Archive for the ‘Stress’ category
Escapist Tendencies Mid-August
August 18, 2011Some of the Nature of iPhone/iPad Addiction
June 6, 2011
Pearl, Nature, Butterfly, iPhone
Yes, yes, I know it’s undoubtedly a character flaw. (At least this is the implication in the side-long glances, ahem, glares, I’ve been getting from certain family members.)
And it’s certainly not very zen.
But the fact is that I’m addicted to electronic gadgetry.
Not TV or gameboxes. (I think I may be combining X-boxes and gameboys there). The communicating kinds–the ones that you mis-type little messages on.
Sometimes, I really do make do with an old-fashioned composition book, but I also have been carrying my iPhone or iPad around with me a lot these days, even on little hikes in the country (where I am staying right now.)
It’s terrible. I know that when I am taking these walks, I should probably just be in nature.
But electronic gadgets feed something very ravenous in the ManicD personality.
The obvious: a hunger for words–our own, those of others.
Even more important, a need for purpose, possibility. When you carry around an electronic device, you know that at any moment you can start and perhaps even complete some not-yet imagined task. It may also be a completely imaginary task–did you really need to respond to that email just when you were passing that small waterfall–still, having that warm little radioactive slab on your person can grant some palpable glow of self-importance.
I’m thankfully moving a bit beyond this aspect of the gadgetry. Using the device to ensure non-stop availability can soon make you feel more harried than efficient. (I also don’t have very good reception here.)
Did you know, however, that you can download and carry around a poem on the screen of your iPhone or iPad, which will show up even when you have no service, and that then you can look down every few moments during your walk and memorize it?
Okay okay. Some of you may not have taken a vow to do anything (other than giving up wine at dinner) to salvage your remaining brain cells. Some of you (i.e. my husband) may not think that repeated glances at an electronic screen and mumbling even deeply poetic lines promote the contemplation of nature.
So, how about using your phone or tablet for photography? You are required, after all, to stop and look at what you photograph.
Yesterday, for example, Pearl and I and iPhone spent a fair amount of time on butterflies, beavers, water, stones. Some internal quiet did, eventually, ensue, despite the device in hand, the repeating rhymes in the head.
The family members also forgave us.
No Time In The Present
June 3, 2011
People who know me know that I frequently complain about not having much free time in life.
I really should not complain. (It’s just so satisfying.) The fact is that I am the main person who fills up all that “un-free” time. (Well, me and my boss.) I manage, in other words (and despite all the complaints) to spend a relatively large of my time of activities of my own choosing. But to satisfy my guilty Lutheran temperament, I slowly convert many of these chosen activities into “obligations.”
A part of me knows that they are not true obligations. I am not required to write a daily blog, to do yoga, to try to write poetry or novels. I am certainly not “obligated” to troll the internet (supposedly to keep up with the news, or the market, or “money-saving” sales.)
But, somehow (perhaps as a substitute for discipline), I convince myself that all these activities are somehow mandated, morally-uplifting, essential to maintaining a sense of self, and neglected at the expense of sanity. This results in extreme…. busyness.
(And then, of course, there’s my actual boss. And job.)
All of which makes it incredibly difficult to deal with anything extra, something not normally part of the routine. Take for example a driving license renewal.
I recently got a ten year license renewal notice that, because I wear strong glasses, requires the submission of an eye test along with the regular forms.
Which requires me to go to my eye doctor. Or an optometrist. Or the DMV.
All of which was supposed to be done before my birthday earlier this week.
No wonder people hate government intervention!!!!
For some reason, they (all those bureaucrats at the DMV) think I need to be able to SEE to drive.
If only I could take an eye test online. From my laptop. In bed.
If I could at least multi-task–take the test at my desk, or while doing yoga. (Say Tree pose.)
But they probably expect me to actually focus on something like that. An eye test! Geez!
(For now, I’m simply staying off the road.)
Chore At End Of Three Day Weekend
May 30, 2011
Getting Ready To Go
May 10, 2011
The bad news is that all my clothes are still heaped on my bed.
The good news is that I’ve packed my vitamins, flax seeds, omega oils, lutein (for the eyes), advil, and I’ve thoroughly scoped out the which digital devices question.
The bad news is that I don’t think I own any great casual slacks.
The good news is that I have, at least, washed every pair of underwear that I own.
The bad news is that the travel router that my husband got for me doesn’t work.
The good news is that he’s taking it back, which gives him something to do other than the cross word puzzle (while watching me pack vitamins.)
The bad news is that he’s not coming on my trip.
The good news is that it’s a relatively short trip, and I should come home healthy (what with all the vitamins) and safe (despite the lack of slacks).
Also, if a car runs over me, I’ll be wearing clean underwear.
Trip Tomorrow – Packing?
May 9, 2011
Wishing (Weirdly) For an iPad 2 (UPDATED)
March 31, 2011
(PS – if any of you saw an earlier version of this post, I updated to add a little more luminosity, and lines.)
Was it the Cheese? (Pulling Pectoralis)
February 28, 2011
Was it the cheese?
Some things sound better than others pulled. Taffy or a leg or, even perhaps, pork are more inviting, for example, than “the plug,” or, as I found out last night, a pectoral muscle. (Maybe forget the pork.)
I think it happened at the gym. My tendency to rush around goofily is not particularly healthful when applied to weight machines.
I didn’t notice any problem when I was actually on the machines, but about an hour later, an intense pain began in the upper left side of my chest.
The pain was initially met by disbelief. (The words “angina” and “vegetarianism” just didn’t seem to fit.)
Then involuntary tears took over. (Did I mention that the pain was intense?) My protests of vegetarianism were pretty quickly replaced by all the full-fat yogurt I have eaten, the whole (rather than skim) milk that I put in my tea, and the heart attacks suffered by grandfathers.
(Yes, I was macrobiotic for a while and religiously used soy milk, but that was years and year ago.)
Agh.
In the hours of pain (did I mention that it was also kind of unrelenting!? ), I learned several important things: (i) it is hard but not impossible to tap the stopwatch button on an iPhone while also keeping a finger on one’s pulse; (ii) practically nothing in the world short of draining blood loss will induce me to go to a New York City emergency room; (iii) I have a truly wonderful husband; (iv) soy milk really doesn’t taste that bad in tea; (v) if you want to change your life, it is important to take actual concrete steps sooner rather than later.
Thankfully, I am quite a bit better today and am pretty sure that the pain was all muscular.
(What was that about changing my life?)
Waiting Till Christmas (For Christmas)
December 19, 2010
Not opening till Christmas.
The tree is in its stand, not yet fully decorated, but the perfect shape and size. (This is more amazing than it may seem to a non-downtown New Yorker. Although Battery Park City is a residential neighborhood, the tree guys only swoop down for a few hours on a couple of pre-xmas days–you have to be alert.)
Lights are up.
My messy closet is even messier than usual, a small stash of bags and boxes thrust to its side.
Cookies are planned. Sugar has been purchased. (Organic!)
The office party has been enjoyed, and with a commendably modest level of tipsiness. (I have only rarely forgotten the teachings of my very first office holiday event, held at the Copacabana on the same wintry day that Bar Exam results were announced. One of my fellow first year associates was so pleased by passing that he ended up pissing against one of the club’s deep red walls, thus calling a close to his legal career on the same day that it officially began.)
We are, in other words, deep into December.
What makes it so hard to feel cheery?
Of course, there’s always the issue of personal chemistry.
And age. (On the one hand, I can’t remember many of the details of last year’s Christmas. On the other, the stuffing of annual tip envelopes for the huge building staff feels like yesterday.)
Not doing the caroling and Christmas concerts and other events that go with raising younger children–mine are grown–is part of the problem.
Just as I am about to slip into a seasonal morass of self-castigation and pity–hey! I suddenly shake off societal expectations: what’s so terrible about not feeling Christmasy for weeks in advance?
Why can’t I wait until about 5:00 pm on December 24th, when I hope to squeeze into the pew of the really lovely church we always go to (at least on religious holidays) as organ chords of Bethlehem and babes reverberate in my bones. I have a pretty strong feeling that when I begin singing along then, I will, in fact, be singing along.
What’s so terrible about that?
Nothing.
Where There’s No Will, Where’s the Way?
December 18, 2010
Pearl does not seem to have any more will than I.
Do you ever wake up with no will?
Your spine has softened, shrunk, during the night, turning you into something akin to a shell fish (willful enough, perhaps, when it comes to survival, but low on the ‘let’s just hurry up and get things done’ ladder.)
Somewhere inside that shellfish self, you are excited about the upcoming holiday, but outward enthusiasm has wilted, puddled, dessicated. You feel like one of those mosaics of dried earth that are always depicted in articles about droughts. (A sub-arctic drought–it’s really freezing in your apartment.)
You make a list, wishing (for a moment) that you could just live your life on a mouse pad, running through each task with a few soft swipes of the finger, ordering not just merchandise, but activities, even a certain passage of time.
You are not, in other words, interested in process.
Mince tarts help. (If someone hands them to you.) That murky mixture of raisin and rum somehow sustaining.
The sounds of that same someone banging around your kitchen looking for something also tend to inspire a certain kind of “oh geez, I’ll get it,” motility.
Until you get back into bed again.
Under your covers.
And laptop.
And list…..
Ahhh……
Actually, maybe she has a little more. (But not much.)
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