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Http iframes are not shown in https pages in many major browsers. Please read this post for details.
Http iframes are not shown in https pages in many major browsers. Please read this post for details.

The Wednesday that was Monday

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I woke up from another dream at around 7am today, a Wednesday, but it was a fresh awake wake-up. The first I’ve had since my medication screw up almost 3 weeks ago. I stood up, and didn’t lay back down again. I sat at the computer and started my morning work routine right away. Had some fresh cold water from the fridge, took my pill and logged into Facebook with a refreshed morning feel I usually reserve for Mondays.

It was a new day.

For the past few weeks, I’ve woken up very groggy and tired and even broken my own rule about going back to sleep for another hours or so. I usually start official work time around 9am so a 7am wake time allowed me to get in a second sleep that never really works out. Still, these days I have been sleepy. Many days, like yesterday, in fact, I slept more hours than a cat.

To be truthful, I lay in bed in that state of almost sleep. A restful awake state where I can dream more interactively but I don’t actually fall asleep. This means I feel rested but still tired. I hate that mode. I don’t accomplish anything.

This has been the case for weeks. I’m on the new medication, and although it is technically considered the same, it is a generic version of my drug by a different manufacturer and it’s obvious whatever filler ingredients are used to create the time-lapse effect of my “extended release” medication, it is vastly different. Combine this with the reset effect of my prime depression medication, which I was out of for 4 days… it’s not been good.

I’ve been sad. I don’t like that mood. A general sadness that leads to thoughts about why I’m bothering with this whole life thing anyway. I don’t like those thoughts. The joy of my happiness is still fresh in my memory. The thoughts of productivity and praise are ones I remember from only last month. A near perfect life I was only starting to get restless about.

Start again.

I’ve been having bad dreams. I don’t usually refer to my dreams as nightmares in the sense others might. They’re just my version, which hit on n the highlights of my frustration and letting people down. I always have a cell phone that is either old or not working. I lose people. I can’t do math. I fail. These are my bad dreams. I’ve been having them each night since I lapsed on my Paxil. They also return after each wake-up all night so they seem to be 8 hour dreams.

When I’m awake, all I want to do is sleep. I can’t focus on work. I fall behind. I let people down. My waking life mirrors my dreams.

It cycles because unhappiness makes me unhappy.

I have been hoping it was still just medication, and I remember the Paxil takes 5 weeks to kick in and change my overall mood to one of optomisim and cheerful thoughts rather than failures. 5 weeks seems forever when you have people waiting. Clients and friends I’ve set up in a good mood and let down in a bad mood.

It’s been hard. I don’t have many people I can share this with because talking about depression to others can cause a stigma. Since one of my main therapy goals is to care-less about how people think about me, it’s extra hard. I do care. I know how I feel when others talk about their depression and mental health in public.

I did post a little bit because I needed to explain why I was spontaneously less active and productive than the previous week, but then I did my usual thing and lied. I say yes to everything and then fail to deliver.

The cycle gets me deeper into trouble and deeper into depression.

Today was different. My dream had the usual bad things. An extra weird cell phone unlike anything Id; ever seen before and fail after fail, this time combined with the fear of being a victim. People were robbing me, and taking things. I was sick in a strange way that was new to me – not my usual weird sick dream motifs.

I just said; fuck it. I’m going home to bed, and I abandoned it all. Gareth and Peter had walked out of frame and I had no idea where they were. I knew my cell phone did;t have their numbers. I decided to just go home.

I began to walk. The weather was good for it.

I didn’t fly, but I did have the amazing jumping capability that has always been more fun than flying anyway. I was jumping over other walkers, and fences to shortcut my way home, which this time was somewhere behind Main street in my home town of Georgetown. The distance was realistically doable.

As I walked and jumped, I worried less about how my two abandoned friends would react. They wouldn’t be mad. They’d be confused but not worried. Eventually, after they returned from swimming, they’d understand.

A soundtrack emerged in my head and I was singing it loudly as I bounced home.

I woke up still singing the catchy lyric, once apparently invented just for this dream.

It was a good morning.

I’ve spent the last hour online. {Part work, part browse.

Now it’s still only 8:30 and I can feel the tired mood of anti-focus and depression is arguing for a place. My meds are not quite strong enough to hold it back.

I’ll see how the rest of the day goes. I’ll do my best to stay productive but even if I fail, I know I am close.

Good times will return in time.

Maybe one more day.. maybe one more weekend.

I didn’t know how good I had it till I lost it. I guess I need that every once in a while. I was starting to take it for granted.

end of part one.

8:30am on a Wednesday.

The New Air Raid Siren for 2019

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I grew up in a small town and always asked; What’s the funny thing in the center of town. I later learned it was an air raid siren. I never heard it and at some point in my youth, it vanished. It’s 2019 now and we all carry a personal device with us. In my new home town of Toronto, technology has re-invented the air raid siren and put it in my pocket, able to be triggered by local police in the event of much less tragic emergencies. This Thursday, it was used.

At 11:36pm last Thursday, I was asleep in bed. The air raid concealed in my phone went off. Loudly. I jumped up hard enough to hurt my neck. WTF was that?!?!

I looked at my phone. I can’t remember if I had to click anything or if the noise stopped, but it certainly demanded attention. An 11-year-old girl was abducted and the driver of a car identified as a Honda with a full licence plate number was apparently responsible. The alert informed me they were eastbound on the 401, which is a major highway across the city with 95% coverage by cameras I can watch online in real time full colour.

I do not want to belittle the emotional drama that a child abduction causes. It is a very real and serious thing, however I am concerned at the use of the new Amber Alert system which disrupts the attention of approximately 3 million people in and around this gigantic city.

I lay back down but had a very difficult time falling asleep because I anticipated the alarm “might” go off again alerting us all that the situation was resolved.  My head was filled with a mixture of emotions ranging from outrage to fear to conspiracy and scenarios of how this could become a regular feature of my phone and my new life. Indeed, a full hour later, the disruption was repeated, giving the all clear. Life was good and we could resume our activities. 

Amber Alerts work… so expect they may be used again. This scares me.

I excepted to wake to outrage online or at least commentary. I saw none. It went without comment anywhere I viewed for the next few days. I suspect nobody wanted to appear petty and complain about how their life had been inconvenienced in the light of the fact that a little 11-year-old girl was saved from whatever tragic future we imagined during that hour wait between sirens.

This Saturday morning, I saw the first post online praising the system. 

My reaction was filled with variety. Praising its effectiveness made me angry for different reasons. It made me frightened and it made me sad. My mind once again flooded with conspiracy theories and scenarios of ways this annoyance could be used for various alerts in the future.

I imagined waitresses still working a peak shift in a bar dropping trays with 6 beers on me because it understandably made her jump when 5 phones at a bar went off super loudly without warning.

I imagined a situation where the alert may even have been faked, so police outside a building somewhere now know there are suspects inside a building hiding behind a wall because they could hear the alarms. Imagine how useful it would be to law enforcement if they had a way to turn our phones into noise boxes.

I imagined cheating spouses being discovered in the closet at 11:30 at night.

I imagined several key lines of dialogue being missed in a theatre as phones went off in sequence for several minutes while movie patrons rushed to silence their phones.

I imagined people with heart conditions being startled enough to fall. I imagined people without heart conditions being startled enough to fall.

I imagine people being startled enough to lose attention while driving, and the roads were particularly dangerous that Thursday. I can easily imagine car accidents caused by this sudden noise nobody expected at midnight. Sober or drunk, it would be hard not to be affected by such a loud jolt.

I imagined millions of people with mental illness issues being triggered by the alert, both as a loud scary noise, and also a reminder of how evil the world can be. The alert gives us enough information to form an imaginary scenario of trauma. I imagine it was very distressing for anyone ever abducted or raped or — or just about anyone who has feelings.

I imagined insomniacs screaming bloody murder because they’d finally fallen asleep after trying for hours, and not being able to fall asleep again because of the open endedness of this tragedy.

I imagined parents of missing children feeling cheated the police didn’t do that for their kid.

I imagined thousands of people rushing the police to use their Amber alert for whatever crimes they feel are urgent to them.

I imagined the next alert to be for a lost kitten.

I imagined the story of the boy who cried wolf,  brought to the technology age in a world with less patience and shorter tempers. I am sure I’m not the only one that disabled the feature on my phone the next morning.

Now I get to imagine 2 million other people being killed by an emergency 3 weeks later as a tornado destroys their home because they turned off the Amber Alert tone. I don’t know if my phone alerts me to Tornados. I only know it;’s called the Amber alert, so I suspect it alerts me to missing children. I think my car radio might do a better job. I do know that if I am alerted to a Tornado next week, I won’t know it, because I will almost certainly still be in my home, ignoring the wolf call my phone is making, thinking it’s another child taken.

There are some things I would excuse the alert for, but alas… I’ve turned it off.

I ponder if I would have been so upset if she had been abducted at 3pm.

Most of all, I imagine myself lying awake in bed,  waiting for the expected second alarm that may or not come, but probably will come moments after I fall asleep again. I lie awake thinking all these things. Thinking how this 11 year old girl in a car on a known highway may have spoiled it for future abducted children.

I imagined the outrage like mine would flood social media. It did not. A girl was lost and found and I suppose nobody wanted to complain about such trivial disturbances in light of that.

I suspect it will continue. I am sad I most imagined it being fake, so it could be used more often for all the other things I imagined that I did not post here. My brain is faster than my fingers. In the moment the air raid siren went off beside my head while I slept, I imaged a world I did not like living in.

 

 

Lauren from Texas

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 Lauren Fleming

Shrink Week 1

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When I have no Internet, the Microsoft Mail program included with Windows 10 still does the spellcheck, so it’s a pretty good editor for blogging. Today I realized it can actually be used to send directly to the WordPress Blog. 

I used a Star Trek reference to my psychiatrist, so he did as well. I can see how some patients might imagine themselves smarter than their doctor when in fact they’re just not aware of his ways on a different level. When dealing with somebody else’s brain at source code level, stepping on a butterfly really can change everything.

I am often amused by the memories I can recall from childhood. More often than not, I’m not remembering the events, but the memory is of the story told.  I remember my parents telling all the stories of my childhood. Our memory of LIVE is a stream, like a continuous roll of film, but the stories are more like edited excerpts.

A reality show like Big Brother or Survivor will have thousands of hours of footage recorded life, but the highlight show is only an hour a week. Our memory works the same way.  

It never occurred to me till just now how important it is for a parent to tell those stories from their children’s youth. Otherwise, we just have live memories in a continuous stream with no reference points. The stories of my own childhood are all the stories my family told me and told others when I was in the room. My youth was formed by the stories more than actual memories. 

This was vital as it turns out, because I don’t remember much from my past at all, but also an important tool to understand. What you remember from your childhood may be almost entirely fictional accounts, moulded and made up from the memories of your friends and family through retold stories.

I briefly fantasize about whether my new Dr Popolopolous would like to write my book with me. 
Fantasy buzzer. Monty Python Graham Caplan Too Silly, Stop That

End of part 2. Chocolate kisses and tokes at 1230am.

I forgot my Paxil again today. Falling asleep was harder than it used to be.

altfs

How I became a Sidekick

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My name is Richard, and this isn’t really my story, but it’s such a great story, it needs to be told and since I’m the only other person on Earth that know it, the task falls to me. In a way, I feel a bit like Dr Watson, who wrote all the adventures of his best friend Sherlock Holmes, except I’m not a fictional British doctor, but a real 17-year-old kid from Waterloo.

You might not have heard of me by name, because most of my story takes place in the basement of an old Castle just west of the city. Waterloo is a small City in Canada, about an hour away from Toronto.

The true hero of this journey is my best friend Paul. When I say Hero, I mean it in the real sense, but I’ll get to that. My story began on October 19th two years ago.

Paul and I did almost everything together, but recently he’d been spending less time with me and was being very secretive about why. It was starting to affect our relationship and I was considering looking elsewhere for a new buddy.

Apparently, it was affecting Paul similarly, and so on that night, he came to visit me and try to explain. That, as you’ll soon learn was no simple task.

The doorbell rang about 11pm, which was unusual for Paul. Both of us were still in school, just starting Grade 12 and living with our family. I was asleep already, and my Mom had to wake me up. I think she may have been asleep too, because she came to my door rather upset, wearing a housecoat wrapped up as if she had nothing else on underneath.

Apparently, Paul had been very insistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I got up and walked downstairs to the door. Mother hadn’t invited him in, which I suppose was a signal his visit wasn’t really welcome.

“What the fuck man? You woke up the whole house. What’s so important?”

Paul looked a little stressed, and was talking about a bit faster than usual.

He grabs me by the shoulders and looks me in the eye with a seriousness not usually associated with our friendship. “I’ve got to share something with you, and it’s got to be right now. I’m sorry it’s so late, but it’s urgent. It has to be now.”

I expect he’s going to reveal the reason he’s been avoiding me, but instead, his grasp on me turns into a push and before I know it, we’re outside the house, and the door closes behind me.

“Whoa Whoa Whoa I..have to tell my Mom if we’re going somewhere… I’m not even wearing shoes. Luck Paul, I’m still in my PJ’s”

Paul assures me it doesn’t matter and he throws my bike at me, jumps on his and starts to ride. “Follow me. It’ll all make sense in a few minutes. I promise. It’s really very important and it’s freaking me out. I need to show you something right away! I’m sorry I’m being cryptic. I’ll take care of talking to your Mom later. Time is critical”.

Time was always critical with Paul. He’d inherited a bit of that from his father, who used to always go on and on about how the easiest thing in the world was to be on time. I reluctantly got on my bike and followed.

Both Paul and I lived on the same street. It was a cul-de-sac in a new sub-division in what was farmland not too long ago. Every house was less than a decade old, except one. The old Castle we used to call The Miller Castle.

To my surprise, it was that Castle we were riding to. Paul zipped through the gate like he owned the place, but I jammed my brakes at the curb, making him return to fetch me.

“No way I’m riding up there at midnight without knowing more. What the fuck is this all about?”

Paul looked a bit shocked as I spoke and looked at his watch with true fear? “Is it midnight already? No.. No, it can’t be, right. I promise it’s worth it! It’s all going to be fine! Trust me Richard! It’ll be worth it, but we have to get there before midnight! Come on… It’s OK.”

I reluctantly got back on and peddled up the path. Paul’s expression had changed from one I thought was panic more to excitement, and although we were still moving at a crazy pace, and I still had no clue what was going on, I no longer felt like I was heading into some impending doom.

When we reached the front door of the Castle, he slowed down, took a few heavy breaths and started to explain.

“ok. Look.. I am not sure how to explain this to you, but as of now, I own this Castle. It’s mine. Oh man, I shouldn’t have started there. I’ve got so much to tell you buddy…”

Naturally, I assumed he was bullshitting me, but this wasn’t the kind of thing Paul was into. We didn’t do pranks. I was confused, and I was about to start asking questions but he continued.

“Let me explain. About a week ago, old Man Miller can to my door gasping. He looked bad… like he was gonna die or something.”

Nobody really knew old man Miller much. He was just the guy who lived in the Castle, and as far as anyone knew, he always had. It wasn’t like he as a hermit or recluse. We’d see him around town all the time, but he was quiet and kept to himself mostly.

He was mega rich and sponsored a lot of the city events but he remained pretty much a mystery. The only person I knew that had even spoken to him and had a most basic relationship with him was Paul.

“Ok Paul”, I said. “Does this have to do with why I’ve hardly seen you the past few weeks? Have you been taking care of Old Man Miller? Why couldn’t I know about this?”

Paul corrected me, saying it was more than that. A lot more.

“I’m going to open the door and let you inside now, but don’t be alarmed. There is a lot more story, but it’s so fantastical I’m intentionally taking it slow. If I just told you everything right away, your head would explode”. He pulled a weird old fashioned kind of key out of his pocket and opened the door. It was on his regular keychain next to his house keys, so it was clear to me, he’d been coming here a lot more than I knew.

He opened the door and we walked in. I didn’t pay too much attention to the interior because Paul’s strange method of storytelling had my adrenaline pumping. It looked pretty much like you’d expect an old Castle maintained by one man would look. Mostly dark and Dusty.

“Fuck Paul, you’re not going to show me Mr Miller’s dead body, are you? Fuck — you are, aren’t you? He’s dead and you’re –“

“Relax”, Paul stops me. Yes, he’s dead but that’s not important…”

“Not important? What the hell have you brought me into? Midnight? Why are we doing this now? If he’s dead, what the fuck does it matter when you show me? You know Halloween is two weeks away… Christ, are you looting Old Man Miller’s Castle at night? Am I here to help you carry some shit…”

“Shut up Rich. Time is everything… and you’re wasting it -“

“If you’d tell me–“

Then he did. He told me the story. He told me what he and Mr Miller had been doing after school for the last week. Apparently, Old Man Miller was older than we all knew and he was going to die. He knew it.

He came to Paul’s home that night, and he told Paul the story I was being told now. He had a secret and he needed to pass it on to Paul before he died.

“I’m supposed to believe this, right?” I asked, testing the trust between Paul and I. “I’m supposed to just believe what you’re telling me?”

He hushed me. “It’ll all make sense as I continue, but you have to let me get to the good part before midnight” he urged.

“Why?”

“Shut up”

As he continued, the visit from Old Man Miller seemed to be a bit unplanned, perhaps like Paul might not have been his first choice, but when you’re about to die, I suppose you make choices, and as it turns out, Paul was the only person in town Mr Miller had any real relationship with. It never occurred to me that he didn’t have friends or family. I would have thought rich people have a lot of people close to them, especially if they’re near death. I learned Old Man Miller was a lot more alone than I had imagined.

Paul explained he’d been cutting Mr. Miller’s lawn for years and had occasionally been invited inside when the payment was due, but he wouldn’t say they were friends. He was as surprised as anyone when he found him at his door.

Continuing, Paul was now speaking in a more normal relaxed voice; “Right there at the door, still standing outside, he starts recanting me his life story. When he was about my age, the previous owner of the Castle came to him one night just like this. He tells me he’s going to die soon, and has nobody to leave his secret with. He has nobody to leave anything to…”

“No fucking way,” I say, pre-guessing here the story is going. “He gave you his Castle? Fuck you. That doesn’t happen”

“Let me get to the good part”, Paul insists, and before I can interrupt again, he goes on; “Trust me, that isn’t the good part. Along with the Castle, which, yes, it’s legally mine now, along with his money…”

“wait… Hold on. How can you be so calm about that? Are you saying you’re the new Old Man MIller? Are you saying this is yours now? Fuck you. What is this really about? Come on Paul… I should be in bed sleeping. You know Mr. Fillmore said we’d be tested on that stupid frog thing tomorrow…”

Paul grabs me by the shoulders just like he had earlier, and looks into my eyes with that same seriousness, although I am slightly more sceptical this time. He looks serious but the words coming out of his mouth are ridiculous. I want to believe but he’s not making any sense. I start; “But –“

“Rich. Please. It’s almost Midnight. Please let me finish. For now, let’s just assume what I am telling you is true. After Midnight it’ll make sense, I promise. Yes. I’m rich now. I’m the sole owner of this Castle. We signed the papers with lawyers and all sorts of formal stuff this week. Yes, I’m rich now. I may never have to work again but–“

I wanted to interrupt but every time I tried, he’d give me a look, and I’d silently listen as he unfolded the story further.

“It comes with a secret, and this is why we’re here at Midnight. It’s big. It’s complex but I don’t have time to explain it all. I’ll tell you more after Midnight. It’s kind of awesome. I’m confused. I tried to tell you a few times this week but I can’t figure out how…”

“Well, you’re doing a crappy job. You’ve been a crappy friend for a while… But hey, if you really are rich, I forgive you… just spit it out. My Mom will be freaking out… Hello, I’m freaking out. What the fu–“

“ok… The Castle and money come with only one catch. It’s kind of a job I have to do. I can’t hire anybody to do it for me, and I can’t tell anybody”.

“But you told me–“

“Yeah, but old Man Miller is dead now, and I’ve been so stressed I’m bending the rules just for you because I had to. This is the kind of secret I couldn’t keep to myself.”

“So… what’s the job? Even if you are super rich now, I’m getting upset. Just tell me!”

He then reveals the Castle is old… older than anyone knows. It’s been handed down to a new owner every generation and nobody knows it’s origin story. Not even Mr Miller. It was here before the city. It might have been here before anything he tells me.

At this point, I just nod as he continues, knowing this story is going to be told at his place for some reason. I think to myself this better be fucking worth it because it’s 6 minutes to midnight and when I get home, I’m going to be in big trouble.

“There is a machine in the basement” he starts. “No, not a machine. it’s more of a gear… err… Umm.. well, whatever you call it, it’s —“

“You better not say Alien, Paul because I’m not ready for that kind of Revelation” I caution. I won’t believe you. I don’t believe you. I already don’t believe you and I’m going to be so much trouble…”

Paul reaches in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He hands me $400 and tells me it’s real and this might help with calming your Mom. “Now shut up. It’s not Alien… oh, I suppose it could be. That would make sense actua–“

“Fuuuuuck… TELL ME!”

“Ok”, he says. “In the basement of what is now my Castle, is a gear that controls the rotation of the Earth… kind of. I’m not sure… It’s a kind of time mac–“

“TIME MACHINE?” I scream? “What the fuck Paul? I woke up for this? Are you high?”

“Shut up!” He commands. It’s not quite a time machine. It’s a gear that controls time and I’m the new caretaker. Now you know why it was a hard story to tell. It’s impossible to believe. I always wondered how people would react with news like this. In movies, they seem to accept supernatural shit quite quickly, but that’s TV. It took me a while to be convinced and I’ve tried 4 different approaches to tell you before tonight. I finally figured out to make you believe.”

“Oh really? You figured out a way to ‘make’ me believe that a stranger you barely know comes to your door one random night, gives you the keys and deed to his Castle and fortune. You’re suddenly the new caretaker of the Earth’s clock. I can’t wait to see this. Ok Paul… make me believe.”

Paul explains he has to wait until midnight, and then he hands me this old wooden box that sort of matches the interior designs on the walls. He explains on his previous reveals he didn’t know how the box worked exactly, but if I’m holding it at midnight, it’ll make sense and I’ll believe his story. I’ll believe my best friend is the new caretaker of a secret time machine that’s been in the basement at the end of our street since before we were born.

“Ok… but if some plastic clown pops out singing; “Jack in the box” at Midnight I’m going to punch you. I swear Paul. I’ve never punched anybody before but if this is a prank, I’ll make an exception. Ok… it’s time… Make me believe your story. Go.”

Paul looks at his watch, takes a step back from me, and then suddenly grabs a huge sword from the wall to his left, and swings it into his chest. He slumps to the floor dead.

———-

At 7am, my bedside clock radio clicks on and starts playing HEY JUDE by the Beatles. I wake slowly at first but the moment I realize I’m in my bed I jolt up thinking that was the strangest dream I’d ever had. I’m confused because it didn’t seem like a dream. I’d never had a dream like that before. My best friend Paul had this strange story and then he killed himself in front of me. The most realistic disturbing nightmare I’d ever had.

The music trails off into its famous repetitive ending, looping over and as the disc jockey announces the time, weather and traffic.

“It’s 7:02 on this wonderful fall Wednesday. Today is National Hershey’s Kisses day so eat some chocolate or kiss somebody today – your choice”.

I freeze. 

That’s how I started my day yesterday. Holly shit… What is happening? As I stand in a confused state of mind, my foot kicks something on the floor and as I look down, I see the box from my dream. The box Paul gave me at midnight last night…

In my dream? I sit back down. Listening to the radio, as it repeats yesterday’s songs and — yesterday. Yes. Yesterday. Why? What?

My phone buzzes as it vibrates on the nightstand. It’s a text from Paul.

“I assume you believe me. I hope your head didn’t explode. I’m outside ready to answer your questions. Oh, and don’t talk to your Mom about last night because it’s Wednesday again and from their perspective, none of that happened. The last time I tried this I forgot to tell you that and they were sure you were on drugs”.

I texted back; “I believe… we’re fucking rich and you’ve got a time machine! Holy fuck. My brain exploded. I forgive you for your odd way of telling me. I forgive you.”

Weekend Update

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It’s been a while since I’ve written and all of a sudden I decided now was a good time. I sat at my desk staring at my screen knowing I have several tasks to do. Not really too many for an average worker, but tasks with a deadline and priority are always a bit stressful for me, and July hasn’t been a great month. I decided to answer the 1800 phone number that has mysteriously been calling me 4 times a day just to see who it was. Bad choice. My morning mood has been lessened a bit by the credit department of Bell Canada.  I get my TV and Internet from them, and although I recently chopped that bill down from over $200 a month to only $125 a month, it still adds up to over $500 when you don’t pay it for a while.

Along with that thought, I have not paid rent yet this month and it’s Friday the 13th already. I have been spending more because of the hospital stay and the daily outing for my medicine IV bag swap. More in gas and more in food.

Today is the first day of the annual convention I always have mixed feelings about. In advance, it agitates me and gets me all wound up with needless anxiety but during the 3 day convention, where I man the Info Desk with friends, I always have a good time. I wish my brain could remember that and forgo the pre-show butterflies. This year, the show is in the middle of this health/finance/life depression but I imagine I’ll still be a happy face to on-comers and regulars. If I could choose an easy job I enjoy, it’d probably be info desk. The faces of others and the smiles fuel me and re-energize me, or at least they usually do. 

This year, with my IV bag sticking out of my arm and my restless sleep habits it may be an extra chore to keep my smile on, but I have faith the environment will keep me up in spirits. I certainly hope so, because my team of 3 is a team of 2 this year so I’m mathematically more important.

We shall see. I’m doing my best to believe my optimism and ignore the impending doom of a poverty lifestyle.