Two years blogging on whatever I feel like! Thanks to my fellow bloggers and e-buddies for keeping the circuit of discourse open. Onward!
She approached with heavy Megan Fox-style panting, not a single wiggle to her lean profile, pushing a three-wheeled exercise stroller with two well-behaved younguns strapped in for the ride. Her smile fanned the driveway, holding my gaze, interrupting the fill of my bike tires prior to an inaugural ride. Her skin, a scintillating coat of sweat which made me consider, if I was to bite her right now, she’d taste like crispy salted caramel. She’s still smiling and I’m still checking her out. The left brain asks, “What does she want??” The right brain predicts, “My money says she’s a nanny!”
Caramel approached with the pram. She sexily exhaled as she pointed out the deflated front tire, and could I help her air it up? I scowl inside: she’s pulling the Hot Damsel In Distress on meeeeee? That’s my move! At least she’s close enough for me to admire her toned thighs and sculpted calves. Shoving kids on a run does wonders for the human form! Alas, no ass. That’s Jenga. Right brain concedes to left.
The way the tire pump latches is too bulky for the small tire space, plus the receiver is funnily angled. Not gonna ruin my equipment for a hot chick, so had to send Salted Caramel on her way. Graciously she thanked me, waving as she bounced off.
I can get used to the suburbs.
We’re two weeks out, and muscle memory has kicked the door down. I’m able to walk a mile with the Bobster and push two miles on the bike before my legs tire. At peak performance I was burning up cardio machines and playing in bike lanes for ten miles on average. We’re getting there people! Santiago’s Manolin springing forward.
That takes care of the physical development, but how about this big brain? The apathy I shared in my fisherman’s post has tempered a bit. Every day I sit at my laptop and excrete the garbage getting in the way of genuine reflection. In reflection lies the idea, strong enough to stir tangible thoughts and visceral reactions into typed or written form. Just like thigh muscles, brain muscle memory is quite possible; the gift isn’t lost it’s just not exercised enough. Finally, a pay off. I really like the idea presented in my documentary post! Needs rewriting, yes, needs more carrots or potatoes, maybe even some Texas Pete’s. I’ll keep adapting it; you’re welcome to offer suggestions as I clean up. So there’s good news; the creative cauldron is ready to cook in!
Spiritually I’m indulging on companionship and doing it healthily. It’s…nice…different in a good way…this pseudo-domestication that is cohabitation. Something about sharing a nap or a homecooked meal keeps the crazy kitties at bay, or at least, bothering someone else for now. Major Lazer was onto something when he produced “Lean On” wasn’t he?
Hey ya’ll! I am back. You were missed! Glad we’re together again.
Where was I? Well, I was hospitalized to treat my bipolar disorder; cumulatively I spent 10 days under mental health care. The good news is, the medications that were causing my body disarray have been changed out for medications which keep me quite on the level.
- These dancing girls, one being lifted, can be found at Weekie Wachee Springs. The best thing you can do for someone with an illness of any type is offer positive support.
Those of you who haven’t experienced psychiatric hospitals probably will lean on films such as “Girl, Interrupted” or even “Shutter Island,” but I encourage you instead to check out a wonderful organization, NAMI.org, to address your concerns. They’re a group that does amazing work at the national and regional level; check out the site for the group nearest you.
While I was being treated, I asked for a journal. I figured I could have an Oscar Wilde moment (sans alcohol and non-prescribed drugs) and just write the entire time there, only to find that my handwriting was completely illegible, due to muscle spasms. It’s been a week now, and I’m able to type (hooray!) and my journal entries are once more legible.
So what should you make of it? I’m still the Von you know and love, I’ve gotten treatment that works, and I have a support system in place to ensure I continue a quality life, which includes you my buddy readers. Meanwhile, am thinking of a fun way to share these experiences with those who wish to know more about bipolar disorder, psychotic breaks, mania, anxiety…maybe pull an Ann Landers and call it, “Ask The Crazy Girl.”
So…any questions I can field right now?
~Reposting this from February, a peek into the challenges of this disorder. Here’s more information on World Bipolar Day.~
Today we’ll move the pin down one.
The hammies were complaining during the stationary bike warm-up, and now on the leg curls, they don’t wanna move.
I can do this.
Look left. Look right. All alone in the gym.
There it goes!
Fluid, don’t smack against the arse. Smooth, smooth, smooth…
Ironically, the song I have set for this week’s Turn It Up Tuesday comes on. Fitting, as we’re moving now to the quads.
I growl through upper body presses, then sigh towards the padded stand.
Lower ab leg curls.
As I stabilize my position to bang out crunches, a heavily obese woman enters the gym. She’s got proper gym clothes on, her water bottle is filled, and she’s motioning towards the cardio machines.
I’m so proud of her, showing the lazy skinny punks how to self-care. Her arrival encourages me to push through side crunches, to the point of making my injured right hip sing.
We did it.
I take my time giving Bobby his weekly bath, and suddenly I remember, I HAVE THERAPY TODAY.
I rush him so I can shower. He’s visibly relieved.
As I happen to swipe my smartphone screen, I notice the misread: two thirty not twelve thirty.
We’ve got time for pancakes!
2:36PM I arrive at the therapist’s office.
“I left the house an hour ago, I swear! Time always works against me…”
We shuffle into the room.
I remove a copy of Night Walkers from my purse. “You might recognize someone in there.”
She chuckles, then proceeds to read my short story, Tokyo Rose.
She looks up. “Metaphorically, what am I examining with this first page?”
“Consider it…the event horizon of a suicide.”
She laughs at the right parts, marvels at the word play, notes my editorializing. I’m pleased that she gets it.
After she’s done, I review with the therapist how this work stems from the memory of my last suicide attempt, now four years ago.
“What does this mean for you now?” Alluding to fame, fortune, popularity.
“It’s me confessing my truths. I put the work out there, because, mainly, I’m not long for this world.”
She mentions Stevie Smith and Nick Drake. I mention Michael Angelakos.
“So it seems that…knowing you’re not long for this world, helps you be part of it?”
I tell the therapist I’m visiting with a spiritualist to understand further the metaphysical dynamic of my existence. As we speak, I’m thumbing through a copy of the DSM-V. She encourages my interest in the science behind psychosis, but reminds me, the DSM is a tome put together by psychiatrists under the influence of pharmaceutical companies.
I mention the show happening tomorrow. She’s visibly proud, but sees I’m not.
I then recall the last time I had a grand event occur involving my art, I ended up in the HPU.
Knowing this, we design a skeletal plan of approach: “How are you going to keep safe?” I offer my initial strategy. The therapist approves of my suggestions. “Give yourself permission to refuse anything that you know will upset you. Allow yourself to be emotional, if you have a reaction.”
“Just remember…you can express yourself, just don’t touch anybody.”
I flip to Bipolar Disorder. “I wish We weren’t the new bogeymen.”
I smirk. “Bipolar is the new gay.”
“We should start making T-shirts. ‘Bipolar Is The New Gay’!”
“Yes.” I clasp my hands, “We just want to belong.”
She laughs. “You’re going to be alright.”
Sigh. “I know.”
I can do this.
So whatcha been up to Von?
Welp…life has presented disturbances and delights alike. The disturbance is…
…I’m in love.
Yes, yes, go ahead and boo hiss, I can’t stand it either! But it’s undeniable. I tried, friends, I tried to throw all my fatalist crazy at BF but he’s the wiser of the both of us. Embattled yet holding ground, he demanded I let him love me.
Last year’s 2015 plan was to pull up stakes, leave the United States and just roam Central and South America for however long I could secure a visa. Thanks to his merciless adoration I’m settling in, right here, in The Burg.
Jerk! Booooo hisssssssss
This is most unprecedented, as I have a “Wherever I May Roam” tendency. However, I’ve summited that pinnacle in one’s life when it’s time to let go of one’s story. While it fuels the topics I write about – I’ve got fodder for decades – I’ve decided to abandon/abort/divorce the societally-trained need to drag one’s past into the present.
I choose to be
a mere observer of events
which do not serve me now.
If I’m not escaping the Nature Coast, then I need to get cozy! I’ve had my Treehouse for four years now, but you wouldn’t know I was its resident with hospital-white, non-decorated walls and conservative, spare furnishings. In a word: BLAH. I’m gonna use the next few months for “nesting,” personalizing the Treehouse, reflecting my love for the arts and coastal living.
My New Year’s Resolution was to focus on ways to be more ‘present’ in the St Petersburg literary community, and so far, so good; my antics have been appreciated at recent events and festivals! Encouraged by the podcast as the 21st century’s version of gathering around and listening to vocal talent, we’re trying to pair up with popular cafes, bars and restaurants, to workshop or share our art as the venue’s ambiance. This should quell the annoying tendency of piping Pandora over patrons, as well as the yawn of truth that is, “Jack Kerouac used to write here.” Are you doing something like this where you’re from? Please share; I really want to make this a cultural phenomenon!
In the coming weeks, I’ll be traveling out of Florida; the song of the open road fills my ears. Ohhh can’t wait for this; a change of scenery offers a change in perspective, a polish to the lens I’m viewing the world through. Trying to do lots of outdoorsy stuff, which means, my ass needs to run an 11:18 mile average before I hit any trails!
The 2nd quarter looks promising: doing much for self, establishing a steady footing, letting love happen, enjoying the now.
What have you been up to?
Now this was a cool event. This unique pub crawl, arranged by Wordier Than Thou, a local literary organization, and hosted by businesses in downtown St Pete’s Grand Central District, featured published writers reading from diverse works as the audience enjoyed drink specials and grub! As the night grew later, our presence on the mics were a bit confusing to the normal barflies. I personally found our district occupation revolutionary!
My contribution was a challenge because the cafe did not have a working sound system, so I stage projected my voice for a full 15 minutes! Going from rarely speaking to performance delivery hurt like a muthafucka, but love is pain, and I love to share from my novel, I Blew Up Juarez. 🙂
Some photos and videos; more can be found on Facebook and at Wordier Than Thou’s YouTube page.
Do not drink kratom right before a performance:
Keeping St Pete Literary:
Wanna play the I Blew Up Juarez Drinking Game? The 12 minute interactive video is posted on the Facebook Page. Go Like and enjoy (alcohol not necessary but highly recommended)
I couldn’t decide on one particular song, as I have been pleasantly inundated with all forms of music during my bloggy break, so, I’ll just pick the top four rotating in my headspace. Enjoy!
Genre: Hip Hop Emotion: Pissed Off Rationale: Yet another shooting in Killeen, Texas.
Genre: Blues Emotion: Smug Rationale: She called me ‘intimidating.’ All I did was show up.
Genre: Jazz Emotion: Focused Rationale: The goals I set for myself trump what others set for me.
Genre: Dance Emotion: Accomplished Rationale: My psych ward terror stories and poems WILL BE PUBLISHED!