The Minutes to Come

It's officially 2010 and I am officially relieved. 2009 wasn't my best year, nor was it my finest moment. Although I had a lot of good things in my life last year, like our house, good times with friends, a brand-new nephew, travel, great work opportunities, I feel like I was living in anxiety quicksand for most of it. I conquered a lot of anxiety behaviors this year and gained a lot of really great coping skills, but the struggle to get to today was very difficult. It's exhausting to constantly do cognitive thinking, to reframe every thought you have, to question if your feelings are anxiety-driven or just how you feel, and then to chose the best way to respond when you really want to scream, cry, or hit something. E-X-H-A-U-S-T-I-N-G. Couple that with living in an OCD nightmare of boxes, construction, and instability and we had a recipe for me, well, flipping the fuck out. I damaged my marriage, my financial future, my career, my health... I bought massive amounts of crap to feel better, I drank alcohol to distract myself, I emotionally ate to the point that I gained thirty pounds, I checked out at work, and, worst of all, I failed to support my partner while he worked soooooo hard to make our house beautiful...

But, with a lot of support from my amazing husband, my family, my friends, my mental health practitioners, and last, but not least, from myself, I finally feel like I'm ready to live, and enjoy, the life that I want, that I worked for, even as I was drowning. More importantly, I'm ready to spend 2010 fixing my cosmic balance sheet. I took a lot in 2009, now I want to give.

Instead of making general and vague promises to "give back," I've decided to do something a bit different. I've added up all of the money that I spent in 2009 on emotional purchases and for every dollar I'm going to spend one minute doing something good for the people my spending most affected: the boy, myself, and those in my community who went without while I went with too much. In the spirit of openness, I'm going to share exactly how many minutes this actually is: 10,000. That's right, I spent 10,000 dollars on clothes, books, dvds, on crap, and now I'm going to spend 3,333 minutes helping the boy paint the trim or build the headboard or work on his art or watching movies he wants to watch or playing frisbee; 3,333 minutes eating well or exercising or taking advantage of opportunities at work or learning a new skill; and 3,333 minutes volunteering at homeless shelters or urban gardens or tutoring or job training.

It's going to be hard, not because 3,333 minutes is a lot--it's only about 55 hours--but because I'm not magically "cured" of my mental illness. I'm not suddenly anxiety free, able to handle whatever, whenever. I'm still going to have squidgy days where I don't quite know what to do and don't know how to fix what I'm feeling and make an unhealthy choice. But with everything I've learned and with all the amazing people in my life who were there for me and loved me despite me being soooooooo weird sometimes, I can do this. I know I can, because I already spent 2009 doing it, and I came out on the other side.

I'm ready, world. I'm ready.

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Identity Crisis Part II

So... I just wasn't happy with snarky_kittens. What did I do? I obsessed and brainstormed and everything I wanted was taken (elizabethbitch, for example, or kittenface). I don't want something with numbers at the end. I want to be THE FIRST. THE ONLY. THE SELF ABSORBED. So, it came to me in a flash, here I am being squidgy (my word for anxious or weird or ocd-ing), so squidgykitty.

The end.

For now.

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Identity Crisis

So... I just spent the last hour changing my online handle.  That was WAY more complicated than it should be.  I've been motorhomejesus for about three years now and really want something more tied to this here lil' blog, you know, in case I decided to do something bigger with it.  Like post regularly.  Also, I don't want anyone to confuse me for being a Jesus-fan OR of being disrespectful of someone's faith (If you're scratching your head, it's like they say, hate the sin not the sinner, right?! I dislike your "Christian" behavior sometimes, not your faith.) 

Obviously,  I really wanted to make all of my main accounts kittenswithmittens, but that's been taken.  Stupid common cute moniker!  So, I finally, after much hand-wringing and changing my mind, decided on snarky_kittens.  I think it captures the kitten part (see how KITTEN is in the name??? I know, I'm soooo smart at branding!) and also my general intent to deconstruct social commentary and cultural products.  In other words, bitch.

Should I go ahead and buy up the website names too?  Blerg.

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Changing Your Language

This is a photo of my lovely home in LeDroit Park. It's quite cute, no? Little round window, quaint Victorian style, yellow. I mean, who doesn't want a yellow house?

But... for a while now, it's been a thorn in my side. A still not finished, unpacked, or Elizabeth-fied thorn. I know, I know, I should just shut up: I'm 28 and I own a house in DC, which was a great deal in my perfect neighborhood. I'm privileged enough enough to even be able to have a home, owned or rented or whatever. I get it--but try telling my OCD that. It's been screaming at me because things aren't organized, there are boxes on top of the dining room table instead of place settings, and I have no idea where my cameras have gone... My OCD brain has been saying over and over again that this is my worst nightmare, absolute chaos, supposed to be different!!! Gah!!! it says, loudly, all the time.

So...I've been anxious, naggy (the boy has done most of the repairs cause he's awesomely spatial like that), and on constant cognitive thinking overdrive. I mean, I've handled this better than I expected. I haven't set anything on fire or thrown unpacked dishes out in the trash just to get rid of them, for example. So when I went to therapy this weekend, anxious but feeling pretty okay with myself, and my therapist subsequently challenged me, I was not a happy camper:

Me: I mean, of course the house is still bothering me! It should have been done by now!

Her: Should? Hmm, well there aren't really any absolute time-tables. Things take as long as they take. It hasn't even been a year--some people take five!

Me (crossing my arms in defiance): Well, that's great for them... I personally can't live in chaos.

Her: Chaos? That's a strong word. I mean, it hasn't actually been chaos... You're functioning and going to work and living.

Me (getting more defensive): Well, it feels like chaos. It's been my worst nightmare.

Her: Oh my. I think I'm really going to have to challenge you on that. I'm sure you can imagine worse things, hell, even worse things related to the house.

Me (brain loudly whirring-ooo, I got her now!): Well, that might be true... But its certainly been my worst OCD nightmare!

Her (staring at me because we both know she's right): You are really using absolute language--no wonder it feels so large and unmanageable... The truth is THE HOUSE ISN'T HOW YOU WANT IT TO BE. No right or wrong or good or bad just not how you want it.

Me (feeling small and selfish and silly...): um, er, well that's true, I suppose... I mean, it's not NOT true.

Her (laughing): You know, you really have to use different words if you want your brain to think and respond differently... Try not to use the absolutes and see what happens, okay?

And you know what?! It's helping, the tiniest smidge... I mean, changing your entrenched brain patterns takes time, but it has worked to help ease a bit of the panic when the hair in the bathroom makes me worry about the baseboards and that makes me think about the window trim and then the light fixtures and then the cabinets and then... well, you get the idea. Cause if I just don't like it as opposed to it being a WARZONE, that's a lovely thought, no? I mean, I know that changing your thinking helps, I've been doing cognitive-behavioural therapy for eight years now and no longer re-collate my papers anymore or throw out books with wobbly underline... I guess the house is just my last anxiety holdout.

I know I'll always have good and bad days (I have OCD for Christ's sake, acceptance of this is kinda essential to long-term healing), but... maybe with a little rewriting, this'll all be okay...

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Memory Banks

I've been working on a couple of non-blog writing projects lately—collecting and digitizing old teenage angst poetry and journals, working on some academic articles, outlining a salacious romance novel so that I can finally retire at the ocean (kidding! or am I?), sending birthday cards, balancing the checkbook, etc.—so I haven't been spending much time scouring the internet for snark to snark about while being a snarkity snarkmaster. Looking through my old journals and writings has gotten me thinking about what it is that my brain actually catalogs...

Because of my OCD, it seems as if most of what I remember from a moment is what I was worried about, obsessing about, upset about, you name anything other than what actually happened at the event or specific details, that's what's in my brain. That, along with useless celebrity gossip and decades-old CBS soap opera plotlines. I'm consistently unable to remember a really funny event that happened with my best friends, but can recall the Wednesday 2 months ago that I was unable to get anything productive done because I was replaying a conversation from years before over and over and over again.* I can remember all the times I was upset in elementary school, but very little about childhood fun and games (whatever the hell that means). No matter how I try, I can't recall half of the stuff that happened in high school, except whatever insecurities were bouncing around and around in my head. This used to upset me: here was ONE MORE THING that I couldn't do right, so much of my life stolen from me because of a stupid wonky brain.

But...thinking about how I remember all of my incessant thinking, got me (you guessed it) thinking. In truth, there's no "right" way for memories to be kept or, even, one way events are supposed to be remembered. My memories are a reflection of my worldview, whether I like what gets captured or not. I'm seriously considering seeing if I can't scrap together some sort of timeline out of all my anxieties, see what I can piece together in spite of this thing that, for whatever reason, is a part of how I view, deal with, and remember my life. 'Cause knowing what it was that was bothering me (OCD or "real") at a certain time in my life, OCD is certainly better than worrying about how I can't remember... I mean, 'cause really, do I need any more worry floating around up here in my noggin'? I think not.

*My OCD doesn't manifest in the stereotypical "germaphobe" way... I tend to have issues with perfection, fear of harming or hurting others, and fear of misremembering something important, misrepresenting myself, or misleading others in some way. I tend to make a lot of lists, rearrange items, and replay conversations and situations over and over and over again.

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Living Versus Enjoying

While one might argue that my recent exhibition for work* is an expression of my inner Harry Potter fan, I tend to look at it only as a career opportunity, albeit a fun one. I prefer to keep my fangirl love to myself and close friends and snarky blogs. I enjoy it...I don't LIVE it. I don't make costumes, or write fanfiction, or listen to podcasts, or go to cons.

Until now.

As part of the outreach push of the exhibition, I went to my very first "con" this weekend, for Harry Potter, obviously. I spent most of the time working--telling everyone and their fellow wizards about the project in hopes that they would go to the website or tell their friends to visit it when it travels to a local library near them. The rest of the time, I admit I was a bit, well... flustered. I was surrounded by people who LIVED their love. They wanted to share their passion with others through music, role-play, fic readings, costumes and balls, and scholarly-style sessions. It was equal shares embarrassing, inspiring, silly and fun. A part of me wishes that I was the sort of person who could immerse myself like they did, so fully in something they love even if mainstream society thinks it's trivial. Another part of me tried very hard to clearly demarcate myself from the attendees. I was there as a scholar and a professional, sharing my project with a vested audience--I wasn't of the audience. Finally, I was jealous of the younger people at the conference, who seemed a bit more like "funky" or "regular" kids (with social skills!) than their older counterparts did, many of whom were, let's face it, nerdy. This younger generation grew up, literally, with Harry. He was a common cultural touchstone for them and was nothing to be ashamed of. Kinda like Star Wars for my generation, except gender-inclusive with more than just a braless Princess for girls to relate to. For many of the older attendees, Harry Potter was something we either allowed into our lives as an engrossing read we constantly had to explain to our peers or we instantly embraced because it was similar to our other fandoms, such as D&D or Buffy or Ren Faires or Mercedes Lackey, etc. Let's face it, loving Harry Potter ten years ago as a 35-year-old isn't the same as growing up reading Harry... and now playing lead guitar in a Wizard Rock (Wrock) band at shows attended by everyone from football jocks to science nerds.

So, why did I feel this way? Why did I feel like such a... a... a SNOB?!? Is it because when I was an adolescent teen, I was a fangirl who was ostracized by most of my peers? Is this the same feeling I experience 15-years-ago that beat out of me all displays of geek love so that I could better socially integrate...even convincing me to get rid of all evidence of my interests, from my Star Trek micro-machines, to my Death of Superman comics, to my Star Wars books, to my X-Men trading cards? (Ah, still soooo sad about not having any of these anymore!). I want to know because I certainly don't want to look down on people who are expressing themselves, just like I hated how that made me feel back when I was growing up. Today, I take pride in my nerdfests, in my knowledge of Trek, Lucasfilm, and Harry Potter; it's one of my defining characteristics. Or, at least until this con, I thought that it was. Am I really just a fair-weather fan? A half-hearted lover of geek? Am I still unable to truly be myself?

Or...were these people just not my people, even though we had common interests? Was this event simply not the way that I best express my inner fan? Is it okay to totally applaud people who are fanboys and fangirls, but to not feel comfortable being "out" as one with conferences, costumes, and fanfic communities? Perhaps my continued desire for a career with an academic interpretation of popular culture is the way that I personally feel free expressing my passion for tv, comics, media, and film... Perhaps instead of making a costume, I write papers and do research? Not quite as fun to wear, but there you have it...

Regardless, I have to say that I am very glad that I went and not just because of the warm embrace everyone had for my project. I met some AMAZING people, who were open and friendly and fun. I was allowed to witness** the oft-times intricate and creative ways that people express themselves and live their inspirations. I'm not sure if I'm one of them, but I'm certainly glad they allowed me to pretend, if only for a weekend.***


*I haven't given specifics, and won't either, on this public site. Though this post is a bit of a cross, I prefer to keep this blog anonymous as possible for professional purposes. You know, with big brother watching and all :)
**I'm not posting any pictures, 'cause I don't want to objectify these people... Google Harry Potter + conference and you'll get a good idea...
***Check out Lev Grossman's blog for TIME on this subject--he was there too.

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And... Pause!

Life has been very busy for me lately... or for the last six years since I moved to DC, actually... I got a masters degree, had several jobs, got hitched, lost family members and a good friend to illness, moved a mazillion times and then bought a house, fixed up (mostly) said house, worked hardcore on my OCD, discovered acupuncture, made new friends, hung out with old friends, became an auntie, and dreamt about the next steps in my life... In the next year I hope to finish fixing up the house, publish a couple of articles that I'm working on, start going back to school to get my Ph.D., keep getting healthy, and continue to be present in my life instead of being a big ball of squidgy.

This part of my life have been in parts amazing and horrible (sometimes at the same time), and it's sometimes unclear how I'm supposed to process it all... But I'm one of those people that really tries to look at life not as a set path towards a specific destination. I like to think of it more like a discovery--you chart your course and follow the path as it leads you, often to something surprising and unexpected. There's no one right way to live your life or to define yourself. Sometimes the most amazing experiences happen when you accidentally veer off course. I admit that it's hard to keep this perspective with a mental illness that's all about trying to control the unknown, but I really do feel like I'm beginning to get the hang of this stuff... I'm much better about saying "no" to things I don't want to do, taking responsibility for my own happiness and not for others', and for knowing when to say "stop." Oh, and saying "yes" to the unknown. Like surfing. That's right. S-U-R-F-I-N-G. On a vacation. That I didn't take ANY work on... That I just relaxed at and did what I wanted to do because I wanted to do it, with amazing friends, natch! And it was AWESOME! I had so much fun, even if I fell off the board and never really "stood" up... Sidenote: can you say "learned to surf" if you never successfully apply the techniques? Survey says...YES!

This is me being present as I fall off my board and under the surf. I got bruised knees. It was AWESOME!



This is the beach where I finally pushed my (much-needed) "pause" button. A vacation with no other purpose than to vacay. No weddings to witness, no family to visit, no conferences to attend, just going for the sake of it.




Say it with me: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

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