N is for Neurosis

Kurt -The Ultimate Neurotic.
Caricature courtesy of artist Kathryn Rathke

Listening to Joe Sample right now, after an earfest of Sinatra. I’m doing an El Guapo here. Posting this late afternoon’s musical choices that is.
Not to be confused with ‘listening similar to’ El Guapo.
EG and Tony: don’t tell Mrs. Guapo

Anyway, tertiary is my middle name. Except this post is N for Neurotic. Ergo, all theorems proved by scientific method; see paragraph above. Same results in pristine laboratory settings (the living room and office) or your kitchen.

Neurosis runs (gallops, bobsleds, careens, bucks…you get the picture) through the family. Being a lifelong over-achiever I’m appointed the poster child for the Black clan.

Go ahead and get married, have the last name of an ex-hubby, change your name legally. The Black curse is upon you all Buahahahaha. –stops for water and takes Xanax-.

Okay, back now. Here are the three main criteria for getting your familial Neurosis on:

1. Nature: Are you and/or your family subject to any of the following DSM certified symptoms?

a)      Eating Disorders

b)      Bi-Polar

c)      Eccentricity

d)     Black ™ Sheep Family Syndrome

             2. Nurture: Are you and/or your family involved in any of the following professions?

a)      Psychology

b)      Psychiatry (three thumbs up here!)

c)      Waste Management Disposal (+2 if your surname ends with ‘I’ or is similar to the range below Falsetto…)

d)     Addiction Specialization (social workers, AA ashtray cleaning, nursing, dealer –either here in a Nevada casino or located at the local street corner-)

    3. Intelligence/Talent?

a)      Off the charts Mensa 1%er IQ?

b)      Savant i.e. dumb as a box of hair taped up but able to play an oboe in tune

c)      Genius IQ AND musical/photographic/acting/writing/amazing artistic ability

d)     Tap dancing even though Ed Sullivan is still dead

Well faithful readers how do you score? On the test. Not with the opposite (or same) sex.

Years of intensive research have led me to this simple questionnaire. Combined with years of psychiatry, therapy, analysis, medication, hospitalization, straightjackets (oh hell that was a club in San Fransisco nevermind)  and obsessive reading/learning skills. Damn. Reminds me. Forgot to list OCD up there with the ‘Nature’ answers.

Conclusion: Fuck Piaget.

See Online Merriam Webster definition for Neurosis below.
Have left out the pronunciation guideline because if you are reading this you know how to pronounce it.

Neurosis: a mental and emotional disorder that affects only part of the personality, is accompanied by a less distorted perception of reality than in a psychosis, does not result in disturbance of the use of language, and is accompanied by various physical, physiological, and mental disturbances (as visceral symptoms, anxieties, or phobias)

Bah humbug. I got ‘yer solution right here. Closer to the Holmes 7% Solution than any meds on the market. Don’t ask me how I know this.

Dr. Rachee Black (I play one on TV, parties and formerly working for dad –the psychiatrist) recommends a minimum of 2 G&T’s per evening. Xanax bid or as needed. Some days none are indicated. Those are the days that begin with S; for Somnolence. Watch this Space for upcoming definitions!

*This study may be affected by pharmaceutical US costs, physician co-pay amounts and general degradation professed towards any person suffering from anything BUT admitted Neurosis. Once again, not that I’d know.

Cheers!

~Miss R

 

-addendum: iPod just switched to Elliot Smith; Miss Misery is the first track. Gotta love being in synchronicity with life, the universe and everything. Say isn’t Towel Day coming up?

Nothing Much

Graphic courtesy of Marcus at brainlesstales.com

Am clearly on unscheduled hiatus.

Current unopened mail in the YoYo-Dyne Email Inbox: 306. This does not count the 30 or so that have been opened and not answered or viewed.

Love you all. I do not subscribe to random or ‘please add me!’ blogs. Only read those that draw me in. Writers who are savvy, funny, and left of center. You know who you are.

The Demon Seed (aka my brilliant daughter) is visiting for two weeks. The Best.
Life itself, as in day to day, financial, physical, emotional has gone sideways on too many tangents too personal to mention.

Promise to catch up, absorb all of your fabulous words, and find a way out in another week or so.

Miss all of your emotions, tales, vivisections, views and blues. See you soon. In the words of Miss Vega…

If you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Off of the strip

In the outskirts
In the fringes
In the corner
Out of the grip

When they ask me
“What are you looking at?”
I always answer
“Nothing much” (not much)
I think they know that
I’m looking at them
I think they think
I must be out of touch

But I’m only
In the outskirts
And in the fringes
On the edge
And off the avenue
And if you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Wondering about you

I think that somehow
Somewhere inside of us
We must be similar
If not the same
So I continue
To be wanting you
Left of center
Against the grain

If you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Off of the strip
In the outskirts
In the fringes
In the corner
Out of the grip

When they ask me
“What are you looking at?”
I always answer
“Nothing much” (not much)
I think they know that
I’m looking at them
I think they think
I must be out of touch

But I’m only
In the outskirts
And in the fringes
On the edge
And off the avenue
And if you want me
You can find me
Left of center
Wondering about you
Wondering about you

~Miss R

Holidays! Suicide Rates Up! Corporations Thrilled!

Okay it’s actually a myth that suicide rates increase during the holiday season. Same type of urban myth that  insists crime goes up during a full moon.

Sounds Pagan and cool though eh?

Bummer for the Insurance conglomerates. Whoomp! There it is!
No more threats of paying out for medical costs. Party on Doctor Garth.

Paging Dr. Howard, Paging Doctor Fine….

If you actually get the latter part of that a free glass of egg nog laced with brandy to you! And a walker.

Here’s a cheery fucking Christmas ditty for you. Decided to ditch the Haiku this year. So 1980′s. This does rhyme though so Bukowski is rolling in his fucking grave. See pic above… derp.

Best represents my feelings about the holidays this year.
Perfect picture, great film and memories most dear
No angel this year.
Maybe a bell will ring

Cheers to all of you celebrating without loved ones -gone and remembered or far away and loved. Enjoy that tuna sandwich, lack of lights joy and family.

 

Cheers to all of you celebrating without loved ones -gone and remembered or far away and loved. I’m with you.

Miss R

Buy a Gun, Enjoy My Self-Loathing or Move Along Citizen

Have you ever suffered from depression?

I mean the type diagnosed by a physician. Not a few weeks of sadness, or grief over a loss or death. Yes, these will all lead to depression but for the majority of people who suffer these or other tragedies it may mean several months or more of counseling, perhaps an anti-depressant for several months in order for a therapist to work with the depressed patient.

No, I’m talking long-term, 20+ years of clinically diagnosed depression including meds and therapy. Followed by an accurate diagnosis of Bi-Polar for at least five years. More meds. Different meds. New cocktails of meds. Sadly current medicine (forced by the insurance companies) no longer truly allow a psychiatrist anything more than prescribing medication. To conquer problems you also must see a therapist. Of which you cannot afford because they rarely accept Medicare and you’re no longer able to pay all of the co-pays if they did.

And if you’ve lost everything; a successful business –that you built up by working 14 hours a day, not being able to hire even one employee for the first two years, finally being featured in magazines, opening more stores, a huge e-commerce business as well, television coverage, and mentions all across the Internet.

Your retirement money, savings, home, vehicle all lost to the recession of the Bush years (and attorneys to divorce and restrain a psychotic ex-husband), and you are dependent on a Social Security Disability stipend of less than $900.00 a month.
How the hell will you EVER feel better?

Add back surgery, which did not work –FAIL tag-  and the cost of co-pays to doctors and hospitals that you cannot possibly pay off.
Constant pain, inability to swim, hike, ski or even walk long distances. And another surgery being scheduled.
How the hell can you SEE a future?

Have you ever attempted suicide? More than once? More than twice? How about three times? And failed? –Insert another FAIL tag here-. Pro-Tip: pills are too easy to accidentally throw up, or change your mind. Use a gun for godssake.

Oh, and you’ll be 50 in another month. Wonderful. With no more close friends; they already know about your problems and seriously don’t want to hear anything else. Hell I wouldn’t. Family you don’t dare reveal your psychological pain with, nor an understanding boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/husband? Your fabulous fifty party –as if turning 50 is a fucking pleasure and isn’t deathly depressing in itself- will be at home.
The entree a can of tuna fish and a single piece of pie from Raley’s market for dessert. Okay maybe dinner out –my genius boyfriend suggested a casino buffet. I’m thinking the tuna far preferable. And safer.

A call from my daughter –the only reason the suicidal ideation backed off, with her 4.0 grades and beginning college-. A card and call from Mom.
Missing Dad since his death, so no call from him. His birthday is/was a week before mine.

So, I spend 16 out of every 20 hours awake weeping uncontrollably. No longer wanting to live, but not wishing to crush my daughter by blowing this neuro-scrambled brain on the walls.
The back pain never ceases, unless I drink too much. At which point I’ll pay for it in the morning, fall down, should never drink, and it’s goddamned fattening as well. So that turned out to be no help either.

Enough self-loathing for today.  Am tired of being witty, enjoyable or even caustic.
I just want it all to end. There are no dreams left.

Sure to offend Everyone…except my family. For once.

There’s a bad moon rising.
Oh alright it’s just ended for the month. It’s the image that counts dammit.

Back is getting worse not better. What the hell is up with that? Can’t get a refill on oxy -even though it’s a  Way low dose  for what I need. Isn’t there anything else??  God knows I don’t need another fucking addiction. Can’t believe I don’t have PICA.

Anyway, life seems worthless (check: x), daughter gone away to college and grown up (check: x) wondering what happened to my interesting lively life (check: x), depression on the wax (check: x) back pain getting worse (WTF check: x). Band officially broke up (check: x) OH, and best of all…. SSD reduced by over 1/3 since my daughter turned 18. As if I don’t have to support her in college (Go SF State heh) (check: x) meaning I have to live on under $900.00 a month (including daughter)…when I spent most of my life living on six figures (check: x).

Lost my houses, 401k.s IRA’s etc in the last divorce and then trying to live .Just to get away from Psycho-Fuck in Michigan (aka ex-hubby number two)

Waiting for Burning Man to cheer me. See my other family. Relax. Look at art. Play in the Burning Band -even if I have to buy a new uniform shirt because after 5 years it doesn’t seem as though all of the wine, beer and random brass instrument spit will come out of it anymore.

Just needed to write tonight. It’s after midnight and have been a mess all damned day. Usually save these exciting and amusing tidbits for my ‘other’ blog. But really. Fuck it.
Give a shot, cola, thumbs up or whatever is needed to get me to The Burn.

Livin’ the Life in Reno
OR as you may know it ‘the OTHER city in Nevada’
~Miss R

Pretty Much Covers it For Today Folks

That’s the way to do the Varsity Drag

Just finished watching The Ruling Class, a gem of a film, and shockingly not well-known. Amazing dialogue, satire, bizarre brief yet wonderful musical bits. It is among Peter O’Toole’s best performances. He was nominated for an Oscar. From this there is a soundtrack in my head consisting of The Varsity Drag, Dem Bones and My Blue Heaven .

This is the first time I’d seen it in a good 20 years. Thank you Netflix. Forgotten that one of the female leads was played by the same actress who played Harold’s mother in Harold and Maude. Both were made about the same time, during the Vietnam War. And both were made as indictments of the established order. I believe that MASH was also made the same year.

The Ruling Class leads the viewer to believe that this is a twisted and dark comedy, but as we say at Spanky’s………

Spanky's Wine Bar at Burning Man

‘This will all end in tears.’

Although we say it as a joke whenever a clusterfuck breaks out.

This is one of the few movies I can watch without tears dropping down my face at the ending. Hell, I’ve cried at the endings of fucking Doctor Who episodes. The Demon Seed admits she has too but the little wench laughs at me when she catches me weeping on the phone, asking why she didn’t warn me. Yes we are both geeks. What about it? You don’t believe me, just step outside and see me baby.

Hey, I was bi-polar before being bi-polar was cool. Not to mention I was a Punk before you were a Punk

Heh. betcha I got you with Fee Waybill and crew. Well pray, really really hard.
To me.
I may bestow  a bit of the title tune on you as well.

Hmmm other firsts? Listed in no particular order but as an exercise to boost the current rock I’m holding for Sisyphus. He had to grab a coffee. Fucker’s been gone over six months.

First student at my college to enroll and begin at age 15 (and the school had already been around for 150 years by then).
First person in my family to belong to Mensa.
First woman in my town to have a tattoo. That was 18 years ago and I don’t want another one. Who the hell Doesn’t have one these days?
First woman my age (45) to have a tongue piercing in the vicinity. Was late to the nipple piercing action but ooh it hurt so good. And feels absolutely delicious now. Too bad gravity has had it’s way with my boobs.
First girl to get solo piano/singing gigs in LA and Long Beach bars (Gay bars playing standards and show tunes. The Whiskey and Madame Wongs playing in a punk band). Because I lied about my age. I was 16 not 21. So all you owners that stiffed me way back when? Because all you saw was a girl with big tits standing at an Amazon stature of 5’2″? Go fuck a porcupine you pricks.
First in my family to be the eccentric, but beloved, black sheep and eschew the medical degree deemed proper, and exceptionally popular in the family as well.
The Demon Seed has declared her intention to get a PhD is psychology. Way cheaper than med school. Her first choice was psychiatrist. So back to doctors we go.

Now I’m almost 50 and all I have is my daughter, and she’s going way next month to college, and memories. And a big-ass concert grand piano.

And perhaps this is why I didn’t cry at the end of the movie. Because everything changes.Transforms. But mostly sneaks away quietly. It has become so difficult to fight the established order.
And I’m scared as hell. And the current depressive episode should probably have had me already hospitalized.

Maybe coming to terms with it all is beginning. And it all started a long time ago. In college.  Fighting back against anything and everything….except music.

~Miss R

Now go and beg, borrow steal or Netflix ‘The Ruling Class.’ You’ll thank me. And perhaps send a cash tip!

My Cat Lizzie Borden is Bi-Polar

Lizzie Borden comparing Hair styles with Phil

Oh certainly we all anthropomorphize our pets, but diagnosing them with our human mental illnesses? This takes a seriously neurotic pet owner.

With the exception of the crazy cat lady (or man – this IS the 2000′s)  a person doesn’t usually consider the mental health status of Fido or Fluffy.

Pets are family. Family that can on occasion smell rather badly, roll around in feces, bring  home dead rodents to share  as a snack and puke unidentifiable chunks on your best carpet. Or, if it’s already been a particularly hideous day for you, perhaps hurl into your slipper. Although, I dare any of you to find a human family member that has not done the same things. We just don’t over-analyze the mental status of  said family member. Normally we just wonder ‘What the in the hell were they drinking? And how did they make it back to their own home?”

Okay, getting to the point. Really.

Tell a vet that your pet is, let’s say, listless.  The vet will usually find a physical reason. Luckily for my family our vets have been about 95.5% correct or at least close enough to get a an identifiable diagnosis. Sometimes it’s been sad, but it’s usually been correct. The usual diagnosis with a new pet?
“That will be $100.00 Mrs.Badcrumble”.

Now suppose you have a new vet and you take in your newly acquired  ‘rescue’ cat. The rescue employee  (in my case a pushy customer who ran a Persian Rescue) has told you that said feline has been spayed, is declawed and is 8 years old. Perfect! I wanted a rescue animal. A cat with little chance of adoption, of finding a person to love it (in this case because the cat was middle-aged and not a kitten). I knew just how kitty felt.

You ‘meet’ the available kitty and she it is not only adorable but loves to be held and purrs incessantly. Your cold black heart melts and home she goes. The next day you make an appointment with a veterinarian. After the initial examination, by your new vet, you are informed that everything you’ve been told about this animal is false. Except that it is, in fact, a cat.

And very sick with the typical upper respiratory illness that strays seem to ALL have. You have the feline leukemia test done, get the vaccinations, purchase the medications, medicate the cat -and we all know how much fun pilling an animal is!-  then hope the pathetic fuzzball doesn’t croak.
In fact the vet recommended putting the cat down as I’m not yet attached to it and the little beastie is so ill.
And by the way, this is why the cat didn’t mind being held, was totally mellow and was continually purring. She was about to fucking die. Guess deciding against Med School wasn’t such a bad idea.
Anyway, me, being a moron, said no to the doc’s suggestion of the Kevorkian route.
“That will be $350.00 Mrs. Badcrumble.”

A few years go by and Lizzie Borden had been perfectly healthy. My daughter had named her when she was 11. The daughter not the cat. The cat was actually about a year old. Certainly not 8.
But on occasion Lizzie exhibited signs of howling, blindly running about the house, jumping over furniture and meowing CONSTANTLY in the open window. This is just bizarre - especially since it’s a breed well-known for complete disinterest in anything. Except shedding and laying on your lap. Oh, and horking up hairballs.

Lizzie is a Tortie Persian.
Since I’d been told that Lizzie was not spayed I just figured that during these times she was in heat. She was an indoor cat so a litter of kittens was unlikely, I was on disability by this point (read: dirt poor), and had put off the spaying.

The years go by, she has her check-ups and shots every year, each time:
“That will be $100.00 Mrs.Badcrumble.”

Finally we move to a place with a large backyard but French Doors leading outside. No screen to keep the cat in. So I get some cash together and decide to have her spayed so she can go outside and do Persian cat things. Like stare at birdies. And shed.
She’s too inbred to hunt or even leap. She climbs up the side of the couch to have a seat. Seriously, she’s not all that bright. She is sweet though, purrs 24/7 (at least THAT stayed the same when the whole death diagnosis had cleared up) and digs me. And other people. Except kids.
Maybe she’s not that gorked.

So I take her to the vet to renew all of her shots, plus some new ones, and have her spayed.
Uhhhhm,ah, er…a second time. Yep. She actually had been spayed previously.
“That will be $100.00 Mrs.Badcrumble…you idiot.”

Oh wait! THIS is the point:
Naturally the seemingly bizarre behavior continued at odd intervals. Which got me thinking…

Our animal friends get cancer, urinary tract infections, osteoporosis, and a variety of every other known disease known to humankind. Then why the hell not mental illness?!

I’ve opened the handy DSM here by the bed and have diagnosed Lizzie Borden….
Lizzie Borden the Cat is a….. Rapid Cycling Bi-polar !

Hell, think of the money I’ve saved on veterinary or medical school and instead simply those spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on my own psychiatrists. And the old DSM my dad left to me.

She purrs virtually 24/7 (even in her sleep) disappears for long lengths at a time when she dreams of biting children (who doesn’t?), and barely eats. Lucky bitch. If she’d use her opposable dew claws for painting the house instead of cheating at poker a lot more would get done around here when she cycles.

My personal diagnosis (me not the cat) is Bi-Polar with Dysphoric Mania. A cross I bare stoically with proper medication…and G&Ts. I won’t paint the fucking house either. Wrong mania.

Gonna keep her away from my meds but damn, I would change places in a heart-beat.

What I’d give to run around the house howling, naked, losing weight by not eating and swatting at children with my claws out. All with the windows open!
Legally I mean.

~Miss R

-I’d like to thank Fishrobber for the inspiration on this one-

-I’d like to hit myself hit myself over the head with a pointy object for creating the crappy Lizzie/Phil Photoshop pic-

I’m going to be middle-aged in November

Well, if I live to a hundred.
As you can see in the picture below I still haven’t given up my wicked ways. Well, not at Burning Man anyway. The guy next to me is the leader of our camp Spanky’s Wine Bar. Admiral Painjoy. This was taken at our Spanker’s Ball last year.

Moi at Burning Man hanging with Admiral Painjoy

Don’t know if the age thing is making me fucking berserk or just life in general. Woke up this morning  (hmmmm sounds like a bad blues song) and seriously considered making a list of my accomplishments, in order to jolt myself out of this creeping depression. C’mon. You spend 3 months in surgical recovery in constant pain restricted to your bedroom and your depression quotient would increase as well. Plus my kid is going off to college. Major Cabin Fever.

Then realized the list would take about a quarter of a page. Double spaced. In Number 2 pencil.
What the hell happened?
I was going to be the next Bette Midler (did start out playing piano and singing in gay bars in the LA area), but she had that niche down. Then thought Cole Porter, another hero. While I do love a good looking young man I prefer mine straight. So that was out.

Thought for a while I’d go the Dorothy Parker route. She was funny, drank and smoked too much, and her audience could never get enough of her witty writing and recorded banter. Hell she was even bi-polar. Realized that even at the peak of my blogging (about 2 years ago) my highest audience was 300 readers a day.
Besides, every time I met a guy and told him I was Bi he’d get an immediate boner…until I finished the statement with ‘polar.’

Considered Zelda Fitzgerald: another nutjob with vitality and wit. F. Scott used many of his character lines directly from Zelda’s words and actions. Except in my case it would be a husband who played second fiddle. This genius idea lasted until my second divorce, when I realized that both of the previous betrothed were leaching cretins. And those were their good points.

So music seemed to be it. Did my share of playing shows, some in venues which people have actually heard of.

Suddenly I was 30. What the hell? I’d done enough drugs, smoked enough ciggies and downed enough booze to kill at least three Irish villages. Yet…. I was still alive. How did this happen?
At this turning point I had a daughter. Not having made enough as a New York City financial vulture, nor musician or writer this was done on my own.
Oh the pain which could have been avoided by simply purchasing one at the local market.  the cost is tied in with the housing market.

Turned out it was the best and most important thing I’d ever accomplished at all. I quit drinking, ingesting illegal (or at least illegally obtained) pharmaceuticals and knocked off the ciggies as well.
And lost 75 pounds. And opened a thriving business. And some more shit I like to call ‘My Life as an Aging Punk Rocker Mom Entrepreneur Burner Half-Assed Writer Now Living on SSD and What The Fuck Happened’

Look forward to my next installment ‘The List’
Hoping it will cheer me up as the razor blades are downstairs in the basement and my damned walker won’t fit in the stairway.

And of course my solemn pledge to you all: No more whining. Hell that’s worth the price of admission alone. OI!

~Miss R

Broken Engine

Well it does has something to do with a motor, Okay, motor skills actually.

The whole  ‘engine’ thing was  more  than a Silly Putty stretch and more like a Stretch Armstrong  kind of stretch.

If you don’  recognize the two items that I’m referring to above  then you’ll just have  fuck  yourself and do some Googling.

And get off my lawn you kids.

There have been very few posts the last three weeks.  The surgery was long and arduous.

Am still using walker, taking opiates (which I a am weaning  myself off of )  feeling  intense pain

Right now the engine is broken and the Motor Skills are irregular and slow. My cognitive abilities appear to be  normal as well.

What’s worrying me is that it seems I’ve forgotten how to type.  Now what kind if weird side effect is this?!

Called doc yesterday to ask some questions.

Forgot to ask about this little tidbit.

Will let you know as soon as I can. This blog has taken over two hours to write.  It should have 15 or 20 minutes. The spelling is so bad, because I’ve forgotten where the keys are, that spellcheck doesn’t recognize th,yjindu.gyuiod!

~Way fucked up in Reno

Laughing at National Mental Health Month

My mind has been a vortex of depression, anger, fear (and loathing) for months. How to change? What can help and help immediately? Laughter.

Taking an inventory of my behavior over the last year I’ve noticed something unusual: Laughter doesn’t come as often or as easily.

This morning I signed on to Facebook (go ahead and sneer now) and saw a status that said:

‘DEPRESSION is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long. Put this as your status if you or someone you know has had depression. Will you do it and leave it on your status for at least an hour? Most people will not, but it’s mental health week and 1 in 3 of us will suffer at some point in our lives.’

Never believe what you read on Facebook. It’s a networking site that promotes idiocy, skanky pictures (woo hoo!) and wasting some time. Not that it can’t be amusing. It’s just that any information coming  across the feed is suspect.

I’m not the snopes.com of the internet but checking out statements dealing with issues that concern me direct my attention to research. First, it is not National Mental Health Week, it’s actually National Mental Health Month. Second, An estimated 26.2 percent of Americans ages 18 and older — about one in four adults — suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year according to NIMH.

Already we’ve learned the basic tenet of Facebook. If some idiot posts it as a status it’s gotta be wrong.

To keep myself from wandering even further into the abyss of statistics I stopped there. It would be akin to spending four hours on Wikipedia reading all the links from your primary topic and winding up at the Three laws of Thermodynamics. After your initial search for information on David Bowie.

What’s so funny?

National Fruitcake Week is actually National Fruitcake Month. As a psychiatrist-carrying Fruitcake this example of humans acting like sheep (POST THIS STATUS IF YOU DARE FOR ONE DAY!) would normally cause a chuckle. Instead, hardly a smile. Hell, even my favorite Eddie Izzard bits barely cause a subdued laugh these days. Something is definitely wrong.

Climbing out of the despair requires laughter and humor. So beginning the day with Fark.com, The Chive or even LOL Cats is a start. It’s better than allowing your brain to cross into dark neighborhoods. Or eating too much food rich in trans-fat and refined sugar, or sleeping all day. Or calling in hourly bomb threats to the local 7-11.

First thing in the morning with good coffee. It’s a slow process but a start.

Hopefully the easy laughter will come back. I just have to change and look for it. And as my crone of a piano teacher often told me Practice  Practice Practice.

Finding out about National Mental Health Month (Week) was funny. But not as funny as laughing at myself.

~Miss R

A Moment of Angst

 

I’ve been thinking. No comments about my working without tools again please.

The past few weeks have found me awash in various levels of depression, obsession, worry (about things financial, physical, blah blah blah) and stress.

There’s a roof over my head. Food in the fridge. A car that runs (knocks on her head). My daughter is healthy and doing well.

Still this miasma of unhappiness, uncertainty, fear and the longing to simply give up permeates the waking hours and the dream time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The days and nights have been punctuated with laughter, self-deprecating humor, and the usual day to day crap that can make one smile. It’s just that… they’re so far and few between. Couldn’t even get into ‘the zone’ when I went skiing today. A bad sign.

I think I know what’s wrong. I may have an axiom here.

All people require two special items to survive:

1.1. Physical touch.

2.2. Encouragement  and kind words

Seems to me that these two facets of life are as indispensible as food, shelter and health.

I’ve been missing both. For a long time. So holistically I’m not healthy. Ya, no shock there but bear with me.

Humans are programmed to feel comfort from touch, from words of solace or compliment. Those wacky fun-loving serial killers you read about were all missing these two critical objects in their lives.

So, I feel better identifying what may be a major cause of this current desolation. There’s no cure on the horizon which gives me little hope, but there’s something positive about all of this self-discovery:

I’m too old to start a new career as a serial killer.

I Just Can’t Seem to Get it Right

Since the debacle with my family (over one of my blogs for chrissake) I’ve been unable to write. Or play the piano. Or catch up on any of the other blogs that I normally love to read.
Nothing seems to shake out.
My depression over dad’s death and the fall-out afterwards have stricken my heart and mind.
Apathy has taken hold and creativity has fled screaming into the night.

Hell I can barely read a book. Have a great one going too: Wait Until Spring Bandini by John Fante.

Anyway, it feels like everything is going sideways. For example:
Yesterday I couldn’t leave the house. Or my bedroom.
Today….

Got up early (as I do) and went to a local property management place called Action Properties.
There is this great duplex for rent. It’s a funky weird-ass 1930′s building with lots of defects, tons of storage, a leaky ancient basement and (supposedly) a ghost.
Best parts:
The other side of the building is occupied by a wonderful musician and friend (playing my music would not be a problem here)
The grand piano would fit in the living room
It’s much larger than my current apartment
It has a back yard
The rent is $110.00 LESS a month than I pay now.

Here’s what happened after I took a looksee at the duplex…

Went back with all of my documentation, completed application, $45.00 app fee, social security cards, copy of current lease, blah blah blah.
The receptionist immediately looks at my income verification and says that they cannot rent the duplex to me because their ‘formula’ requires that the rent expenditure be no more than 30% of my income.
Wait. I know that this is the optimal percentage used in determining credit approval for mortgages (didn’t spend all of that time in NYC finance for nothing) but this is Reno. It’s a duplex. It’s in a ‘transitional neighborhood’ (bwahahaha).
Not to mention (oh hell I am) that I overlooked the 30% rule when approving mortgages and credit…. a LOT.
My rent and previous mortgages have always been paid on time or early.
Every fucking month for years and years.

She didn’t care that I’m currently paying $100.00 MORE a month right now and all of my payments have been on time or early.
Told her that I would be willing to set up a direct deposit for the rent check.
She still didn’t care.

According to Action Properties I need to make $351.00 more a month to qualify for this duplex.
She asked if I had additional income.
Uhhhhh no. (I’m on disability you dumbasses)

Then I burst into tears.
As you do.

Absurdity Notice: I was told that I would qualify for a $525.00 a month rental but not the one I wanted which is $575.00
This means that according to their cretinous reasoning I need to have an income of $351.00 more a month to make a rental payment of $50.00 more a month.
Is it me?

So, I’m stuck here in tiny apartment hell with a herd of elephants upstairs, crazy managers next door, and nowhere for my dad’s piano (or any other possessions).
Thanks Action Properties of Reno. You fucking eeeediot bastards.

Whew.
I feel a bit better.
It’s not real writing but it is a small vent in the surface of my soul.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
Singles
By: Deacon Blue
Release date: 23 October, 2006

bad prescription drug de-tox and a heretical nativity creche’. all for you you!

So my daughter is coming home to Reno for the holidays.

Here’s the first stage of the Official Miss R Nativity Scene. It will get far more exotic as the days go on. Two years ago I did a Simpsons theme except I used Chim-Chim from Speed Racer as The Baby G.

This Year Starring!
Edgar Allen Poe as Joseph
Anne Bonny as Mary
Smoking Baby as The Baby G
A Starbucks Barista offering a Grande double espresso with Myrrh, Beethoven in a manic depressive yet musical golden funk and Casanova, um, chocking his chicken as
The Three Wise Men/Women/Persons of Diversity

When The Demon Seed (pat pend.) gets home we’ll make latkes, play Dreidal for cash prizes, decorate the Christmas tree, build a replica of Stonehenge from Tofu (fucking vegetarian kid) and do the traditional Solstice Human Sacrifice, invoke the Old Gods, eat too much and talk about other people behind their backs.
Should be fun.
I wrote a song about it. Goes a little something like this…

Oh you better not pout
You better not cry
You better not shout
I’m telling you why
Edelstein is coming to town

I know when she is sleeping
I know when she’s awake
I know if she’s been bad or good
And there’s West Hills just in case

Oh you better not pout
You better not try
You better not swear at me
I’m telling you why
I can still take my daughter down

~~~Thank you. I’ll be here all week. Thank you very much!~~~

So anyway I’ve been busy de-toxing for a week of a freaking Prescribed Drug taken as directed for godssake and pretty much MIA. Would rather be KIA (no not the stupidly misnamed car you eeeediot) but there is no god. So I’m still alive. Eesh.
The med slowly (oh-so-fucking-slowly) titrating out of my circulatory system and cells is one of the new ones prescribed by the lovely folks at Nevada Health Services.
Here’s their Statement from page one of the website:

Nevada Health Services
If you’re indigent we’ll medicate you and you won’t fucking care anymore

True story.

Yeah so this fabulous pharmacological heavy hitter made me sound either:
High (per daughter)
Like a 10 year old (per ~S)
Loopy (mom)
A lot less sane than usual even without the meds (thanks ~T. oy. not possible)
Obviously Constructing sentences was a chore. Well, more of a chore.

Grammatically correct sentences? Fer’getit. My frontal cortex could no longer decline the verb ‘to be’ that’s how debilitating and encompassing this shit was. The physical side-effects? As bad if not worse.
Constantly restless. Well, more Restless.

No sleep till Brooklyn.
Racing thoughts; an inability to write, practice the piano or even complete anything other than mundane tasks. In other words the house is spotless and I cooked two real full meals during the past 5 days. The black hole and time continuum vortex that was Cate’s room has been arranged in a manner conducive to actually getting my fat ass in there.

Fuck for all I know this is how ‘normal’ people feel all of the time.
I’d rather be dead. Well, more dead.

Here’s a Brief History of (my) Time

Had a visit from Dave from Portland and his new girlfriend Lisa. Instead of actually staying here on the couch –that would have been a good one- they got a room at the Sands. This meant the house stayed cleaner but we still all hung out.

Saw Tinfoil Ass-Hat client. He came for the lecture and stayed for the party. I got no money out of the 4 HOURS he spent here with all of us. I did get groceries and a bottle of Bushmills though.
Now I’m not gonna have a drink kids but Tinfoil Hat Client did. So I watched the guy get plowed. Meanwhile my houseguests are stoned and a good time was had by all.

More adventures were enjoyed and marveled at but my drug-induced side-effects have slowed me down here.
Tomorrow will be better.

Unless of course this IS how the other 99.9% live.
Poor bastards.

~Miss R
Currently listening:
Odelay
By: Beck
Release date: 18 June, 1996

I Put the Lime in the Coconut

Things could be worse. My girlfriend Susan called this morning. She had a flat affect to her voice. Weird for her. She always cheers me up. We’ve been friends for close to 15 years. Met her in Idyllwild when I opened my first retail store.
Susan was a rep for several game and toy manufacturers and came into my store one day.
This fucking wonderfully hysterical woman got a $500.00 order out of me that day. We’ve been fast friends since, despite the geographical distance of the past 6 or 7 years.

I asked what was wrong.
Turns out she had had a wicked fall from her bike over the weekend and was now sporting pins, plates and other man-made parts in her ankle. Oh yeah, and a buttload of vicodin. Lucky bitch.
She said “Oh Rachael I had a freak accident.”
Naturally it was all I could do to keep from saying “Oh God you mean you hit a car full of freaks?”

So she’s laid up in bed for more than a month, and she works strictly on commission. I advised her to have the hubby peel grapes and work overtime. The point is that things could be worse. For me.
Who’s it all about?

Anyway yesterday I was lying on the bed with a heating pad on the neck, shoulders and back of the skull. The pain would not abate. Of course today I’m seriously concerned it’s the friggin blood pressure…. BOOM!
I was listening to the TV because the stereo is out in the living room and I was sick of every song on iTunes.

The two days prior I got in 4 mile sojourns on each afternoon. It felt fabulous. The sky was blue and the river flowed over the rocks and sunlight tickled the remaining leaves on the trees.
Anyway I reach for the remote and take a look at the offerings:
Montel Williams, People’s Court, some soap opera, Dirty Jobs (which I’d already seen), The Bad New Bears 2 (ugh), a trial on Court TV, and then I saw it.
Starstruck.

Holy shit I LOVE this film. Australian and released in 1982. Hell I have the soundtrack on vinyl, purchased at Tower Records in NYC when Tower Records first opened there. Tres cool and hip in the way the Virgin MegaStore in Times Square is now.
Aiii there were no CDs then.

1982 was the same year that Fast Times at Ridgemont High came out. Another fun flick with great tunes and a great sense of the 80′s. Fast Times had a huge release though and a lot of people know it.
Starstruck was an Indie Aussie Music flick. Wow. Talk about three strikes.

Tapeheads belongs in this class as well, although hit was released in 1989. A quirky funny cult music-related flick released with absolutely no publicity or decent release. Tapeheads stars John Cusak and Tim Robbins as well.

Yes I own Fast Times AND Tapeheads. Didn’t think that Starstruck was available.
Gonna put the DVD on my holiday list.
Along with meat, paper towels, moisturizing cream, Iams cat food, new bras and a place to live.

Spent over four hours today at the clinic. Lucky for me I only have to notify 331 partners of the infection.
Okay not really. It’s only 54. Oh all right it was a different kind of medical clinic –sigh-.

One more time it’s a total change of medication. Am titrating off of one that’s been coursing though my system for 12 years. Adding a few scary new ones that require lab tests every 90 days.
The doc says:
“I want to put you on ——– but you’ll gain weight. A lot of weight.”
My reaction?  A blood curdling scream.
He thoughtfully then suggested another two meds with the addition of anxiety medication.
I acquiesced and he called Security to stand down.

Apparently apropos of nothing the blood pressure was 190/138 today.
The nurse took it twice to make sure. I already told the idiot that my blood pressure meds have been gone for a week.
“You know that’s dangerously high. You have to see a doctor immediately.”
“That’s why I’m here” I say
“Yes but we don’t prescribe that type of medication. You’ll have to see another medical clinic.”
“So I guess I’ll stroke-out here then. Do you have pillow and a blankie?”
“No we’ll give you a referral.” The nurse says.

Great. Come to find out after driving across town to another office (four hours later) that in order to be treated for the blood pressure I have to make an appointment in advance with reams of completed paperwork in advance to qualify for the sliding fee scale.
“Yes” I say “But I am going to have a fucking aneurysm today.”
“I’m so sorry but Washoe County is really behind the curve in medical treatment.”
No shit.

Wile E. Coyote
Genius

Well Thanksgiving is coming up shortly. I’ve been invited to the First Annual Thanksgiving Misfits Dinner at a friend’s house.
C’mon sing with me kids ‘Oh we’re on the Island of Misfit Goys…..’

My hosts have invited 7 or 8 people to hang out, watch cheesy/cult/inappropriate movies (piss on football; we’re all geeks here) and then they’re going to prepare a feast for all.

When I say we’re geeks it’s true. The menu was placed into Excel and posted on Google.
Two count ‘em TWO types of Meat (with a capital M), potatoes, pies, veggies, rolls (not of fat since I skirted that damned med) crudités, deserts, wines for each course, absurd campy movies and twisted humor all around.
Can’t think of a better way to celebrate “Happy Kill-An-Indigenous-People-and Eat-Till-You-Puke Day.”

I’m there.

Alrighty then time to look over this amazing array of medication bottles and try to ascertain which ones I take tonight and which are taken in the mornings.
Fuck. Better living through chemistry indeed.

Praise the Lord and Pass the Xanax.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
Chase This Light
By: Jimmy Eat World
Release date: 16 October, 2007