There are plenty of sides to each and every story. And there are many voices that are loud and
domineering in its retelling. But no one can tell my story, not even those who have been in it with me. Only I can do that... me... the supposed coward of quietude.
I confess that over the years, starting with puberty, I have had enormous boughts of passive-aggressive behavior right up there with melancholia, restlessness and the occasional weepy display. As a young adult and not always the best at communicating my feelings, I have always been painfully aware of my struggles and wished to "fix" them... only to create a deeper sense
of failure.
With the turning over of a new leaf in my thirties, I have worked very hard on being honest with myself, learning, growing, confessing and breaking free from deeply embedded thought patterns that always made me the victim in terms of self-worth.
With this new journey, this new page, I have refrained, at times, by sheer willpower from behaving in a way that would create lots and lots of ripples. With the use of exercise, creating new goals for myself, meditation, journaling and immersing myself in other types of creative work, I have provided for myself a means to redirect attention so as not to give in to the dark urge to react in way that would, in fact, create a lot of damn ripples. Or perhaps it's my ego
thinking I would create any ripple at all... at any rate... I like placid. Let's keep the waters placid.
Its not a question of whether or not someone does or doesn't deserve it. It's a question of my own integrity. A question of forgiveness... and that's something that I'm still in the process of doing.
While I feel no joy or pleasure in what one may consider to be a "lack of a support system", I do not for one moment feel that it is somehow my responsibility to offer reprieve. It's not about blame or choosing sides. It's not about supporting or not supporting.
See, I believe one's biggest sense of support is found in the person looking back at him/her... in the mirror... that shiny thing that needs to be cleaned on a regular basis. Yes, even EYE have had to learn this. Once this s put into practice, it also puts things into perspective... puts the power ack into the hands of the reflection, and releases one from the opinions of others.
It's precisely the reaction that reveals the fogginess of the mirror.
Here's the thing: I have my integrity. I have honesty. I have nothing to hide, no desire to destroy... okay well maybe that's a little far-fetched. So like I said, I have nothing to hide: not from myself, my family, my friends, my work, my self... so please, refrain from holding me responsible for one's personal experience of discomfort. I have no problem giving freedom. I would kindly ask the same in return.
Logic is not simply a term used to fit one's own way of thinking. Logic brings with it a certain objectivity. It's simple: Thesis + Antithesis = Synthesis. If the Synthesis emerged months ago, born of a mutually-reached decision, then I am certainly clueless as to how Logic uses after-thought and anxiety to change the answer. In spite of the good (or bad) humored picking for having less than ideal common sense, I did learn somethingin college.
I've also the mathematic skills to realize when two parties each pay half towards a common goal. I am an excellent record keeper thank you very much. It's all in writing. Allow me to reassure the troubled mind that halfsies were not accomplished in the very least. To throw the term "responsible" around like a battered woman is not becoming. I moved out of the way, out of your hair, and continued on. Same please?
Luke-warm venting isn't for everyone. Because I tend to think before I speak, there is an element of cool and calm with a little bit of heart. Real human lives are affected by words and actions. There is power in language. I respect that. I respect myself. And I respect a person's ability to make their own decisions. I respect follow through, committement and individual freedom. In all of my luke-warmness, my requisite is this: don't go away mad.
Just go away.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Human Duct Work: The Machine
To be literal, "human duct work" can be understood as follows:
Whether it's a shot of hot anger or a chilling cold shoulder, every human has a duct system; that system of contrived passage ways from the ear lobes to the drum. The communicated item then participates in the synapsis (or is it synapses?) of neurons and nerves and blood and all of the other stuff that make your brain work. From the brain it flows to the understanding mode of brain activity.
Now see, this can get tricky in the duct work. I would argue that for some, it flows straight to the heart. When this happens, the communicated item tends to be interpreted through the lenses of "feeling" or "past experience." Due to the reactive nature of this duct work, I might call this the "reactionary venting."
For others, it directs itself to the mental/logical capacity of the duct work... weighing odds, ends, pros, cons and calculating the response necessary or unnecessary, using the 5 senses. Less apt to "take it personally" the logical aspect may likewise come across as harsh or less than tactful. Due to its cool nature, I might call this the "venting via report."
It therefore seems to me that there are various ways in which to make the best use of the thermostat prior to the "air's" release. Some would say that Facebook and/or Twitter might not be the best choice of action, while others would argue that expression is as expression does. Meh, to each his/her own.
I would vouch for the closed circulation of journaling in private or conversing with a trusted friend. Whatever creates the least amount of ripples suits me just fine. Some have called me spineless; I prefer meek. Some have called me a coward; I prefer peace keepter. Others have called me names of the derrogatory nature that I shall refrain from repeating. I prefer... well... I could settle for coward. I am a "coward" in the face of confrontation. I don't like arguing. I don't like uncomfortable situations. And I certainly don't like confrontation.
However, even cowards such as I reach a place of reactionary intensity. So with use of a bit more public forum, I shall, myself, share a bit of venting that is hopefully a pleasant blend of hot and cold.
Stay tuned for a luke warm experience....
Whether it's a shot of hot anger or a chilling cold shoulder, every human has a duct system; that system of contrived passage ways from the ear lobes to the drum. The communicated item then participates in the synapsis (or is it synapses?) of neurons and nerves and blood and all of the other stuff that make your brain work. From the brain it flows to the understanding mode of brain activity.
Now see, this can get tricky in the duct work. I would argue that for some, it flows straight to the heart. When this happens, the communicated item tends to be interpreted through the lenses of "feeling" or "past experience." Due to the reactive nature of this duct work, I might call this the "reactionary venting."
For others, it directs itself to the mental/logical capacity of the duct work... weighing odds, ends, pros, cons and calculating the response necessary or unnecessary, using the 5 senses. Less apt to "take it personally" the logical aspect may likewise come across as harsh or less than tactful. Due to its cool nature, I might call this the "venting via report."
It therefore seems to me that there are various ways in which to make the best use of the thermostat prior to the "air's" release. Some would say that Facebook and/or Twitter might not be the best choice of action, while others would argue that expression is as expression does. Meh, to each his/her own.
I would vouch for the closed circulation of journaling in private or conversing with a trusted friend. Whatever creates the least amount of ripples suits me just fine. Some have called me spineless; I prefer meek. Some have called me a coward; I prefer peace keepter. Others have called me names of the derrogatory nature that I shall refrain from repeating. I prefer... well... I could settle for coward. I am a "coward" in the face of confrontation. I don't like arguing. I don't like uncomfortable situations. And I certainly don't like confrontation.
However, even cowards such as I reach a place of reactionary intensity. So with use of a bit more public forum, I shall, myself, share a bit of venting that is hopefully a pleasant blend of hot and cold.
Stay tuned for a luke warm experience....
Saturday, February 4, 2012
It's A Shrink Wrap
In my young adult life time, I have had encounters with a total of four counselors/psychologists. My choice to visit the "shrink" was indeed just that - a choice that I made for myself.
No I didn't grow up in an abusive home or suffer severe trauma. My parents never got divorced; and if they ever exchanged a cross word with one another it was always carefully out of earshot from my brothers and I. My childhood is filled with rich memories of summers with my cousins and holiday meals with my grandparents. The only behavior that even remotely resembles abuse would be the occasional smackdown received from my brothers per usual (most call this sibling rivalry).
Growing up however, I simply didn't know how to communicate my own fears/worries/anxieties very openly due to my own hellacious knack for self-sabotage. Eventually, as a young adult, I felt more at ease sorting through the demise with someone if they were paid to listen to me. And even with the exchange of a copay, it wasn't an easy thing to articulate.
I've often considered this to be a curious thing about myself, particularly because of the very line of work I am in. Then again, perhaps that's the irony of it all... I listen because I want to be listened to. How narcissistic that seems? Until I realized that to be listened to is actually, believe it or not, a basic human need; even for those of us who think we don't need it.
My initial decision to "shrink it up" took place in college. What I know and understand now to be anxiety and overwhelming yet vague amounts of insecurity, were at the time, thoughts and feelings that dictated my very existence. I needed a safe place to talk, share and be fully realized into the stigma of "mental." After all, taking the plunge to "talk" to a professional certainly makes you mental, right? It has been through my process of "shrinkage" conversations, that I realized that I am so incredibly normal.
Exhibit A: Only after about 3 visits with Counselor 1, I became the listener. Sometimes, while learning about active listening, body language and quiet ques in my graduate courses, it's probably not the best scenario to apply these when visiting with a counselor who's just as human as you are. I mean, this guy was quirky, socially awkward and just plain odd. That last visit I had with him, I walked out realizing that I just gave this guy advice... and I'm paying HIM to counsel.
So I stopped.
Exhibit B: Counselor 2 discovered in our visits that I am a Minister of sorts. This lead to what I like to call, "The Confessional." This happens sometimes with people who, upon learning my trade, morph into "sinners" and feel the need to either apologize, share excuses or clam up completely. However, not being fully schooled in this response as a young 26 year old, I was offering active listening to my counselor, as she shared with me childhood stories of religious baggage, dogmatic abuses, and the general sense of "I'll never be enough."
Wait... there's a reason why I pay to talk... because I don't really elsehwere. And I don't really here.
So I stopped.
Exhibit C: Counselor 3 was an intellectual of sorts; categorizing and implementing outlines for a "healthier' behavorial practice. I can appreciate this. However, a conflict of interest arose upon the discovery that this counselor also provided shrinkage services to various folks I knew... the very folks I was having the most difficulty with. Meh... safe place gone buh bye.
So I stopped.
Last and Final Exhibit D: Counselor 4 socked it to me. She was a sounding board that reflected back to me the very normalcies I presented. I was bemused by my own lack of awareness that I was aware. Basically, I paid her for the validation that I am human, flawed, wonderful and in need of a little time to heal. Only, I wasn't giving myself credit that I had it in me. This wonderful lady offered me tools to be simply human.
Tools that I have encouraged in others.
Tools that we all have access to.
And with that... I stopped. Grateful, and free of co-pays.
No I didn't grow up in an abusive home or suffer severe trauma. My parents never got divorced; and if they ever exchanged a cross word with one another it was always carefully out of earshot from my brothers and I. My childhood is filled with rich memories of summers with my cousins and holiday meals with my grandparents. The only behavior that even remotely resembles abuse would be the occasional smackdown received from my brothers per usual (most call this sibling rivalry).
Growing up however, I simply didn't know how to communicate my own fears/worries/anxieties very openly due to my own hellacious knack for self-sabotage. Eventually, as a young adult, I felt more at ease sorting through the demise with someone if they were paid to listen to me. And even with the exchange of a copay, it wasn't an easy thing to articulate.
I've often considered this to be a curious thing about myself, particularly because of the very line of work I am in. Then again, perhaps that's the irony of it all... I listen because I want to be listened to. How narcissistic that seems? Until I realized that to be listened to is actually, believe it or not, a basic human need; even for those of us who think we don't need it.
My initial decision to "shrink it up" took place in college. What I know and understand now to be anxiety and overwhelming yet vague amounts of insecurity, were at the time, thoughts and feelings that dictated my very existence. I needed a safe place to talk, share and be fully realized into the stigma of "mental." After all, taking the plunge to "talk" to a professional certainly makes you mental, right? It has been through my process of "shrinkage" conversations, that I realized that I am so incredibly normal.
Exhibit A: Only after about 3 visits with Counselor 1, I became the listener. Sometimes, while learning about active listening, body language and quiet ques in my graduate courses, it's probably not the best scenario to apply these when visiting with a counselor who's just as human as you are. I mean, this guy was quirky, socially awkward and just plain odd. That last visit I had with him, I walked out realizing that I just gave this guy advice... and I'm paying HIM to counsel.
So I stopped.
Exhibit B: Counselor 2 discovered in our visits that I am a Minister of sorts. This lead to what I like to call, "The Confessional." This happens sometimes with people who, upon learning my trade, morph into "sinners" and feel the need to either apologize, share excuses or clam up completely. However, not being fully schooled in this response as a young 26 year old, I was offering active listening to my counselor, as she shared with me childhood stories of religious baggage, dogmatic abuses, and the general sense of "I'll never be enough."
Wait... there's a reason why I pay to talk... because I don't really elsehwere. And I don't really here.
So I stopped.
Exhibit C: Counselor 3 was an intellectual of sorts; categorizing and implementing outlines for a "healthier' behavorial practice. I can appreciate this. However, a conflict of interest arose upon the discovery that this counselor also provided shrinkage services to various folks I knew... the very folks I was having the most difficulty with. Meh... safe place gone buh bye.
So I stopped.
Last and Final Exhibit D: Counselor 4 socked it to me. She was a sounding board that reflected back to me the very normalcies I presented. I was bemused by my own lack of awareness that I was aware. Basically, I paid her for the validation that I am human, flawed, wonderful and in need of a little time to heal. Only, I wasn't giving myself credit that I had it in me. This wonderful lady offered me tools to be simply human.
Tools that I have encouraged in others.
Tools that we all have access to.
And with that... I stopped. Grateful, and free of co-pays.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Deep Thoughts with Rachel Luck
Every morning I am intentional about setting aside some time for meditative purposes. If you are thinking that meditation is a practice that requires incense, soft music and sitting indian style for an hour, I would invite you to reconsider.
See, Rachel's school of meditation varies from day to day. Sometimes it IS sitting indian style listening to music; but not for an hour. Maybe 10 or 15 minutes. Sometimes I am sitting on the floor just enjoying the company of my dogs. Sometimes it's sipping on my coffee on the back porch. Meditation, for me, is less about the "act" and more about the focus.
For those of you who don't know what an inner dialogue is, you will quickly learn that you have one when you focus on being in the moment. I'm not talking about distractions, I'm talking about the conversations you have with yourself; sometimes the thoughts that you aren't even aware that you have.
The joy in this practice is not only learning to be more self-aware of what you are telling yourself, but also to develop the skill of looking at your inner dialogue with a sort of objective eye.
I would like share my morning meditation with you.
Ok Rachel, let's focus on the breath. Feel the coolness of the breath going into the nostril, and the warmth going out. Man this is nice. I have come such a long way from months ago. I couldn't even sit still much less focus on breathing. Whoops... let's focus on breathing.
Oooh, its chilly outside when i'm sitting still like this. Should I have put on another coat? Breathe Rachel.
Okay fine, open up your eyes and just observe the tree, the sky, the rutted backyard that appears much more aesthetically pleasing in the dark. See? One with your little piece of nature. Those traffic lights are really bright.
Breathe.
Ah yes, I so enjoy being present and in the moment in my sacred mornings. Is that someone pulling in my driveway? Huh... it's just a car getting on the off ramp. That's odd. I've never noticed that before.
Breathe.
Breathing... in... out... calm... relax. I just feel so loved by the universe. MAN that traffic light is distracting! Where is Lilly? Oh I'm sure she's in the yard and I just can't see her because it's dark. I am really humbled that I have grown so much spiritually. I wonder if it is like an age thing? I mean, Liz in Eat Pray Love was in her mid-thirties. I know friends who have talked about life-changing events in their thirties.
Er, Jesus was killed at 32 right? That's my age. Dude that blows.
Done. My only reprieve is laughing; at myself. It's a great thing that I am the only one who can hear my own thoughts. I would offend so many people without the intent of seeming irreverent or insensitive. Luckily, when you can see the humor in yourself, it makes every meditation an adventure.
I'll do it again tomorrow.
See, Rachel's school of meditation varies from day to day. Sometimes it IS sitting indian style listening to music; but not for an hour. Maybe 10 or 15 minutes. Sometimes I am sitting on the floor just enjoying the company of my dogs. Sometimes it's sipping on my coffee on the back porch. Meditation, for me, is less about the "act" and more about the focus.
For those of you who don't know what an inner dialogue is, you will quickly learn that you have one when you focus on being in the moment. I'm not talking about distractions, I'm talking about the conversations you have with yourself; sometimes the thoughts that you aren't even aware that you have.
The joy in this practice is not only learning to be more self-aware of what you are telling yourself, but also to develop the skill of looking at your inner dialogue with a sort of objective eye.
I would like share my morning meditation with you.
Ok Rachel, let's focus on the breath. Feel the coolness of the breath going into the nostril, and the warmth going out. Man this is nice. I have come such a long way from months ago. I couldn't even sit still much less focus on breathing. Whoops... let's focus on breathing.
Oooh, its chilly outside when i'm sitting still like this. Should I have put on another coat? Breathe Rachel.
Okay fine, open up your eyes and just observe the tree, the sky, the rutted backyard that appears much more aesthetically pleasing in the dark. See? One with your little piece of nature. Those traffic lights are really bright.
Breathe.
Ah yes, I so enjoy being present and in the moment in my sacred mornings. Is that someone pulling in my driveway? Huh... it's just a car getting on the off ramp. That's odd. I've never noticed that before.
Breathe.
Breathing... in... out... calm... relax. I just feel so loved by the universe. MAN that traffic light is distracting! Where is Lilly? Oh I'm sure she's in the yard and I just can't see her because it's dark. I am really humbled that I have grown so much spiritually. I wonder if it is like an age thing? I mean, Liz in Eat Pray Love was in her mid-thirties. I know friends who have talked about life-changing events in their thirties.
Er, Jesus was killed at 32 right? That's my age. Dude that blows.
Done. My only reprieve is laughing; at myself. It's a great thing that I am the only one who can hear my own thoughts. I would offend so many people without the intent of seeming irreverent or insensitive. Luckily, when you can see the humor in yourself, it makes every meditation an adventure.
I'll do it again tomorrow.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
So you call yourself 2011.
I call you "Year of Succubus."
However, it is not in vain. I have learned a lot from you, what with the changes that not only I have experienced personally, but also in the changes and adjustments that I have observed in the lives of those around me. Whether it's loss of employment, the loss of important people in our lives, loss of identity, loss of hope, loss of respect for corporate institutons (hello Occupy!), I have experienced some and observed others.
Once upon a time, I would be the very first to say that everything happens for a reason. And while I suppose I could still say it, I also realize that I would only be saying it to make myself feel better. Assuming that everything has a "reason" provides, for me, a sense that everything has its context and place. Everything has its label on the shelf for later reference and reflection.
On this side of things, I believe a more truthful statement is not so much that everything happens for a reason; but rather that things happen. And when "things" happen, the reason as to "why" or "why not" is less important than the response we give to it.
I have come to the understanding that it is in my response, my reaction, that I have discovered the most about Rachel. And it is only Rachel who can do anything about Rachel. No matter where I go, Rachel always seem to be there. No matter what mirror I look in or what reflection I see while window shopping, I am constantly reminded that I am always there with Rachel. Distractions help lift the immediacy of things, but distractions will fade away soon enough. And what am I stuck with?
Rachel.
Fortunately, as 2011 comes to a close, I no longer feel "stuck" with myself. After a series of hard lessons, brutal honesty and an ongoing awareness that I have tremendous room to grow, I have actually begun to be "okay" with me. I have felt some scarey things this year... things that I didn't know I was capable of feeling. Things that I knew I could not ignore or else I would rot from the inside out. I gave myself permission to feel and be human. I gave myself permission to address all of the junk in my proverbial trunk... to yell and kick and scream within the safe confines of my own santuary. I have learned to breath and focus and shake off the cancer of worry and anxiety over situations that haven't even happened. I have learned to be present, to be in the moment, and manifest a sense of peace and calm in a way that allows me to fully participate in the life around me.
I am more aware of the interactions with others. I am aware of boundaries and responsibility for my own actions as opposed to absorbing the daggers of another. I have learned that is it possible to be free from the muck and myre of self-loathing and the vague sense of always being "less-than." I have come to terms with the cliche that the truth shall set you free. And this truth begins with my own relationship to myself.
I have learned to be Rachel with all of her quirks and mannerisms and talents. I have learned that I am passionate about many things and a natural optimist. I have learned to be aware of myself... to find my voice... and to find a balance that begins with me.
It is precisely this balance that I choose to use as my surfboard on the wave into 2012. I wish to shake off the dust of 2011, to wash myself clean of the grudges and the heartaches, and surf on into the wild blue yonder.
I hope you will join me.
However, it is not in vain. I have learned a lot from you, what with the changes that not only I have experienced personally, but also in the changes and adjustments that I have observed in the lives of those around me. Whether it's loss of employment, the loss of important people in our lives, loss of identity, loss of hope, loss of respect for corporate institutons (hello Occupy!), I have experienced some and observed others.
Once upon a time, I would be the very first to say that everything happens for a reason. And while I suppose I could still say it, I also realize that I would only be saying it to make myself feel better. Assuming that everything has a "reason" provides, for me, a sense that everything has its context and place. Everything has its label on the shelf for later reference and reflection.
On this side of things, I believe a more truthful statement is not so much that everything happens for a reason; but rather that things happen. And when "things" happen, the reason as to "why" or "why not" is less important than the response we give to it.
I have come to the understanding that it is in my response, my reaction, that I have discovered the most about Rachel. And it is only Rachel who can do anything about Rachel. No matter where I go, Rachel always seem to be there. No matter what mirror I look in or what reflection I see while window shopping, I am constantly reminded that I am always there with Rachel. Distractions help lift the immediacy of things, but distractions will fade away soon enough. And what am I stuck with?
Rachel.
Fortunately, as 2011 comes to a close, I no longer feel "stuck" with myself. After a series of hard lessons, brutal honesty and an ongoing awareness that I have tremendous room to grow, I have actually begun to be "okay" with me. I have felt some scarey things this year... things that I didn't know I was capable of feeling. Things that I knew I could not ignore or else I would rot from the inside out. I gave myself permission to feel and be human. I gave myself permission to address all of the junk in my proverbial trunk... to yell and kick and scream within the safe confines of my own santuary. I have learned to breath and focus and shake off the cancer of worry and anxiety over situations that haven't even happened. I have learned to be present, to be in the moment, and manifest a sense of peace and calm in a way that allows me to fully participate in the life around me.
I am more aware of the interactions with others. I am aware of boundaries and responsibility for my own actions as opposed to absorbing the daggers of another. I have learned that is it possible to be free from the muck and myre of self-loathing and the vague sense of always being "less-than." I have come to terms with the cliche that the truth shall set you free. And this truth begins with my own relationship to myself.
I have learned to be Rachel with all of her quirks and mannerisms and talents. I have learned that I am passionate about many things and a natural optimist. I have learned to be aware of myself... to find my voice... and to find a balance that begins with me.
It is precisely this balance that I choose to use as my surfboard on the wave into 2012. I wish to shake off the dust of 2011, to wash myself clean of the grudges and the heartaches, and surf on into the wild blue yonder.
I hope you will join me.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Sick Day Revisited
Allow me to take just a few minutes from staring at my computer regarding work-related stuff and continue staring at my computer to address what some may call a "felicitious" endeavor of blogging. Either way, I'm staring at the computer screen with a medicine-induced glaze of zombie-esque decorum. Tissue anyone?
Ignoring the plague-filled year of 2008 (flu, strep, shingles and cysts - oh my), I rarely use time off from work due to "sickness". Especially now that I have a job that I love, coworkers that I enjoy and a certain rapport and reputation that I prefer to maintain with my PT's and colleagues... or maybe it's ego... I just don't want to slow down and "get behind" in progress. I pride myself on my organization and administrative skills. And I've been healthier all around. But once in a while, the "bug" gets me and I am forced to take my own respite, hunker down, and take a little compassion on myself.
I don't know about you, but when I think of staying home sick, I picture cat naps, cozy blankets, mindless movies and lots of fluids. I imagine soft angelic light surrounding me with the gentle nudgings of "shhh... relax... all is well... get some rest" all about my person. And it's true for the first couple hours.
It has been my experience, as of late, that once the clock hits 3pm or so, I start to feel less than okay and more antcy. I start to feel increasingly sad and bored. Then I start to think of all the work that I COULD be doing:
Should I go ahead and check my voice mails? I'm sure I have atleast 30 new ones just waiting to be heard.
What is this going to mean for my work out routine? I'm going to get fat! I can't get fat... I've worked so hard!!
And the dogs are driving me nuts. They haven't gotten their walk today.
The trash needs to be taken out. Ugh, I don't feel like taking it out.
I wish my mom were here... so she could baby me. Rachel shut up, your 32.
Is it time to take my antibiotic yet?
Where's my juice? Damn, it's empty.
I'm so bored, I wish I had someone to talk to. I'm lonely. Where are all my friends? Why don't they care?? They're working Rachel. Get over yourself.
I should try to sleep.
Toss.
Turn.
Sigh.
Toss.
Where's my book? Meh, not interested.
This blanket is NOT cozy. It just gets tangled up.
I should really think about getting Christmas presents. I'm broke. Which is why I should be WORKING!
Where's my work phone? Yep 30 voice mails.
Oh I can't get off the couch. Where's the remote? Judge Judy... great distraction. But she's so mean!!
I want my mom.
My nose hurts.
It's now 5:30pm. Melissa brings me some chicken soup and brief encouragement via conversation. She can't stay. Oh but I want her to hang out with me. :( Rachel you're sick. She has things to do. Take the Benadryl she gave you. Be grateful for the visit. Swallow it down.
It's 7pm. My head feels very heavy. I can't keep my eyes open. YES. This is what I've been longing for all day.
Make my way upstairs.
Did I feed the dogs?
Crawl in the bed, set the alarm.
Did I turn the fan on?
Oh Rachel just shut up and rela.....
The end.
Ignoring the plague-filled year of 2008 (flu, strep, shingles and cysts - oh my), I rarely use time off from work due to "sickness". Especially now that I have a job that I love, coworkers that I enjoy and a certain rapport and reputation that I prefer to maintain with my PT's and colleagues... or maybe it's ego... I just don't want to slow down and "get behind" in progress. I pride myself on my organization and administrative skills. And I've been healthier all around. But once in a while, the "bug" gets me and I am forced to take my own respite, hunker down, and take a little compassion on myself.
I don't know about you, but when I think of staying home sick, I picture cat naps, cozy blankets, mindless movies and lots of fluids. I imagine soft angelic light surrounding me with the gentle nudgings of "shhh... relax... all is well... get some rest" all about my person. And it's true for the first couple hours.
It has been my experience, as of late, that once the clock hits 3pm or so, I start to feel less than okay and more antcy. I start to feel increasingly sad and bored. Then I start to think of all the work that I COULD be doing:
Should I go ahead and check my voice mails? I'm sure I have atleast 30 new ones just waiting to be heard.
What is this going to mean for my work out routine? I'm going to get fat! I can't get fat... I've worked so hard!!
And the dogs are driving me nuts. They haven't gotten their walk today.
The trash needs to be taken out. Ugh, I don't feel like taking it out.
I wish my mom were here... so she could baby me. Rachel shut up, your 32.
Is it time to take my antibiotic yet?
Where's my juice? Damn, it's empty.
I'm so bored, I wish I had someone to talk to. I'm lonely. Where are all my friends? Why don't they care?? They're working Rachel. Get over yourself.
I should try to sleep.
Toss.
Turn.
Sigh.
Toss.
Where's my book? Meh, not interested.
This blanket is NOT cozy. It just gets tangled up.
I should really think about getting Christmas presents. I'm broke. Which is why I should be WORKING!
Where's my work phone? Yep 30 voice mails.
Oh I can't get off the couch. Where's the remote? Judge Judy... great distraction. But she's so mean!!
I want my mom.
My nose hurts.
It's now 5:30pm. Melissa brings me some chicken soup and brief encouragement via conversation. She can't stay. Oh but I want her to hang out with me. :( Rachel you're sick. She has things to do. Take the Benadryl she gave you. Be grateful for the visit. Swallow it down.
It's 7pm. My head feels very heavy. I can't keep my eyes open. YES. This is what I've been longing for all day.
Make my way upstairs.
Did I feed the dogs?
Crawl in the bed, set the alarm.
Did I turn the fan on?
Oh Rachel just shut up and rela.....
The end.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Mighty Malts Malted Milk Balls
It was a cold winter's afternoon in 2003. Buies Creek, North Carolina... an abundance of cotton fields and brick pathways. Tucked ever so sweetly in Reardon apartment 22 D, sat two budding artists, just busting at the seams with creative energy and skill. Too much cabin fever mixed with a plethora of Dr. Perky lead these two brilliantly bored minds into a spiral of creative genius. For, within their sacred pantry of processed goods, there sat a towering box of the sweet confectionery known as the Might Malts Malted Milk Balls. Taken aback by this amazing find, the two artists were destined to create the following tribute, played to the tune of Stephen Lynch's "Lullaby". I hope this doesn't hurt you as much as it hurt them.
My tummy is growling,
And I want something to eat.
My mind says be healthy,
But my head says eat something sweet.
Why can't I have you to myself, today?
I gaze at your lily white box, and say....
CHORUS:
You are my Mighty Malts Malted Milk Balls.
And you'll never fail me when my sweet tooth calls.
Bon-bons and ho-hoes and ding dongs
No they aren't for me;
Cuz you're a bonus pack and ten percent free.
I open the carton
And see to my delight
The little chocolate candies
That comfort in the night.
Why can I have just one serving of ten?
I would like more to eat my friend.
(Chorus)
(collaboration by Erin Tucker and Rachel E. Luck)
My tummy is growling,
And I want something to eat.
My mind says be healthy,
But my head says eat something sweet.
Why can't I have you to myself, today?
I gaze at your lily white box, and say....
CHORUS:
You are my Mighty Malts Malted Milk Balls.
And you'll never fail me when my sweet tooth calls.
Bon-bons and ho-hoes and ding dongs
No they aren't for me;
Cuz you're a bonus pack and ten percent free.
I open the carton
And see to my delight
The little chocolate candies
That comfort in the night.
Why can I have just one serving of ten?
I would like more to eat my friend.
(Chorus)
(collaboration by Erin Tucker and Rachel E. Luck)
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