Contumacious Charlie

 Hey Readers! As you can see, I am still alive and the stairs did not in fact take me out! I have just been really busy trying to get some things taken care of before I return to school. My next semester starts in a couple of weeks and I still have a number of things to do to get my space organized and clutter-free! Speaking of clutter... Why is it our subconscious seems to be the place holder for our psychological clutter? Why is it that the clutter needs to be cleaned up while we are sleeping? I am talking about dreams that are detailed and vivid, which also seem to hold some significant meaning. Why can't my subconscious self just explain to my conscious self what it is I need to address? Why must it be riddled and enmeshed with symbolism and people I have lost in my life? As you can clearly see, I am also processing some things as I declutter and organize my living space. It feels good to at least have control over one of them!

  That was what flashed through my mind as I went ass-over-head down the stairs yesterday afternoon! Seven measly, carpeted stairs...  My EMS training kicked in as I hit the bottom and my legs uncurled from above my head and flopped in a normal position. I stayed still as I did a quick assessment. I was conscious, breathing, and had a pulse... so far, so good. I slowly flexed my toes and fingers and worked my way up my arms and legs to check other areas along the way. Once I was somewhat assured I had not broken any limbs, I slowly rolled over and made my way to a kneeling position and checked again, paying attention to my head, vision, jaw, and hearing.  I finally made it to my feet and picked up the box of stuff that went flying out of my hands when my foot missed the step. I cursed... then cursed some more, but all in all, everything was intact. I knew I was going to be sore and still needed to get checked out, so I went in to see my chiropractor, who ended up sen...

Today, I sat with a lot of noise. Keep in mind, I was the only one who could hear it because it was all in my head. It seems the vivid dreams are causing a ruckus emotionally, which simply means there are emotions I need to process.  The fuckery at the moment is Grief. Just when I thought it was easing its way back out the door, BOOM it saw something shiny in those vivid dreams and decided, "Nope there is more fuckery to perform! I shall stay and see it done!" Grief is a bitch! The thing about grief is I have seen people wear it almost like a second skin. It just becomes part of who they are and where they are in the process. I also see those same people coming around to a place of enjoyment in their lives. I see them smile again, laugh again, and take deeper breaths. Why is it I feel like I am always holding my breath, as if the air is still knocked out of me? I want to get back to breathing.  Some things may never be answered. What I can answer is what I need right now and ...

Sigh.  I know, I missed posting something yesterday. It was not my intention, but it really came down to being busy. I had to completely switch two rooms in my house around, which involved at least 167 trips between the basement and my bedroom, which are 2 stories apart in both directions. By the end of the day, I was sore and exhausted, so that is my excuse.  Yesterday is not the only day I have missed in my life in the past 24 hours. When I say "missed" I don't mean it in the sense of "I missed my appointment." I mean it in the sense of "I long for the day that." I have been having vivid dreams. I mean, vivid in the sense of waking up pissed off and disappointed that what I dreamed was not real. The kind of dream that if I drank alcohol, I would have felt intoxicated when I opened my eyes vivid. In this one, I dreamed that someone who died was very much alive and being a pain in my ass, which made me grateful she was alive, because that is what made ...

Apparently, I am a social worker. It is obviously a calling I can no longer deny. Trust me, I have been fighting like hell to stay away from the profession, convinced I am first and foremost not worthy of helping other people figure out their lives, when my own is such a fucking mess.  Cue the plug for all the "Unfuck Yourself" books! No, seriously, those books are EXCELLENT! I decided to go for a degree in psychology in order to work within an organizational structure to bring about changes that would reflect some greater good in society, primarily focused on private schools. Social justice issues impacting everyone need to be brought to the attention of those in elite positions so they can change the trajectory of the "isms" for future generations.  Yes, yes I did sell myself with that last paragraph. It is my go to reasoning for entering I/O psychology. I convinced myself I could get a position as a diversity, inclusion, and equity director and really roll my sle...

I have been out of the workforce for 15 years. It was an active, conscious decision that involved what was best for my family and newborn. What I have come to realize, though, is it wasn't the best decision for me in the long run. Don't get me wrong, I love being a parent and would not trade the time I had with my kid for anything. I just wish I could have enjoyed it while maintaining my individual identity.  There is so much weight in the word identity, isn't there?  We go through life checking little boxes on medical forms, insurance forms, job applications, college admission and private school forms, housing applications, and a myriad of other things that convey how we see ourselves.  We check little boxes related to our racial identity (which is a social construct), our sexual orientation, gender identifiers, ethnicity, relationship status, parental status, medical conditions, employment status, and military service status.  At the end of the day, what does all o...

I have had some amazing dogs in my life and have been lucky to have most of them teach me a thing or two about being human. Some of them were disobedient toddlers who would never obey a command, but brought humor to my world. Others were the most loyal companions, never leaving my side, always listening, which brought compassion into my life. Still others were obedient and quick learners, able to do every trick in the book eagerly, which taught me discipline. Then there were the greatest of Danes, Atticus and Delilah. They were Fawn colored Great Danes given to me by one of the bikers who frequented the bar I worked in at night, while attending HS during the day. I have no idea what possessed me to say yes to taking them, other than their forlorn faces and my need for company of some kind. So, without thinking, I said "Yes, I will take them." The fortunate part of the story is my apartment at the time was directly across from the HS, which allowed me to dash home and check ...

In case you missed it, I am going through a growth spurt and discovering there are a few things in my life I need to reexamine. Boundaries are some of those things. What are my boundaries with different people and relationships? How do I decide to set a boundary? Is the boundary negotiable? What happens when a boundary is crossed? Are my boundaries fair to myself and my relationships? I am discovering I have more unanswered questions about the topic than I have answers. So, I picked up another book by Faith Harper , PhD to supplement the work I am doing with my amazing therapist. It has been helpful in a couple of ways. First, boundaries are not bad. There are a fucking dozen reasons why I have them in my life and they are designed specifically to prevent additional emotional abuse. I have a right to feel safe in my own skin. Period. It is not up for negotiations. Second, boundaries when set at the right level, under the right circumstances, with the right people can enhance commun...

Yep, that almond-shaped mass of gray matter inside each cerebral hemisphere, involved with the experiencing of emotions is acting like an unruly three-year-old throwing a fucking tantrum in the middle of the store simply because it can! At least that is what it feels like right now. My amygdala and I are having some words, which is also ridiculous because that involves my pre-frontal cortex and it pretty much is a doormat when it comes to the little almond-shaped asshole screaming "Danger, Danger" at EVERYFUCKINGTHING! It is a hyperactive asshole, who in reality thinks it is actually protecting me from something. I appreciate the efforts... but... Zeus on roller skates! Stop! Now, you may have noticed I started this post just diving into the deep end of an emotional occurrence that is dominating my damn life right now. This crap is not fun and for those of you who know me, you know I like to point out the absurdities of the human condition and have a good laugh at myself, but...

I am knee deep in boxes in my art space. I am working hard to get it all set up so I can get down to the business of creating, but I am also neck deep in disenfranchised grief. Yeah, that was a new one for me too. I am learning a great deal about it this week, because that shit is bowling me over and causing panic attacks in the middle of the book store and today at the grocery store. You all do remember I cuss right? I mean I cuss A LOT and there are actual studies coming out that link cussing to intelligence and emotional well-being. I should have been immune to panic attacks based on my cussing level and that last one, but oh fucking well! Grief does not work like a clock because it has it's own schedule and plan for implementing that schedule. It seems Grief likes to show up at the most inopportune time, sneak up behind you and shake you to your core. I have written about grief on my previous blog. It has interrupted my life before, too many times. I am not a stranger to de...

It has been over 5 years since I have written a word for the world to view. Many of you know the old blog, which is still there, but no longer valid for who I am at this moment. See... I have changed to a degree and I am trying to get my feet back under me.  I just turned 53 years old, my hair has an imbalance of white and black, indicating I should be wiser, but it isn't how I feel. The opposite seems to take root in my core and whisper words of insecurity and lies about my worth. In addition to not writing, there has been a gap in my artistic endeavors and my hands seem to have forgotten how to hold a paintbrush. I have been feeling a little lost these past five years.  As I have stumbled around blindly behind my self-imposed veiled eyes, I have taken some steps to set a course for new discoveries about myself. I returned to college, finished my bachelor's degree, and I am only 3 classes away from having my master's degree. It has been a journey rooted in curiosity and a ...