Okay

I know it’s been a minute.

Still struggling with anxiety and considering another ketamine treatment.

I am getting through my days and still trying to live a life that extends beyond my cubicle and my bed.

For instance, tonight I am taking the 12 year old granddaughter to a concert to see an artist she is very excited about. I am not so much excited to see the show, but I am excited to see her happy. I just hope the heat isn’t too bad. I’m getting crankier and crankier in my golden years.

Randy and I went to Tennessee early this month to celebrate birthdays. We didn’t stay in our usual cabin on the mountain. Our friends, Lizzie and Ruel, had other house guests who didn’t have a vehicle, and we stayed in a hotel in town.

So, this hotel is a lovely old building. The rooms were beautiful and the bed was comfy.

We had a few issues though.

First, when we checked in, the lady at the desk gave me a parking pass to put in our windshield. I asked Randy to take our bag up to the room and I would run back out to the car to deal with the parking pass.

You guys, I was gone for about a minute. One minute.

I get up to the third floor and Randy is standing outside the room.

Me: Dude?

Randy: I locked us out.

Randy had shoved a few cold beers in our suitcase when we left our friend’s cabin and didn’t zip the suitcase shut. When he unlocked the door, the suitcase fell on its side. The beers rolled out and down the hall. Randy shoved everything, including the room key, into the room and went to retrieve the wayward beers. The door shut behind him.

So, I went to the front desk to get another key.

We successfully entered our hotel room and I went into the bathroom.

I’ve literally never seen anything like this in a hotel. I mean, in a daycare? Sure. But not a hotel.

The toilet was toddler sized. It was the dinkiest toilet ever. And when I tell you there wasn’t enough space between the seat and the water, I mean it. There were incidents.

First, I had to pee really bad. I am a short person and I felt like Shaquille O’Neill on that toilet. My knees were almost even with my shoulders.

Which is a total exaggeration, but it felt like it.

What isn’t an exaggeration is what I did next, which as I was finishing up as one does, I shoved my hand directly into pee water. Like full on splash.

I washed my hands in hot water for about an hour then went out to tell Randy about the fucked up situation in the bathroom.

Turns out, Randy’s issues were worse than mine.

When he came out the bathroom, his head was hanging a little low. He looked like a sad toddler.

Randy: My balls went in the water.

Me:…

Me:…

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

There is a lovely restaurant in the hotel, Randy and I met Lizzie and Ruel and two of their guests for dinner. I loved meeting Lizzie’s friends, a mother and daughter. One spoke nearly no English and the other spoke wonderful English, but as a second language.

At one point, Lizzie looked down the table and noticed Randy and Ruel turning purple while obviously containing laughter. She leaned over to me and asked what was happening to our husbands. I assumed Randy had just told Ruel about the ball dunking incident.

I quietly told Lizzie what happened. Her laugh got everyone’s attention. At this point, we had no choice but to tell the story to the other guests. I told the daughter what happened and she cracked up. Then she translated for her mom and her mother cracked up.

I mean, I know it wasn’t comfortable for Randy, but the story just brought so much joy.

The next morning, we decided to go to this diner across the street from our hotel for breakfast. What isn’t to love about a decades old diner in the Smokey Mountains?

Our server was a young woman who was obviously quite unhappy with another server. I’m pretty sure they were all from the same family.

Randy was ecstatic to order a fried bologna biscuit. The weirdo.

I told Randy to leave our server an extra big tip since she seemed to be having a rough morning and thought it might cheer her up. We picked up our bill and made our way to the register.

There wasn’t a total or prices on the bill, just what we ordered and the girl behind the register was struggling. She finally looked over her shoulder at the woman working the grill “Momma! I don’t know what this is.”

The older woman came over and looked at the bill, then asked us what we ordered. Randy told her and they rang us up.

As we were walking out, I heard the older woman tell the younger woman “She just didn’t know how to spell bologna.”

So what happened next? I will tell you. What was next was a crazy ass couple in their sixties walking down a street in downtown Greeneville, TN singing “Oscar Mayer has a way with B O L O G N A.”

Sorry it’s been a while, but I am super happy to be here today sharing this story about my husband’s testicles. Also, I am always going to wonder why. Why on earth did that hotel install daycare sized toilets in their rooms?

I hope you all are well.

I have a big trip coming up. I will tell you about it when I get back. My mom and I are meeting my sons in Hawaii. We’ve never been. We’re nervous, excited and really hoping for no bizarre toilet issues.

Full disclosure. I had to sing the Oscar Mayer song in my head every time to get bologna spelled correctly. 

I loved A Fish Called Wanda.

I’ve been recalling Kevin Kline’s character, Otto, more and more these days. What was the middle thing?

I’m not saying I’m losing my mind, I’m just saying my mind takes longer and longer strolls.

This year has been trying, y’all. I had yet another doctor appointment for my blood pressure. We’re adding another medicine. I wanted to take zero pills for this and now I’m  taking two.

I think everything started going downhill when I fell in a hole.

Anyway, between work stress and health stress and kid stress and stress stress, my ability to focus has suffered.

I mean, it’s not all bad. Have I let things fall through the cracks at my job? Yes. Have I let things fall through the cracks at home? Also, yes. Have I bought tickets to events without really understanding what I was doing? Yep, go ahead and check that box “yes” as well. So, you know, not all bad. No one lost an eye or anything.

A few weeks ago, I saw that Christopher Titus would be performing soon.

Randy and I saw him the last time he performed in our area. His wife, Rachel Bradley opened for him. They were both amazing and I felt super excited for them to come back. So, I ordered tickets.

There was an option for a VIP after show happy hour and it was pretty cheap, so you know, hell yeah! Who doesn’t love a cheap happy hour with super funny people? So, I bought two tickets and told Randy. He was kind of amazed by how cheap it was and asked if I remembered what we paid the last time? I did not and I didn’t care. I just knew we were going to actually leave the house, on a weekend, for a reason that didn’t include walking through a produce department and ignoring candy bars at a checkout.  Bonus, the show started at 7:00pm, so it wouldn’t be too horribly late when we got home.

On Friday morning, as I prepared for work, I realized I had no idea where my tickets were for this event, which was the next night. Would they be on my phone? Did I need to print them?

I searched my email and found where I bought two tickets to watch Christopher Titus and Rachel Bradley on a live stream event. I bought two tickets for something we would watch on one computer. And the start time? Pacific time. So, 10:00pm our time.

I calculated the amount of shit Randy would hang on me and decided to just get it over with quickly.

Me: Hey, guess what we are not doing tomorrow night?

Randy: What?

Me: Seeing Titus live. It’s a live stream event.

Randy: Hahahahahahaha

Me: It starts at 10:00pm

Randy: HAHAHAHAHAHA

Randy: What’s the VIP part?

Me: No idea. I assume a zoom thing or something?

Fine. This was fine. We would adjust. I was still going to enjoy the show. We’d just take a nap or something. No way we’d stay awake that late.

So, last night, I set an alarm. Just in case.

We dialed up a movie that I assume Randy found boring because he was snoring in no time. My eyes grew heavy, but it was all good. I had that alarm set.

Good, thing I set the alarm, because I nodded off as well.

I thought there’d be a new email or something for the event. You know, a link to it? So, I started searching my email again.

The original date for the show was 5/6. At some point, that date changed to 5/13.

So, to recap, I bought 2 virtual tickets to a show, including extra for a VIP thing that I still don’t understand for a time way too late for two old people who always fall asleep early and then also got the date wrong. I think the only thing else I could have done wrong would have been to attempt to buy tickets to see Titus and then, accidentally buy tickets to see Godspell.

After the alarm went off, I spent a few frustrating minutes figuring out there was no reason to have set an alarm. I was wide awake. It took forever to get back to sleep.

Which really gives me hope that I will be able to stay awake next weekend. You know, when the actual show happens.

We bought tickets today to see Nick Cave in Chicago in September. Randy was involved in the process and we are both sure of the date, time, city and venue.  Plus, going to Chicago operates on Central time, so we should be able to stay up without much effort. I checked, but there isn’t a VIP option for Nick Cave, which sucks, because that would be cool.

p.s. Sunday morning, Randy played this video and said, “I’ve found your spirit animal.”

RUD = Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly.

That is how I saw the SpaceX account on Twitter describe the blowing up of the SpaceX rocket.

I found it hilarious.

Pretty much, the first thing I thought was “Did Gwyneth Paltrow have anything to do with this? Because Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly sounds like the phrase came from the same place as “Conscious Uncoupling”. I mean, the rest of us just get divorced. Or we split up. Or we quit them. But Gwyneth and Chris had a “Conscious Uncoupling” which is great. It is. It just doesn’t have much to do with the rest of us. Kind of like SpaceX and their explosions and the emerald mine dude who is in charge of that shit has nothing to do with the rest of us. They live a different life than literally everyone I know. Even the rich ones.

So, it turns out RUD is a tongue in cheek sort of thing.

I was informed that RUD has been around forever when scientists talk about exploding rockets.

Or maybe more than just rockets, I’m sure other things other than rockets explode when rocket science is applied. Not gonna lie, most rocket science humor is going to go right over my head.

RUD is kind of like the PEBKAC issues that people in IT experience. If a user is the cause of the issue then the “Problem exists between keyboard and chair”. Or an I D ten T issue. ID10t.

I never use the “idiot” thing. But I have no issue with PEBKAC because almost all IT issues are PEBKAC issues. Which is super annoying. IT would be better if there were no users.

I absolutely understand the basic flaw in that logic.

So, I will use the word “cunt” just to watch people squirm. I use the word fuck for comfort. It’s my security blanket. I would quit a job if I was told I was not allowed to say the word “fuck”.  Of course, I understand that cursing around customers is a bad idea. I’m talking about in my cubicle. In my sad little realm. In my room at work. There?  I am going to say fuck. A lot. But idiot is different. My older son, who is nearly 36, was super prissy about cursing when he was a kid, which was unfortunate for him as I am me. He gave me alternatives. Mostly he hated the word “idiot” so, when he was around 5 years old, he told me I could only say idiaudyit. Fuck. I have idea how to spell this. Here it is phonetically: Id dee aud dee it. I guess since he hated the word so much, that it since carried weight for me. So…I might call you a cunt, but I’d probably not call you an idiot. I reserve that word for orange fake presidents and every other driver on the road. 

But I digress. Cause that is what I do.

I became instantly enamored with RUD because a “rapid unscheduled disassembly” accurately describes a panic attack.

It’s sort of perfect.

I mean, not a panic attack. They suck. I wish they weren’t a thing. I’m just saying, a panic attack is rapid and always unscheduled.

The disassembly part…whew…that sucks. All your defenses? Gone. Ability to focus? Don’t be stupid. Throat closed up to a pinhole? Yes…yes, that happens.

Of course, a panic attack wouldn’t be scheduled.

What kind of ding dong would schedule that shit? There are so many other things available. Like a massage. Or job interview. Or a root canal.

It’s the disassembly. I was going to say that was the worst part of my panic attacks, but it really isn’t. The worst part is that you feel like you are actively dying, all the physical pain included. So, that really is the worst part. But the second worst part, for me is my defenses disassembling.

I feel like I have some strong goddamn defenses. Plus, I am super stubborn. More on that later. The point being, I trusted those defenses. They might not make me feel warm and fuzzy, but they are adequate for pushing shit down enough to be able to function. Until I started having panic attacks. They fucking folded like a cheap lawn chair. I mean, they just dissolved immediately. No defense and no reasoning. They disassembled and I was left with nothing.

Except that isn’t true. I still called my doctor. I still went to work. I mean, I wasn’t doing a good job or anything, but I was there. I still had something, but that something was raw and fragile and I wept constantly. I needed those defenses. One cannot white knuckle anxiety without a trusted defense.

I’m finished with my ketamine therapy.

Here’s the coolest thing right now. I’m cool if my defenses are broken now. I mostly don’t need them. And I have needed them every single day for decades. For as long as I can remember. I just don’t need them as much anymore.

Am I fixed?

HAHAHAHAFUCKINGHAHAHAHA

Oh, for all that is holy, no. No, I am not fixed. I don’t even know what fixed would look like. Does anyone?

But I am better. My mortality anxiety isn’t gone, not by a damn sight, but it is better.

I even have a troubling medical thing going on. I mean, it’s not the worst thing ever, but it’s also shitty. After having steady blood pressure forever, I’ve suddenly gone up to hypertension levels. I haven’t seen a doctor yet. We were trying other methods to bring it down and it’s not been satisfactory, so I am calling my doctor on Monday.

More than anything, I do not want to have to start blood pressure medication. But, it really does need to be addressed.

The point is…2 months ago? I would have been in a goddamn fetal position over this. Now? I am concerned because it’s fucking concerning, but I’m pretty calm with it. It can be addressed. Also, even with the positive health changes I’ve made, I can make many more positive changes that would probably help the situation.

It isn’t my defenses making this easier for me to deal with. I’m not masking it. I just feel okay with it. I feel okay with so many more things. I’m not saying ketamine therapy is for everyone, I’m just saying that I wish everyone would get it.

I completed my therapy, but I have to go one more time. My last one can’t be my last one.

I had an event. I mean, nothing bad happened, but it was still unpleasant.

Here’s how the sessions go. You get vitals taken, you get a shot and then 20 minutes later, you get a second shot.

This went along smoothly on my last session, until I felt this foam in my throat. I could feel foam coming up through my throat and onto my face. I was way down deep in my ketamine universe, and I also knew that I needed medical attention. So I found a way to exit my trip, not long after the second injection, and informed the doctor and the nurse that I had a death rattle.

So, I actually did not have one. There was no foam. Nothing bad was happening. Other than I took myself completely out. My doctor told me that there is no way I should have been able to pull myself out of the experience and that she was going to give me a third injection.

I was fine then. No more death rattles.

When I naturally came out of the last trip, Randy was in the recliner next to me, holding my hand. Everything was fine.

My stubbornness knows no bounds.

It’s nearly been two weeks since my treatments ended and I know I am good. At least, for now.

But I am going to schedule one last one. Maybe next month. I kind of need the final session to not be quite so disturbing.

I mean, there is always the possibility that it will happen again, but I’m playing the odds here. 5 were fine, 1 was mostly awesome with a tad of horror. I’m willing to take the chance.

Here’s to no longer fearing Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly. At least for now. For a long time, I hope.