Monthly Archives: August 2010
Wondering who I am? Me, too. Here’s as much as I’ve got figured out at this point:
Me thinks that stopping something we shouldn’t have been doing in the first place shouldn’t be considered any type of accomplishment. Even if it’s done “on schedule.”
I have moved five times in the last 13.5 months. From West Virginia to Ott Street; from Ott to Green; from Green to House sitting Gig #1; from House sitting Gig #1 to House sitting Gig #2 (conveniently located directly next door to each other), and now finally from Gig #2 to the Tiny White House with Shocking Aquamarine Trim. I think all those moves would be enough to make anyone’s head spin, let alone someone like me who really struggles with set-shifting.
(If you’re lost, see: http://www.annals-general-psychiatry.com/content/9/1/29)
All of those changes, plus that fact that over the last month I’ve made two almost week long trips to Baltimore with two days of homelessness thrown in for good measure, have left me feeling ungrounded, unsettled, anxious, and just generally on edge. The good news is that now I’m all moved into our Tiny White House with Shocking Aquamarine Trim. My room is organized the way I want it, I’ve gone grocery shopping and stocked the fridge, and I’ve even spent two nights in a row in my very own bed! The bad news is that I still feel ungrounded, unsettled, anxious and on edge.
For the last few months sometimes the only thing that kept me going was that I could tell myself, “Just hang on. Dear friend will be back from her train tour of North America soon and you will move into the Tiny White House with Shocking Aquarmarine Trim and everything will be great.” Well, here we are now, all moved in, and I don’t feel great. That disappointment is hard to accept, as is the fact that now I don’t know what to tell myself anymore to help abate the anxiety.
Being back in Harrisonburg and away from my closest friend doesn’t feel right. The problem is that the solution to that – relocating to Charm City – doesn’t feel right, either. At least not now. So I find myself in the weird place of having a home of my own for the first time in more than a year, but not feeling like I belong anywhere.
I’m pretty sure that focusing on this feeling and trying not to feel that way would be a colossal waste of energy. Instead I’m trying to busy myself with things that make me feel connected to the community and life I do have here: having a friend over for dinner last night (in exchange for IT support), kickball team practice tonight, coffee with another friend tomorrow, watching the young children of a dear friend on Thursday, yoga class and happy hour Friday, the Harrisonburg Farmer’s Market Saturday…
My hope is that just as I woke up one day realizing that I suddenly didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere, if I actively work to strengthen my connections here I’ll just as suddenly wake up one day feeling solid in my sense of belonging. With my luck, though, this will probably be the day before I leave Harrisonburg for good.
A couple months ago, a friend of mine confided in me and a group of friends about the struggles and challenges she was currently facing in her life. For a mix of reasons, including my own personal history and the perspective that gives me, I was immediately able to see her situation for what it was: a serious crisis. I candidly told her and our friends what I thought, and I was met with blank stares and patronizing pats on the back as I was told that I was “over-reacting” and that I “lacked perspective.” I couldn’t believe my ears: we were all hearing this person say the same things and I felt like I was the only one who was see clearly what was happening and what would happen if drastic measures weren’t taken, and taken quickly.
I felt like I was watching this person’s house be engulfed in flames and I was desperately running around looking for a fire hydrant, while everyone else was content to sit back and casually hand this person glasses of water.
I hate hate hate hate to say this, but I was right. Her house burnt to the ground this week. I find no solace or comfort in being able to say, “I told you so.” I don’t even find any real comfort in the knowledge that I do, apparently, know what I’m talking about when it comes to certain issues. All I can think of when I look at the wreckage is the fact that it didn’t have to be this way, and that makes me sad beyond my ability to convey.
Some couples argue about sex. Others argue about annoying habits like one partner constantly leaving the lights on after having the left the room or the other partner routinely leaving dirty laundry on the floor.
Us? Nothing much. We just argue about anosognosia and the implications of said symptom on the legitimacy of coercive treatment.
Um… I guess I should be grateful when we argue at least its about something important…
I think Lamberth’s interpretation of the law is 100% correct: NIH cannot fund embryonic stem cell research. Dickey-Wicker clearly prohibits such, and trying to get around that regulation, as researchers have, by claiming that your research is only destroying the cells and not the actual embryos (which have already been destroyed) is ludicrous.
Notice I said his interpretation of the law is correct, not that the law itself makes any sense. Which it doesn’t. Dickey-Wicker needs to be repealed immediately and embryonic stem cell research needs to increase. This research is going to be the thing that leads to the cure of countless genetic diseases in the future. One day, probably in the not so distant future, we will look back on Dickey-Wicker and its supporters and be horrified that people actually ever supported such unimaginably cruel, pointless, and scientifically unfounded legislation.