Challenge, Letting Go

Letting Go Challenge: Week Eight

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  • 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 — pairs o’ pants
  • 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15 — various shirts
  • 16. Another thing of Salon Pas
  • 17. Curling Iron
  • 18. Boxer shorts/pj’s
  • 19. Black purse
  • 20. Cat calendar
  • 21. “N” necklace
  • 22. Broken refrigerator magnet
  • 23. Tractor Stickers*
  • 24. Bunny Ears*
  • 25. Cat-destroyed book (Change up!)
  • 26. Dental rinse from a hotel from at least 6 years ago
  • 27. Clear fingernail polish
  • 28. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

It seems this week that I’ve only had three accomplishments:

  1. I survived my first official week of steroids. Wasn’t awake through most of it, but I survived.
  2. I did make my 28 things this week.
  3. I now have a much thinned-out closet and two entirely empty closet shelves.

There is the fact that I’m less likely to burn down the house via the curling iron–something I was too afraid to use because 1/2 the time, it didn’t come on, and 1/2 the time the auto-shut off feature didn’t work, and I never seemed to remember to unplug it.

So there’s that.

This has been a week full of off for me. Everything has felt off.  I feel like I’m swirling in chaos, with everything being off, and I can’t find the energy or the quiet to write it back on again.

Togetherness has felt like void; attempted quietude has felt like a Tool concert from the nosebleed seats: enough to recognize the rhythm but just short of being able to interpret the lyric.

There is a huge gap between the life I have and the life I want. I know what I need to do to move toward that life, and, yet, here I am, off.

I don’t even have a picture of this week’s stuff.  I didn’t get it posted on Sunday.

Off. Off.

Normally, I’d wait until it came around full circle again: I started off; I finished on, and so there’s that.

Not this week. Still off.

196 things out of my house, and it’s still in chaos.

Fitting, maybe.

 

Challenge, Letting Go

Letting Go Challenge: Week Seven

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  • 1., 2., 3. Pillows
  • 4. Bathmat
  • 5. Gold purse
  • 6. White shirt
  • 7. Great Value Fiber Brownies (incredibly gross)
  • 8., 9., 10. green, purple,, and red shirt.
  • 11. Book: House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros
  • 12. Book. The Road by Cormac McCarthy
  • 13. Another red shirt
  • 14. Dog tie-down (never opened).
  • 15. Pet Head Cat Detangling spray (as if my cats would stand to be sprayed)
  • 16. Book: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
  • 17. Book: Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
  • 18. A glove that had been a dog toy
  • 19. Plastic measuring cup
  • 20. Book: Shop Girl by Steve Martin
  • 21. Book: How to Be a Woman by Caitlyn Moran
  • 22. Book: Dutch Oven Cookbook
  • 23. White plastic scraper something-or-other
  • 24.,25., 26., 27. Four margarita glasses
  • 28. Eyeliner (and last of the pink-eye items!)

Two interesting things this week. First, I’ve officially skimmed my books, and it was both easier and more complicated than I thought. Relative easy to pick them out. Which ones do I not want to read again? It didn’t matter if I enjoyed them (like Hurston and Martin) or not (like Moran or a cookbook for a Dutch Oven that I don’t even own), but rather, do I want to read them again?

There’s a hesitance with Hurston’s book. When I chose it (and put it back and picked it back up again), when I put it in the box (and pulled it out and put it back) and, even now, while I’m writing about it.

I actually just paused writing–right now–armed with the idea that if I found another book within 30 seconds, I’d switch them out.  So…I went to the bookshelf, only to find no books that I could decide to get rid of in 30 seconds. So I came back to the keyboard, intent on keeping it in the “give away” stack. But as I sat down to say I won against the urge to keep a book, I remembered that I had discovered a whole bag’s worth of stuff when I cleaned out a drawer this morning. So I switched it out for an old eyeliner from God-knows-when.

So. I’m keeping it, at least for now. I’m not sure if I’ve lost or won, but I’ll start reading it next and maybe find out why I’ve felt such a resistance to getting rid of it.

The second thing is that I’ve had a bath mat laid across an old chiminea for months. It’s been wet, dry, wet, and dry again, but I’ve never moved it. Until this week.

Under it, all piled on top of each other and all askew, was a legion of stink bugs. They were of differing sizes, so I’m guessing they’ve been breeding under it, and I have a mess of all ages. I wish I had stopped my infernal squealing in time to get a picture.

Now, if you’ve never seen a stink bug, you’re about to:

stinkbug

If you’ve never seen one up close and personal, that’s something to be grateful for. There’s a reason they’re called stink bugs. The odor they release is so dire, and permeates clothes so well that it can take a few washings to get it out.

Really, they should be called stank bugs. Farting is apparently their super power. If I had any photoshop skills at all (and photoshop, for that matter), I’d make one a costume that had SBD (for the ever elusive Silent But Deadly) in a Superman-esque pattern.

They really are that bad.

And my dog apparently loves them.

As they fell from the chiminea, the dog, ever alert for possible threats, sniffed them and began dragging her face and side of her body through them. It was like watching someone fry fish: she’d get one side really good and stinky  only to flip and do the other.

At least she’s balanced in her stink.

Luckily, only a few had fallen; my stank-loving dog only smelled pretty bad, as opposed to very, very bad.

I had rubbed her down, sprayed her with Febreeze (in hindsight, perhaps not the best idea) because I couldn’t manage to wash her.

Febreeze only hides so much. In case you ever wondered.

I gave her a dog biscuit and settled her in her favorite spot to spend the night — right outside the bedroom door in a corner of the hallway, and I flung myself into bed, utterly exhausted.

Sometime during the night, she nosed the door open and hopped up in the bed. And decided, very courteously, to wake me up with kisses to let me know she needed to go outside. It was between 3 and 4 this morning.

And yes, she still stank.

So there’s that.

142 things out.

Times, they are a-changin’.

(Image source: https://njaes.rutgers.edu/stinkbug/identify.asp )

Fabulous Friday, RA

Fabulous Friday: Moving through Fear

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I know that worrying is fruitless; it catastrophizes the future while stealing from us the present.

Logically, I know this.  I also know that, roughly 99% of the time, I am pretty much worry-free.

I am grateful beyond words for this.

But that 1% gets me.

As I had expected, I am responding extremely well to Enbrel, as demonstrated by the fact that I can do anything even while I’m tapering off the prednisone.

As of this coming Sunday , I’ll be steroid free.  And I fear it.

I know that the medicine is working. I know that I can’t be on steroids for the rest of my life.

I know, I know.

But I also know, or rather, remember, that the first time I tried to taper down, I was immobilized.

And of course this time is not that time; I have been tapering down for the past 6 weeks or so. 15 mg, then 10 mg, then 5.

And now I will be on 0 mg.

A friend of mine told me that she had an appointment to get a shot in her shoulder, and that she was scared of the pain.  She’s to the point where she can barely move it–lifting her arm above her head is damn near out of the question.

I have so, so, so been there.  “It will hurt,” I told her.  “But the difference it will make will be worth it.”  I remember getting that injection, how I was so scared of it, but afterward, I realized that the shot did not hurt anywhere near as much as the shoulder did.

And when the relief flooded over me, I would have easily done 10 of them to find that same relief.

My fear of the shot was far worse than the shot itself.

Perhaps it’s the same with the steroids. I’ve been on them since April. I know that they cause all sorts of bad stuff, but I’ve been with them for so long, I’m afraid of being without them.

I’m already seeing the side effects of weaning off them. I only thought I was exhausted before.  I had somehow lost track of how much the prednisone was “propping me up,” masking the depth of the exhaustion.

But I’m adapting. If I want to do anything like write, have clean clothes, clean house, it has to be before work. And it may only be 10 minutes or 20 minutes or a single paragraph written, but it’s something.

I’m making it through a 40 hour work week, give or take for doctor’s appointments and taking off an hour or so here and there toward the end of the week when I can’t hold my head up anymore.

And I won’t “win” NaNoWriMo this year.  But still, I’ve laid down about 6k words in 13 days, which is far more than I did the entire month of October. And, I’m managing to limit the self-editing, so that I’m just plowing through.

And that’s something fabulous. 

 

 

Challenge, Letting Go

Letting Go Challenge: Week Six

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I apologize for the low quality picture. I took it at night because I wanted to make sure I got the stuff that was going to be dropped off at work out the next day, and the other two weren’t taken under the best photographic conditions, either.

28 Things:

  • 1. Storage container for my medicine
  • 2. Magic Wand
  • 3. “I am loved” button
  • 4. Downy packet
  • 5. Bag of cat food
  • 6. Button
  • 7. Arthritis patches
  • 8. Phone Charger
  • 9. Single Knee Hi
  • 10. Mini shampoo
  • 11. Mini conditioner
  • 12. Big bottle of conditioner
  • 13. Book (look, i’ve started!) Zach’s lie
  • 14. Top of a candle
  • 15, 16, and 17: Three broken and/or empty pens
  • 18.  Alarm company security sign
  • 19. Laptop box
  • 20. Purple scarf
  • 21. Alcohol bottle
  • 22. Empty hair conditioner tube — found in a drawer
  • 23. Black pants
  • 24. Blue pants
  • 25. Bra that has never fit
  • 26 and 27. Two pairs of shoes
  • 28. Writer’s Market 2013

One of the things I’ve discovered this week is the joy of seeing reaction of someone when I pass something on. I had the chance to see it twice.

The magic wand was given to me by an incredible lady when I was having a rough time.  She is my purple fairy godmother. I’ve had it for a few years, and, as I was cleaning up, I discovered an old pin that said “I am loved.”  I’m not sure where I got that from.

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Someone I have known for over ten years–one of my first friends when I came to work for my employer–was in the hospital.  We have had a tumultuous history, most of the tumult resulting from the fact that I really, really hated myself and had no idea who I was. Well, I knew what I was: I was venomous, but I couldn’t do anything to stem the flow. It just poured out of me, infecting everything I touched.

I was the opposite of Midas: Instead of turning things to gold, I turned them to shit.

Except for her. The thing was, she kept reaching out again and again and again when I really, really didn’t deserve it.

We would hang out, then not hang out, then hang out again, mostly going our separate ways when I got a transfer and she started attending church.  We would see each other or text once in a while, but mostly it was space.  A lot of it, I think, was because I couldn’t look her in the eye.

But then I found out, quite by accident, that she was in the hospital, in isolation because her condition was so dire.  I waited a few days before contacting her, hoping she’d be out of isolation.  It was within this span that I found my magic wand and the pin.

And so I contacted her and found that she was able to receive company.  The first thing I did after giving her a hug made awkward by her hospital bed, and only a little bit by tension, was to give her the magic wand with the pin stuck in it.

I told her a little about the wand, but I don’t know if I told her that I didn’t need it any more. I guess the assumption is there since I was passing it down.

That was a bright moment: when I found it, I realized that, no matter what circumstances look like, I really didn’t need a magic wand.  Now, the joke is that there is no magic wand that makes everything better; it’s just a representation of good wishes from a lady who wished she could make everything better for me. But the thing is, I really don’t need a magic wand. That wand became my wish I could make everything better for my hospital-bound friend.

I don’t remember what we talked about, mostly catching up, with my attempting to apologize for how shitty I was to her. Back in the day, my “personal space bubble” was nearly infinite, and I didn’t tolerate anyone invading it very well, and made sure everyone knew it.

At the end, she said, “That what’s you do when you love someone. Give them space and hope they come back.”

Anger, I’ve found, doesn’t have to be a way of life.  It’s much better when it isn’t.  And it’s not that I’ve changed–I haven’t changed. I just lost a lot of the garbage that wasn’t me.

Life is really, really good.

Also, the “ice chest” that my Enbrel came in served another purpose. My nephew received a bike for his birthday with a platform on the back.  With a little bungee-cording, it fit perfectly.

So this:

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Became this:

20151025_171344

And life is really, really good.

Fabulous Friday, life getting better

Fabulous Friday: Loving What Is

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I’ll admit I stole the title from Byron Katie’s book of the same name, but I’m sure it has something to do with flattery.

Or something.

It’s been a bit of a rough week. I’m on my (I hope! I hope!) final leg of my prednisone journey, and on Sunday I started a 5mg dose, down from 10 mg. So much for that “uphill battle” thing: the trip down is far rougher than the trip up. Including the ‘roid rage and my flipping out over the bullshit mockumentary of the horrors of Planned Parenthood, which ended with my yelling at someone I really respect, realizing I was yelling at someone I really respect, and hiding away for the rest of the day.

Not my finest moment.

But going down is worse.

Because I had calmed down (way, way down), I had missed how much I had been “propped up” (almost quite literally) by the prednisone.  A couple of weeks ago, I went from 15 mg to 10 mg, and I could feel a difference energy-wise, but it wasn’t a huge deal. I  wasn’t flaring up every other day, so I knew the Enbrel is working.  Going down another notch on the steroids, however,  has pretty left me dragging myself around, kinda-sorta moving from task to task.   A bit of swelling started on Wednesday in my hands, and I’m hurting.

Not all days are good ones; not all weeks are good ones.  And yet, here I stand, A little over 9 months since my first flare-up, and I’m in better shape than I ever would have imagined at that point.

When I’m asked how I’m doing, I answer, quite honestly, “I’ve had much worse days.”

Because I have. Much, much, worse days.  I have constant nausea; in fact, I’m recommending to all my friends that they buy stock in Coca-Cola because I’m pretty much living off of Sprite and plain saltine crackers.

And yet, here I stand.

I am grateful that I have such a great boss. I’m grateful for my coworkers who, despite the sheer chaos of their days at times, still check on me.

And I’m very, very grateful for my friends.  I’m grateful when I see “long-lost” ones and play board games with them, and I’m grateful when I lose by negative 78 points because I don’t know what I’m doing.

I’m very, very grateful for like-minded people and the ability we share to lose ourselves in laughter.

I had committed to NaNoWriMo this month, and my goal is to lay down another 50k words and just trudge through the rough draft. I want it finished. Considering I barely broke 30K all year, though,it’s a long shot.

But I seem to excel at longshots. I’ve only written about 3k so far, but it’s more than I had written in all of October. So it’s something.

And it’s pretty fabulous from where I’m standing.

Challenge, Letting Go

Letting Go Challenge: Week Five (Upping my Game)

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I didn’t realize until after I had posted last week’s toss-out that I had actually made it a month.  Four weeks at 21 items a week.

My house is now 84 items emptier.

For the next four weeks, I’m going to shoot for 28 things a week. That’s just one more item a day.  28 x 4 = 112. Add that to the previous 84, and I’ll have 196–almost 200 things–NOT chaos-ing up my residence.

For this week, it’s:

  • 1. Ripped Dress
  • 2. Nail Polish
  • 3. and 4. Two huge boxes my dog food had been shipped in. I was going to put….something… in them, I know.
  • 5. Egg crate. I had been using it as a lap top cooler, but it’s not really useful if you can’t stand typing on them.
  • 6., 7., 8. Shirts that no longer fit. Donating them to work.
  • 9. Pair of pants, also donated to work.
  • 10. and 11. 2 pairs of shoes.
  • 12. and 13. 2 boxes of unopened tampons (not pictured), also donated to work.
  • 14. Happy Shack tie-dyed tshirt, sadly torn beyond any decent use
  • 15. Torn pink bag
  • 16. Hat that doesn’t even fit to the top of my ears.
  • 17. Chipped coffee cup
  • 18. Generic decongestant meds–expired 2007
  • 19. Facial cleanser–proof I’ll really use anything. It only has about 1/20th of a bottle left, but it doesn’t actually do anything but make you feel cleaner. Using astringent and a cotton pad right after I had washed my face showed that this stuff really didn’t work.
  • 20. Work lanyard (I think I was going to wash it once upon a time? Instead, thrown in my old junk drawer.
  • 21. E-cigarette liquid. Caramel Cappuccino. It WAS a favorite of mine until I spilled it all in my purse and couldn’t stand the smell of it anymore.
  • 22. Rubbermaid lid. (Dog, again.)
  • 23. Dog calendar. I was holding onto it because I was going to turn it into hand crafted paper–something I may or may not get back into in the future.
  • 24. Eye drops for pink eye. It took me over 40 years to get pink eye the first time. I think I’m pretty safe in throwing them away.
  • 25, 26, 27 spools of thread. I swear, these damn things keep multiplying.  I didn’t even count the last ones I found and handed over to my seamstress-at-work.
  • 28. Packet of Downy softener from 2010.

One of the interesting things I’ve discovered this week is that I’m actually looking forward to getting rid of things. I keep a box on my kitchen table that when I come across something, i drop it in there so I’m not doing them at the last minute.

Another thing is that I don’t feel guilty in buying something.  At least so far.

The facial cleansing stuff. Now, for the most part, I’ll buy generic. There are some things, though, that simply aren’t worth the “cost benefit.” Peanut butter, for example. Toilet paper, for another example. This stuff doesn’t work. And yet I kept using it. Cause, stubbornness.

I hate letting go of money. Hate it, hate it.  Actually, that’s not true. I hate spending money. I don’t have a problem letting go of it. (Subtle, but distinct difference, I guess.) But when I had enough of using astringent right after washing my face–the pad looking like I had been working in a coal yard–I tossed it and got some stuff that I’ve used in the past and knew it worked. Sure, it’s more expensive, but perhaps not as expensive as facial cleanser and astringent every single face-washing.

A friend and I were celebrating her acing her statistics class on Friday,  and, as I told her about the Letting Go challenge, and, the face cleaner in particular, she told me about her hair drawer. Hair bands, hair clips, many with the tags still on. “I need to do this,” she said. “But I hate getting rid of stuff.”

She’s a book hoarder like me. We have many things in common.

I told her to start small: maybe 7 things a week. Just one item a day. Not too painful, not too hard.

I told her I have too much stuff. Stuff I love and want but have forgotten because it’s been buried under or packed behind stuff I
don’t want but couldn’t stand to get rid of.

I am so very glad my friend told me about her own minimalist challenge.

This is downright liberating.

The lagniappe for the week is that I cleaned out my refrigerator.  Since I’ve been stocking Sprite for nausea, a LOT of stuff had gotten pushed to the back. Out it went. I didn’t think to count it til I had forgotten how many things I threw out.

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