All Better Now ...

Really? No, but getting there and that is what is important, right?

I have to admit a secret - I wasn't only sick, I was, as I told Gary last night: "broken". Seriously broken. Having panic attacks (mainly about Jessie and is she OK, and happy and, and, and - with ones about Ryan getting in a huge car crash and Gary dead in his apartment and me unable to get him on the phone thrown in for good measure) and seriously not able to reign them in at all. AT ALL. I usually have some skill here - but nope - gone ... for days: bouts of nausea followed by the mother of all panic attacks and then I would just go throw up to break up the tension. (Why am I writing this?)

So, here I am, all 'broken' and what not and who is here to 'talk me down'? Yeah, Charlie. She's a good snuggler, and good at smacking me in the face if I don't scratch her neck just right, but talking me off the ledge? Not so good at that.

So this continues - for days (these started before I went to San Antonio - thus headed to San Antonio sleep deprived and a mess to start with) and just won't let up. I came to the conclusion this afternoon after dropping Jessie off and immediately crawling into bed and just staring at the walls counting my inhalations that maybe, just maybe I was depressed ... lonely? Maybe, just a little? What was I going to do about it? Well, pretty much nothing ...

... except I got out of bed ...

... and read Dooce.

And guess what happened? I started to smile, and when she writes that cuddling with her 'Olympic pooper' of a baby "smells like the farts of unicorns drunk on happiness and Sprite." my smile got a bit bigger and that piece of my brain that wonders how good writers get to be good writers and where in the hell do they get the stuff they write and then on to the step where I feel incredibly jealous that I am not a good writer and so badly want to be one ... and all of a sudden - I am not depressed anymore.

OK, I'm talking 10 minutes here, but after days and days of hellish panic and nausea - I will TAKE IT!!!

So, where do I go from here? I finished Dooce's article about getting her washing machine fixed (very funny - but in an ex-Mormon living in Utah irreverent and full of cuss words funny - just so you've been warned) and laughed out loud once ... scared Charlie - not a noise she has heard lately. Where I go from here is out of my bed and stop staring at the walls.

The day after everyone was gone, I started a post which had some rules that I was going to follow now that I was totally and completely alone. Since I came up with only two rules and had already broken both with gusto, I didn't ever post it - but I am thinking it would be cathartic for me to at least post my goals to keep sane over the next few months:

1) Wear clothes at all times. (You would think this would be easy, but, well lets just say I will be doing better in the future)

2) Spend an hour organizing, cleaning, etc a closet or cupboard daily until your freaking house is not such a hovel full of crap. (This too, on the surface seems easy enough - but when you are busy staring at the walls and counting how many times you breathe each hour to calm the panic attacks - not so easy ...)

And now that I know better I am adding a biggie:

3) STAY OUT OF BED!!! Right now that is easy enough - I CAN'T STAND IT there. But, as I well know, tomorrow is another day and when my forward motion is non-existent - I know I will just fall back in bed and start counting something ... So - I'm sayin' not going to happen.

I fly to Utah and on to Idaho on Sept 11th for a wedding and will be meeting up with 'my boys' from the corners of the earth for a few days and then coming home with Gary for him to spend a week finishing tables he was building Ryan. I'm thinking baby steps and that I will give this a go until then and see how I am doing - who knows - I might even have some loftier goals to add.

But for now: Aim Low - and keep smiling ...