Ladies this is a new segment for us to hopefully talk and vent about what we go through being BBA’s. I know for me in addition to being the hottest bitch in any room, I may often be the biggest bitch in the room. Ta-tum! Ok! Anyhoo that is true but also funny. You will see that is what I am like. Well I am an extreme, including extremely sweet and sour. So consequently I pull people in with my mesmerizing looks and sweet sugar kindness, and then KAFOOM MOOD CRASH I am sour and I am Missy Pissy don’t wanna talk I hate my fucking job why can’t everyone stfu (my customers), etc. This is what I subject my loved ones to. And myself.
BBA’s, don’t be shy, share yourself & your dilemmas. Like they say, “We got this bitch!”
By popular demand (that would be me), here is the completed, genius-inspired coloring manifesto by MOI!! I can confirm that coloring is not just for the damn kids, people. It is in fact meditative, nurturing and downright fun. If you’re anything like me, it will also bring out your inner nazi (STAY IN THE LINES!). Fuck that nazi and do your own thing. I got serious on this one with my gelly roll glitter pens. Say it with me now, 90’s rapper style.. “Ah YEAH!”
Look what I found! I found SO MANY treasures that I haven’t laid eyes on in YEARS! I did something monumental today. This won’t sound monumental to many, but to some who have depression and procrastination all mixed in together, this will make perfect sense. I cleaned out my “scary” closet. You know that closet, that some people have, that commits assault on you when you open it? Yeah that one. Mine was full of shit and boxes that I’ve been lugging around for SEVEN YEARS without opening them. SEVEN YEARS!!! There’s something about this seven-year mark. I tell you, things are MOVING!! I don’t know what it is. It’s scary not knowing what it is. I don’t want it to go away!! A little bit of mojo is a great fucking relief after sleepwalking, let me tell you.
Some of what I think might be going on is that I have been punishing myself for losing a house before I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I always dreamed of owning a home and it was a dream come true to have one built. I was however extremely impulsive with money and, well, everything and one day, fed up with my job, I walked away from it. Literally packed up my desk and moved ‘er on, lil’ doggies. I had no idea that when my cashed in retirement money ran out, it would be very hard to find another job, and I eventually lost the house, which broke my heart. From that time on I lived in a series of cold, dark, depressing hovels until I moved into this house. Somehow this light-filled, lovely curvy home is helping to bring about healing.
I guess what I’m saying in my bass-ackwards way is that I’m grateful. Today I’m grateful. For today. Life is good. Whoa-ho. Thank you Lordy-Joe.
You only thought I colored the first one…with the second one I got serious. For those of you who missed the first one, my group therapist informed the group that coloring symmetrical line drawings can be meditative. Ever since then I have taken this license to color to heart and am enjoying the hell out of it. After the first crayon picture I got serious and got out the jelly roll glitter pens. Holy shit it’s fun!! Every few spare minutes I get I color a little!! If I’m working around the house and I think I deserve a little break, I color. It’s ridiculon!! I love it!! I totally recommend it. I am including an un-colored copy for you…enjoy my friends ENJOY!!!!
It was a delicious sixty degrees today. I took a walk. This is the Mapleton neighborhood of Boulder, Colorado, where Big Boy the elk lived and died. This is also where the careers of two Boulder police officers, Brent Curnow and Sam Carter once flourished and have now come to an end. Those two tools turned in their resignations today. I know I show total disgust for them. What is really going on inside is “There but for the grace of God go I” – Being bipolar, I CONSTANTLY feel like I am just one dumbshit move away from blowing the shit out of my whole life!! Does anyone else feel like this?
I mean, here these guys are living pretty good lives!! They have good jobs in a great town. They gotta be making some bank. If they want to hunt, they could hunt. Why in God’s name would they want to kill this damn elk in the middle of town? Did they ever stop to think that they’d be RUINING THEIR OWN LIVES???? Stupid. Shortsighted. I don’t get it. Or I’m afraid of doing the same so damn much.
Did Big Boy nuzzle any of these delicious-looking berries above on Maplewood? Does nuzzling berries sound like a fancy blowjob? Well I didn’t mean it in that way!
Above is the West end of the Mapleton neighborhood. Big Boy certainly walked past these majestic elms many a time. Haha I’m just bullshitting you. I have no idea what kind of trees these are! Sounded good huh.
Dad bought a new pair of shoes today. He didn’t know if he could justify spending $110 on a pair of shoes if he’s only going to live six months or a year. I said “It sucks that you have to think like that!” “I know!” he agreed. Tears began to leak out of my eyes. Were we really going there? Dad started talking about going to see RVs with Seniordoodle. We dramatically veered away from the realness of Dad’s impending death. Whew! The tears kept leaking. “My eyes are burning today!” I said, ever the loyal bullshitter. “My eyes were doing that earlier, too! We must have used up the drops we used to have in the car.” And back down the path we meandered to mundaneville. Ah, safe for now.
GOD, I love the word FUCK! Is there another more satisfying word in the English language? Fuck! You Fuckers! And oh how I LOVE a good “Fuck you!” Throughout my day I like to salt my language regularly with “What the fuck’s” and “Fuck this” ‘s and of course the indignant “Who the fuck do they think they are?” will inevitably burst out. Ah fuck it’s just so soothing. It’s a noun! “Hey, you fuck!” It’s a verb! “Let’s fuck!” It’s an adjective! “He’s weird as fuck!” It’s an adverb! I don’t know how to use fuck as an adverb, actually. But you can fucking see how versatile the word is, right? OK. I think I made my point! Fuck! I FUCKING LOVE YOU, FUCK!
Throughout my early childhood when going places with my two older sisters they would often get asked “Who’s your friend?” (referring to me). They were brunette and brown-eyed like my mother. I in turn was light-haired and blue eyed like my father (or nobody we knew) and often mistaken for an outsider. Two brothers later, both brown/brown & olive-skinned like my sisters, the die was cast: Freckleface here was an outsider. After eight years a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed sister came (from praying, is where babies came from) but it was too late, I was forever to feel like an interloper. Besides, this little sister of mine was always darkening her hair. What the fuck? I wanted us to look like twins!
This constant comparison with my older sisters came to be internalized. I idolized them and was asked “Why can’t you be more younameitfillintheblankwewerefuckingCatholicitwasafreeforall like your sister?” Holy Hallelujah I continue that shit to this day. Nowadays Seniordoodle is a very successful coach and high school teacher, and Snickerdoodle is equally successful in Medical Social Work. They have never seen an ounce of cellulite in their lives. They have stellar credit scores. They have unimpeachable mental health. I, on the other hand, vacillate between somewhat slim and gorgeous, and rotund and totally frustrated. I have a credit score of zero. For reals! I’ve been somewhat successful but in general pretty stuck career-wise, because of all the starts and stops that are inherent to the bipolar illness. Not to mention the fact that I hate what I do. That’s just the whole working in Corporate America killing my soul but I digress…. What must my sisters, hell any of my siblings think of me, I sometimes wonder? In my worst times I fear that they pity me. That will send me off the deep end. Don’t let them pity me.
My question for myself is, beneath the outer appearance and the trappings of success, Who the fuck am I? And where the fuck am I going for the next half of my life? Can I make my outsides match my insides a little better for the second half of the trip? Can I pursue a dream or two? Is there any honoring of the self in my future? Is there light at the end of the tunnel? If so, it’s not a freight train, is it?
Did you know that coloring something symmetrical can be meditative? ME NEITHER!! I just learned this last night in my group therapy!! I feel like I’ve been given a license to color at my advanced age!! And ya know what? I’m gonna go with it!! When I got home last night I ran straight down to the garage. I KNEW I had some crayons somewhere – and I did! By tonight I predict that I will switch to some pretty sophisticated jelley glitter pens – even though those are reserved for art. I don’t know if I will be able to resist, people!!! The seduction of coloring…I don’t know what the hell I will do!
You alone are the witness of my first coloring project in, oh, thirty? Thirty five years? It feels good. I challenge you to print and color the following delicious, symmetrical picture. Take a little meditative time and enjoy the zen of coloring. I promise you will not regret it.
Notes on the simple things in life…Chewie says we should enjoy the simple things, like watching a dumb squirrel eating seeds on our porch. He also says that the wee little animals are sent by the universe to remind us to keep it simple! Don’t get bogged down by trying to figure out where you are in your disease process at all moments of the day…am I in a mixed mode? Manic? Depressed? Oh my God what if I am fine??? I am going to have to schedule a special therapy session for that topic. Chewie says go upstairs into your art studio and make something. Anything! Have a cup of coffee and enjoy the day. Fuck the paralysis of analysis!! Chewie says to note that the word “anal” is in the word analysis!! Get out there and live your life today and give the inner voices the day off. Let them know!! Hang a sign! Voices, this is your day off, fuckers! That is all!
This is what happens when you are in an intensive outpatient program (IOP) that has rigid rules and regulations, such as, if you miss three times, you will be discharged on the fourth. When you are discharged, you have to start all over and fill out reams of paperwork again. This will happen even if you have what would be considered in most circles to be an “excused” absence, such as Influenza A.
If you’d like to bring out the extreme sour in a sweet & sour girl, just go ahead and throw these stupid fucking rules at her and see how she responds. She might (a) fill out the paperwork in gibberish; (b) make up sexual orientations, such as bilateral; (c) claim her barriers to healing to involve toe fungus; (d) be in general an asshole, resulting in being told to GROW UP!, at 46 years of age; or (e) All of the above.
I couldn’t help but to break out in loud guffaws every time I spied my paperwork last night during group therapy. It wasn’t always at appropriate times. I will need to make amends. A few questions: 1. Who the fuck filled that out? Was that actually ME? And 2. Who the fuck had to type it? And how did they keep a straight face or keep from scrawling “Fuck you” across the page? One will never know.
And that’s it for now, from the Sweet & Sour Chronicles.
What is this thing called Contentment? What are you doing here, Security? Did I just hear you GIGGLE? My God, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH CRANKY? Something has been visited upon me, and by Buddha I think it’s a spot of Happiness! And, please don’t judge, it was so worrisome to me, I had to take it to therapy! Twice! Oh wait three times!!!
Group Therapy: “I think I’m manic. I’m feeling really optimistic. I’m energetic. I’m getting up before the alarm.”
Me: “How do I know if I’m manic?” Therapist, accusingly: Well how much are you sleeping?” Me, defensively: “Well last night I only slept EIGHT HOURS!” Therapist spits out: “That’s NORMAL!” Me, pitifully: Cries. “Am I Happy?” Therapist, hopelessly: Sighs. “I guess…. Oh by the way your group therapist called to say that you said you thought you were manic.” —
I returned to Group Therapy last night and let them know that I am in fact Happy, not Manic.
Are you beginning to see how foreign the calm quiet sweet fine-ness is to me? Contentment to me is not big or loud or proud or rich or orgasmic. It’s just quiet. Putzing. Thinking. Doing. Resting. Walking. Resting. Creating. Being. Resting. Reading.
And just like that. It has been visited upon me. I’m going to go take a quiet bath. And get some rest.