we are equal

I went to the ER last Thursday, back pain radiating down my right leg rendering me incapable of walking.

Two days prior to this, I had turned in my work release form that would allow me to go back to work on Monday.

Needless to say, I didn't go back to work. So here I am again, hurrying up with the paperwork so I can wait on someone else to do their job while they decide whether or not or how soon I’ll be able to go back to mine.

These are some things I have done since the ER visit: knit, make wall tapestries, wash three loads of laundry by myself, and walk every day. Yesterday I stopped taking the lor-tab they prescribed me to see if I'd be able to sleep comfortably yet. Today, not only is my back aching again, but my body is reminding me of all the other aches and pains it usually suffers with silently on a daily basis. Now, that is some powerful pain medication.

Also, the main difference I notice between being functional and being depressed is my ability to bully or trick myself into doing things I know I need to do. And that's okay. When I'm really doing well, I don't even feel bullied!

Medical history aside, here are my blog thoughts:

International Women's Day. Opinion: neutral leaning toward negative. Here's why:

Despite the fact that there supposedly is a legitimate International Men's Day (November 19th) I literally just googled it and that is the first time I have ever heard of it, ever. I couldn’t miss the hype surrounding International Women’s Day if I tried. That’s just the problem: I know that there is hype; I do not know anything else about it except what the name of the “holiday” seems to imply: GO WOMEN! YEAH! WOOHOO!

So, in our politically correct, gender-ambiguous, sorely divided, kale-eating, gossipy, judgemental of the judgemental, surgery changes gender country we have two different days to celebrate two DIFFERENT genders. Wait, what? Oh, yeah, and one day for all the “other” genders. Also, an extra day in August for Women’s Equality. Oh, yeah, and a Mother’s day and Father’s day. So I guess we are trying to celebrate everybody at least a couple times each year.

How about scrap all of that and have every day be happy Human Day and let’s start to acknowledge and serve those around us on a one-on-one basis. Let’s have every day be a Fair Boss Day where we treat our employees with respect because they are humans. Capiche?

Now, for my other opinion: there are only two genders. Male and Female. I’m sorry, but you can’t argue chromosomes out of that one. That’s just fact. We also have gender-stereotypes that are so deeply ingrained that you couldn’t give a baby girl a blue blanket without risking offending the mom. My favorite color right now is light blue. No point proven, just... there.

I have a whole bunch of  arguments that tear down idiotic societal norms. But I’m a little too tired to try and put them all out there right now. Or even some of them. Just know that we live in a place that celebrates differences and then denies differences because they are incompatible with equality somehow.

“Different yet equal” took on some very negative connotations at one point in our history because “equal” was NOT equal. But:

Different yet equal is a perfect way to describe males versus females. My husband has incredible strengths and different ways of seeing things than I do. Which translates to some very wonderful insights for the both of us and new ideas! We take care of each other. We do things for each other and it works out.

Different yet equal is a perfect way to describe race versus race. Me versus the Indian people who live in the next building over. They have feelings, opinions, lives, goals and heartbreaks. Just like me. We nod and smile when we pass on the sidewalk. I may never know anything about them except that one time that lady gave my friend so much delicious Indian curry that my friend had to give some to me and it was literally the day after I prayed that someone please, please bring me dinner because I’m in so much pain but don’t want to ask. It worked out.

Different yet equal is a perfect way to describe friends. Me, who loves soft yarn to be sure, versus my dear friend who loves this nasty, fat, fluffy yarn that is a nightmare to work with. She loves it! I hate it! Yet we both care for one another, we both get together to do the fiber arts and write and talk and walk. And I give her all my nasty, fat, fluffy yarn! It works out.

 “Equality” starts on a one-on-one level. Do you treat your neighbor as equally kind as you do yourself? Do you treat your friends even better than yourself? Do you treat your spouse – your soul mate – even better than that? No? Then stop worrying about how society is treating… society, and go out there and be kind. We are different. Do you think God might know how hard it is for someone as corrupt as a human being to love someone different? Do you think maybe He let us be different on purpose? The more you have to open your heart to love people who are different, the more enriching and joyful this life is going to be and that’s just fact.

tmi

"I think exercise is my brass serpent on the pole."

Excuse me while I rinse my mouth out.

I'm trying to love it, though. Really, I am. I posted a sticky-note on my bathroom mirror that says "I love to exercise" and I read it to myself... when I remember to. This morning I went to my first water Zumba class and actually liked it a lot. Some of the moves stretched my back out and I felt more mobile all morning and well into the afternoon.

For real, though, if exercise is the only thing I've needed to do this whole time just to keep my back happy I'm going to kick myself so hard.

Moving on:

I haven't shaved my legs in weeks, probably months. I haven't shaved my armpits in quite a few days, either. And I went swimming like this. In public. When it is painful to bend over and one's husband is doing all he can to keep up with school and work, one would feel rude asking him to help shave one's legs. So I look like Sasquatch. So what? Here is my list of very legitimate reasons not to shave:

1. it breaks stereotypes and social expectations
2. I'm trying to be more like Katniss
3. it's convenient
4. it's a subtle push back against pornography "ideals"
5. I can't, anyway
6. no more razor burn and waking up with bloody fingernails from scratching in my sleep
7. my husband doesn't really care
8. other people don't really care
9. I don't really care if other ladies don't shave
10. hairy legs don't change my feminine soul

Next topic:

Let's get more serious for a bit. I want to share a mantra that without a doubt was the most helpful realization I had when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder and trying to come to terms with the wacko things demon-Sarah was doing behind my back before I was on proper medication.

"You're not in trouble for being broken."

The Atonement of Christ covers oopsies and uh-ohs and things I regret doing. It can wipe clean the slate as long as I keep fighting to stay on His side.

And, finally:

The "All or Nothing Mentality" that is so destructive. Here are a couple phrases that have become commonplace that reflect this mentality. Warning: believing these may cause severe progression paralysis.

1. "Go big or go home"
2. "If something is worth doing, it is worth doing well"

Props if you are the type of personality that thrives on shooting for that high bar. For the rest of us, let's adopt something more like this:

1. "Go at your best pace and don't give up"
2. "If something is worth doing, it is worth learning all you can about it and practicing every day until you are a pro"

late bloomers

Can't think of a catchy first line.
This is a post about how lame my husband and I are together.

Also a reason why I shouldn't watch people's success stories on YouTube until after I, myself have had success. As per my post last week, there is far too long a list of things I enjoy doing accompanied by an increasing feeling of being left behind by my generation because I'm not actually doing anything about the things I like to do.

Confession: I never liked horses as much as I pretended to when I was a child.

The sister just younger than I was big into horses. She was also the preferred child because I was crazy and we didn't know why yet, so I felt strong compulsion to be first and be better than her. The day she announced she loved horses, I loved them more. (It didn't end until after I left for college, either. The day she decided to play flute, I picked it up and was playing at an intermediate level within two days. She decided to play bassoon instead. I never tried to keep up with her athletics, though. I got fat while she got soccer-chick thighs. I was a passive-aggressive sort of competitive, she was a knock-you-down sort.)

I watched YouTube videos about why Lena Danya and Happy D Artist chose to make art their career. Both of them said it was something they had been doing and loved since they were a child. I've been thinking about how I was as a child. I can remember some things. I spent my time riding stick horses, playing with stuffed animals, swimming in a ditch, crying so hard I passed out, keeping my little sister away from my own friends, drawing horses (well, more unicorns and pegasi than horses) and dragons, throwing fits where I would tear my hair out, playing in our sand box, riding horses, playing horses on my fists and knees until I got rug burnt knees, being so mad I bit my hands, tucking my shirt in and wearing a belt, being secretive about which boy I liked (it was only one, all through elementary and middle school.. one boy crush for 7 years), playing lion king off the top bunk where Scar would throw Simba's dad off the cliff, but you don't want to read a laundry list of my childhood activities. Just note that they are sporadic and random and centered a lot around something I didn't actually love all that much.

One day I realized I was lying to myself. I loved the clarinet. On that day, I gave all of my horse toys to my younger sister and never really played with them again. (I still doodled on all of my school papers, though.) My dream of going anywhere with the clarinet died with my college grades, tendonitis, and bank account balance. It's hard to go to college and get good grades when bipolar disorder has one by the throat. Pre-diagnosis problems.

All of which is leading to my point: I have no idea what I loved doing as a child. So I am an automatic failure as an adult because I'm starting from scratch 20 years late. I'm not good enough at anything to make a real career out of it and I'm not going to be a self-employed knitter. My husband is kind of in the same boat with me. He just switched majors two semesters ago.... to something he loved doing as a kid: writing. So he isn't as lame.

This has made me reconsider what I think of as "success". Am I successful because I actually spent the time to draw, paint, sew or write in a day? Or if I have my own fashion line of knitted sweaters (with cat motifs of course)? Or am I only successful if I have an enormous online following and collectors wanting to pay loads of money for my art? The latter is very appealing to me. In the scriptures, when the people are starting to become wicked again, one of the first things they do is "seek to get gain". Well, yes I am. There's extra pressure because I am the primary income and I'm not making any money right now. My back is still out of commission. I have a bad case of the "I can'ts". To be fair, my early life was not exactly a joy ride.