mini update

I've taken the easier way out and chosen to do the exit exam for my history capstone, rather than a thesis. It's actually a little disappointing for me, because I'm really into my thesis topic, but doing a thesis (70-150 pages of writing) in the next 3 months, while also moving and writing a 20 page literature review is more than just tough: it's probably impossible. So, I'm doing the exit exam because having the thesis on my list of to-do's was making me worried that I wouldn't actually graduate on time to get the job I'm hoping to get in the fall. No more on that. Don't want to jinx it.

And: we got the house we were hoping for. YAY! We're moving in on the first. More YAY!

And my first guest lecture is coming up. I'm nervous about that. It's been a few years since I've stood in front of a class with a lesson plan. I need thoughts & prayers here, y'all. 

another new beginning

I don't know why we always act like a "new beginning" is such a big deal. I mean, they can be, but not all of them are. I've lost track of how many changes and new beginnings have happened since I last wrote here. This one feels big, but the next one - when I go back to having a full time job - will feel bigger.

Working at the ranch has been amazing. I love it. The owner lets me work with his two horses whenever I want.
One of my awesome friends is letting me work with her horses and has even agreed to let me compete with one of them. We're going to learn competitive trail riding - yay!
One of the workers at the ranch has two mustangs that she doesn't know how to work with - so she asked me to.
I have all the horsey time I want, with none of the expense (although I do expect to pay competition-related expenses with my friend's horse, when we get to that point). It's basically heaven.
Pictures coming later.

I'm also almost done with my Master's degree. This semester, I'm not taking any classes, but I am writing a literature review for my psychology capstone project, a thesis for my history capstone project, and I'm doing guest lecturing at our local college because I have an amazing friend/mentor who - for whatever reason - seems to believe in me.

We (my little family and I) also have to move into a new house next month, which sucks, but it looks like we're going to get a house we will love. I have a really good feeling about it. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Most of this new stuff has happened because I've finally found a medication combo that works for me and OMG I feel Normal (tm). It's f*ing fabulous. It's welbutrin + cymbalta. The other day I got sad about something (I don't remember what) and I was only sad. Not hopeless, not bottomed-out, not despairing - just sad. When I realized I was feeling normal sadness, I got all excited and that's why I can't even remember why I was sad in the first place. Do you know how long it's been since I've felt simple sadness? Years. I'm getting all happy just thinking about it again.
Oh the weird things mental illness makes you say...

You'll see some new pages coming to this blog here soon. I'll be using it to keep track of the work I'm doing with each horse. It's mostly for my own use, and for the horses' owners, so you can take it or leave them, but they'll be there if you're curious. I might do one to keep track of my own workouts, too. We'll see. I've had that on tumblr for a while, but it'd be handy to have it all here together.

Anyway, I have thesis writing to do. Laters!

re mental illness, meds, & visibility

I'm struggling with my medication right now.

If I take the lower dose of welbutrin, the anxiety isn't so bad ...because I can't feel anything at all.
If I take the higher dose of welbutrin, the anxiety is uncontrollable and I have panic attacks even in the best circumstances.

If I take the prozac to augment the higher welbutrin dose, the anxiety is controllable but I basically can't get up off my ass. It's like there's a layer of not-yummy jello between me and the world.

If I take the prozac with the lower dose of welbutrin, I'm a zombie. And not the runner type, more the dazed-and-confused-moaner type.

If I don't take the prozac with the lower dose of welbutrin, I don't sleep. Ever. That makes me cranky. (Okay, not not ever but it sure feels like it.)

For now, in case you're wondering, I'm doing the lower dose of welbutrin with no prozac, and reducing my caffeine intake while putting several anti-insomnia tactics to work each night. So far, I've slept at least a little for 3 out of 4 nights.

~~~

That said, I've decided not to hide my mental illness from potential employers. I'll probably regret that.

Also, that sounds bad but it's not like anyone would go into an interview and be like, "yeah, I'm basically not functional 50% of the time, but I'm totally capable of pushing through that and getting the job done, it'll just hurt while I'm doing it. A lot. And I'll be irritable and apathetic, but I'll hide that really well because I have a TON of practice. No worries."

And what I really mean is that I'm not going to attempt to minimize my mental health conversations online (on fb, twitter, and my blogs) in order to present a "normal" image.

I hesitated to post about my medications - even though that's exactly the sort of thing I started this personal blog for - because I know that some of my potential future colleagues (i.e., other academics) might see this blog. Some of them are on my fb. Some of them are on my twitter feed.

So yeah, it has occurred to me that I shouldn't post *this thing about major depressive disorder* or *that thing about ptsd* but then I remind myself that if I want this stigma to ever end, someone has to take the risk of being honest about the realities of (my) mental illness. And I'm actually okay with being that person. It's just my socialization-derived instincts that fear being truthful about uncomfortable stuff.

I see you, fear. I'm just not gonna let you make my decisions. Cuz I got TONS of practice with pushing through bullshit emotions. 

oh by the way

I lost my job shortly after my friend's near-suicide experience.

Thought I was gonna drown in the subsequent depressive episode. Would have failed my classes if my history professor wasn't absolutely amazingly understanding.

Started working at a ranch the last weekend of April. It was exactly what I needed, although it's not a *paying* job, per se... I mean, it is but it isn't. More on that later.

Got another class (summer class, on the Mexican Revolution) coming up... today. It's going to involve more socializing than I'm really ready for. Digitial socializing, but still... I mean, there's a reason I'm taking online classes, and it's not all about the commute. Good thing I only signed up for one class this summer. Pretty sure that's going to be my limit.

I'm still struggling with the anhedonia.

But the biggest news is that - because of the no-job situation - I couldn't afford to continue my lease with Dash. That sucked/sucks. There are some silver linings, etc, but whatever. It is what it is. I miss Dashy Pants, and I miss just hanging out at the barn.

On the other hand, I feel a lot more productive hanging out at the ranch because there's a lot more work to be done that I can help with. It gets me moving. And sometimes, the friend of mine who owns it even throws some cash my way. It's a good gig. And once we get the ranch really operating well, it'll turn into a good job. And he has a couple horses. So I can ride... once we get all the necessary tasks done (like building the new chicken coop, or setting up the new fodder house...). There's still a lot to be done before I'll find time to ride, but it's cool to know it'll happen.

I'm sure that in some future post I'll talk endlessly about the ranch.

Right now I'm going to try - again - to get started on my classwork.

whew

There's a lot on my mind.
I'm going to write about it... as soon as I get my homework done, which could be a while.

Until then, here's a bit of prose:

I wish I could
gild your scars
so you could see your beauty.

It was inspired by a friend of mine, and a Japanese pottery style. I'll tell that story soon.

thought control [The Happiness Trap]

When I was growing up, my heroes were the strong, silent cowboys in my dad's favorite movies. The John Waynes and Clint Eastwoods. I wanted to be them. Totally in control of myself. Calm and collected at all times... until righteously angry. That's when they got devastating. Their anger left people dead in the dusty western streets, but somehow they always seemed in control. Even enraged, they were men of few words.

Women in my life and in those movies were always reacting. Their decisions were reactions; their emotions were reactions; their reactions were dramatic and attention-grabbing; their reactions were either overblown or manipulative. They were never in control. People in control don't require manipulation - they can say what they want.

But the cowboys were self-sufficient. They didn't need anything or anyone, and they didn't want anything other than what they already had, other than the occasional vengeance. Their monolithic essence was the epitome of control.


I wanted to be in control of myself.

I spent a lot of my first two decades being told I wasn't in charge of myself.
Girls can't be mechanics. Or race car drivers. Or in control. Or allowed to say no. 

Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if I'd felt more allegiance to my assigned gender. I don't really know what it feels like to be any gender, but I've always been taught that being a girl sucked. Somewhere in there I learned to associate masculinity with self-control, and self-control with maintaining a flat affect.


Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
There's nothing to be afraid of.
Get over it. 
Snap out of it.
Don't be a crybaby.
Don't be such a girl.
Keep a stiff upper lip.
Don't be sad.
Smile.


No wonder I rejected all things "girly."
No wonder I rejected showing my emotions.

No wonder I felt so much shame when I developed a depressive disorder and couldn't hide the pain.


My therapist loaned me a book, and it's making me rethink my entire approach to emotion and expression.

I've valued manners for more of my life than I can remember. They're important, because they're a means of kindness, and kindness is what makes society best. Manners meant not subjecting other people to your negative emotions. Manners meant being nice, always, because situations never improve with cruelty and I'm too practical to do otherwise. Manners are an ideal to aspire to.

I still believe manners are important, and a means of spreading kindness. I still believe that rudeness or unkindness never improve a situation and that we should always be kind. I still believe that having good manners is something we should constantly work toward. ...But: I no longer equate being 'nice' with completely subjugating my emotional reality, but this is not an either-or situation. The people in my life - including me - have benefitted from my ability to sublimate my emotional turmoil when a calmer mind was needed. Unchecked anger and retaliation never improve a situation, and I have no desire for petty vengeance.

So, what's different now? I am increasingly willing to express discomfort, unhappiness, and even anger. I'm not always able - a lifetime of suppression coupled with some serious social anxiety make that a hard habit to break - but I'm willing. And in safe spaces, I'm able. I still try to temper my unhappiness and anger with compassion for the other person's feelings, even if they're being an ass. I'm usually successful, and that's not something I want to change. It goes along with that whole manners thing.


[That book is The Happiness Trap by Russ Harris. What I get farther, I might do a review. So far it's inspired a lot of thought - in a good way - and I'm only in chapter 1.]

some thoughts from today's travels

The dew evaporated like an unwritten thought.

If it weren’t for extroverts, I’d have no friends. Thanks y’all. You’re cool.

I find it far easier to meet and interact with new people when I’m otherwise alone. If I’m accompanied by someone I know, I’m too focused on supporting that relationship to expend additional energy on trying to manage a multi-party interaction between myself, the person I know, and the new person. The more people involved, the more complicated the exchange becomes, and the more likely I am to be overwhelmed. But if I’m alone, I have the benefit of anonymity. I don’t owe anyone anything other than basic courtesy. That is so much easier.  

I attended an anti-harassment training event tonight. Here’s my takeaway:

There’s an element of awareness or symbolism to prejudice: I wear my hair covered frequently, but in a style that is different from the well-known hijab. The style of hair covering I wear is also used by Muslim women, but it is not recognized as such. So the question is: if a Muslim woman wears her hair like mine, is she harassed as often as Muslim women who wear the hijab? I think the answer is no, because in American culture only the hijab style is associated with Islam. This means that Islamophobic behaviors are not necessarily triggered by Islam’s symbols (as interpreted by the Muslim person), but by the symbols of that religion as interpreted by the harasser. Ergo, Islamophobia is a function of the perpetrator’s cognitive processes.

I believe: White supremacy (or bigotry, or Islamophobia, or nativism, or…) does not coexist with self-awareness in the mind of an individual.

When you call 911 (to report hate crimes/harassment), you get your local emergency services involved and on record. This forces acknowledgement of hate crimes at an institutional level, allows for the possibility of federal government attention. This also keeps the reality of hate crimes personally relevant for your local law enforcement personnel because it gives them direct experiential knowledge that it’s happening in their town. Those individuals are then more likely to correct the dismissal of such happenings in their daily conversations. They are more likely to speak up and say ‘this is happening, this is real.’ They are less likely to repeat or tolerate the hate crimes or even microaggressions they encounter in their jobs and homes.

If it is the silence of the powerful that does the most damage, if that silence is what allows hate to fester, then we need every voice – especially the powerful voices – to speak up against hate.

Why is speaking up or intervening a successful way of stopping hate crimes? How does this function on a psychological level to change the cognitive process of the perpetrator? Is it because intervention reveals the perpetrator’s behavior to be socially unaccepted – that of a demonized outgroup rather than the dominant ingroup they had thought to represent? Is this also why ignoring the perpetrator (a social indicator of insignificance or disapproval) is so effective, even though it goes against our common instinct to confrontation?

The police chief of Tucson, Chris Magnus, said tonight that “When it comes to immigration, we are unwilling to operate as an arm of the federal government… not one of our officers will ever ask the victims or witnesses of a crime about their immigration status… We are here to serve our community. That means everyone in our community.” 

Historically, the people who have stood up against genocide have shared these traits: high empathy and a high sense of connectedness to other people.

If you don’t understand what’s meant by “microaggressions” or don’t understand why they’re bad, you should watch this very short and humorous video: If Microaggressions Happened to White People – Decoded – MTV

climbing the valley walls

It was bound to happen. I've been riding the wave of horseriding-excitement for three months.

Every high has its low. Yesterday, I just wasn't feeling it. Life piled up. I'd had three nearly-sleepless nights in a row, I'd worked almost 30 hours in those three days, it was a particularly stressful work week, I was barely keeping up with my homework (thanks to the gracious acceptance of a late assignment by one of my professors), and I'm low on the cash flow this month. So when my alarm went off yesterday morning, I snoozed it for about 30 minutes. Then I got up and drove my kiddo to school, came back home and went back to bed.

I could have stayed in bed all day, comfortably if not happily.

When I could no longer sleep, I still laid in bed, not feeling like moving despite my plans to ride that morning. Eventually, I realized what was happening. I've been maxed out recently, and depression was sinking in. But I know the signs of anhedonia and I wasn't about to let that cycle get a foothold. I forced myself to get out of bed and go to the barn. To be fair, it was a lot easier to keep going once I started, and I was at least happy to be at the barn once I got there.

I had planned to work with Dash on our walk-trot transitions again, but something was off from the moment I got there.

I assumed it was just me and my depression, so I let the awareness just stay on the back burner, not fully ignoring it, but not paying it any attention, either. Then I went about my routine.

Get the tack out of the shed.
Put a treat in my pocket for later.
Grab Dash's halter and lead rope.

Dash seemed quiet when I led him out of the pasture - this is unusual for him.
He does usually stand quietly while tied, though, and this time he started shaking his head. Up and down, repeatedly. There were flies buzzing around; the day was oddly still for our windy autumn season. I got the fly spray out and gave him a good layer. The head tossing stopped. Well, that's that, I thought.

He didn't toss his head when I went to put the bit in his mouth - that's unusual for him. We usually have at least two head tosses before he takes the bit.

Hmm.

All tacked up, he followed me almost meekly to the arena. Again, uncharacteristic. He's usually excited.

As soon as I turned to close the arena gate behind us, the wind picked up.
The wind always makes Dash antsy, but this time he seemed half asleep.

He dragged his feet and half-stumbled several times in our first five minutes in the arena.
I dismounted, concerned. I led him around to see if he looked lame - he wasn't. He perked up a bit while we walked around, and even head-butted me like normal as he followed along behind me. But he was still oddly quiet.

I led Dash back out of the arena, untacked him, and just walked around the yard with him.

The wind was getting ridiculous at this point. I talked to M about Dash's mood and health; she thinks (and she would know) that he's just out of sorts. There are two new horses at the barn and the weather's been changing rapidly lately (cue gust of wind). There was no sign of poor health, but Dash is a worrier. She always keeps a close eye on him, so I'm not really worried, but I felt bad for the big goof ball. He hadn't even asked for a treat until after his saddle was off. That's usually the first thing he communicates to me when I show up.

The weather got weird, then. It was calm but windy and the birds were going crazy. It felt like a storm, but one never came.

I went home pensive.

I took today off. I still didn't feel rested when I woke up, and I just felt crappy. I guessed that Dash and I could both use a day off. I'm going tomorrow, though, even if I don't ride. I can't let the depression win.

I've been coasting on the excitement of getting back to horseback riding. Now, I've reached the low point, but that's okay. I know how to climb up out of the valley.

One day at a time. 

Stillness

The other day I posted a link to the 'crane cam' at Whitewater Draw.

But it was late when I posted and the crane cam only showed the night.

I went back to it this morning, out of curiosity.

I watched it, fascinated, for I don't know how long.

This is my new stillness.


Whitewater Draw

morning
prairie grass murmurs
cranes flutter, tumble
and call




Shared with the imaginary garden's real toads.


I wish I knew html well enough to load up that feed on this post, but I don't so you'll have to visit their site.
https://www.azgfd.com/wildlife/viewing/webcamlist/sandhillcrane/cranecam/

Transitions

This morning Dash and I worked on gait transitions. We're a little rough but I'm getting better about keeping my heels down and staying balanced.

In the afternoon I took Bear (my son) to see that Sandhill Cranes at Whitewater Draw. It's close to our house, an easy trip I often forget is available. The cranes are there in full glory this time of year. This is their winter home. Their presence is a sure sign that summer is over, and winter is near. I'd never seen them before, although Bear had. I had no idea they made such interesting/odd/what-the-heck-is-that sounds. I'd show you a video but apparently I accidentally deleted the one I took. You'll have to take my word for it, except that I don't even know how to describe the sound they made. 

This evening I made two little belt pouches for Bear's yu-gi-oh cards, which are currently his prized possession. They took me forever because I didn't know what I was doing so I basically had to design them as I sewed them. Probably not the best non-plan I've ever had, but it seems to have worked out. I'm pretty happy with them. I'll get pics tomorrow. 

There's something so permanent about cutting and sewing fabric. It always takes me eons to decide what to sew, and out of what fabric, because once I start, that beautiful whole piece of cloth is gone forever. Whatever it becomes had better be worth that loss. 

Hey look, I found a video someone else took:

How would you describe that sound? 

This is cool too. It's a 'crane cam' maintained by the Arizona Game & Fish Department. https://www.azgfd.com/wildlife/viewing/webcamlist/sandhillcrane/cranecam/

(That'll be better viewed during the day...)

election depression

I'm still struggling to put my thoughts into words.

I woke up late Wednesday morning. Somehow my phone had turned itself off during the night - even though it was on the charger, so the battery was not dead - which meant my alarm didn't go off. I woke up half an hour after my son's school started. He had slept through his alarm (but he does that every day lately).

Even so, I couldn't hurry. I made him breakfast. He got ready for school. We drove there quietly. I went to the office with him, to sign him in. On the sign in sheet, three names up, somebody's parent had given "election depression" as the reason for tardiness.

I thought, "yeah, that's exactly right," but I didn't want to seem like a copycat so I just left that box blank.

I had planned to go riding, like I do pretty much every Wednesday, but the wind was pretty vicious and when I texted M she said the wind was so bad at her place that she didn't think it was safe to ride. So I stayed home. I played Baldur's Gate on my computer. I looked up recipes. At one point my boss texted me to complain about the frosting I'd used on a cake Tuesday. The frosting was too thin; I'd ended up having to pour it on the cake. It was her recipe, and I'd added more than three times the amount of powdered sugar to it, trying to get it to thicken, but it just wouldn't thicken. I ignored those texts. I told myself to do some homework, but I didn't do that. I couldn't do that - it was too hard to focus on mental tasks. In the evening I sewed a new scarf while watching Project Runway with my son and husband. It's our shared guilty pleasure. My boss texted me again before I went to bed, asking me to come in an hour earlier today. I slept as though I'd worked the whole day.

I don't normally work on Thursdays, but my boss had asked me to cover for her so she could do a catering event.

I got up this morning feeling mostly rested, if not restful. I told my boss I'd try to get there at the earlier time. Then I went riding.

It was windy as hell, still, but not dangerously so.

Dash is always spooky when it's windy, and I didn't have as much time as I'd wanted, but we managed to accomplish something awesome despite that: Dash trotted for about six consecutive strides, twice.

I know, I know. That sounds... like a thing all horses can do.
Dash hates trotting. He has two speeds: walk and canter. I hadn't actually gotten him to trot before today, but I can tell you that his canter is so ridiculously bumpy that I have a hell of time riding it. I assumed his trot would be equally bouncy.
But today, four of those strides were actually smooth. It almost felt like a jog. And and I got him to move between speeds - like going from a slow walk to a fast walk without breaking out into a canter. I was so damn happy I didn't even mind that we had to cut our time short to accommodate my boss. Well, I didn't mind horribly I mean.

One of these days I'll get video of Dash's gaits. I've never felt so much vertical movement in a horse's canter before. It's like flying lead changes but not.

Also, I've learned that keeping those heels way down is probably the most important thing I have to learn about riding Dash.

That's my focus right now.

On Saturday I'm going to a protest.
Next week I'm hosting a comfort food party at my house.
But right now, I'm riding my horse.
It's the best I can do.

Biscuits & history.

Today I made biscuits and looked for a dead man in the 1910 census. I found him in the voter registration records. Not in that order though - the biscuits came later, with creamed beef.




...Because I'm a research librarian/docent at our local museum, and people come looking for information about their ancestors just about daily. Then I got a craving for biscuits and gravy but didn't have any stock, so I made creamed beef instead.

The biscuits turned out fine, but I am not using that recipe for creamed beef again. It was bland at best and gross at worst. I'll let you know when I find something better. 

Coming home.

I've been trying to get home for a long time.
The thing is, I seem to have lost track of where 'home' is... or do I mean where it was?
Home wasn't where I'd left it. I even went back and looked at the last place I remember seeing it - it wasn't there, either.

Have you ever gotten lost in the woods? My home used to be a place with woods. When I was a kid I used to go out to "the woodlot" and leave the trail behind. I always thought I'd be able to find my way back using landmarks - this tree that had that funny looking branch, or the rock that was sticking out from under those particular two tufts of ...whatever that plant was. That never worked. What did work was picking a direction and sticking to it. Eventually I would come to the fence that wrapped around two sides of the woods, or the road that bordered another side, or our front pasture on the last side. From there I could find my way back.

That's where I left home: in western New York, on 155 acres of pastures, streams, and woods; with a small herd of horses, some cattle, and a colony of barn cats. I was 17. I was too disillusioned and too self-centered to stay, and the woodlot wasn't enough to distract me anymore.

I led a lot of lives, followed a hundred rabbit trails and noted the passing of at least a dozen landmarks that I'll never see again. Then, when the sun sank and the skies rumbled, I started to look for home. For the last few years, I've been sticking to one direction: up.

I don't know exactly what home will look like when I get there, but I know I've seen the borders. There's my husband and my son wrapping around two sides; there's the road lined with gardens, recipes, paintbrushes, and books; there's the pasture in front, with the horse, saddled and waiting to race me home.