No Good Title
I'm home from taking Mikey to the airport; S worked all day and works tomorrow and is already asleep. I always worry when Mikey flies; the security seemed a little stiffer tonight, and then Mikey told me: Gray Davis was on his plane. I heard some people talking about someone famous, or something, but even though I waited in line with Mikey to board I didn't notice Gray and his bodyguard. I was reading Uncle Albert. How funny is that?
And right now I must recommend two things: social distortion and port. I can't believe I missed the first two social d. albums; I only knew the radio hits. The music is so excellent; it's not punk; it's soulful, clear, heartfelt rock. I almost said boy or man rock to contrast with girl rock, but that sounds strange. A sad commentary on our society, I think, that it does.
And port. I am sipping the Graham's ten year tawny we got from Costco. Truly, port has long been my favorite wine, and I've been in love with many wines over the last eight years. If I were stuck on a desert island...I'd choose port if I could have only one alcoholic drink. Well, if I were stuck alone I might choose gin, but that's a sad thought. I believe C.S. Lewis once said that if physical happiness were all that was required from life, an unlimited supply of port would provide that. Great idea, but geez he was a bachelor.
Port, which is a sweet wine, usually comes from two places these days: portugal, where it's called oporto, and australia. Some good ports are also made in california. I realize only wine from portugal is truly port, but this is one designation I spread around. I wouldn't do it to a french wine, but I, and most of the wine industry, does it with port. We have cabernet ports from napa and tawny ports from the aussies (and how sticky sweet those are) and true ports made with the unpronouncable portugese grapes. Port comes tawny and ruby, which refers to color, and both rock. Sip slowly, savor; the bottles cost more but last longer. An easy to find port is the Warrior; also the Six Grapes. Or from down under, the Clocktower or Galway Pipe. Oh, if you have never tried these wines, you will be happy.
Enough of the fun. I've had a hard couple days, and I don't know why. This Tuesday comes the Big Vote in my department: will we add more online classes or not? If not, I will be in a bit of a jam, but I'm hopeful. Some in the dept., at least, agree with me. I get egotistical sometimes, I confess, on the inside at least, when I campus politic successfully. How silly. The fact is I'm scared to death and appreciate quick prayers. If I have no online classes, it will certainly impact my family. And it would be hard not to take it personal, though a rejection on this issue wouldn't be personal.
Tomorrow a buddy is driving up from p-ville and we're going to install the range hood to go with our new range; new ranges and dishwashers also rock. We replaced them when I laid the new floor in the kitchen.
(Pretend a transition comes here) I am told that addicts, alcholics or habitual drug-users, become emotionally frozen. In simple terms, if I start drinking every day when I'm 19, when I sober up at 50, I'll have lots of 19 year old emotions to deal with. At least I have been told this by more than one recovering addict. My humble belief is that ocd works the same. The ocd curtain, when it lowers over the mind, doesn't obscure all processing of feeling, but it does waylay much of it. My curtain began descending in grade school. I've spent 20 years now trying to find who I am, trying to release the rage and hurt, and I know the worst is behind me. But it hasn't been until this year, when I began doing exposure work, that I began to really get open vistas (not that I don't cloud those again with other thought cycles, theology for one, but this is ot the same as clinical obsession).
And I feel like I missed so much, as if high school passed me by; I was living out motions but not thrashing through the turmoil of adolscence. I was in such denial, and those still rise.
My anxiety has been hovering over me the last couple days like a Valkryie, but I did my exposure work today and I'll do it tomorrow, and hopefully Sunday. It has worked so well sometimes I don't even feel the need for a week or two or three. That is a great blessing. The second greatest recovery blessing of my life, perhaps; the first being the slow withdrawal of the death-hugging pain of my major depressions. (My greatest overall blessing, incidentally, besides finding Christ (and that will show itself fully in the very long term), was finding a loving wife and son when everything in my history predicted another desparate lover. The kind of girl social d. sings about.)
So I have mood swings. I'm not bipolar; I'd know that by now. But my mood, like my faith, takes large sweeps. Sometimes I feel angry for no solid reason. Or I want to just jump around and yell. Or I feel anxious. Or sad. Or deeply self-critical. I was in despair, briefly, over my snoring a couple weeks ago. If felt so terrible about it, like I was a horrible person for putting this distance between S and I and I was going to have to sleep in the spare room with the effing dogs and all that. And you know what: I put that prayer up on this blog, and S had me try a different pillow, and I nearly stopped. I am dreaming like crazy now, and feeling much more rested in the day. Thanks be to God. I'll take it while it lasts.
But I do believe my feelings still move heavier and quicker, at least in part of me, as they do in teenagers. Or maybe everyone is this way. I don't know of course. Certainly I'm not the only one who blocked out adolescence or childhood pain and has to face it later.
Now I am getting tired.
Uncle Albert (Schweitzer) is not what I expected. He needs his own posts, of course, but here's a guy who denied the miracles of Jesus, the resurrection, more than one huge chunk of what I think of as the christian message, essentially what we call the gospel, and yet he writes about Jesus' spiritual power and how it still has force today. And then he trots off to Africa, in response to the parable of the rich man and lazarus (though I heard this and didn't read it yet) and spends most of his life working as a doctor with the poor. He lived more charity than I ever will, but couldn't accept the supernatural nature of Jesus. This makes Albert very intriguing (and Albert is just easier to type than Schweitzer). More on him as I read more.
I suppose I should wrap up. I'm sleepy and it's getting late. Great to reach out to all of you again, even if I was all over the place. Peace and sweet dreams,
t
And right now I must recommend two things: social distortion and port. I can't believe I missed the first two social d. albums; I only knew the radio hits. The music is so excellent; it's not punk; it's soulful, clear, heartfelt rock. I almost said boy or man rock to contrast with girl rock, but that sounds strange. A sad commentary on our society, I think, that it does.
And port. I am sipping the Graham's ten year tawny we got from Costco. Truly, port has long been my favorite wine, and I've been in love with many wines over the last eight years. If I were stuck on a desert island...I'd choose port if I could have only one alcoholic drink. Well, if I were stuck alone I might choose gin, but that's a sad thought. I believe C.S. Lewis once said that if physical happiness were all that was required from life, an unlimited supply of port would provide that. Great idea, but geez he was a bachelor.
Port, which is a sweet wine, usually comes from two places these days: portugal, where it's called oporto, and australia. Some good ports are also made in california. I realize only wine from portugal is truly port, but this is one designation I spread around. I wouldn't do it to a french wine, but I, and most of the wine industry, does it with port. We have cabernet ports from napa and tawny ports from the aussies (and how sticky sweet those are) and true ports made with the unpronouncable portugese grapes. Port comes tawny and ruby, which refers to color, and both rock. Sip slowly, savor; the bottles cost more but last longer. An easy to find port is the Warrior; also the Six Grapes. Or from down under, the Clocktower or Galway Pipe. Oh, if you have never tried these wines, you will be happy.
Enough of the fun. I've had a hard couple days, and I don't know why. This Tuesday comes the Big Vote in my department: will we add more online classes or not? If not, I will be in a bit of a jam, but I'm hopeful. Some in the dept., at least, agree with me. I get egotistical sometimes, I confess, on the inside at least, when I campus politic successfully. How silly. The fact is I'm scared to death and appreciate quick prayers. If I have no online classes, it will certainly impact my family. And it would be hard not to take it personal, though a rejection on this issue wouldn't be personal.
Tomorrow a buddy is driving up from p-ville and we're going to install the range hood to go with our new range; new ranges and dishwashers also rock. We replaced them when I laid the new floor in the kitchen.
(Pretend a transition comes here) I am told that addicts, alcholics or habitual drug-users, become emotionally frozen. In simple terms, if I start drinking every day when I'm 19, when I sober up at 50, I'll have lots of 19 year old emotions to deal with. At least I have been told this by more than one recovering addict. My humble belief is that ocd works the same. The ocd curtain, when it lowers over the mind, doesn't obscure all processing of feeling, but it does waylay much of it. My curtain began descending in grade school. I've spent 20 years now trying to find who I am, trying to release the rage and hurt, and I know the worst is behind me. But it hasn't been until this year, when I began doing exposure work, that I began to really get open vistas (not that I don't cloud those again with other thought cycles, theology for one, but this is ot the same as clinical obsession).
And I feel like I missed so much, as if high school passed me by; I was living out motions but not thrashing through the turmoil of adolscence. I was in such denial, and those still rise.
My anxiety has been hovering over me the last couple days like a Valkryie, but I did my exposure work today and I'll do it tomorrow, and hopefully Sunday. It has worked so well sometimes I don't even feel the need for a week or two or three. That is a great blessing. The second greatest recovery blessing of my life, perhaps; the first being the slow withdrawal of the death-hugging pain of my major depressions. (My greatest overall blessing, incidentally, besides finding Christ (and that will show itself fully in the very long term), was finding a loving wife and son when everything in my history predicted another desparate lover. The kind of girl social d. sings about.)
So I have mood swings. I'm not bipolar; I'd know that by now. But my mood, like my faith, takes large sweeps. Sometimes I feel angry for no solid reason. Or I want to just jump around and yell. Or I feel anxious. Or sad. Or deeply self-critical. I was in despair, briefly, over my snoring a couple weeks ago. If felt so terrible about it, like I was a horrible person for putting this distance between S and I and I was going to have to sleep in the spare room with the effing dogs and all that. And you know what: I put that prayer up on this blog, and S had me try a different pillow, and I nearly stopped. I am dreaming like crazy now, and feeling much more rested in the day. Thanks be to God. I'll take it while it lasts.
But I do believe my feelings still move heavier and quicker, at least in part of me, as they do in teenagers. Or maybe everyone is this way. I don't know of course. Certainly I'm not the only one who blocked out adolescence or childhood pain and has to face it later.
Now I am getting tired.
Uncle Albert (Schweitzer) is not what I expected. He needs his own posts, of course, but here's a guy who denied the miracles of Jesus, the resurrection, more than one huge chunk of what I think of as the christian message, essentially what we call the gospel, and yet he writes about Jesus' spiritual power and how it still has force today. And then he trots off to Africa, in response to the parable of the rich man and lazarus (though I heard this and didn't read it yet) and spends most of his life working as a doctor with the poor. He lived more charity than I ever will, but couldn't accept the supernatural nature of Jesus. This makes Albert very intriguing (and Albert is just easier to type than Schweitzer). More on him as I read more.
I suppose I should wrap up. I'm sleepy and it's getting late. Great to reach out to all of you again, even if I was all over the place. Peace and sweet dreams,
t
Comments
Peace.