn how to best use the Internet to support my business. As a result of that class I have been slowly increasing my computer knowledge and abilities, and often my husband helps me expand what I’m learning by sitting down with me and showing me even more things I can do with my website.

So the other day we sat down together just like we’ve always done so he could teach me how to do something new. But this time it was like I was suddenly abducted by aliens and then put back into a parallel world where everything appeared to be the same, but in reality, everyone except for me spoke some sort of alien language. This is an an attempt to recreate how our conversation went.

My husband (or so I thought): “OK, first you need to click on the ‘MYSQLVBC+DOSRAMSAPLINUXBYTEREMPDQASAP’. Then it will take you to the ‘135791113171923313741’. So then you will need to ‘whirl-beep-beep-creak-clang-crash!’ and then it will always ‘we-are-the-borg-you-will-be-assimilated-resistance-is-futile’.”

“Are you writing this down?”

Clearly, I was not. Clearly, all of my available mental faculties were tied up in planning my escape back to my home planet.

I mean, it’s not as if I expect to just automatically understand everything in life. As a matter of fact, there are lots of times when I go into a situation knowing that I will not have the foggiest idea what is going on, such as any time I try and understand what my brother, a Ph.D. candidate in organic chemistry, actually does.

For example, last month he gave a big presentation at a national gathering of his peers and my mom sent me the title and abstract from his presentation. Out of 97 words, here are the parts I understood: ” to be used in the”, and “naturally occurring substance.” That’s it. And I’m totally fine with that. I actually kind of like the fact that I can’t even understand the layperson’s version of his work because there isn‘t a layperson’s version. I enjoy just begin able to appreciate his brilliance without actually having to understand it. It’s just the times when a seemingly familiar situation gets turned upside down that throw me off.

I’m not really sure what to do about those times, but I have my tinfoil hat ready…just in case.