Quirky, here we come.

Tristin (linked somewhere on this silly blog) tagged me to share 6 quirky things about myself with the world. Since I've already discussed my meds I figured, hey! Why not?

1) I am *very* particular about my bed. The sheets cost more than most of my shoes (and you know that's saying something). When I get into bed to sleep there must be NO wrinkles that I can discern through touch. I lay on my stomach, feet off the end of the bed, left ear to the pillow and the covers covering all but my right ear and face. I can NOT sleep without my ear out or my face covered.

2) I have more pens than Bank of America. You think I'm kidding? I have, at this moment, 2 quart-size bags filled with pens that I just discovered yesterday in addition to the mug of pens in each room. Needless to say, Goodwill won't be running out of pens any time soon.

3) I hate writing with pens without caps. It's simply immodest.

4) I refuse to organize my books. I always manage to find one that I haven't read or want to re-read when I'm looking for the one I'm thinking of. It's worked for years and the only a very cute man could change that.

5) I'm freakish about pedicures. I must have well attended feet at all times. Since I'm trying to be the Frugal Frida right now, I have to do them for myself. I hate it. As soon as I can it's back to $100/month for real pedicures.

6) I dislike wearing anything too tightly around my neck. No turtle-necks for this girl! Sometimes round necks are too tight. If I wear a necklace, which is very rare, it will be long enough to put my head through with my hair done easily and will probably be off mid-event. But I love earrings!

Merry Miss Medicated

When I was young my nickname inside my family was Merry Miss Sunshine. Later in life my mother dubbed me 'brilliant' not because of my mental acuity but rather because it was hard to look at me too long without protective eye wear. In all, those two rather acutely describe how I see myself--bright, dazzling, overwhelming energy flowing in every direction kind of willy-nilly without any real purpose or control. Every now and then I'll have a solar flare and something will get done with energy concentrated in one spot.

In order to accomplish things like, say, an education that kind of energy is pretty pointless. Drop me into a party? It's on! Sit me in a classroom? People around me are just annoyed.

Years ago my Mom discovered that some of that inability to focus was due to lack of stimulation in my frontal lobes or, as it's commonly known, ADD. In the late nineties I tried a bunch of different medications in order to harness my potential and only Ritalin worked. I hated that I had to use it. Still do. But the reality is that it works. Also, it eases my mind that most of the population can't drop 60 milligrams of speed daily and feel more in control of themselves with no withdrawals when they stop. Clearly evidence of something physical, yes?

After some careful consideration I decided to end the two year lapse in medication. Mom asked me how it felt when I started again and the only thing I could think to answer was, "It feels like someone took all that energy and concentrated it into a laser aimed out of my chest. Kinda like a panic attack without the heart rate." That feeling generally lasts about two days and then it's more like a concentrated glow from my upper torso. It's so intensely odd to be able to sit down and think about something from beginning to end but I have four months to finish ten classes toward a degree I've been working on for thirteen years. It's worth the chink in my pride.

Why am I sharing? When I left the doctors office today I was very frustrated. I have a tall, skinny doctor who said to me, "Don't be so hard on yourself. I could only concentrate for two or three hours at a time when I was studying." I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "Dr. Smith, I set an egg time for 15 minutes and feel amazed if I don't break task before it rings." He just kind of sat there and then said, "Well, ok. I gave you the prescription." As I drove out of the parking lot I saw a sign that read, "Mental illness is a brain disease, not a character defect."

Not perfect, but close enough.

I hope that people who struggle with controlling their minds or urges realize they are not alone. I've talked about the sense of isolation that can pervade in single life--this is not entirely unlike that. Group them together and you have a heady cocktail of self-doubt. It's vital not to let that get the best of you--to stand up to your insecurities and step over them, beyond them into the life that you choose for yourself.

And that's all I have to say about that.

For now.

Girls are weird.

I'm sitting here tonight thinking about the oddity of emotions experienced by the SingleGirl. I'm hoping that some of you can relate so that I don't feel like a total idiot for writing then but, hey, I'm me. I'll probably avoid that particular emotion.

So, as in all great blogs, there's this guy. I've met him maybe twice. He lives over a few hundred miles away. He's not LDS. He's off limits from the 'Girl Code of Honor' standpoint. He's expressed mild interest and I expressed it right back because (despite all that) he's, well, a guy. To say that he was a casual acquaintance was probably putting too much familiarity into the statement. Tonight I logged onto a social networking site and saw that his relationship status had changed, pulling him (at least for the moment) off the market and thought, "Hey!"

You know that "Hey!" right? The one where you feel a door close somewhere in the long hallway of possibility and you can't help but think, "What if that was the door I wanted?!"

Logically, everything is telling you it's not the door. You weren't even really looking at or toward the door until you heard it close. And then suddenly, it's all about that door for a moment.

I have tons of guy friends--more than my girl friends, actually--and I love every one of them. I do, however, confess that when any of them finds a girlfriend there is a flash of that same, "Hey!" when the door of possibility closes. It truly is a flash and generally followed by a laugh at myself that it even happened but I can't help thinking every single time it happens, "Girls are so weird!"

Ode to Anne

Every now and then Anne (linked somewhere on here, I'm sure) does a post full of her random cell phone pictures. Today I was thumbing through my phone and decided it was time to share!!





This is how Ziggy observes my typing.



I used to buy bones for my dog.






Charlie sent this one with the suggestion that he would be happy to arrange my marriage to the man so clearly intended for me. I swore at him.




This is my friend Paul playing Beer-Can Jenga. :) There are no more words.

Simple, not simplistic

Recently that is the theme of my thoughts surrounding religion. I have volunteered to teach Sunday School tomorrow and it will be the theme of my lesson (found here). In order to illustrate my point that the simplicity of the gospel is often attacked by simplistic thinking, I'm dying to use a quote from George Carlin. However I have this rule: "If you have to ask if it's ok, the answer is 'no'." So, I will not use this quote:

"Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it, religion has actually convinced people that there's an INVISIBLE MAN...LIVING IN THE SKY...who watches every thing you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a list of ten special things that he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish where he will send to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry for ever and ever 'til the end of time...but he loves you."

Treasures of Trash

That's what my Mom calls the boxes of papers and memories in her attic. And we love her for it because despite her words, they're there.

Tonight I was going through some of what I have here with me and I found a print-out from the State Fair in Sacramento. In olden days we each got to spend a week alone with Grandma and Grandpa Harbour. As any of my siblings will tell you, those are some of our most precious memories. At this particular fair I think I was 11 or 12. At one booth you could sign your name and the computer would print an assessment of your personality. It was revolutionary. Grandpa got me one. This is what it says...

"Your Personality

You are active and full of life and never let anything get you down. You have a genuine interest in people. Sometimes you act in an unfriendly manner. You are sympathetic and a good listener. You tend to bottle up your feelings, loosen up. You enjoy challenge but avoid conflict. You remain dignified, even under stress. You are always ready for self-sacrifice. You find it difficult to accept compliments. You have a talent for getting along with people. Your approach to life should be a little more realistic. You're a no-nonsense type, who thrives on intellectual challenges."

It makes me really miss my Grandpa. I remember how he laughed when he read it. I also remember thinking it wasn't very right. It's amazing how dumb we are at 12.

Why so quiet, good Monsieur?

I'm not one to blog on political topics. In general I believe myself to be under-educated on all things financial and political. Recently it's come to my attention that I have got to be educated--it's the only option for survival.

Yes, I live in Montana and some of my best friends here are what you'd call 'survivalists.' They are convinced the country is headed to financial collapse and an unprecedented depression. I happen to have a friend in DC who shares their opinions--as you know if you're connected to him on Facebook and read his notes.

This type of talk overwhelms me to a degree I find it hard to express. I'm single. I have virtually no savings. Currently my only income is governmental. While I'm within a hairs breadth of finishing my education, it's not done. I have no food storage save what would last me about a week.

Thank God for my camping gear!

I can't help, surrounded by all this very logical talk of depression with which I happen to agree almost totally, but wonder how to improve my situation. And then be daunted by the answers I come to. As it turns out, I just need to follow the advice I've already been given and use what resources I do have to bring my house in order.

I think this is a time for faith and action. In order to maintain any type of hope for my future I have to believe that America won't become Zimbabwe and I have to cut what I can from my current budget and use it to prepare. It may not be all wine and roses but it feels so essential to be able to provide for my own little family of one that I can't ignore the call.

I promise the next blog will be more cheery. After all, we'll be bailed out.

*snort*