Posted tagged ‘Stress’

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Monday – Ten Signs That Yours Has Been Stressful

September 21, 2009

Monday – Ten Signs that Yours Has Been Stressful

1.         You have gone through four sticks of gum;  three that you just put in your mouth on the subway platform, one that you actually chewed earlier in your office.  Your office!

2.         Your eyes keep catching the eyes of the crazy muttering man sitting opposite you on the train–swollen, hooded, troubled eyes.  Even when you finally just shut your eyes, pretending to sleep, you can’t help peeking to see if he buys your little charade.  He doesn’t.   (Maybe it’s all the gum-chewing.)

3.         You begin to deconstruct Twilight in your head.   (“Deconstruct as in Harold Bloom and Jacques Derrida.)   You focus, for example, on the fact that “Bella Swan” must be named for (a) Belle, as in La Belle et La Bête (Beauty and the Beast), and (b) the Ugly Duckling.   And Edward Cullen is a combination of….. (a) Edward Scissorhands (you guess, not having actually seen the movie), and (b) cull as in the culling a herd, as in Edward in his vigilante days.   Then you actually begin to wonder about the symbolism of Jacob being a wolf.  But wasn’t Esau, Jacob’s brother, the “hairy man”…?

4.         The train stops for a long time in the tunnel.  Your jaw is getting seriously overextended. 

5.         When the conductor announces that the delay is due to a sick customer, you are genuinely relieved that the sick customer is not you.

6.         You really do not chew gum, you never chew gum.

7.         You step off the train onto a platform where a man sings the Flight of the Bumblebee in falsetto.  You are very glad that you will not be sitting opposite this man.

8.         All thoughts of blogging about political, social, artistic or poetic issues fly from your head and you wonder whether you couldn’t just post a picture of your cute little dog instead.  (You realize sadly that you don’t have a picture scanned.)

9.         Before taking that same cute little dog out for a walk, you hurriedly eat several slices of a kind of cheese you don’t much care for.  In an effort to assuage displaced guilt, you tear off some of every slice to give to the dog.

10.       When you finally take the dog out, you stop for a moment on the patio of a restaurant behind your building.  The restaurant has recently started playing elevator music, and before you realize what you are doing, your hips begin to twitch in time with the beat.

Agh!  You hate elevator music.  Worse than chewing gum!

Agh!

Feeling that all is surely lost—what’s happening to you?–you look out over the horizon.  The sky above the river is blue and pink and orange, the river below the sky is blue and blue and blue, a crescent of moon barely gleams through the spectrum like the most beautiful distinction possible, your dog’s eyes (you are carrying your dog through the restaurant patio) stare up at you in gratitude.   (Possibly for all the cheese.)

In less than a second, your hips let go of even the memory of those untoward twitches, and you walk straight and true out of range of the muzak, your forehead unwinding, your chest sighing, your tense jaw beginning, at last, to find peace.

Check out 1 Mississippi above for more about the peace of rivers.

Categories: Stress
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Reasons To Live in Downtown Manhattan Post-9/11

September 10, 2009

With 9/11 literally around the corner (I live a couple of blocks from Ground Zero), the perennial question once again arises in my mind.  Why do I live in downtown Manhattan, (very) downtown Manhattan,  post 9/11?  Why would anyone want to live here post 9/11?

Here are some reasons

1.  Fitness.  You get a lot of exercise.  There are a couple of Hudson River parks where, on a nice day, every spare inch is devoted to sport, i.e. soccer, lacrosse, ultimate frisbee, baseball, football, rugby, cricket, and the shielding of one’s self and one’s offspring from stray soccerballs, lacrosse wickets, baseballs, cricketballs, frisbees,  and runners unable to stop their strides.

There’s also the esplanade by the river where you can jog, rollerblade, skateboard, ride your bike, or walk (with a careful eye out for joggers, skateboarders, the wiggly spandex fannies of backwards rollerbladers, and bikers who seem to think the esplanade,  a slightly wider than average New York City sidewalk,  is the perfect place to race).

Besides all that, the nearest subway stops are all several blocks and stairways away.  So you can get considerable exercise just getting to your train.

2.  Safety.  Putting aside terrorism, downtown seems extremely safe.  For one thing, there’s hardly anyone here at night.  (There are no good restaurants.   Another health benefit by the way–home cooking!)

The wind of the ocean also makes it too cold much of the year for muggers to lurk.  (See Reason No. 3 about proximity to nature.)

Nor is there any place for criminals to park their getaway cars.  And forget about running to the subway.

Besides all that, there’s a whole host of pedestrian walkways, meaning that residents of downtown can walk around texting without fear of causing a car crash.  (A great safety feature in modern America.)

3.  Proximity to Nature.  The rivers, the harbor, are right here.  And they are beautiful.   Every season, every hour of the day.

Then there’s that wonderful sea breeze, errr… wind, which in the fall, winter, spring, you can feel from the tips of your toes right into the marrow of your bones.

Every winter, there are a few days of actual ice floes.  (Not only in your toilet.)

Being so close to the river also brings a measure of safety.  I mean, if there were another act of terrorism, which you can’t help thinking about it when you walk past Ground Zero twice a day, you could always dash out to the Hudson, right?  Steal a boat?  Hitch a ride with the Coast Guard as they zoom into the Marina to go to the Starbucks in the Financial Center?

Swim?

Maybe better keep your Starbucks card handy for barter purposes.

4.  Smugness.  Yes, it is incredibly annoying to have to scoot through the crowds at Ground Zero every day.  (I really do prefer to call it the World Trade Center.)   Yes, you do want to shake some of the ones who pose coyly.  Yes, every time you see the hawkers’ pamphlets opened to photographs of the fireball of the second plane hitting the second tower, you really do feel sick.

Still, the whole passageway does give you a daily opportunity to feel a fair amount of unmitigated (except by nausea and rage) smugness.

5.  Pride.  All New Yorkers have the stubborn pride of the survivor.  They had this long before 9/11;  New Yorkers who have moved here since 9/11  probably have it as well.    It has something to do with the general grittiness of New York City  (probably too,  the particular grittiness of the New York subway system.)

I did not live down here on 9/11.   I did live in downtown Manhattan (but about thirty blocks from the World Trade Center rather than a couple.)   And I did run down here on that day to look for a daughter who was in school a couple blocks from the towers.

Even so, I have not earned the full extent of grim pride of the people in my building who lived here then.

I do understand it though.  And we, who did not live quite as close, but close enough, who smelled the smells, and breathed the dust, and watched the smoke, have some small share of it.

I would not call this pride a reason to live down here.   But there is some benefit of being near a place that reminds me, when I am obsessively worrying, whining, frustrated, that there was a day in which I swore, if I found my daughter safe, I’d never complain about anything again, that my lifetime watchword would be gratitude.

6.  Low Rent.  Compared to much of the rest of Manhattan at least.   For some reason.

Categories: 9/11, New York City, Uncategorized
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Robsten and Government “Death Panels”

September 2, 2009

Until recently, I’ve never focused much on celebrities.  Even recently, I’ve only focused on one celebrity.  (If you’ve followed this blog at all, you know which celebrity that is.)

My biggest number of posts on a single subject have probably been about him (Robert Pattinson, if you are new to this blog.)  The second largest number has probably centered  on the stress and isolation of modern life.  (I’m including in this number some of the ones not technically categorized under stress, but which probably should be, i.e. those on single parenting, marriage, Friday night gym, even some on writer’s block.)   I’m guessing that there’s a link there.  (Yes, between parenting and stress, but what I’m really talking about is stress and a friendly, middle-aged interest in Robert Pattinson.)

But although both stress and my Manic D personality continue in full force, my interest in RPatz is slowly beginning to fade.  (My family members will soon be able to breathe a collective sigh of relief.)

(Of course, Rob’s next movie is due out in November.  Who knows what that will inspire?)

But putting Pattinson himself aside—(by the way, he just gave a really very charming interview in—STOP IT RIGHT NOW!)

But (ahem) putting Pattinson himself aside, what continues to fascinate me is the coverage of him by the blogosphere, the little internet “news” outlets, the entertainment weeklies.

It’s really quite amazing.

The stories remind me of a big supernova daisy where one little comment by Pattinson,  Kristen Stewart (his co-star), an “insider”, or some other celebrity who has never actually met Pattinson, will generate huge petal-ly loops of increasingly remote speculation.

When Rob has managed to evade the paparazzi for some time (as has happened recently), the celebrity “news” media even stoops to openly fictional stories based upon the activities of the character he portrays.  See, e.g. the recent cover of one entertainment rag which proclaims him and Stewart to be “ENGAGED!” on the set of third Twilight movie.  What I believe the story is about (I really really really have not actually read it) is the engagement of Pattinson’s and Stewart’s characters.

The whole celebrity daisy phenomenon has set me to wondering how mainstream news is reported.

And, frankly, the reporting of the health care debate has led me to believe that the mainstream news world is really not that different from the fantastical Twilight realm of Pattinson and the paparazzi.

The furor over government “death panels” comes especially to mind.   This uproar, which has no basis in reality, seems especially ironic given that currently much medical care for the elderly and the disabled is already provided by the government in the form of medicare and Medicaid.  (The number of persons in nursing homes and disabled adults supported by Medicaid is already legion.  Medicaid planning is a huge and accepted area of the law.  Reports of Medicare and Medicaid recipients being denied care by government panels are relatively small, certainly as compared to reports of non-Medicaid patients denied private insurance coverage.)

The death panel outcry reminds me of last summer’s netroar over Kristen Stewart’s alleged pregnancy (with RPatz as father, of course.)  The seed for this was apparently a blog in Australia (Stewart was in L.A. at the time) which reported that Stewart had asked a friend to purchase a pregnancy test for her.  Dozens (maybe even hundreds) of  headlines inquiring into Stewart’s childbearing status immediately followed.  Soon, they featured photos of Stewart in skin tight pants which were magnified to huge blurry proportions.  Arrows were drawn on the photos to point out a supposed tummy bump.  (The slender Kristen was not only supposed to be pregnant but showing.)  Pictures of Rob Pattinson wearing a sheepish, guilty father, expression were posted at the side.

Of course, the death panel rumors really are somewhat different.  They originated in Alaska.

I love Alaska; I love Australia; I love the Mississippi.  Check out 1 Mississippi (Karin Gustafson) at the link above.

Categories: News Media, Robert Pattinson
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Subway Blog – Autopilot

August 27, 2009

Late late late.  In this case for someone who has come to a meeting at my office forty minutes early and called me at home wondering where I am.  Not entirely my fault.  Still bad feelings coat stomach.  Pace platform.

Where I find that the expensive purse which I bought in a trance last night in a shop in Grand Central really is too big, too heavy, to be truly comfortable.    Yes, the price was slashed by 70%.  (The store has been closing for weeks, and was down to the wire.)  Even reduced, it is the most expensive purse I’ve ever bought, and I’m not even someone who cares about nice leather.  I’m vegetarian for God’s sake!

When finally on train, I sit across from a pale, but slightly red-faced, man who wears round tortoise shell glasses, a pin-stripe shirt, a careful, if curly comb-over, and thick suede hiking boots.  He  seems to be talking occasionally, gesticulating, not wildly, but in the mild considered way of someone wearing a headset, only we are on a moving train and his ears are clear.

I can’t stop myself from meeting his eyes repeatedly, though they have a slightly fishy blankness (mixed with intensity) which tells me I shouldn’t.

Late late late.  Why did I wash hair that was washed last night?   And then I had to rinse it repeatedly because I was hurrying so much I first started drying strands still sticky with shampoo.

Ate swiss muesli too (something which should never be eaten fast) with guzzling speed.

I regret that speedy muesli now as the train chugs along and I catch the eye again of the round-glassed, slightly muttering man who suddenly looks genuinely sad.  His expression makes me feel somehow sick again, beyond the lateness sickness and the muesli sickness;  I wonder what has happened to him.

Or maybe, I think suddenly, in my wishful vegetarian blogger way, he’s just reciting poetry to himself.  What with the round tortoise shell glasses.  He has an umbrella too, on his lap, one with a wooden handle which means it was probably not bought on the street in a storm.  It could be the umbrella of someone who recites poetry to themselves.

But his mutters do not have the consistency of line for poems.  And, in addition, to the flickers of sadness, there is a strong cast of resentment around his mouth.  The only poet I can think of at that moment who is resentful is Bob Dylan, and the guy across from me is definitely not singing.    Though he does flick his fingers repeatedly.  Still, no.

Oh-oh.  I think he just said “swine”.  Twice.

I try to look away.

But the autopilot mania of my lateness, my prospective workday, my morning fatigue, and the rushed muesli, makes it really hard.

I force my eyes to the hand resting on the round purple tummy of the girl right next to me, pregnant, ruffly-bloused, whose long-lashed eyes are closed.  I strive for a bit of her calm.

But striving and calm don’t mix all that well, and the guy across from me says something a bit louder now, over the sound of the train tracks.  I look up;  this time he stares right at me.

Oh the New York City subway system.

Now we stop.  Train traffic ahead.

Right next to my guy sits a blonde woman writing hurriedly on a pad with lots of pastel pages.  She seems happy, animated;  her ears do wear earphones, she sometimes twitches with rhythm, energy.  I wonder immediately if she’s writing a blog and imagine it to be a funny one. .

Then my guy, the one I’m trying not to look at it, suddenly punches the air, each elbow at a sharp right angle, as he hits the space before him.

No one else seems to notice.  And I force myself to look away.  Punching’s a bit much.  Stare instead at the black-bordered screen of the guy beside me.  He watches it intently, his thumbs on dials.  It looks like there is a animated woman in a noose on the screen.

When I get off, I walk fast.

(The above post is part of a continuing series about stress.  See e.g. “From Rat Race to Rat Rut” and any post mentioning Robert Pattinson.)

If you want something unstressful to read to kids on subway, check out 1 Mississippi, (Karin Gustafson) at link above, or on Amazon.

Categories: Blogging, Stress, Uncategorized
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Hypocrisy/Stress – A Sticky Wicket

August 24, 2009

Lately, I chew gum on my subway home.  I believe/hope this is mainly a sign of stress.  (See e.g. post “From Rat Race to Rat Rut” about the increased formation of repetitive habits under pressure.)

It is also probably a sign of hunger.  Prices and choices in midtown Manhattan lead to frequently skipped lunches.  Even custom-made salads begin to taste like vinaigretted plastic (plus chickpeas) with enough repetition.   (Although, frankly, this dullness in the lunch area may be another sign of stress, i.e. the shrinking of that part of my brain devoted to executive decision-making,  or, in other words, my work-induced inability to risk blue cheese.)

On the one hand, the chewing is horrible:  it looks completely dumb and makes my jaw ache.  And the taste (like the wonder of many new-found delights) soon dissipates no matter how much I stuff in.

On the other hand, it also feels kind of good.  As I chew (rapidly and with some determination), my wait on the humid, griddle-like platform seems somehow more under control.   My chewing may not make the train come faster, but at least it makes me feel more purposeful.  Or at least it makes my mouth feel purposeful.    Purposeful and silent.    (A benefit, perhaps, if you consider gum chewing preferable to babbling.)

The problem is that, while I have an instinctual distrust of babbling, I was actually trained to hate gum chewing.  This training, however, seems to allow me to chew with great heartiness.   Because, given the voices in my head, I simply can’t see myself as a gum chewer.   No matter how many sticks  (that is, squares)  I jam in.   (At least three or four at once)

I also know I’d never chew gum because of my paranoia of whatever makes it sweet.  I’ve spent a lifetime trying to keep (i) sugar away from teeth and (ii) fake sugar away from my internal organs.

(Chomp chomp.)

I’m so confident in my non-gum chewing, in fact,  that lately I buy a new pack almost every other day.

Even though it’s the kind of thing I never touch.

Categories: Stress
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From Rat Race to Rat Rut

August 18, 2009

In the Science Times section of today’s New York Times (August 18, 2009), is a great article about the effects of stress on brain circuitry.  (“Brain is a Co-Conspirator in a Vicious Stress Loop” by Natalie Angier.)

Ms. Angier reports a study by Nuno Sousa of the Life and Health Sciences Research Institute in Portugal which described how chronically stressed rats succumbed to habitual and seemingly compulsive routines (like repeatedly pressing a bar for food pellets that they had no intention of eating).  The study found that underlying changes had actually taken place in the brains of these rats, with decision-making and goal-oriented areas of the brain shrinking, and areas related to habit-formation swelling.

As Ms. Angier writes, the stressed rodents “were now cognitively predisposed to keep doing the same things over and over, to run laps in the same dead-ended rat race, rather than seek a pipeline to greener sewers.”

In other words, the stressed rats got into a rut, dug, in part, by their own brains.

There’s no clear answer to why the stressed brain is so prone to habit formation.  One possibility posited in the article is that the brain in crisis may try to shunt activities to automatic pilot simply to free up space for  bigger questions.  Which, because of the concomitant weakening of the ability to make decisions, the stressed brain just can’t deal with.

Ah.

This syndrome sounds familiar.   Especially the compulsively pressing the lever part.  (Although it’s a bit hard to imagine any kind of food pellet I wouldn’t eat when under stress.)

Still, after reading the article, I came up with the following list.

Ten Signs That You May Be A Rat in a Rut.   (Or How To Know If Your Brain’s In Stress.)

1.   When you are not sitting at a computer, you check your blackberry every few minutes, even on an underground subway train.

2.   You check your blackberry when stepping out of the subway just to see how long it takes to get service back.  You study the little flashing arrows as you climb the subway stairs, conscious of your breath.

3.   If, after a while, no one’s written, you start to open spam.  Just to clear it out.  Just in case there’s something that’s not spam.  You even open some of the messages for p*n*s enl*rg*m*nt.   (Yes, you’re a woman, but you’re only checking those to see how they managed to get through your spam filter.)

4.   When someone on the phone talks of an article they’ve read, you find it online before they finish their sentence.   (At least you think they haven’t finished their sentence.  You were doing a Google search so you’re not really sure.)

5.   You convince yourself that your interest in Robert Pattinson is a sociological study of our media/youth culture.  (Oh that RPatz!  Oh those Paparazzi!)  You are alternatively amazed at how little and how much is on Google News in the articles posted on Pattinson during the “Last Hour.”

6.   You peruse the sales of online retailers even though you have no money, and (thankfully) no pressing needs.  When you buy something, you congratulate yourself on how much you saved.

7.   You check all the stocks that have gone up dramatically in the last few months but that you did not buy.  (You studiously avoid checking stocks you own, hoping that you can not check those long enough to forget what they were.)

8.   You find yourself reading the same books again and again.  These books are fantasies in which unreal things happen to unreal people, ending happily.  You don’t find the books especially satisfying after the tenth read, but, on the other hand, they are also not disturbing.

9.   Your eyes are sore at night.  When you wake up the next morning, they are still sore.  Even so, you reach for your laptop and/or blackberry first thing.  You decide that a glare screen is the only solution, and shop for one online, looking for sales.

10. Your daughter shouts from the other room at about 9:45 p.m, “are we going to have dinner soon?”   You are working on a computer that has no glare screen.  “Just a minute,” you tell her some time later.

(Wait, what did they say about food pellets?)

If you are more interested in elephants swimming than rats racing, check out 1 Mississippi at the link above or on Amazon.

Categories: Robert Pattinson, Stress, Uncategorized
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