Tag Archives: insanity

Snorting Eucalyptus

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The view from where I’m sitting.  Yeah, I know.  Gives a whole new meaning to “still life”  

Yes, snorting eucalyptus IS what I’ve been doing for the past twenty-four days, which WP was kind enough to remind me is also how long it’s been since my last post.  Even W noticed this strange silence in November, the month in which we are supposed to be writing our little hearts out.  I did the polite Canadian thing and kept my comments about the American election more or less to myself, except for sharing a few news stories on Facebook.  That’s been pretty hard.  Are y’all batshit crazy down there??  Well I know you’re not, and have faith that sanity will prevail.  You know, before we all die hating each other.

In the summer I was blaming my stuffed up sinuses and chronic cough on seasonal allergies, but I’m not sure what the heck is going on now.  Rather than complain (and rewire my brain for negativity) (seriously, that’s an actual thing) I tried allergy pills and nasal sprays and decongestants, and elevated my blood pressure in the process.  So I ditched all that stuff, but I still wanted to breathe, so now I’m using my little air purifier even though there’s already an air purifier on our furnace.  Our air is PURE, man.  And I’m shooting a eucalyptus based spray up my nasal passages more than the recommended four times a day.  It does not cause rebound congestion and it works very well, for about twenty minutes.  Then it doesn’t anymore.

My hematologist said my chest was wheezy, and suggested I go back to my GP for an inhaler.  So that’s next.  I’ve had pneumonia.  I don’t want it again.  I keep running out of tissues.  My life is hell.  No of course it isn’t.

Other than wheezy breath I’m healthy enough I guess, because the hematologist said to come back in a year.  Her pre-screener gave me longer than that. I think.  The first thing he said to me was “…so, you’re sixty-seven, you’ve got another ten or twenty years to go.  Because, you know, eighties….” I did not know what the proper response was to that statement but probably because of the blank look on my face he quickly changed the subject and went on to other things.  Weirdo.

And speaking of weird, W said if I had nothing to write about I could always talk about him.  Wow.  He should NOT be encouraging that.

I never had much of a love for Christmas when I was growing up (too much church and  too many crazy relatives) (although the food was good), but when I met W his enthusiasm for the holiday was infectious.  He still absolutely loves Christmas.   He puts up the outdoor lights in mid November.  This year he added two spotlights which sit on the front lawn and flash revolving red and blue lights all over our house.  And the snow. And maybe the sky.  When I’m sitting in the living room they also flash all over the ceiling and the walls.  I told him it’s a good thing neither of us is prone to epileptic seizures and God help our neighbours if they are.  He didn’t find that even remotely funny.

Maybe my eucalyptus spritz is hallucinogenic.  Because he loves the lights.  He found out they are now on sale so I suggested he go get a couple more and the sarcasm was completely lost on him.

I wonder when my brain got rewired for sarcasm.  There’s probably a doctor for that, hey?

In other news, I put shelf liner in my cupboards this week.  Our washing machine (age 22 years) died a noisy death and has been replaced by a newer but amazingly similar model (but this one is water efficient, so there’s that) which cost less than the price of repairing the old one.  W also loves a bargain.

And I love my ordinary little life with a husband who thinks it’s funny that I find him funny.  There’s always something to be thankful for.  Like eucalyptus being a scent that kind of grows on you.  That’s a big one for sure.

The Twelfth Day of June

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I have always been insanely jealous of my sisters hair.  Well maybe not insanely because I can go for several days at a time without even thinking about it.  Okay, insanely is probably pretty accurate.

Today is her birthday. She was born on Thursday the 12th.  When I was old enough to realize the significance of my own Friday the 13th birthday I decided to never forgive her for arriving a day early.  Although it may have been a relief for our mother.  I don’t know, I never asked her.

Anyway, back to the hair.  Hers was blonde.  It was curly.  It framed her cherubic little face in perfectly natural ringlets and waves.  My own poker straight dark hair showed every chop of the scissors, flat and boyish and boring in comparison.

Not much has changed in sixty years.  Except that I inherited our dads family trait of going grey early.  I like to think it’s silvery and I wish for it to some day be as white as my aunts and uncles.  Whatever, grey is grey.   With no hair coloring help whatsoever, Mom kept the color in her hair for a lot longer.  And my sister (with a little help) is doing that too. Now she has lots of blonde streaks and highlights in her waves and curls.

W asked me one time why I didn’t let my hair grow longer like my sisters.  I fought off the urge to grab him by the neck and choke him while yelling that he should grow back his bald spot and then we’d talk.  Because, you know, that would have been childish.  Instead I patiently explained that our hair is completely different and that mine would not look the same.  At all.  So shut up about the hair.

Yes, insanely is looking more accurate by the minute.

On our holiday my sister let her hair dry naturally and then gave it a quick brush and it looked perfect.  For the rest of the day.  I blew mine dry because if I don’t all the cowlicks show.  I put gel in it because if I don’t it’s about as thick as the wispy hair on a two-year old.  Normally I would use my brush curling iron to add some body but I was afraid I’d blow up or burn out our adapter and not be able to charge our more important things like camera batteries and I-Pads.  So I spritzed it all over with hair spray and called it done.  It looked good for approximately ten minutes every day, and then reverted back to exactly how it looked upon emerging from the shower.

I love my sister to death.  I want her hair.  I will die with this one fervent wish never granted.  I hope she has a happy birthday.  I hope she appreciates her beautiful hair.  It’s way past time for me to get over this and let it go.  I don’t think I ever will.

How insane is that.

Harvest Moon

English: harvest moon
English: harvest moon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Tonight’s the night.  The moon I see isn’t orange or pink, but it’s full and bright and lighting up this cool September night.  It has other names – maybe you know it better as Full Corn Moon, Elk Moon, Wine Moon (that would be my choice) or Singing Moon.

No matter what you call it, when there’s a Harvest Moon it’s a good idea to stay calm, breathe deeply, let your negativity go and focus on sending positive energy out into the universe.

You should also send blessings, healing and peaceful energy, forgiveness and loving kindness.  The alternative, if the moon catches you in a bad mood,  is to suffer from temporary insomnia and insanity.  Whatever emotions you’re feeling are multiplied a gazillion times by a full moon.  So sprinkle your world with moon glitter and make with the good vibes.  Yes, the part about moon glitter I made up, but the rest of it could all be true.

Until tonight I didn’t realize the moon had so many aliases.

  • January – Wold Moon, Old Moon
  • February – Snow Moon, Hunger Moon
  • March – Worm, Crow, Sap, or Lenten Moon
  • April – Seed, Pink, Sprouting Grass, Egg, or Fish Moon.  Go April.
  • May – Milk Moon, Flower Moon, Corn Planting Moon
  • June – Mead, Strawberry, Rose or Thunder Moon.
  • July – Hay Moon, Buck Moon, or another Thunder Moon
  • August – Corn Moon, Sturgeon Moon, Red Moon, Green Corn Moon, Grain Moon.  Whew.
  • September – Harvest Moon,  Full Corn Moon
  • October – Hunter’s Moon, Blood/Sanguine Moon
  • November – Beaver Moon, Frosty Moon
  • December – Oak Moon, Cold Moon, Long Nights Moon

Memorize this list and impress your friends.

To get yourself into the proper Harvest Moon mood, sing along with Neil.  And check out the dude with the broom in the parking lot.  I told you the moon makes you do weird stuff.

Come a little bit closer
Hear what I have to say
Just like children sleeping
We could dream this night away.

But there’s a full moon rising
Let’s go dancing in the light
We know where the music’s playing
Let’s go out and feel the night.

Because I’m still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I’m still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

When we were strangers
I watched you from afar
When we were lovers
I loved you with all my heart.

But now it’s getting late
And the moon is climbing high
I want to celebrate
See it shining in your eye.

Because I’m still in love with you
I want to see you dance again
Because I’m still in love with you
On this harvest moon.

What Makes Me Nervous

Night driving. Big dogs running free. Large bodies of water, especially the kind with large waves crashing against large rocks. The doorbell ringing when I’m not expecting anyone. Being a passenger combined with excessive speed. Little kids in shopping carts. Well, not the kids themselves, but the potentially dangerous situation they’re in, especially if their parents have wandered off and another child is pushing the cart or climbing onto it.

Talking to crazy people I guess is the worst. Because at first it’s hard to determine the degree of insanity involved and by the time I get it, the conversation is well underway and sometimes difficult to stop. A good example would be the guy who walked into the Vision Centre yesterday while I was minding my own business getting some paperwork done. He said he thought he had gotten something in his eye (I assume that would be the one he kept pointing at and blinking madly) and that this happens often in his particular work environment because there are foreign objects hurling themselves around in there. It could be dust or metal or dirt or who knows what. Did he not wear safety glasses I wanted to know. He pooh poohed the whole idea of eye protection. Not necessary when you can just wash it out. So could I do that for him. Wash it out. Where was my eye washer? I know about eye-wash stations, and we don’t have one. So I suggested he go to a medi-centre and get an actual doctor to look at it and flush out whatever might be in there.

Nope, he wanted an eyeball wash and he wanted me to be the one to do it. He had a really hard time being convinced that there was no equipment and no person, doctor or otherwise, on the premises that washed eyeballs at the moment. Then he wanted to know what I did personally to wash my own eyeballs. This is the point where I started to get nervous. Because eyeball washing is not something I’ve ever incorporated into my daily routine. So I didn’t know what to say except that I’ve never done that.

“What do you mean, you don’t wash the eyeballs? Why do you not wash the eyeballs? I only want the eyeballs washed, and you say you cannot do it!”

I think that’s the point where I just stopped talking altogether because what could I say that wouldn’t get me into even deeper eyeball hygiene hot water.

We stared at each other for a while and then he stomped off saying he would just have to go somewhere else to get it done and what kind of place was this with no eyeball washing. Phew.

And I guess that’s how I cope. Sit still, be silent, keep breathing, and wait for whatever it is to go away.

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