Oh, so that's what I've been doing wrong!

Over the last couple months, I've been growing more and more... frustrated?  Stressed?  Annoyed?

Whatever it is, it's been bad.  It feels like the sky has grayed out, which is, in my experience, one of the signs that I'm depressed.  Naturally, I've been concerned about this.

But the thing is, I haven't felt depressed.  I've been smiling less, true, and I've been seeing some of the symptoms... but not all of them.  Not even half of the ones I'm so familiar with, really.  Which, to my mind, meant I was in the "danger zone", but not actually depressed yet.  Mostly just stressed, which is no minor thing--stress affects an awful lot--but it's not the inescapable spiral of the depression.

So okay.  I've been aware of this, as I say, for a couple of months.  And it's been frustrating:  I'm finding myself frequently aggravated with people who aren't really doing anything wrong.  I've been finding myself wanting to snap over things which, hey, would annoy anyone, but they're probably annoying me a bit more than they should.

And, you know, Hilary's condition isn't helping.

But it wasn't until today that I realized what the problem was.  And in a way, it's gratifying, because I was right:  I haven't been depressed.

I've been without Joy. 

Joy is seriously freaking important.  Which we knew:  I'm sure there are plenty of studies out there on the effects of love on a person's personality, and the effects of vacation on productivity, and so forth.  Some day when I need post material I'll go dig those studies up.

But what I hadn't realized is that a lack of joy was what was affecting me.  I've been busy, okay:  there are times when I don't see my best friend the whole week, and I barely read fanfiction at all these days; I cook less because I don't have time, and I don't do yoga anymore, and I don't even have a cat these days, much less a significant other.  I don't have time:  I go to work, I come home, I sleep; I go to school, I come home, I volunteer, I go to work; I visit my sister, I come home, I do homework, I sleep.  No time.  I am not making this up or exaggerating.  No.  Time.

I've been trying for almost a month to get together with my college advisers (somebody decided it would be best for us to have two, for some reason), and of course the schedules haven't been meshing, but the reason I've been trying to get ahold of them is because I've known subconsciously what I just figured out the reason for:  I can not do this another quarter.  Next quarter I must have a lighter schedule, because I almost had a breakdown over a lost earring today, and that's really not acceptable.

Even if it was one of my favorite earrings.

And the reason for all this is, no joy.  Joy is what makes everything else worth it, and without joy, it really hasn't been seeming worth it.  I've been wondering what the heck I'm bothering for, really. 

And it's not like my reasons have gone away; I just... forgot, for a little while:

When I'm dating, I want to be the sort of person my significant other is proud of.  When I'm a mother, I want to be able to support my children.  When I go to Meeting, I want to be an elder, and I want to support my community.  I want to be the person that other people lean on.  When I look back on my life from the age of eighty, I want to be able to say honestly that I lived up to my full potential and, consistently, helped people. 

That's all stuff in the future; but to get to the future, I need a solid base now.  That's why I'm doing this. 

But it's hard to remember that when you don't have time to go see any of the people you love.

Well, that's one way to put it.

This article, I feel, wins some sort of an award for best introductory paragraph.

And yes, we did already know that... sort of.

Things learned sitting in a cold car on the way back from the ICU

I haven’t been updating this blog for a while; the cardinal sin of blogs, I know.  I have to tell you, that anaconda I mentioned a while back?  It hasn’t quite managed to, oh, masticate and digest me (I don’t think anacondas masticate anyway, but go with it), but it’s definitely got at least a grip on me with its jaws.  And if I’m going to drop anything to keep myself from going down in flames, I have to say, the not-for-profit, maybe-three-readers-a-week blog is going to be the one I put on hold.

I apologize: I know how disappointing that probably is to my three readers.

Sorry.

I’m taking the time to post now, though, because I really need to just chill for a while, and I suspect that posting to the blog will do it.

So, the anaconda thing:  It’s a little frustrating.  Because, I have to tell you, I wasn’t going to get swallowed by the anaconda at all.  I was going to make it—boy howdy, was I going to make it; I was on top of everything—except that people kept getting blood clots.

First it was a friend of mine.  He was in terrible condition, but he’s much better now; up and walking around and basically back to being awesome again. 

Now, it’s my sister.

I’m not terribly comfortable talking about my sister’s condition on the internet, so I’m going to leave it at “she’s in very bad shape”.  If you’re someone who prays, please do.

But this blog is, after all, about the things I learn for myself re: being a healthy individual, and I have learned something from all this.  It’s something important that I really do have to share.  And you needed to know that bit about my sister to understand it.

Anecdote number one:

I skipped a class today.  We had a lecture and then a quiz, and I asked to take the quiz and then leave, and they let me.  There was a review session on Monday for the same class, and I skipped it, too.  And you know, I could have gotten a higher score on that quiz—about 20%-25% higher, I’m guessing, although they haven’t graded it yet—if I had stayed.  I decided it wasn’t worth it.

But I let the TA's know why I was leaving.

Anecdote number two:

I had a total meltdown on Saturday.  Basically, I had that one day to catch up on everything, and my boss told me (in a non-optional sort of way) that I had to come in and work a double.  I looked at everything I needed to do, realized I couldn’t do it all, and started just sobbing.

I cried for about an hour and half, and then I sort of pulled myself together while visiting my sister (for all of about three minutes, because I was already late) before going on in to work.  I got to work, and someone asked me if I was okay; I put on my apron, and another person asked me if I was okay; I walked onto the floor, and a third person asked if I was alright…

…and I started sobbing again.

I explained to management that I was in a somewhat altered emotional state, and that I could not pretend to be normal long enough to give the guests a pleasant experience.  My managers, sympathetic, sent me home.  Another server traded me my scheduled shift that evening, too, which blew me away:  all of a sudden, I was able to get everything done, spend time with my family, and have enough time to get my head on straight and recover. 

Needless to say, my sympathetic managers also know about my sister.

Other than that, though, I haven't been talking about it.  I've been reluctant to tell people about her, in part because, if I’m not taking time off of (whatever) specifically so that I can spend it with her, I feel like I’m using her as an excuse to do just what I wanted to do, anyway. 

Except, as I realized tonight, that’s not it, really.

What is it, is that the stuff I want to do: get ahead on my lab notebook, pre-cook breakfasts for the week, spend some time walking around campus, visiting my parents and cuddling both them and their cats…  That’s the stuff I used to want to do.

Now, given the outrageously high stress levels I’ve been thrust into, that’s all stuff I need to do.  I no longer have the option of just bottling up the stress, because there’s too much to bottle.  And I can no longer not-bottle by doing the same amount of, uh... decanting?  My metaphor is starting to break down, here.  The point is, though, that I need to do more than I used to need to do if I’m going to deal with the pressure that is upon me. 

I was about to say that some things are going to have to get dropped, but I just realized that that’s not the case.  Some things are going to have to be put down.  And what I realized tonight is that when I put things down, I should tell people why I’m doing it.  Because it’s not a ploy for sympathy if it’s all true, and the fact that I’m not spending the time at my sister’s bedside doesn’t mean that I’m not spending it doing something-I-wouldn’t-need-to-do-if-she-were-well.

Two more notes and then I’ll put this away and go study for my exam tomorrow:

Number one, if you’re reading this blog because you’re a friend of mine (and I’m pretty sure everybody who reads it is a friend of mine), and you haven’t heard from me in a while, this is probably why.  It’s not personal.

Number two, if you have the urge to do something for my sister, you can pray, or… no, prayer is pretty much the only option, here.  Her name is Hilary D. Hatch, one L.

Let us hold her in the light.

Glow In The Dark

Even apart from the incredibly awesome visuals, this research actually may contribute to a cure for HIV.

Plus?  Glow-in-the-dark cats.

I broke out in hives, once...

...But it was right after a weekend in which I consumed approximately two gallons of Mountain Dew, so I was probably getting what I deserved.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/health/sns-rt-us-black-allergiestre7842ho-20110905,0,3102037.story

This story basically says that allergies are genetically linked, and are more prominent in people of African descent.  It was pretty interesting, I thought;  my main experience with allergies is of two kinds, and both involve fakers. 

The first one is an acquaintance of mine—whom I’m not going to name for her privacy, although she absolutely knows who she is—who dislikes certain vegetables and has therefore declared herself to be allergic to anything even related to the “deadly nightshade” family.   She cheerfully eats many items containing relatives of that selfsame family.  This is somewhat exasperating (although I still love her dear stupid little heart.)

The second one is professional; I serve in a restaurant, and about once or twice a month or so I get in someone who claims to have an allergy.  About half the time they are lying.  No, I don’t secretly feed them (butter/cheese/gluten/pork) or anything like that, but I work with people all day:  I look at their faces, and I know they are lying.  I also know our menu pretty well, so I’m able to answer a bunch of questions, and I cheerfully hook them up with our allergen menu:  after all, whether or not they’re lying, they almost certainly don’t want to eat the (butter/cheese/gluten/pork). 

And I’m here to serve the best interests of my guests, so I make sure they don’t get it.

But the interesting point of the above anecdote isn’t that half the people who tell me they have an allergy are lying; the interesting thing is that I only have this conversation about once or twice a month.  (And a quick conversation with some coworkers reveals that I may get it more often than most!)

The first thing I’ll notice is that the children in the article are between the ages of two and three; that’s pretty much entirely too young to be faking an allergy for attention, so that source of inaccuracy is out.  According to the article, 22% of white children and 38% of black children show evidence of “sensitization” to foods—that’s roughly one in five and two in five, respectively. 

On a reasonably busy night I’ll take care of roughly forty people  (very roughly; that might be a bit low…)  Granted, sensitization is not the same as allergy, but according to Wikipedia allergies are present in 5-7% of children, and roughly 3% of the overall population.  I should be seeing at least one a night, right?

So why aren’t people saying anything to me?  Well, if their allergy isn’t severe, they may be willing to take the risk.  They may think they can figure it out from reading the menu—and if they’re allergic to large quantities only, they may well be able to.  If they have trace sensitivity, though, then they’ll need to ask about it. 

That’s the point at which I’m confused.  Why wouldn’t you ask the person who has specifically been assigned to answer your questions the questions you need to ask in order to, you know, breathe? 

Courtesy of "Hyperbole and a half"

I found this relatively descriptive of reality:

http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-why-ill-never-be-adult.html

Hush, my child... (Part I)

This article states fairly baldly some facts which, I think, are relatively well-known.  Raise your (metaphorical internet) hands:  who out there didn't know that humans need sleep?

However, we tend to be pretty bad at putting it into practice.  Much like that whole thing about "don't eat a whole bunch of sugar" and "make sure to get plenty of exercise", "make sure you get plenty of sleep" is one of those rules that, well...  I'm sure other people need to get plenty of sleep, but I'll be just fine!  Right?

I have a friend doing the experiment noted in the article; that is, he is actually getting eight hours of sleep every night and seeing how it affects him.  And you know what?  I think he's happier, more effective, more together, and less stressed.  Of course, school isn't back in session, either, but the point remains.  I have both subjective and objective evidence that this works, here.

So why can't I (and several million other people) get the sleep I (we) need at night?

Well, one answer is the one alluded to in the article, that our minds are racing with unsolved questions and problems.  This is especially true if you're in the camp I am, which is the "finally come home to fall asleep" camp.  (As opposed to the "come home and relax, then fall asleep" camp.) 

This is largely necessity, as I work second shift, and the restaurant I work at doesn't close until two some nights.  Attempting to "chillax" between coming home and going to sleep can keep me up until four in the morning; unfortunately, I have a difficult time falling asleep without chilling and/or relaxing after coming home.  I can crawl into bed, sure enough, but being exhausted from the mental and physical labor of my job is insufficient for actually falling asleep:  my mind is simply too active.

I suspect I'm not the only one who has this problem; in fact, I know I'm not.  The solution seems to be to account for "relaxation" time when building a schedule, but the fact is that's not always possible.  (Going to school and working full time, there will be nights (Tuesdays) that I get home at one thirty and have to be in class by nine the next morning.  I sincerely hope my Institutional Management professor will understand about the absurd volume of coffee I'll be drinking.)

Another answer is routine.  As a server, I am frequently (Friday and Saturday every week) out until two in the morning just getting home from work.  Add to that the fact that going out for a drink after work is a social activity which significantly improves the work experience in restaurants (was that diplomatically-phrased enough?  I also genuinely like the people I hang out with,) and there's usually one night a week when I'm awake not only until two, but until four or later.  That makes it difficult to fall asleep at midnight the rest of the week, as is my goal. 

However, again, I'm in a situation where the current sleep schedule is the best alternative.  For one thing, although I almost never get the full eight hours of sleep unless I sleep through the alarm (not ideal), I almost always get at least six.  That seems to be enough for me to function at a pseudo-normal level. 

For another thing, the late hours caused by my job and the early hours caused by my schooling (and I gave up two great shifts at work to get out of taking Organic Chemistry at eight in the morning!) are the sacrifice I have to make to eventually get into the career I want:  the schooling is a pre-requisite, and the restaurant job I have now is the most flexible job I have ever had.  I can give up a shift the day before and be fine--and it's completely acceptable by the standards of my workplace; in fact, to an extent it's expected. 

That means that if I need to study extra hard for, oh, maybe an Organic Chemistry exam, I can do that.  This flexibility is a dream for a girl with 18 credits this quarter (and three labs, what was I thinking?)

Of course, maybe I wouldn't need to study so hard if I were getting enough sleep at night.