Like a two year old.

I'm gonna tell you a story about a girl named Anna. When I say Anna, I'm referring to myself. I'm Anna (I may have just watched Bridesmaids like 3 times in one week).

So I know I have anxiety. I take all the right benzodiazopines and I'm trying (ok, going to try) to find a new CCCG-er to westside talk it out. It's not crippling anymore and it's basically really ok. Except when there are super stressful situations and then I usually climb in bed and hold on to some pillows. Until recently, though, I'd just lumped everything under the general anxiety category but I'm beginning to think there are multiple parts. Like separation anxiety. As an adult. Not a two year old. So weird.

It was just recently that I realized this when two things happened that made me stop and think: one, I was leaving Seattle and my mom texted to say she and Pops were going to bed and to text them in the morning when I got home. I texted back, but was immediately overcome with the feeling that if I didn't call her and tell her I loved her, something bad was going to happen and I would never get the chance to ever talk to her again. And then, when my bffs dropped me off at the airport, I had a panic moment and almost called them to come back because I was sure that if I didn't hug them one more time, something terrible would happen and I would never see them again. Sensing a theme? Me too. That lead to a time of reflection and introspection and the next obvious move: 

I googled it at the airport.

From my obviously professional clinical diagnosis after reading the online version of the DSM-IV, I don't have Adult Separation Anxiety Disorder - that sounds really scary. But I realized that I do have some of the symptoms. Por ejemplo, I get really anxious when I leave certain people (attachment figure is the technical term) and I have frequent dreams of separation (where I can't be with or get to a particular person) especially after leaving said certain people. It's this terrible panic that I won't see them again - that something bad will happen - especially if I don't hug them long enough or tell them I love them right before we get off the phone or if I don't see them one last time before I leave. In undergrad I had real issues if I didn't end a conversation with my parents with an "I love you" and they said it back. I still feel that way sometimes - and about a handful more people - but I try to remember to be rational. No one has died because someone didn't hug them. They may have died and someone didn't hug them, but it wasn't a causal relationship.

The mind is a funny, funny thing...I just love when blogs get all personal, don't you?

Real Houses of Seattle, WA

Wow, primary colors much?

Hansel & Gretel warned us about this

And suddenly you're in Savannah

And then Miami.

There are lots like this one, though.
I like this one.

This is how you do wrought iron.

It's okay, we can't all be normal.

There's these things on Facebook these days about God and schools and prisons and other dumb shit like that. I suppose they've been around for a while but I've finally seen enough to write a snarky post about it. See Exhibit A:

My mouth is gaping. I can't think of anything to say. I'm rarely speechless. Just see Exhibit B:

No. That is not the
definition of irony.

I guess my problem with Exhibit A starts with the obvious - the whole separation of church and state thing. But let's move past that dumb law and talk about what really matters: God allowing violence in schools and blaming a lack of corporate religion in secular institutions on God's inability to stop it. Wait, let's just say His, as in His inability to stop it. Because God is a man, right, as indicated by the masculine font chosen for His signature. Perhaps, though, it is that God is not unable but simply unwilling to stop the violence. Or maybe God is neither unable nor unwilling, but rather is unaware that there is violence going on; however, Exhibit A suggests God knows it's happening and is not getting involved because some moronic human decided homeroom was going to be for studying and not praying. Yes, let's blame secularism for violence because Christians have never done anything violent ever. And I'm assuming we're talking about Christians here and not Muslisms or Jews (who also have a God) because only evangelical Christians would say Columbine happened because we all didn't pray enough. That's just bullshit. Kids are bullied and beaten and teased and humiliated because people of all ages really suck ass sometimes and often make decisions that harm other people. And they still would, with or without saying The Lord's Prayer before 2nd period.

Exhibit B. I've already noted that trivial law about separation of church and state and have indicated that perhaps the picture employs an incorrect use of the term irony. Though I must first note that the shackled Bible on the left is pretty funny. I actually didn't see it at first, but I think that's why the little boy is sad. Poor kid can't get to his rock hammer. Anyhow, back to irony. Irony refers to - hell, let's just google it. The third definition on Merriam Webster's website says that irony is the "incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result." Is the situation ironic in that you would expect a prison to not allow Bibles? Where else should a Bible to go but a dark place where there is no Light?? That's exactly where evangelicals should want the Bible to go! Hell, we should ship all Bibles from our churches to the prisons! I mean, Jesus is all about ransoming captives, right? And let's talk about little Timmy, who is so sad with his head in his hands. It's just so hard to go 8 hours without reading your Bible, what with all the time you spend at church and in your daily quiet time. And it is really hard to pray and think about Scripture (that you already should have memorized or you failed youth group) when you can't even think words inside your head without someone interrupting to say, "stop! Don't think that!" Wait...I think that was just a George Orwell novel. So is that the irony? That Timmy wants to read his Bible in school with all his friends during PE and can't because he has to run laps to avoid childhood obesity? Timmy, read your Bible during your school sponsored Christian club time. Perhaps, though, the author of the picture is simply trying to imply that he or she feels it is unexpected that the government allows (encourages even!) Bibles for big boys in prisons but not for little boys in schools.

But that would be myopic.

First Comes Love

That rhyme has always been a little off. Love, marriage, and the baby comes IN a baby carriage? I have witnessed love, marriage, and babies, and babies can hardly fit through 10cm - a carriage for damn sure isn't going to make it. Then again, I guess there are few words that rhyme with marriage.

Baby season is in full swing for my circle of friends. The love happened (lots of engagements about the same time) and the marriage, too (one year I was at or in 4 weddings in 3 months). Now it's baby time. I recently attended a party where at least 2/3 of the females estaron embarasada. And the couple of couple friends I have who aren't pregged yet are in semi-serious talks about timing.

I love babies. I'm over the moon for my niece. One of my best friends from high school is due in October (I'm rooting for the 19th). One of my close friends here in Atlanta is due in September. Another friend here in the ATL is due in December. An acquaintance - who went through three rounds of IVF - is finally pregs and due sometime October(ish). A girl with whom I'm friendly from our seminary days is due around the same time. The family for whom I babysit had their third child about 3 weeks ago. Babies. Babies to hold and rock and smell their Johnson&Johnson heads... I've semi-joked that my cutoff date to have kids is around 32. If there's no love or marriage, I still want a baby and its carriage.

I actually went to church today, though I wasn't late enough to miss the new, awkward "hospitality time." Crap. But the sermon was about trusting God to provide in the future because God provided in the past. Whatever. I don't know if I'm ready to universalize that claim, but I am excited about the possibility I could get a dog within the next year.

It's ok. She is the best thing since
sliced bread.

6 month evaluation

I recently had my 6 month eval at work and my one area of improvement was to answer the general phone line more often (though we all know that's not going to happen). I have also been doing my own evaluation of the past 6 months at the GA Lighthouse Foundation and these are some of the things I have learned:

Yep, that's pretty much it.

1. Eyeballs are gross. Really gross. And weird. And no one should have to get near them if they don't make the conscious decision to get a degree in optometry, especially not someone with degrees in business and theology. The grossest is when we have to poke people in the eyes to check their eye pressure. People roll their eyes all back up into their heads and squint really hard and it's really gross to try and pry someone's eye open. I also didn't think about how weird eyelids would be up close. Some people have really tight eyelids and tight skin on their faces, and some people have really puffy eyelids and really squishy skin. So weird. So gross. Eyes may be the window to your soul, but there is a respectful distance that should be maintained.

2. Mean people aren't the majority and you can stand up to them. There are a lot of seriously unpleasant people out there - people who feel entitled, who will never be satisfied with the services they receive, who find fault in everything, who are unwilling to compromise. Even though they feel like the majority because they're the loudest and most persistent, they really maybe make up 10% of the people we see. So I've started to stand up for myself. I have just as much right to say how I will or won't be treated as they have to be all pissy and crabby.

3. Compassion and pity aren't the same thing. Cognitively that's a no-brainer, but existentially it's a little more difficult. It's not a compassion I've ever been taught or felt before. It's an understanding and a caring for the hardness of life that some people experience, but it's not an emotional breakdown. I used to get teary when I read applications and saw how difficult things are for some people. But this compassion is a more like realization of what people are going through and trying to figure out what might bring them comfort. Most times it's just to listen.


4. I like baths. I've never been much of a bath person; I haven't ever really thought about them actually. It's not directly connected to the Lighthouse, but I've discovered this nugget in the past 6 months so I think it counts. 

Yeehaw, mucka lucka!

I'm reading Jenny Lawson's (aka, The Bloggess) book, Let's Pretend This Never Happened: A Mostly True Memoir. It is awesome. It is funny and honest and just crazy enough to be real. She talks about random crap from her childhood - her father was a weird taxidermist (as opposed to a normal taxidermist), she went to a seriously strange agricultural high school, her first time trying acid led to a deep exploration of the concept of Smurfs - but she also talks about really painful things, even if it's with a funny anecdote. An entire chapter is about her miscarriages and another about her struggle with generalized anxiety disorder. I've never had a miscarriage, but I do struggle with anxiety so I found that chapter pretty amazing. She writes that she wants to hide under tables and in the bathroom; I want to pull my comforter over my head and hold onto a pillow until the room stops spinning and I can breathe again. I don't have the social anxiety she does, but I love her retelling of stories she's told while feeling socially anxious (e.g. getting stabbed in the face by a serial killer who turned out to be her cat, warnings against necrophilia, swallowing needles that turned out to not really be needles). She said she often gets awkward silences and wary stares. I think that's ridiculous! #1, if someone is telling a story about not really getting stabbed in the face by a not real serial killer, you need to hear that shit out. We've all been there - telling a story that's falling miserably flat - so have some sympathy, and if it's a story about a near-stabbing by a not-serial killer that's definitely worth a few minutes of our time. And #2, if someone is telling a story about necrophilia and they're getting uncomfortable and you can tell their mind is trying to figure out how to escape to the bathroom or under a table, help a sister out and engage in the story. And then maybe offer to show her where the bathroom is.

So I'm not done with the book yet, but I'm caught in the paradox of wanting to do nothing but read and wanting it to last forever. I'm now reading about her dad the taxidermist dropping a sack of live ducklings into the middle of a room with her daughter and nieces/nephews. You just can't make that stuff up.

Now you need to get off the computer and just rest.

When I first started working, I wasn't sure if my boss liked me. She wasn't a fuzzy, chatty Southerner. She didn't laugh a lot. Her emails were (are) often one liners - direct with no fluff. When she intercommed me with a, "Hey Anna, can you come up here," my heart would stop and I would wonder what I had done wrong. She has this eye roll and eyebrow raise that I couldn't read (though now it cracks me up and I try to be just ridiculous enough to get her to do it). But I liked her, and as we've worked together these past few months I have really grown to respect her. She isn't a fuzzy, chatty person - and I am really glad. I know she will always be honest and direct. She handles mistakes by telling us to fix it (and helping us fix it) and to do better next time. Novel, right? She works hard and expects us to, but she also operates under the philosophy that our jobs aren't our whole lives and we need to take time off. Even if she has to force us...

View from the floor

I had some back spasms last week that pretty much laid me out flat for the whole 7 days. I know that rest + drugs are the only cure but I just kept figuring they would go away. I also know I'm not indispensable at my job (so the organization isn't going under if I'm not there), but I was raised to push through pain and keep going. There was really no degree of sickness that warranted staying home from school unless you were actively vomiting. I know the purpose was to develop a good work ethic and to be responsible, but let's be honest - sometimes you just need to stay home.

Urgent care is the place to be!

So when Shamae says to stay home and rest, I know she means it. I was attempting to work from home while lying flat when she sent me one of her famous one line emails - the title of this blog. This was after I tried to go into work the day before and she sent me home with an unceremonious, "bye." Seriously. She came into my office, saw my heating pad, and just said "bye" while waving me toward the door. So I took Shamae's advice (i.e. command) and shut my computer. She also suggested I might need to go see a doctor, which turned out to be a good idea. Over the next couple days I watched an entire season of Grimm and slept a lot, thanks to the muscle relaxer Flexeril. And - surprise, surprise - felt better. Now I'm trying to rework my narrative to weave in this new way of thinking - stopping to rest and take care of yourself, that doing so isn't self indulgent or lazy. So thanks, Shamae. This one's for you.