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Author, Historian, Storyteller

Change, Live and LearnLeave a comment
I hate getting a new phone. Really, any type of new technology, but phones in particular. I’m not into the latest and greatest new tech gadgets. I just want something that works, let’s me do my work and is familiar. I think that’s the biggest thing. I like the familiarity, I like that I know where everything is and how everything works. Which is probably why when I do finally break down and get a new phone, I simply get the next model of whatever I currently I have. In that respect, I am low maintenance.
Which is why I shocked even myself when I decided to use some of my tax refund to buy a new phone. The old one wasn’t broken, per se. It was old enough that some of the new apps were glitchy on it and I had to charge it 2-3 times a day, but other than that it worked just fine. I honestly could have squeezed another 6-9 months out of it. But for whatever reason, I decided that it was time to upgrade. And not just my normal ‘next model up’ upgrade, but switch from Android to Apple.
I have an iPad and a MacBook Air so it made no sense that I didn’t have an iPhone as well. My Android didn’t really interact that well with the other two, so it was time to switch. Plus, my dad’s a MacGenius so I didn’t have to do any research. I just told him how much I wanted to spend and he told me what to get – knowing of course that I couldn’t care less about the latest/greatest tech. I went with the SE, because it fit my budget and my dad says that he hardly ever sees them in with problems. Perfect! Sign me up!
last words
This was three weeks ago, and tomorrow I will be going in for my third iPhone. That is one new phone a week for a hat trick of phones! Whoo! No, no whoo. Boo! That means that I have been spending inordanant amounts of time at the Apple Store because my BRAND NEW phone didn’t work and the slow and behold, the replacement HAD THE EXACT SAME PROBLEM!!! What are the frickin’ odds? From the reactions of all of the people at the Apple Store, minuscule because they can’t believe this is happening.
What might be shocking them even more, is that I have yet to yell or get frustrated with any of them. Last week after waiting 20 minutes for my appointment, the MacGenius gave me a weird look while we were waiting for the diagnostics to load. (FYI, they never loaded. The stupid phone was so messed up it wouldn’t even interact with the diagnostic tools.) At any rate, I noticed his look and he immediately apologized for gawking, and admitted that he was just really surprised at how calm and relaxed I was about the whole mess. Before I even thought about what I was saying, I responded, “Well, if this is the worst thing that happens to me this week, I’m going to count that as a win.”
Worst Thing
I have no idea where that response came from, but as soon as it came out of my mouth I knew it was true. What the heck? I had gone from mad at the world, ready to snap at anybody about anything a couple of weeks ago to Ms I have better things to get upset about. When did that happen? Maybe it’s because I did just come out of a bad few weeks that were lending this particular snafu some perspective. Maybe it’s because I’ve started reading Radium Girls, and there’s nothing like reading about 20 year olds dying of radium poisoning before doctors even knew what radium poisoning was, to lend a little persepctive. Who knows? At any rate, I’m glad for the new perspective. It’s more pleasant.
Also, I would like a phone that works correctly. That would be pleasant too.
Depression, Happiness, Loss, PermissionLeave a comment

They say that with the passage of time death anniversaries become easier … which to some degree is true. A couple of years ago I missed my mother’s anniversary. It had come and gone before it occurred to me that I should brace for it. Aside from a bit of guilt that was quickly assuaged, that was a good year. Thirteen years after her death and I was doing well.

What they don’t tell you is that grief operates in waves. Despite the fact that I was great thirteen years in, fast forward to now, 15 years after the fact, and for no discernable reason that I can come up with, I am horrible. My February has hit me like a freight train. She died on the 8th and we all gathered for her funeral on the 14th … yes, Valentine’s day. Which makes it super awkward every year when I tell people that I’m not a fan of the holiday and they then tease me about commercialism, to which I reply, “No, we buried my mother on Valentine’s day.” I could refrain from saying anything and let the moment pass, but by this point they’ve generally annoyed me and tact has flown out the window.

awkward

At any rate, this month has been bad. I started out super depressed and then just became mad at the world. Like ready to snap and yell at someone who brushes up against me too hard in a crowd kind of mad. Last straw, no matter how insignificant, mad. So I kept my head down and tried my dead level best to keep it to myself and not yell at anybody. I was going to blog about it, but it was a little too profane even for me. Not to mention, when I took a step back and looked at what I had written, I knew it wasn’t true. Despite how I felt deep down in my heart I logically knew that statements like – “nobody can understand what I’ve been through,” “not even my friends understand me,” and “I’m too broken to fix,” – were not true. But that didn’t matter. Logic had no place in my anger, so I stayed angry.

A co-worker even picked up on it and asked if I was okay. She said that I had seemed ‘irritated’ lately. As she’s a friend as well, I explained. To which she promptly pronounced that I needed a drink and took me out after work that day. That’s when she surprised me. She didn’t ask about my mom, she didn’t ask what I was angry about, she didn’t try to empathize. She knew that I wasn’t okay, and she felt no need to try to fix me. She knows me and therefore knew that this would pass, and here was the mind-blower: she saw no problem in the fact that, temporarily, I wasn’t okay. She still wanted to hang out with me, she still wanted to chat. She didn’t need to wait for it all to blow over. Life, our friendship, could continue even while I wasn’t okay.

Okay

Two days later, my roommate straight up told me in words, what my coworker had told me in actions, “It’s okay to not be okay.” I didn’t need an excuse, I didn’t need a logical reason and I didn’t need to explain myself. It was my mom’s anniversary, I wasn’t okay, and that was fine. In retrospect, this seems obvious – I say retrospect, because the anger has passed and I’m doing much better. But at the time it was far from obvious and I think a good portion of my anger was coming from the fact that I needed to know why I was angry, but as there was no why I just became increasingly more frustrated.

So I feel like it needs to be said, hell even shouted from the rooftops, that sometimes we are allowed to not be okay. You don’t always have to be fixed.

Change, Happiness, LifeLeave a comment

I have this friend that I don’t see a ton, but when I do see her she always asks how I am doing. Big whoop, right. Baristas at coffee shops ask the same thing to perfect strangers. The difference is in the emphasis – How are YOU? – vs – How ARE you? Crazy subtle, I know, but hang with me for a minute.

“How are YOU?” gets asked a million times a day. You say it to strangers and casual acquaintances and the expected responses range from, “Good,” “Still kickin’,” “Hanging in there,” “Can’t complain,” etc. Even if you are having a total crap day, you come up with something vaguely positive to say. These are the rules. Just look at how foreign languages are taught. One of the first things learned are greetings and responses. All of the responses are rote, because nobody actually expects a real answer. It’s just part of the greeting.

tipica-conversacion

When someone strays from that by responding something like, “I’ve been feeling really depressed and my back’s been hurting for some reason,” the conversation immediately becomes awkward and you start wondering why this person whom don’t know from Adam, is telling you their life story? Awkward! The fact that you asked is completely inconsequential, because “How are YOU?” might as well be a rhetorical question. Stick to the script and nobody gets hurt.

Which brings me to, “How ARE you?” This is what my friend asks, and that tiny shift of emphasis throws away the rule book. She has gone off script, and actually wants to know what’s going on with me. I’m quite certain that if I responded, “Kinda crappy,” I would immediately find myself in a heartfelt conversation about why I’m feeling crappy and if there is anything that she can do help. That is a hypothesis, because I of course always answer with, “Good,” because I’ve been trained since childhood to keep my feelings to myself and the damn word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. But it’s got me thinking.

thinking

What if we reserved “How are YOU?” for ice breakers with strangers, and really started to use, “How ARE you?” for the people we care about. What if we were actually open to getting an honest response and then giving honest feedback in return? Or maybe no feedback at all, just sit and listen to someone. I can’t count how many times I’ve been in a crappy mood, and the simple act of explaining why I am in said mood was enough to lift the cloud a little bit. Sure, it would extend the length of conversations, but it would also help eliminate the feeling of being all alone even when surrounded by a group of people. There are far too many lonely/hurting people in the world, and perhaps small changes like this could help remedy some of that.

I don’t know. This just keeps rolling around in my brain, because I know how much it means to me when I hear it from her. So how ARE you?

LifeLeave a comment

I love a good check list. The satisfaction that I get by crossing something off a list is probably the greatest motivator that I have to do anything on the list in the first place. Because of this, I keep lists for everything, and the granddaddy of all of my lists is my To-Do List. This list covers a month at a time, and contains items from every aspect of my life. As soon as I’m done writing this blog, I’ll get to cross that item off the list. Everything that takes more than five minutes to accomplish goes on the list. EVERYTHING.

To-Do List

The easy tasks almost always get done because they’re easy and I like crossing things off. FYI, you should always have easy tasks on your list for those moments when you start to feel overwhelmed and need an easy win. Why yes, I did “dust something,” cross that sucker off! There are the mundane tasks, like laundry, that get done because if you don’t you’ll have to go to work naked and that would just be awkward. Then there are the tasks that have deadlines. I love deadlines. I am a master procrastinator, so deadlines keep me productive. Seriously, embrace the deadlines my friends. These things get crossed off my list regularly, and unless some emergency crops up, they generally get done on the day they’re listed. I like these items.

ToDoChase

Then there is my list nemesis … the lingering to-do. These are things that I should get done. They are generally pretty involved, have no immediate consequence if it isn’t done, and have no deadline. These are things like rearrange my closet. This isn’t a pressing need, but it would make my life infinitely easier every time I had to get something from in there, if I just took an evening to rearrange the damn thing. But when that to-do shows up on my list, I know that it can be put off, so I watch a movie instead. That’s how these items just linger. They don’t get done on the day assigned, so I move them down to a future day. That day rolls around, and I simply bump it down once more. And I do this with every lingering to-do I have.

The next thing I know, it’s the end of the month and all of these linger-ers are piled up as sub-listings under the item, “Make New To-Do List,” because I’ve run out of days to move them to. This happens every month! And every month, I dutifully assign the tasks to a new day in the new month and vow to myself that this time I will actually get them done.

No You Won't

That being said, it’s the end of the month and I am vowing that February will be the month that I actually get these things down. February will be the month that annihilate the lingering to-dos! You all are my witnesses, which probably just means that I’ll have witnesses to my failure, but here’s to hoping it lends a little bit of accountability to the effort. Cross your fingers for me!

Depression, Humor, LifeLeave a comment
Once more I find myself naked and dripping wet in the hallway, trying frantically to jump and hit the stupid reset button on the fire alarm to quiet the blaring. There are two thoughts that break through this cacophony:

 

1. Why would you ever build a bathroom without an exhaust fan to run during showers?

2. Why in the world would you place the fire alarm directly outside the bathroom with no exhaust fan?

 

I lied. There’s a third thought.

 

3. This wouldn’t be a problem if my goddamn bathroom door latched securely preventing my dogs from venturing in to see what I’m doing.

 

I love my dogs dearly, but they have given me a whole new appreciation of the concept of co-dependency. They must know where I am and what I’m doing at all times, or it is the END OF THE WORLD! The ear piercing wails of the alarm and its robotic voice announcing, “Fire, fire, fire,” don’t phase them in the least, but it’s bloody Armageddon if I leave the room. Finally, blissfully, I manage to hit the button and quiet descends. The morning peace has been restored and I can now go about getting ready for my day. Now where the hell is my towel?
Fire Minion
I’m running late. Which is no surprise as I’m always running late. Mornings are not my friend and I have perfected the art of getting out of bed, walking across the room and turning off the alarm without actually waking up. It truly is a marvel how I am able to navigate the clutter of my bedroom while asleep. I’ve even put my rowing machine directly in the path between my bed and the alarm. Doesn’t matter. I am a sleep walking ninja.

But I’m up now, and I’m showered, and that’s what counts. This is what I keep telling myself. I hate being late. It makes me feel like I am letting everyone down, and some days that is enough to make me give up. The depression takes the mic and the inner voice becomes, “You’ve already let everyone down, why even bother? Just go back to bed.” This is an amazingly convincing argument as the bed is warm and soft, and the aforementioned dogs are curled up giving me a look that says, “Come snuggle mama!” I do love a good snuggle.

No, I’m going. Late or not. The inner voice is wrong. I’m doing the best that I can and today this is as good as it gets. I announce to the dogs that it’s time for breakfast and they are up like a flash. I would kill for even a fraction of that energy. I mean there’s coffee, but you would have to down at least a pot of the stuff to reach puggle energy. But the coffee is better than nothing. And cookies. There are totally cookies in my desk, and as I’m counting the episode in the hall as a workout, cookies with my coffee sounds acceptable. It’s the little things that get you going. Let’s do this.
Coffee and cookies
WritingOne comment so far

Hi all,

Apologies for how sparse this blog has been lately. Apparently I can’t do it all.

Shocking

Shocking, I know, but there it is. In my quest to publish two books this October I have run out of hours in the day. Therefore, I need to purposefully cut things from my schedule – instead of leaving it all in, failing to get everything done, then feeling bad about it – and this blog did not make the list of things to be kept. I am hoping to get back on the blogging bandwagon in November, so I will see you then. In the mean time, I will still be posting on Patreon and please do check out my two upcoming books!

 

In a Time Never Known

Monsters in the Night

LifeLeave a comment

I think the most frustrating thing for me about living with chronic illness, is not the illness itself, but having to constantly explain why I’m still sick. To have to constantly apologize that circumstances have not changed and that there is nothing that I can do about it. That I am doing everything in my power, and none of it is working. Or it works for a little bit and everything is great, and then it stops working. That no, upping the dose is not the answer. Yes, I tried it. Yes, I’ve tried all of the dozens of suggestions you have, plus dozens more. Right now, this is as good as it gets.

Yes, my thyroid has been tested, it works just fine. It’s my adrenal glands that don’t work. No, I have no idea why my body functions differently than everybody else. Yes, I’m working with a trained medical professional. No, she doesn’t know why my body is functioning abnormally either. Yes, my doctor knows what she’s doing. Yes, I saw multiple doctors before I picked her. Yes, I did my research and picked her carefully to make sure she was exactly the right doctor for me. Yes, she has helped.

How? Okay, let me dive into the history of my treatment with her, how much time to do you have? Should I include supplements/medicines we’ve tried and all of the different testing that’s been done, or are you looking for more of the Reader’s Digest version of the past two years and thousands of dollars of care? Trust me, I am more aware than anybody else that this has been going on for two years.

Yes, I’m on medicine and supplements. Yes, I’m buying the good quality ones and not the knock-offs at the drug store. In fact, I spend more each month on those than I do on food. No, I’m not going out partying in my time off. I’m too exhausted to go out partying. Not to mention, I can’t afford to go out partying because all of my money goes towards the appointments, the tests, the supplements and medicines that work well enough to keep me upright and looking healthy, but don’t actually make me consistently feel healthy. And the oh so wonderful side effect of all it, is that I get to explain this all over again ever month or so, because I don’t look sick, so why am I not better? I have no idea. I am doing the best that I can and I’m sorry that it’s not good enough for you.

Yes, I will keep you updated. I’ll pencil in this exact conversation for next month.

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Live and LearnView all 3 comments

I kid that every time I go out to eat at a restaurant it’s like I’m playing Russian Roulette because of Celiac disease. I totally say this as a joke, yet there’s more truth to it than I like to admit. This has become abundantly clear to me because in the past two months, I’ve lost this game twice. No, I wasn’t shot in the head, I was gluten-ed. The first time was at a little food truck where I’ve eaten before and I ordered what I always order. Which means that they either changed the recipe so that it now includes gluten, or there was cross-contamination. I know what you’re likely thinking, “Why in the world would you ever eat at a food truck? Half of those people aren’t even trained chefs! Of course your food was cross-contaminated!”

To that I would counter you with my second exposure to gluten. It occurred at a fancy restaurant, after I had spoken in detail with my server, who then spoke with the chef about what I could and could not eat. In this instance, even after all of the precaution, they served me a rice flavored with the exact same miso sauce that they had removed from the meat because it contained, you guessed it, gluten!

Yay

To be honest, I’m not even upset about the first one. Shit happens. People who don’t have Celiac don’t realize that all it takes is a crumb or two, so even when they’re being careful, they may not be careful enough. The risk of cross-contamination is the gamble I take whenever I decide that I don’t want to prepare my own food. The second instance, pisses me off. Why did we all go through that stupid elaborate dance of ‘What can Kat eat?” if nobody’s going to pay attention in the end? In all honesty, this is why I hate eating at fancy restaurants. The fancier the food gets, the more ingredients they use, and the chefs are generally not big fans of removing elements from their perfectly balanced dish, because it means that someone in their restaurant is going to eat bland food.

Thankfully, I was able to identify the miso flavoring with my first bite, and I was actually able to throw most of it up. I generally can’t make myself throw up at all, so the fact that I was able to that night sheds some light on just how upset I was. I was upset on several levels. First, that I was going to have to leave my friend’s wedding reception while I was still able to drive home. Second, that any plans for the next day or two would have to be cancelled as I would be at home feeling like shit, and any plans around large groups of people for the following week would have to be cancelled since my immune system was going to be compromised.

quarantine

But mostly, I was upset because no matter how strong I am, no matter how careful, how thorough, how detailed I am, all it takes is one bite of food to take me out. And when I get taken out it just highlights how restricted everything in my life is. How there are people who can gallivant about carefree and go on trips spontaneously, or go places with the expectation of ‘finding food there,’ and how I will never be able to be that person. Shit, I can’t even go to a dinner party without putting the host through the third degree, or bringing my own food. I can count on one hand the people that I trust to give me food without making me sick, and that’s mostly because they tell me every single ingredient they used. Something as simple as eating, will always be a production with me. There will always be a conversation, there will always be a risk. It’s not only frustrating, it’s exhausting.

So when the friend, whom I had cancelled on because of the gluten exposure, not only completely understood, but offered to bring me food – as long as I told her exactly what to bring – it lessened the frustration and the exhaustion somewhat. On top of everything else, when this happens I feel even more overwhelmed because I see myself as a burden on those around me. Not just with the gluten thing, but with my mental illnesses as well. Sometimes I really see myself as someone who is hard to live with. As someone who it is hard to be friends with as you never know when plans may have to be cancelled, or when I may not be feeling well. So the reminder that even when I cancel plans and I am not feeling well, I’m still someone worth spending time with was something I really needed.

Body Image, Inspiration, Life, WomenView all 2 comments

Like so many others, I saw Wonder Woman last week and I loved it. I was fully expecting to like the movie, but even if I didn’t, I was 100% on board with my money going toward a movie starring a female action hero, that was directed by a woman. Which brings me back to my first statement, I was fully expecting to like this movie. After hearing friends talk about it, I had cautiously raised the bar of anticipation. Even so, this movie far exceeded my expectations. What came completely out of the blue though, was how profoundly it affected me. I’m 35 years old, I figured the days of getting pumped up and inspired by a super-hero movie were behind me. But then I sat and watched for two hours as a strong woman lead men and at no point was she referred to as a bitch, or a ball-buster, or was made fun of or told she was manly because of her strength. And amazingly, she was able to do all of this while still retaining her femininity. What?!?!?!?! How is that possible? That must be some Hollywood magic.

Whenever I’m in a group, I usually wind up leading it whether I want to or not. Trust me, there are times that I just want to kick back and go with the flow, but the next thing I know I’ve been nominated to take charge. People who know me, know that if I’m leading the group, shit will get done and it will get done well. I will lead the charge to the finish line and I prefer if you pull your weight, but we all know there will be at least one person per group who just wants to skate by doing nothing. I will drag that person kicking and screaming with me if that’s the only option left to me. This is why people ask me to lead, I pick up the slack of the weaker links.

dragged

What sucks, is that those very same people who want me in charge, are also the ones calling me a bitch. I have lost track of how many times I have heard someone whisper to their friend how huge of a bitch I am, and then turn around and ask me to lead them. It blows, but it’s something that I have always accepted as being the way of things. It was my price to pay. For what I don’t know? Having my personality? Who knows? I accepted that it was the way it would always be.

I’m sure what added to the “bitch persona,” is the fact that I am not a petite woman. There is nothing about me that is petite. My shoulders are so broad that I’ve hulked out the seams on more shirts and jackets than I care to admit . . . some of them in fitting rooms. But frankly, if the shirt isn’t actually an extra-large, they shouldn’t label it as an extra-large. That being said, I’m wearing an extra-large shirt right now, and the shoulder seams hit about an inch onto my shoulder. So really an extra-large doesn’t fit either.

Shirt-shoulder

My frame does not fit into the criteria of classic femininity. The way that I bulk on muscle, unless I’m excruciatingly careful about how I exercise, makes me look more like a body builder than a curvaceous woman. I can’t wear short sleeve shirts unless the arms are made of a material that can stretch, because my biceps are too big. I easily carried my forty pound dog up and down the stairs several times a day for four months when he tore his ACL. I am tall, I am broad, I am strong, and as if that weren’t enough I have a deep voice. I have been called a dude, butch, manly, one of the guys for so long that it takes me aback when a guy flirts with me. For an emergency, a deadline, hard advice, call Kat. For a good time or a hot date, call someone else.

Entertainment confirms this image. The big and strong girls are the comedic relief, or the ones that help carry the plot so the petite main character can live happily ever after. These are the roles for the non-feminine girls, and don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean ugly. You can be beautiful, but the second you’re the same size as 50% or more of the men in the room, you are no longer feminine enough to be a heroine or a love interest. The second you move from the girl being lifted in dance choreography to the girl doing the lifting because you don’t have enough guys, is the moment you lose the descriptor, feminine.

So imagine my amazement at watching these kick-ass fight scenes with bulked-out, strong AF women who exuded femininity. The Amazons were strong, fierce and had costumes that accentuated their strength more than their sex-appeal. And better yet, instead of being the ‘manly’ women, or the ones who take care of the other more petite women, they were just women. Even Wonder Woman’s classic uniform still paid tribute to its sexy forbearers, but it again shows her strength more than her curves. Compare the necklines and the waist size of the two women.

Old vs New WW

If I lost every ounce of fat on my body, I still couldn’t look like Lynda Carter. Gal Godot, that’s doable. I would still have to lose every ounce of fat on my body, but I could achieve that body shape. Broad shoulders, tall, discernible waist but not an hourglass. And most importantly, strong AF, and not apologizing for it or hiding it. Not apologizing for stepping out to take the lead, and not apologizing for breaking the classic mold of femininity. For the first time in my life, I left a movie loving the fact that I am strong and that I can put on muscle. I left a movie wanting to work out and get that muscle definition back. I left feeling that I can be just as feminine as my more petite counter-parts.

I was not expecting to get that kind of body-positive affirmations from a comic book super-hero movie. Consider my mind blown. Especially when I logged onto social media and saw this kind of reaction across the board. Petite women felt empowered. Larger women felt empowered. Average size women felt empowered. By treating a female super-hero like they would have treated a male super-hero, women across the country felt empowered. Feminism is not the desire to be treated better than men. It is the desire to be treated on an equal plane with men. The things we can learn from comic books. Go figure.

LifeLeave a comment

I am a huge proponent of therapy. I truly believe that at one point or another, no matter how perfect and magical your life is, every person can benefit from talking with a therapist. There is just something about knowing that there is someone out there to whom you can confide all of the things in your head that you barely even want to admit to yourself, much less to somebody else. There is someone that you can confide those things to, and your secret is safe, because by law, they can’t tell anybody! Not only can’t they tell anybody, but they’ll talk through the issue with you. It is amazing how much relief can be had from telling a therapist something that makes you a freak or a bad person and then hearing the therapist say, “Oh, yeah. That’s normal.”

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There are so many things that we as a society deem inappropriate to talk about, that we walk around thinking we’re all alone and something is wrong with us, when chances are half the population is having the exact same thoughts. It’s crazy! And a trained professional telling you that you’re normal carries so much more clout than if a friend were to say the exact same thing. Working with a good therapist can truly change your life for the better.

However, you knew that was coming, I always hit a certain point while working through past crap and relearning healthier ways of thinking/behaving, that I just get so sick of rehashing the past. I get it, it’s good work. It’s work that needs to be done at one point or another, and just when you think you’re done something else comes up. My PTSD unleashed several repressed memories. Those are fun.

zero fun

But despite the fact that I know it’s good for me, and I know in the long run I’ll be glad I did it, I am to the point that I don’t want to think about and focus on the crap anymore. I almost feel like telling myself to stop whining. Seriously, get over it already! And then I realize that I sound like every well-intentioned – or completely clueless – person that has ever told me to do the same thing.

“Just think about the good things. Be happy.”

“Forget about it and move on.”

“Maybe some exercise out in the sun will help!”

So I don’t know. Can you simply decide to get over it and be done? Have you ever reached that stage in therapy?