Archive for the ‘Stress’ category

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At Cross(Word) Purposes (With Elephant)

December 5, 2010

Crossword In Bed (With Elephant)

When discipline has worn down, the brain is charred, but you are a purposeful sort who hasn’t quite succumbed to late night (or all night) television, thank heavens for the New York Times crossword puzzle.  I’m not talking about the Sunday puzzle, which is somehow too long, quirky and shiny (the paper stock not plain newsprint) to be truly satisfying.

I’m talking about the mundane, smudged, predictably cycled offering of the daily paper–the Monday refreshingly easy, Tuesday harder but still pleasingly finishable, Wednesday involving some gimmick or joke (the kind one hates/loves to chuckle over), Thursday just possibly doable without cheating (except for this past Thursday grrrr….), the Friday a puzzle you can sometimes manage with only a few hits of the Internet, and the Saturday (forget about it.)

Dear Will Shortz, thank you for many a pleasant hour spent without, and especially, with company.    (The crossword is a great paired activity as long as the other person will let you hold the pencil every once in a while, and, eventually, stop erasing and re-writing your E’s.)

Thank you for this activity of wonderfully-seeming purposefulness.  (How good it is for our brains!)

Thank you for this terrific way of forgetting the present moment while trying to remember everything else one has ever ever learned.

BTW, who was that shipyard worker fired in 1976?

Categories: elephants, Stress
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An Egg Is Not A Light Bulb

October 26, 2010

An Egg Is Not A Light Bulb

You make mistakes sometimes.  (If you are like me, you may wish to substitute the words “often” or “frequently” or “constantly” for the temporal element in that last sentence.)

Oddly, the resulting embarrassment, shame, recrimination can be just as intense with small mistakes as big ones.

After all, caught in the wallop of a catastrophic misjudgment, you may feel that fate, or at a minimum, genetics, have conspired against you, while little stupidities seem all your own fault.  Or worse, your brain’s fault–your decaying, ill-functioning, brain.  Even worse–your not-decaying, but lifelong-faulty, brain.

I read a confirmation code to someone today that started with the letters HTO.  It was only after he said “that’s easy to remember, like water,” that I realized that I’d been repeatedly saying H2O.

And believe me, that was the least of it.

Computers compound one’s natural propensity for error–the screen providing a sympathetic gloss for the most flagrant typo; the automatic replace function exponentially upping the ante.

All of the above leads me to the reposting of a villanelle.  (I’m sorry if you’ve seen this one before, but perhaps, if you are like me, you’ve forgotten it…)

Villanelle to Wandering Brain

Sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way
and must make do with words that are in reach
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day,

when what it craves is crimson, noon in May,
the unscathed verb or complex forms of speech.
But sometimes my mind feels like it’s lost its way

and calls the egg a lightbulb, plan a tray,
and no matter how it search or how beseech
is pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

I try to make a joke of my decay
or say that busy-ness acts as the leech
that makes my mind feel like it’s lost its way,

but whole years seem as spent as last month’s pay,
plundered in unmet dares to eat a peach
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

There is so much I think I still should say,
so press poor words like linens to heart’s breach,
but find my mind has somehow lost its way
as pink as dusk (not dawn), the half-light of the day.

For more villanelles, or info on how to write them, check out that category from the ManicDDaily home page.

Categories: poetry, Stress, villanelle
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Seasons Collide – The Clogged Gears of the Organizationally Blobby

October 8, 2010

 

Pearl luckily doesn't mind "C" things.

 

Blog plus job plus dog, and even adding in yoga, can make you feel a bit of a blob sometimes–not a physical blob so much as an organizational blob.  (“S” could probably substitute for the first letter of that last word.)

It’s not a lack of external neatness; it’s what’s behind the external neatness — i.e.  clutter, chaos, catastrophe (looming).  Enough “C” things that your Consciousness begins to feel like a Computer Clogged with Cookies (Commercial); a Closet Clotted with Clothes (Crumpled);  a Cupboard Clustered With Cups (Chipped).

This kind of Clutter becomes especially Complex as seasons Change, and one set of expectations Collides with another.  (All that summer Cotton; all that autumn….um….non-Cotton.)

One approach–don’t Care so much.

But wait–you’ve already tried that one.  And even though you say you don’t Care–so much–you’re getting really tired of looking for that paper, that sweater, that thought–

Alternative approach–Care a little more.  Take the time to make more time.

Do a little less of all the frenetic, what-you-tell-yourself-is-productive, stuff and a little more of the slow, steady, sorting, supportive stuff, i.e. Clear the decks.

P.S. But don’t spend too long setting up systems you’ll maintain.  (I think you know why.)

Categories: dog, Stress, Uncategorized
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Writer’s Fatigue – Watch Out For The Burn.

September 8, 2010

Washcloth washcloth burning bright!

I’ve written a lot about blocking writer’s block; usually I’ve talked about blocks caused by insecurity or fear of failure, indecision, just plain stuckness.   I’ve advocated various exercises to limber up pen-holding or keyboard-typing fingers.

What about writer’s block caused simply by fatigue?

Sinking eyelids, molasses mind, slurring fingers.

I inadvertently set a washcloth on fire a few minutes ago.  In two places.  That kind of fatigue.

It’s not all that easy to set a washcloth on fire.  It wasn’t even on fire until I took the symmetrically charred fabric out into the night air and lay it down on some stiff, humid Florida grass–really called  Bermuda grass–grass that my crabbed mind thought would dampen all embers.

But something about that combination of night air/grass/stretching and glowing washcloth out set off actual flames.

That kind of fatigue.

That kind of block.

Avoid, during such moments, writing while operating heavy machinery.

Categories: Stress, writer's block
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Assisting Aging Parents – Who, What, When, Where, How, Why?

September 7, 2010

I recently rushed down to Florida to help take care of, and maybe say goodbye to, a father who might be dying.  On one level, of course, we all of us are dying and might be doing it soon.   But the possibility of his end seemed to be not so philosophical, more, possibly, immediate.

My mother who is both staunchly independent and optimistic (especially when it comes to belief in her ability to get my dad through any setback) was anguished.  (Me too.)  Getting here sooner rather than later seemed imperative.

But the body is a funny organism.  Thankfully, my dad’s seems better right now; and the possibility of what might be, or not be, is again a little more remote.

Some family members, religious, attribute the improvement to prayer.  I’m glad enough of prayer, but also think some stern, but cheerful, cajoling (of my father, not the Almighty) may have had something to do with it.  Whatever – something has triggered a re-pivot of mind which allows the body to hang on again.

Typically, what complicates everything, aside from the worry and sadness, is practicality.  Helping aging parents feels, at times, like the reporting of a news story–full of who, what, where, when, how.  Who can/will help?  What can they do?  Where can I find them?  When will they come?  And then, most importantly, how will we get the sick person, and especially his wife, i.e. my mother, to accept such help?  (Why is it so difficult?)

The very qualities that may help long-term survivors survive make them nearly impossible to assist.   You find yourself arguing endlessly with that stubborn making-the-best-of-it-on-your-own endurance – a characteristic that you value in yourself and almost anyone else.    (And, truly, secretly, in them too.)    (Ssshhh…..)

Categories: Stress, Vicissitudes of Life
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Snuck Dog in A.M. Hotel, Enjoying Fly-Free Ointment

September 2, 2010

After Application of Fly-Free OIntment

I am sitting in a hotel room with a dog nestled against my bum.  She is a great dog to sneak into a hotel room because she is little, quiet, and extremely well-behaved.  She is also very old, which is perhaps what has caused her to throw up twice during the night, luckily with enough warning (i.e. an abrupt standing up) for me to get her into the bathroom in time to avoid soiling either hotel carpeting or bedspread.

Thankfully, she does not seem seriously sick.  But it’s made for an extremely alert night, for me at least, who as sneaker-in-chief, feels responsible for any canine effluviance.

She’s sleeping comfortably now, while I feel a little tired.   But, as is popularly noted, there’s always something. Yesterday, it was a suddenly sick mother (88); the day before, a fallen and head-bruised father (87); and now in a few minutes’ time, the moving of a daughter back into college, a wonderful and fairly independent daughter but one with a great many clothes.  (These are not particularly fancy clothes, but have the advantage of allowing for extended laundry avoidance.)

Each of these events is capable of causing a manicddaily type like myself as much fretting as the neck of a bass guitar.  But this post is not meant to be a litany of woes, tasks,  or even of a zillion telephone calls, but rather, a lesson in enjoyment.

Don’t wait for the unalloyed when there’s goodness in the alloyed (sunny day, delightful daughter, snuggling dog, sweet husband willing to drive.)  Do what you can, more than you can, but don’t hinge your happiness on immediate or right  results.  Forget about rows of orderly ducks, fly-free ointments.

Wait a second.  That’s an idea–fly-free ointment. Conjure up some and rub it all over yourself.  Don’t forget to glom a bunch on the inside/underside of your forehead.  Then let yourself just glide, even for several whole minutes.

Categories: dog, Stress
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Trying To Leave For Vacation (Sort Of)

September 1, 2010

Chameleon Brain

The wonder of over-pressure is that, at a certain point, things simply get put off.   Somewhere around the apex of “too-much-to-possibly-do”, “some-things-are-just-not-going-to-get-done” takes over, and the imperative becomes the postponed, then the optional, and sometimes even the irrelevant.

It’s a funny old world.  Our brains are so chameleon-like that you barely see the flash of turning tail.

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Headaches – Pictorial Guide (Partial)

August 2, 2010

Huge Headache

Ferocious Headache

Pounding Headache

Categories: children's illustration, elephants, Stress
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Buck Off!

July 30, 2010

!!!

Terry Pratchett, my favorite writer of all time (other than, perhaps, William Shakespeare), has a wonderful scene in Guards Guards! in which Lady Sybil Ramkin surveys the rank and file of the Ankh-Morpork City Night Watch–that is, Corporal Carrot, Sergeant Colon, Nobby Nobbs, and an orangutang (the Unseen University’s Librarian) who is serving as an ad-hoc guard.

‘A fine body of men….errr anthropoids,’ Lady Ramkin puffs as she sails down the line.

The guards, their chests sticking out, felt considerably “bucked up,”  by Lady Ramkin’s inspection, Pratchett notes, ‘which was several letters away in the alphabet from how they usually felt.’  (This is quoted from memory but you get the gist.)

Bucking up, cheering up, “chin up”, are old British watchwords;  activities as seemingly traditional as stiff upper lips and tea at 4.

With all due respect to Lady Ramkin, just give me the tea.

Bucking up makes me feel trivialized; patronized, sometimes furious.    (Does it even make traditional Brits feel better?  Or does it just make them adopt other “up” activities as in “put” and “shut.”)

Sympathy implies someone sharing your feelings, not trying to lever them away.  (I have a  image of the bucker heaving dirt from a hole in the ground into an upper level window box, which, ironically, holds only plastic flowers.)

The sharing of gloomy feelings may confirm gloominess, but that comfirmation, that added firmness, gives me, at least, a foundation to step up from.  (And a step works better than a push, here.) 

Examples:

Bucked-up Exchange:

Low Person:  “I’m so low.”

Bucker-Upper:  “Awww.. Just get going and you’ll feel better.”

Low Person:  “No, I won’t.”

Bucker-upper:  “You will, I promise you.”

Low Person:  “I WON’T.  [There follows a compendium of the many ways in which the bucker-upper is contributing to the “won’tness.”]

Non-Bucked-Up Exchange:

Low Person:  “I’m so low.”

Ideal Answer:  “Boy, you sound really low.”

Low Person:  “Yes…  But I’ve got to going.”

Ideal Answer:  “It’s hard.”

Low Person:  “Yes.”  {As Low Person begins moving.)

Of course, the tea helps too.

Categories: Stress, Uncategorized
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Early Morning in Orlando Airport – Oh, the Glory of Modern Air Travel

July 21, 2010

Hang on Tight! (Fasten your Seatbelt?)

Oh, the glory of modern air travel.  I got up at 3:45 this morning (it looked like night) to make an early flight.  I always imagine an early flight to somehow be advantageous; I imagine that it will not be delayed because of problems somewhere else down the line; that I will theoretically be first.  Unfortunately, some airlines seem to do their maintenance in the early morning.  Or schedule crews that get in very late the night before.  (Airline regulations require crews to have a minimal sleep time.  This is not a regulation that I am complaining about –I just wish it applied to passengers.)

So now I am sitting here, hopeful of being bumped to an earlier later flight.

Bumped?  Hoping to jump onto, slip onto, hang onto, an earlier later flight.

No such luck.

Categories: elephants, Stress, Vicissitudes of Life
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