Chasing Inspiration

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Psych, Fibromyalgia, and Pain Mitigation

  1. Green tea lattes. Nuf said.
  2. Fresh spring flowers in the middle of September. 
  3. Two more days to finish binge watching Psych on US Netflix. 
It's a cool, grey, autumnal day here and Velcro Dog and I enjoyed a brief walk at the dog park. He walked. I read. It's a great system for the two of us. And no, I don't just read. I walk as well. Just not as many laps as Velcro Dog. I can read, and he can't. Don't judge!

What do you mean, Psych is going away? No!!!!!!!!!

We also did some snuggling while watching Psych. The poor dog is distraught at the thought that we won't be able to watch his favorite TV show ever again. He loves Lassiter and secretly has a thing for Shawn's mom. He doesn't think I know this, but it's obvious from the way his eyes get all dewy when he looks at her.  Shhh, don't tell him, but I have plans to purchase said show so we can enjoy it whenever we desire. That's me, a giver. 

Today also marks two weeks into a new medication for my fibromyalgia (FM). It's cutting edge stuff and several people I know who have tried it have great things to say. Some have reported significant results. I was hoping for some of these dramatic results for myself.  Sadly that hasn't been the case. Instead of a near miraculous recovery, little things have been changing. I had to take a breath, reign in my expectations, and instead of looking for the big changes, I needed to look for any changes. 

I am usually tired all the time. While this has not changed, I find the fog that accompanies the fatigue is occasionally better. Especially in the afternoons. While I wish the fatigue would lift, I'll take a positive change in fibro fog. 

Pain has been my constant companion for, oh, around thirty years. Sure, there's and ebb and flow to the pain. Different flavors for different seasons. But it's always been there, watching. Waiting. There was a t-shirt making the rounds on Facebook a few weeks ago. The shirt was black and on the back were these words: This Shirt Turns Black Whenever I Am In Pain. This awesome black t-shirt speaks for me. 

With this new medication, I'm still in a lot of pain, but I'm having moments where the pain doesn't spike as high or stretch out for as long. Moments, mind you. But I'll take them. 

It's only been two weeks and it's only minute changes, but I've lived with this pain for over half my life. And it's gotten worse in the last few years. I'll take minute changes for the better over worse any day. Especially if eventually I can buy a t-shirt like the one above in a color other than black. 

Monday, September 26, 2016

Cabins, Audio Books, And Revelations

  1. With autumn comes cooler weather and less humidity. For this, I am always grateful.
  2. Velcro Dog has come to terms with the fact that I can't be consistent when I walk him. I have thanked him for his understanding. He has deigned to allow me to snuggle with him.
  3. Psych is leaving US Netflix on October 1st. This is less a gratitude then it is a public service announcement. You're welcome.
Our anniversary was the end of last month. We try to go out of town on or near our anniversary. Usually it's to a cabin here in MN that is owned by Husband's family. And we usually only go up for a long weekend. Two years ago, right after I quit my day job, we started coming up for a week. It's amazing to be away from the city for a week and bask in the silky silence of  nature. This year was almost perfect.

Why wasn't it perfect? Basically because it rained more often then not. It felt rather soggy for the first three days of our vacation. Then the sun did shine. And it was glorious.

Oh glorious, sun filled day!
We spent time just staring at the lake. And listening to the sounds of nature around us. Birds. Breeze. Waves. Wind. Not a jet ski or speed boat in sight! I kinda want to go back  even though the temperatures will require a fire at night. Can anyone say S'Mores!

One of the things I really love to do at the cabin is listen to audio books. Husband knows this and has learned that if he doesn't want me to listen to one of my UF or romance novels, he had best not do anything to piss me off. I always have a romance queued up to one of the hotter sex scenes just so I can play it at a very loud volume just to torture him. I also have audio books that I know he might enjoy. I save these for vacations. Cuz I'm good like that.

For this trip I queued up Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson. If you don't know who this amazing woman is, go ahead and take a moment to peruse her website, Twitter, or Facebook page. Go on, I'll wait.

So Jenny Lawson is a journalist who also lives with mental illness. And is brutally honest about what it's like to live her life. I don't have a diagnosed mental illness, though I do have situational depression. I do have chronic health conditions that attempt to turn my brain against me. I can relate to many of Jenny's stories. Sometimes so much I cry because, dammit, someone gets it!

I had read Furiously Happy when it first came out and I loved it. I wanted to fan girl Ms. Lawson and stalk her on Facebook , but I resisted. Instead I threw money at Jenny by purchasing her book for many people and myself. Including the audio book. Jenny has since thanked me in person for buying so many copies of her book and we are now friends. Oh, wait. That was a dream. And it wasn't Jenny Lawson, it was Nora Roberts. I really need to keep my fandoms straight!

Hubs was so thankful he didn't have to listen to sexy time scenes he actually paid attention to Furiously Happy. He thought Jenny lived a very colorful life and thought she and I would be dangerous if we knew each other. Dangerously cool! (Hubs wishes to let you know that no, he didn't think we would be dangerously cool. More like dangerous to his health. I countered that we would be freaky cool. Hubs agrees we would be freaky. He's less sanguine about cool. I love him despite his lack of vision).

We laughed. I cried. Hubs learned.

There were a few times when we were in the car and Jenny was regaling us with her tales of living her life, and I burst into tears. Jenny was talking about spoons and how life often needs to look different because we don't have the unlimited number of spoons able people seem to have. I was crying because every fucking word she said was brilliant. All those words illustrated what I had been attempting to share with my friends and family (and husband) for years. And he got it. Hubs listened with his whole self. And. He. Got. It.

So I cried some more in relief because trying to explain what it is to live in my body has been like attempting to dance the most beautiful and intricate of modern dances and hoping that my non performing arts husband would magically understand what I was saying without the context of meaning and movement. Jenny was able to be herself as she wrote that chapter, and even more herself as she recorded it for the audio book. And Hubs connected.

He's been asking me about my spoons ever since. Sometimes I want to hit him with a spoon, but I far prefer he ask than ignore or not understand the fact that I have limited spoons every day and that means I have to make the hard choices every minute of every day on how I am going to spend those spoons. Because they don't renew until the next day. And sometimes, not even then.

Thank you, Jenny "Dangerously Cool" Lawson. Thank you! And if you ever want to hang out and discuss the merits of taxidermy animal rodeos, I'm here for you! As long as I have the spoons.

Tuesday, May 03, 2016

In Which Self Doubt is Kicked in the Balls

  1. Train. Just because. 
  2. My friend's daughters. They are true joy and I love being a part of their lives. 
  3. Grape chia kombucha. Don't judge.
In addition to fibromyalgia (FM) and a recent diagnosis of chronic migraines, I also have insomnia. It's not chronic, even when it feels like it. My particular brand of insomnia is likely a co-morbid condition linked to the FM. I'm in pain, so I can't sleep. I don't sleep well, so I'm in pain. And so on. Most nights I can sleep. It's not the best sleep on the planet, but it's still sleep. Then there are nights like tonight. 

I went to bed with Hubs at the regular time. Played a little Angry Birds Pop, read a little, then turned on the classical music and turned out the lights. 

Hubs was snoring within five minutes. Me? Tossing. Turning. Closing my eyes. Doing relaxation breathing. Tossing some more. Then finally getting out of bed after ninety minutes of doing everything I could think of to will myself to sleep. 

I wish I was sleeping like the dog. 

We have these lovely reclining Mission style chairs in the great room. It's pretty much the only good furniture we own. When I can't sleep and I don't want to stare at any type of screen (phone, tablet, computer, tv. You get the idea), I go to my reclining chair. I may bring a book. Or my journal. Or I may just converse with, well, whatever it is I figure I need to converse with. God. The characters in my head. Myself. 

Tonight I had no desire to journal and I couldn't locate the fiction novel I just started reading, so I went with door number three and conversed with what felt like every self doubt I have ever had. Or rather, self doubt decided to talk to me.  Loudly. In Surround Sound.

Yesterday, since it's now tomorrow, Twitter served up something very timely. Almost prophetic.  

Jeri Ryan, of Star Trek: Voyager fame, posted the above on Twitter and Facebook as her Monday Mantra. I happened to see, thought, "Hells, yeah! Let's kick self doubt in the balls!" and went about the rest of my day. I didn't really think anything about self doubt, kicking it in said balls, or how to keep going.  Then midnight comes. And goes. And I'm tired yet awake and frustrated because AWAKE! And that background noise that is made up of accusations and self doubt goes through an audio filter and the tracks clean up until I can hear with the clarity of Dolby Surround Sound all the accusations and doubts and fears. And I'm tired and vulnerable and start to argue. Even though my arguments are nonsensical because TIRED! 

And then in frustration and resignation I turn on my phone to check I don't even know what. And there it is. Twitter. Open to Ms. Ryan's tweet. My respite from the crazy making. 

And I kick that self doubt in the balls. Really fucking hard. I stand my ground. I remind myself of all the things I have going for me. All the affirmations anyone has ever shared with me. I open the email thread from 2008 when I was laid off from a job I kinda enjoyed working with people I really loved and admired and reread all the positive things they told me about me. And I drank it in like a fine wine. And I kicked that self doubt where it would hurt the most. 

I am. 

That's it. I. Am. 

As long as I exist, there is the potential of doing better. Of overcoming. Of moving forward instead of backward. I. Am. 

The commentary, it's background noise again. I remain awake, and am now staring at a screen writing this post and then potentially writing more on my WIP. Or I may try for a couple of hours sleep before I head out to breakfast and super fun time shopping with a friend. 

Doesn't matter. I'll take being exhausted over being a puddle of self doubt and misery any day. 

Monday, April 11, 2016

Awesome Books Hangover

  1. Writer friends. Cuz you all rock.
  2. Tea. Hot, smooth, amazing tea. 
  3. Velcro Dog, for getting my ass moving in the mornings, even when I don't want to.

If you know me, you know I'm a voracious reader. And that my tastes are as varied and eclectic as there are stars in the sky. If asked what my favorite book of all time is, I'll usually stutter something inane because choosing a favorite book is like being asked whether I like my left eye more than my right. (Left is the correct answer). 

In the last month there have been some amazing books released. And since I'm not working and needed something that allowed me to procrastinate from prepping our tax returns, I was able to read in the joy and comfort of my own home. But now that the books have been read, I find myself in that interesting place where nothing appeals to me and all I want is more of the hair of the dog that bit me.

Just a snippet of some of the best books I've read in the last four weeks
So what's a girl to do? She rereads. It's the only option endorsed by Bookaholic's Anonymous, I swear. 

Over the last two weeks I have reread the entire cannon on Mercy Thompson universe books by Patricia Briggs,  Jill Shalvis's Cedar Ridge trilogy, and have made it halfway through J. R. Ward's Black Dagger Brotherhood series. All because the latest installment in theses series were published in March and the first week of April. And because they are all made of awesome! 

Oh, let's face it, it's really because I wanted to climb up inside these books, wrap them around me, and become one with the worlds therein. I wanted to hang out with Jacob in the fictional mountain tourist town of Cedar Ridge, CO. I wanted to listen to him talk about his loss and his hopes for the future. I wanted to see him get it right with his family. 

I wanted to head to the Tri-Cities, WA and spend time with Mercy and Adam and hopefully run into Charles and Anna if they chose to visit from Montana. I wanted to go to Fairyland and see the Fae (but only if Zee or Tad were going with me). I wanted to tell Stephan that for a vampire he's the shit and he's not as broken as he thinks he is. And yes, I wanted to see Coyote. 

I wanted to go to Caldwell and hang with the Brothers and their shellans. I wanted to hear Zsadist sing, and watch him with his baby girl. And hug him, if he would let me. I wanted to spend time with Rhage and Mary and the Beast, just be with them. I wanted to fire potato launchers with Butch and Vishous. I wanted to spend time just being with Phury. I wanted to see how everything was doing and never, ever leave. 

Why? Because books transport us. It can be to somewhere lofty, full of ideas and ideals. Or somewhere practical. They can also transport us to somewhere with heart and soul. And THAT is what I want every time I open a work of fiction. And something the three series above has been able to deliver, no matter how many times I've reread them. (Fair disclosure, I've lost count of the number of times I've reread the Mercy Thompson universe books, and have reread some of the BDB books an equally infinite number of times.)

And why I reread after I've finished a book made of awesome and have no idea how any other book in the known universe will ever compare. Rereading, it's a cure for Awesome Book Hangovers. And the common cold. But mostly Awesome Book Hangovers.

Photo by Moyan Brenn

Saturday, April 09, 2016

Birthday Postmortem


  1. The intrepid Mercy Thompson and her fictional world. She along with all her fictional compatriots have saved my sanity more times than I care to count. 
  2. Instacart. Thanks for saving my bacon over and over again!
  3. CPAs who know far more about the tax codes than I. 
While my birthday was a wonderful day, during the evening it was clear Hubs was not feeling well. And when he doesn't feel well, which is never, it means he's going to be down for some serious get well time. The remainder of the week was very low key. Hubs was sleeping and being generally sick grumpy. And I was doing fine. Until I got sick.

It was two and a half weeks of sick adults in our house. I'm sure at one point Velcro Dog packed his bags and wished for opposable thumbs so he could open the door and hitch a ride to somewhere not here.

Then there was tax crap. We sold some investments last year but the broker didn't include purchase dates or prices on the 1099-INV so I had to dig through 13 years or statements to try to find the info and put it in a format the accountant could use. Good. Lord.

Still, I had a good birthday. We saw the movie of my choice once both of us were feeling better (13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi). We went out for the dinner of my choosing the following weekend (Pizza Lucé for salmon instead of pizza). I spent birthday money on some books so I could have the series in epub format, even though I already own most of it in paper. Yes, I'm that girl. And proud of it.

One of my birthday gifts was the gift of a clean house. My friend came over and assisted me as I got down and dirty with the home office. While there is still work to be done, surfaces are clean and a metric ton of paper was escorted off the premises. Then she paid for the crew who cleans her home to come and clean mine. I had to do some heavy lifting with removing the clutter, and getting over the fact that someone who didn't know me would be in my home cleaning. Something I SHOULD be able to do, but don't have the energy or sometimes the pain tolerance to do.


So this week I cleared surfaces of paper and books and stuff. And this morning Hector and his crew of wonder workers came and cleaned the loft and main floor of my house. I wanted to kiss them all and cry tears of relieved joy. My house. She is clean! Sure, I need to clean a few things they missed because, honestly, who cleans the underside of chairs, or pulls off books to dust shelves, or pulls out someone else's drawers to eliminate the dog fur resting beneath? No one. But these small things are doable.

Excuse me while I go roll around on the floor for a little while. It's clean right now, so I'm going to enjoy it while I can. 

Monday, March 14, 2016

Birthdays, Goals, and Pie!


  1. The weather has been warmer than usual, which means we may have lilac blooms in March. March, people!
  2. It is National Pi Day, which anyone knows is an excuse to eat lots of delicious pie.
  3. Pedicures. They cure what ails you.
Today is Pi Day. It is also National Nap Day. Which is a good thing since it's the day after the Daylight Savings switch. Sleeping in is now like getting up on time. Where's the fun in that? 

It also happens to be my birthday. I am now closer to 50 than I was to 40. I feel okay about this. I figure 45 is the new 30. I don't feel like I'll be able to join AARP in five years. I don't feel like I'm middle aged. I don't feel like I'm 45. My feet especially don't feel like 45. 

Pretty Feet
My feet are ready for spring!

What is 45 supposed to feel like? I have no idea. I know people who have had trouble getting older. Each birthday is a trial and they stop celebrating their true age. They live in the past instead if the now. I have always wondered if I would be that person. Would I finally have a birthday where I mourn all the things I wanted to have accomplished by the time I turned X, but haven't? Would I start to feel the weight of my age? Would I want to quietly sweep my birthday under the rug and pretend it never happened?

This may occur some day in the future, but not today. I'm 45! Sure, I'm not where I pictured myself when I was making grand life plans years ago. That simply means life has changed, or those things I wanted to do and accomplish are still there, waiting to be plucked down and experienced. There is always time to accomplish dreams. And dreams continue to evolve and change. What I wanted when I was in my twenties is definitely different from what I want in my forties. This is a good thing. 

I used to make birthday year goals. I would write a book (check). I would excel in my job (check). I would explore life coaching (check). I would open a life coaching practice (still on the books). I would publish several books (still in the works). I would travel to somewhere exciting (check, and more to come). I would work for myself (quit the day job, but due to health, so still need to find something I can do from home). I would be financially set enough to retire (uh, no). 

I have learned that there are some goals I can complete in my timeline and others that I can't. I still make goals. Like right now I have a goal of working through three courses I purchased years ago but didn't have the time and/or energy to complete. I have weekly goals with these courses, and I don't set a goal out further than a week. It's less daunting that way. 

I'm kinder to myself when I don't meet a goal. Instead of beating myself up, too much, I try to figure out what caused the setback and learn from it. Apply that learning to my next goal. Move forward. It's more productive. 

Having grand dreams and goals is good. It pushes us toward something. But it's the day to day pursuit of those dreams and goals where we see success. Without that pursuit, dreams are just...dreams. 

Monday, February 29, 2016

Office Downsize Project Take Twenty

  1. Tea. It is magical, mystical, and lifts my spirits. 
  2. Ella Henderson. I could put Ghost on repeat. Seriously. 
  3. Friends who offer to help you clean and organize your home office, aka the abyss, and do not judge any of the things you have chosen to hold on to over the years. 
I used to be organized. When we lived in a smaller domicile, organization and cleaning was a cinch. We didn't have much space and we didn't have much stuff. Everything had a place. Even if that place was a box under the bed. 

Berlin Home Office
If only my desk was this clean and streamlined. Sigh.
Now we live in a bigger home. We have more stuff. And over the last few years I put more energy into organizing myself at work than organizing and reorganizing the chaos that occurs during renovations. Our bedroom and the guest room were the only two rooms that were mostly untouched. It's easy to keep the bedroom clean and less cluttered. The guest room has become a place to store those things we don't yet have a home for and should not be stored in the basement. We're slowly working through the stuff.

The one room I have always struggled with is the home office. If you go back on this blog, you will see a few times I have attempted to organize and downsize this space. I feel bad because at work I was uber organized. I didn't have the energy to organize the home office. And in the last few years I have developed a dislike for the space. I have a vision of how this space could be. But it would take money and time and renovations have been the primary goal in the last 10 years. Yes, 10 year. I about died when I realized that. June will make 11. I don't want to talk about it.

Things have gotten worse since I left work. All the personal items I had in my cubicle was dumped in the home office. And I haven't done a thing with it since. 

Initially I really didn't have the energy. Now that I have the energy, I lack the motivation. But I really need to make this space workable. More than workable, I need to make this space mine. Comfortable. Beautiful. Positive. Safe. 

I really want a room in this house that I can lock myself in and be creative, or slightly manic, or melancholy. And be allowed to just be me. We all need a space where we can be ourselves. The self we may not show everyone.  The part of ourselves that is growing and changing and becoming, but hasn't become enough we feel safe showing others. Not yet. 

I don't have that. I haven't had that since I got married. Our first home was so small there was no individual space. This house has the space but...the truth is Hubs has this vision of sharing an office. He doesn't quite understand the need for that singular space we can make our own. He kind of has his workshop. That is his space. It's not a space to work on a computer or a comfortable place to escape to. He escapes to the bedroom when he wants to be in his cave. I let him. I don't intrude. He needs his alone time. He needs his space. So do I. 

This week I'm attacking the office and making it work for me. A friend is coming over to help me. We will purge, rearrange, organize. Well, maybe not completely rearrange because the desk is staying where it is so I can get at the cords behind the computer. Otherwise, it could totally move. But once it's at least purged and organized, I can figure out what I need. What furniture could be made or purchased to make the space more pleasing. What pictures could go up on the walls. Where the water fountain could go. How I can make the space work for all the things I need and the things I want to do in here. 

Sometimes you need help getting a part of your life together. Sometimes it's okay to reach out and ask for it.