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Posts Tagged ‘mental state’


61

Police escort for zebra.

That picture has nothing to do with my post. I just like it.

While I was fooling around today (I’m not working until Wednesday), I was singing Popeye the Sailor Man to myself. I had a realization. (And myself is very fond of that song.) On to the realization

I always thought this song was propaganda deployed by my Mother to get me to eat spinach. Then I got to the verse “Popeye the sailor man lives in the garbage can.” Wow, what’s up with that? I never thought about his super humble abode. I think the subliminal message communicated here does not match the intended propaganda.

I can’t remember a time in which I wanted to live in a garbage can. As a matter of fact the only person I knew who lived in a garbage can was The Grouch over on Sesame Street. He was never happy, so I’m thinking living in a garbage can is less than ideal.

Now I’m thinking this message may have been holding me back. Did my parents inadvertently set my career on a less than desirable path? Am I perchance sabotaging myself?

Does anyone know a career positive song that might reprogram my garbage can size goals?

Mental check: +3.5 on positive side (5 being max)

Feet cold

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He’s breathing on his own. Thank you for all of your prayers and good thoughts. It’s an amazing turn around. Just a few days ago the doctor was surprised he made it through the night and now he’s sitting up.

I’ve been racked with anxiety since I made the decision to come see him. I’ve been nauseous. Eating makes me sick and not eating makes me sick. We didn’t part on good terms. I still don’t know how his family feels about me. (I’m staying close to the hospital, so I’m able to check in early and late, missing most of my in-laws.)

He’s been married and divorce since I last saw him. What will I say? Thoughts kept rolling through my head. I love him, but I don’t LOVE, love him. I wouldn’t mind being friends, but it might be too late for that.

I checked with one of my nephews and he said I should come and seem him. I don’t want you to think I pushed myself on him without taking his feelings into consideration.

Some of his buddies were in the room when I entered. I barely recognized him. He looks old, perhaps the illness has taken its toll. He’s had some hair loss and what’s left is white. He’s gained a lot of weight, some of that’s probably fluid.

When we were in the middle of our divorce and everything was so ugly, I imagined seeing him again. This wasn’t far from my fantasy. “I’m still looking young and you are old. Was she worth it?” I would say. (Of course she would look old too.) He would fall to the floor and tell me how sorry he was and I wouldn’t care. I would reply with various snide comments. “Should have thought of that before you left me for your mother.” (She looks like his mother.)

So what did I choose to say? Something amazingly insightful? Perhaps even a little biting. No. I said, “Hey what’s up? I thought you were going to dance on my grave. You’ve got to get it together. I’m depending on you.”

He chuckled. His friends chuckled and then the conversation turned back to chasing women. The reason we split up in the first place.

The doctors have scheduled him for open heart surgery tomorrow. He’s still in intensive care, but I’m optimistic. Tomorrow I’ll see his family. But for now, I’m going to go gnaw on some crackers and sip Sprite.

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It is February and I didn’t make a New Year’s Resolution, mainly because I know I don’t keep them. I’m feeling the need to be honest, to tell the truth.

I started this blog years ago telling stories mostly of my life and my people. My sense of humor was on display. If I’m truthful I’m avoiding telling you my secret.

It’s easy to say in private. You can just blurt it out. But in public, I keep thinking of the proper explanation or wrapper. I’m forgoing all of that before I put everyone to sleep.

I have depression, anxiety and obsessive compulsiveness. I take medication for all of it. I don’t like saying I’m depressed, anxious, or obsessive compulsive. I’m not a cold when I’m sick so I don’t think I should have to be my chemical imbalance.

I play with my medication, sometimes on purpose, most of the time on accident. One of my medications keeps me from obsessing. It’s either on or off. I think some obsession is good, so it’s one of the medications I play with most often.

This was as I mentioned before a blog of humor, but I can’t see things as funny everyday or even every week. I’m often struck with what I call the feeling of impending doom. It’s like waiting for an emotional apocalypse that doesn’t come.

I slept for eight hours last night which is the first time in several weeks so I feel good. I dare say maybe even happy. I still don’t feel funny today, but happy is enough.

(I’m not going to say I’ll write more often. That is a promise I think we all know I can’t keep. But I’ll try for a while.)

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