it thinks it's spring

As many states are pummeled with snow, I look out the windows and I walk outside and I marvel at the ways weather can be in different places.
In Maryland and DC, there is no snow. There is no cold. There is wind, and a misty rain, and a bit of warmth. It is almost seventy degrees. I wore my light leather jacket, instead of my down puffer jacket.
It is the first day of December.
The trees are stripped bare, but some of them are growing tiny buds. Poor things. They are confused.
I love this weather. I do not look forward to snow and cold. Yet I am also thinking: No, this isn't right. It's December. It should be cold! And then I think: Wait. Just wait. It will happen. We will wake up and there will be frost, and the wind will bite.
For now, we have turned off the thermostat and opened the windows in the house.

it thinks it's spring

As many states are pummeled with snow, I look out the windows and I walk outside and I marvel at the ways weather can be in different places.
In Maryland and DC, there is no snow. There is no cold. There is wind, and a misty rain, and a bit of warmth. It is almost seventy degrees. I wore my light leather jacket, instead of my down puffer jacket.
It is the first day of December.
The trees are stripped bare, but some of them are growing tiny buds. Poor things. They are confused.
I love this weather. I do not look forward to snow and cold. Yet I am also thinking: No, this isn't right. It's December. It should be cold! And then I think: Wait. Just wait. It will happen. We will wake up and there will be frost, and the wind will bite.
For now, we have turned off the thermostat and opened the windows in the house.

it thinks it's spring

As many states are pummeled with snow, I look out the windows and I walk outside and I marvel at the ways weather can be in different places.
In Maryland and DC, there is no snow. There is no cold. There is wind, and a misty rain, and a bit of warmth. It is almost seventy degrees. I wore my light leather jacket, instead of my down puffer jacket.
It is the first day of December.
The trees are stripped bare, but some of them are growing tiny buds. Poor things. They are confused.
I love this weather. I do not look forward to snow and cold. Yet I am also thinking: No, this isn't right. It's December. It should be cold! And then I think: Wait. Just wait. It will happen. We will wake up and there will be frost, and the wind will bite.
For now, we have turned off the thermostat and opened the windows in the house.

Bliss. Yes. Oh, yes.

http://store.annabellina.com/psblisselixir.html

http://www.botanical.com/products/learn/amber.html
http://www.scents-of-earth.com/whitlotoilpu.html

Bliss. Yes. Oh, yes.

http://store.annabellina.com/psblisselixir.html

http://www.botanical.com/products/learn/amber.html
http://www.scents-of-earth.com/whitlotoilpu.html

Bliss. Yes. Oh, yes.

http://store.annabellina.com/psblisselixir.html

http://www.botanical.com/products/learn/amber.html
http://www.scents-of-earth.com/whitlotoilpu.html

peeling the brain like a tangerine

Note: hitting a brain with a rolled up newspaper does not work very well.

As Adam was packing for his trip to Georgia (and Florida), I was washing dishes. It took a while. I was in the middle of washing a black spatula. I felt sleepy and distant and weird. My eyes closed. When I opened them, I was lying curled up on the couch in the living room, feeling much too hot, breathing heavily, my hair in my face. I rubbed my hand over my face and sat up. Adam was sitting in the near armchair on his laptop.
"Shit," I mumbled. "Honey? What... what time is it?"
He shrugged. "Ten thirty eight or so."
I started to ask how long I had been in the kitchen. But I asked, "Did I... um, when did I walk in here?" (Because obviously I had walked into the living room)
He looked back at me. "A minute ago, maybe a little more. Why?"
I sat up more. "Shit. I hate that," I said. I sounded exhausted and confused.
"Why?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"
"Mmm," I said. "I was washing dishes, washing... something...oh, a black spatula... and then I was on the couch. I don't remember. I think I'll take my medication now."
He said, "Yes, good idea."
I went upstairs to the bedroom. Jupiter was lying on the bed. He meowed a greeting. I took my Trileptal. Normally I take a pill between nine and ten at night, like the birth control pill. But unlike the birth control pill, it seems that the Trileptal cannot be delayed more than thirty minutes.
I lay down in bed, and Jupiter rubbed himself against me, purring. He is very emotionally needy. He loves company and attention. We did this for maybe twenty minutes. I felt better and went back downstairs (Jupiter followed) to the kitchen and finished cleaning up. I went to the living room.
I've read that washing dishes in warm soapy water can cause the brain to become very relaxed, de-stressed, slow brainwaves. I've also discovered that this is a perfect setting for my seizures. I realized that I'd need to take breaks while washing dishes. The last time it happened, I came to sitting on the kitchen floor, holding a soap-covered knife in my hand with the sharp side toward me.
I told all of this to Adam. His reaction seemed unemotional and flat. I asked why he seemed so callous when I talked about my seizures. It upset me. He said he didn't mean to do that, but there was only so much he could take. I said that I understood, but I was the one living with it, how did he think I felt. And then he told me something that made me truly understand.
Adam was a volunteer EMT when he was a teenager. He saw many horrific things that could happen to a human body. He was also raised to push past his problems, issues, and disorders, rise above it and keep running, keep going. His bedside manners are lacking, but he makes up for the distant emotion in logical rationality. He assesses a situation, decides whether or not it can be overcome and how, and pushes toward a goal. His goal with his epileptic wife is to help her get through a seizure. No immediate emotional comfort, no acknowledgement of the seizure, just get through it and fall apart later. Logic and rationality. I, on the other hand, am too emotional and connected and I need reassurance. So you see the conflict. He becomes detached as I attempt to become attached. This occasionally results in me coming out of the seizure through sheer force of will, because I need him, I need to find him through the hallucinating labyrinth of my own brain, I need to touch him and tell him I am okay and he can stop moving away. This is what he wants to accomplish. He wants me out of the seizure; ask questions later.
I can see where he is coming from. I understand this. But still, I cannot help getting emotional. My brain becomes scary; I do want someone to hold me and tell me it will be all right. He thinks that could just send me deeper into the seizure. But I need some sort of lifeline. Logic or emotion. I'll take either, or both. But I do appreciate how wonderfully attentive, loving, and reassuring he is once it is all over. He understands me. He knows me.

Now we are eating sliced tangerines. The tartness fills my mouth, bursting.

peeling the brain like a tangerine

Note: hitting a brain with a rolled up newspaper does not work very well.

As Adam was packing for his trip to Georgia (and Florida), I was washing dishes. It took a while. I was in the middle of washing a black spatula. I felt sleepy and distant and weird. My eyes closed. When I opened them, I was lying curled up on the couch in the living room, feeling much too hot, breathing heavily, my hair in my face. I rubbed my hand over my face and sat up. Adam was sitting in the near armchair on his laptop.
"Shit," I mumbled. "Honey? What... what time is it?"
He shrugged. "Ten thirty eight or so."
I started to ask how long I had been in the kitchen. But I asked, "Did I... um, when did I walk in here?" (Because obviously I had walked into the living room)
He looked back at me. "A minute ago, maybe a little more. Why?"
I sat up more. "Shit. I hate that," I said. I sounded exhausted and confused.
"Why?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"
"Mmm," I said. "I was washing dishes, washing... something...oh, a black spatula... and then I was on the couch. I don't remember. I think I'll take my medication now."
He said, "Yes, good idea."
I went upstairs to the bedroom. Jupiter was lying on the bed. He meowed a greeting. I took my Trileptal. Normally I take a pill between nine and ten at night, like the birth control pill. But unlike the birth control pill, it seems that the Trileptal cannot be delayed more than thirty minutes.
I lay down in bed, and Jupiter rubbed himself against me, purring. He is very emotionally needy. He loves company and attention. We did this for maybe twenty minutes. I felt better and went back downstairs (Jupiter followed) to the kitchen and finished cleaning up. I went to the living room.
I've read that washing dishes in warm soapy water can cause the brain to become very relaxed, de-stressed, slow brainwaves. I've also discovered that this is a perfect setting for my seizures. I realized that I'd need to take breaks while washing dishes. The last time it happened, I came to sitting on the kitchen floor, holding a soap-covered knife in my hand with the sharp side toward me.
I told all of this to Adam. His reaction seemed unemotional and flat. I asked why he seemed so callous when I talked about my seizures. It upset me. He said he didn't mean to do that, but there was only so much he could take. I said that I understood, but I was the one living with it, how did he think I felt. And then he told me something that made me truly understand.
Adam was a volunteer EMT when he was a teenager. He saw many horrific things that could happen to a human body. He was also raised to push past his problems, issues, and disorders, rise above it and keep running, keep going. His bedside manners are lacking, but he makes up for the distant emotion in logical rationality. He assesses a situation, decides whether or not it can be overcome and how, and pushes toward a goal. His goal with his epileptic wife is to help her get through a seizure. No immediate emotional comfort, no acknowledgement of the seizure, just get through it and fall apart later. Logic and rationality. I, on the other hand, am too emotional and connected and I need reassurance. So you see the conflict. He becomes detached as I attempt to become attached. This occasionally results in me coming out of the seizure through sheer force of will, because I need him, I need to find him through the hallucinating labyrinth of my own brain, I need to touch him and tell him I am okay and he can stop moving away. This is what he wants to accomplish. He wants me out of the seizure; ask questions later.
I can see where he is coming from. I understand this. But still, I cannot help getting emotional. My brain becomes scary; I do want someone to hold me and tell me it will be all right. He thinks that could just send me deeper into the seizure. But I need some sort of lifeline. Logic or emotion. I'll take either, or both. But I do appreciate how wonderfully attentive, loving, and reassuring he is once it is all over. He understands me. He knows me.

Now we are eating sliced tangerines. The tartness fills my mouth, bursting.

peeling the brain like a tangerine

Note: hitting a brain with a rolled up newspaper does not work very well.

As Adam was packing for his trip to Georgia (and Florida), I was washing dishes. It took a while. I was in the middle of washing a black spatula. I felt sleepy and distant and weird. My eyes closed. When I opened them, I was lying curled up on the couch in the living room, feeling much too hot, breathing heavily, my hair in my face. I rubbed my hand over my face and sat up. Adam was sitting in the near armchair on his laptop.
"Shit," I mumbled. "Honey? What... what time is it?"
He shrugged. "Ten thirty eight or so."
I started to ask how long I had been in the kitchen. But I asked, "Did I... um, when did I walk in here?" (Because obviously I had walked into the living room)
He looked back at me. "A minute ago, maybe a little more. Why?"
I sat up more. "Shit. I hate that," I said. I sounded exhausted and confused.
"Why?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"
"Mmm," I said. "I was washing dishes, washing... something...oh, a black spatula... and then I was on the couch. I don't remember. I think I'll take my medication now."
He said, "Yes, good idea."
I went upstairs to the bedroom. Jupiter was lying on the bed. He meowed a greeting. I took my Trileptal. Normally I take a pill between nine and ten at night, like the birth control pill. But unlike the birth control pill, it seems that the Trileptal cannot be delayed more than thirty minutes.
I lay down in bed, and Jupiter rubbed himself against me, purring. He is very emotionally needy. He loves company and attention. We did this for maybe twenty minutes. I felt better and went back downstairs (Jupiter followed) to the kitchen and finished cleaning up. I went to the living room.
I've read that washing dishes in warm soapy water can cause the brain to become very relaxed, de-stressed, slow brainwaves. I've also discovered that this is a perfect setting for my seizures. I realized that I'd need to take breaks while washing dishes. The last time it happened, I came to sitting on the kitchen floor, holding a soap-covered knife in my hand with the sharp side toward me.
I told all of this to Adam. His reaction seemed unemotional and flat. I asked why he seemed so callous when I talked about my seizures. It upset me. He said he didn't mean to do that, but there was only so much he could take. I said that I understood, but I was the one living with it, how did he think I felt. And then he told me something that made me truly understand.
Adam was a volunteer EMT when he was a teenager. He saw many horrific things that could happen to a human body. He was also raised to push past his problems, issues, and disorders, rise above it and keep running, keep going. His bedside manners are lacking, but he makes up for the distant emotion in logical rationality. He assesses a situation, decides whether or not it can be overcome and how, and pushes toward a goal. His goal with his epileptic wife is to help her get through a seizure. No immediate emotional comfort, no acknowledgement of the seizure, just get through it and fall apart later. Logic and rationality. I, on the other hand, am too emotional and connected and I need reassurance. So you see the conflict. He becomes detached as I attempt to become attached. This occasionally results in me coming out of the seizure through sheer force of will, because I need him, I need to find him through the hallucinating labyrinth of my own brain, I need to touch him and tell him I am okay and he can stop moving away. This is what he wants to accomplish. He wants me out of the seizure; ask questions later.
I can see where he is coming from. I understand this. But still, I cannot help getting emotional. My brain becomes scary; I do want someone to hold me and tell me it will be all right. He thinks that could just send me deeper into the seizure. But I need some sort of lifeline. Logic or emotion. I'll take either, or both. But I do appreciate how wonderfully attentive, loving, and reassuring he is once it is all over. He understands me. He knows me.

Now we are eating sliced tangerines. The tartness fills my mouth, bursting.