Pain Tolerance

I have a pretty high level of pain tolerance when it comes to physical pain. I started my job while suffering from shingles (which I've still got), I got my wisdom teeth pulled without any anesthesia, I routinely dislocate my shoulder and pop it back in on my own.

But I've got a very low pain tolerance when it comes to emotional pain. I get my feelings hurt pretty easily. When someone hurts me, sometimes it hurts so bad that I'm literally incapacitated. Sometimes it hurts so bad I would almost rather die, even though I know I don't really want to.

My tolerance for emotional pain is so low that there is nowhere I feel safe. Unconditional love...do I really believe in it, outside of the context of God's love? A friend of mine once got incredibly angry with me for saying that I didn't, but then, he didn't believe in God. Didn't believe in God, yet somehow believed that human beings were capable of unconditional love. Maybe it's the Chicago-trained economist in me: people act out of their own self-interest. People love you as long as you're useful. If you can't come to terms with that, it's only going to open up more vistas of pain in the end.

I'm still alive

I survived week 1 of being back at a law firm. Actually, it wasn't too bad. I've been busy, but not painfully so. Good busy. And the people are nice. It already seems like a more relaxed environment than at my old firm. The infrastructure isn't nearly as good, but what are you going to do.

It's a beautiful Saturday here, but I'm heading into the office for a little bit. Would've liked to have gone surfing this weekend and last, but I've developed, of all things, a case of shingles. Yes, shingles. It's caused by the chicken pox virus, which lives in your system forever once you've had a case of chicken pox. Usually, though, it only reactivates in old people or people with otherwise compromised immune systems. I think maybe I was more stressed about starting the new job than my conscious mind was aware.

Anyhow, it's not life-threatening or even particularly debilitating, although it is painful. Feels like I've ripped a bunch of muscles in my right side. But it's getting better. Today it feels more like someone kicked me hard a couple of times in the ribs. This by itself wouldn't stop me from surfing (I've had worse injuries), but the compromised immune system thing scares me - there are a lot of nasty bugs in the water, and if my immune system isn't up to the task right now, then I'm not going to push it. After all, I have a job to do.

Breathe

Why does sadness blur into the desperation of the hunted, and both translate into difficulty breathing?

Love actually

I love lots of people - my husband, family, certain friends - but loving people is like having lots of nerve endings exposed to the world. When someone hurts someone I love, it hurts me so much I sometimes think I'll go crazy - I can't sleep, staying up plotting vengeance or crying with rage and frustration and pain. Wrong me and I may forgive you some day. Wrong someone I love and you've earned my undying enmity and a voodoo doll with your name on it. My husband, taking a line from Toni Morrison, often tells me my "love is too thick." It is, to the point of sinfulness. It may be my greatest sin: my inability to forgive and love my enemies. "But I say to you who hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. . . . And if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them." Luke 6:27, 32.

There's hate and bitterness and vengeance in my heart, even though I know it hurts God more than I am hurt to see me reacting this way.

Jesus has asked one thing only of me: that I feed His sheep. And I can't do it. Not if that sheep is someone who has wronged someone I love. I love Jesus. I want to obey Him in the one thing He's asked of me. And I just can't do it.

Autumn coming

School's in session again, at least in the school district in which my mother-in-law works. I can't believe that summer is nearly over. And 2007 draws to a close. Why do I lose track of time the way that I do? Seems like just yesterday that I was shivering in my under-insulated apartment, waiting for warm days, tank-top weather, and now here it is fall again. Good thing I love fall. Pumpkins and colored leaves and jacket weather, long walks with just a nip in the air. Hot cider, cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves, all those pungent spices. Sitting in front of the fireplace, watching the flames. It's not quite the same in California as it was in the Midwest, although it's not true that we don't have seasons. The leaves change color here, too. I think the difference is that people here don't appreciate it as much. In the Midwest, fall is a reprieve, a welcome transition between summer and the harshness of winter. Here, fall and winter blur together a little more; at least, we don't dread winter as much.

I woke up literally shaking in the middle of the night last night, after a particularly vivid and horrible nightmare. Transitions have always been hard on me, I think. I live too much inside my own head. Slowly learning to put one foot in front of the other again. Things always seem more poignant after a bout of depression; everything just a little more beautiful, in the terrible sense of "nothing gold can stay."

Summer days running by

Dinner with a bunch of friends last night, many of whom I haven't seen in a year or more. It was really nice. I'm starting to feel more at peace, with the job, with life in general. I'm so used to thinking of myself as a misanthrope that I underestimate how important it is to have people around you who care about you. I came away from dinner feeling encouraged.

Plus, the weather is just so beautiful, the days still long and lazy, it's hard to be depressed. I do have bad days, bad nights, but I'm getting them under control. It's easier to get out of bed in the mornings; I no longer feel the need to sleep away my days. I've been more productive: took care of paperwork for the new job, put in a drip system for the garden, spent time shopping for friends and friends' babies. Mercenary as it sounds, the best thing about the job is anticipating the paycheck: I love giving gifts, and it's nice to be able to do it without worrying about the bills. Although maybe I'm anticipating the paycheck a little too much, seeing as how I won't actually receive one for another month yet.

Nervous Nelly

Now that I've actually accepted an offer and turned down another one, I feel locked in and way too nervous. I've been running around trying to take care of everything before I start working again. It's like getting your affairs in order before dying, and it feels the same way. I don't expect to see much of my family or friends, or my home, in coming days.

At the same time, my body is reacting strangely, like it's shutting itself down - it's harder and harder for me to get out of bed in the mornings, and often, I go all day without eating or drinking and feel no hunger or thirst. Maybe it's not that my body is shutting down, but that my mind has become disconnected from my body.

I went to get a haircut yesterday - I figured it was less sick than other forms of cutting, and might be similarly therapeutic. Unfortunately, the stylist was nervous, as many of them usually are when confronted with a request for drastic change. My hair has grown quite long since I cut and donated it last year. I asked her to cut it short again, but she wouldn't. So now it's layered, but otherwise looks the same. Disappointing. She also admired my highlights and asked who had done the coloring. I had to tell her that it was my natural mutt-colored hair, a remnant from long-forgotten Portuguese or Dutch ancestors, enhanced by UV radiation, salt water, and chlorine.

Do The Right Thing

Why do people say this like it should be so easy, the right thing apparent in any given situation? I want to do the right thing - I want to do what God wants - but I just don't know what it is anymore. Do the "responsible" thing and go back to work so that my family doesn't have to worry about money, so we can give more to church and charities? Do the "self-fulfilling" thing and stay here, stay home, keep writing and hoping and praying for someone to buy my book? Do the "practical" thing and keep looking for a middle ground, for a job that won't take my life and my soul, that will leave me time to write on the side? Which one of these is the "right" thing?

I have been so depressed and discouraged lately. It's hard to keep putting one foot in front of the other when you don't know if the journey is leading anywhere. I need a pick-me-up, but I don't even know what that would be, I'm so play-challenged.

Doldrums

The sun is shining and life is good, but the "mean reds" are back again...

Nightmares

When I was younger, I frequently had vivid, terrifying nightmares. In college, they were so bad at times that concerned friends would sleep on my floor, or, if they had to stay up studying, would do so in my room, just so they could be there, be a comforting presence, when I woke up in a chilled sweat. Sometimes I would be too frightened to fall back asleep.

I still had incredibly vivid dreams, but, for the most part, the nightmares stopped after I got married. Until now. For the last week or so, nightmares have once again woken me from sound sleep. Upon waking, I find myself contorted into the same strange position each time: both arms bent and thrown up over my head, as though to protect me from some blow. It's an uncomfortable position; my shoulders ache and feel stiff, like they do when they've popped out of joint and I've had to pop them back in.

I don't know what it means. I'm not under a lot of stress, and certainly not as much stress as I've been under in other, nightmare-free days. I haven't been eating funny things before I go to bed (supposing this actually makes a difference to your dreams; I've never spotted a pattern). I wish I knew what was causing them, and how to make them stop.

Two or three things I know for sure

Few writers can grab your heart and wring it the way Dorothy Allison does. I read her books years ago, but every now and then a line or two that she's written will play in my head. The title of her memoir especially.

What do I know for sure? I repeat them to myself - my central tenets - over and over again to ward off the anxieties that besiege me. Anxiety is a terrible thing; being struck by lightning is one thing, quick and easy. Anxiety is like being chewed to death by little mice. The constant pounding of your heart, the difficulty breathing, day in and day out, like drowning slowly with the sun in your eyes, knowing the surface clear air is near but unreachable.

So what do I know for sure? "Cast all your anxiety upon Him because He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7.
The love of God. My husband. My family. Certain friends.
This, too, shall pass.

It's more than most people have, more than most people know.

Getting a Grip

I was stood up by yet another contractor yesterday. Lovely.

I feel this low-grade anxiety humming in the back of my head like a motor. I've spent a lot of time lately trying to pinpoint its source, but not much luck so far. Instead, I've been acting like a mal-adjusted sprinkler head, spewing discontent in random directions. Well, not so random. It's more like a heightening of frustrations I already had. Thankfully, I'm going on vacation next week. (Can I call it a vacation, even though I have no "real" job from which to vacate?) Unfortunately sans husband, but it'll give me time to hang out with my sister. Who knows, maybe Hawaii will help me unwind. Looking forward to the surf.

Tennis

To me, the best songs are the ones that remind me of something. I heard Alanis Morissette on the radio today. While I was in New Zealand, my cousin played her first CD non-stop. It was in New Zealand, skin cancer capitol of the world, that I first played on an indoor tennis court. Actually, it was the only time I've ever played on an indoor tennis court.

Tennis saved me during high school. Only in my hours on the court could I forget about the body of which I was so ashamed (believing myself to be fat and ugly). Only on the court did I feel in control. During the summers, I would sometimes play seven hours a day; sometimes with a friend, sometimes with one or another of my coaches, sometimes by myself, practicing my serve over and over and over again, till my eyes were bloodshot from staring into the sun. There were nights when I couldn't fall asleep, replaying certain points in my head, seeing the tennis ball in vivid color behind my closed eyelids, a zahir. I played till my hands blistered and bled, till my muscles would no longer support me. I wrote my college essays about tennis.

And tennis extracted a price from me. The pains I have now - my knees, my wrists, the shoulder I dislocate time and again - are all from those hours I spent. Moreover, tennis cost me one of my best friends at the time. I was voted Most Valuable Player our senior year, and she never forgave me for it. We both knew she was the better player, but I won more matches and our coach and teammates loved me for it.

I wonder sometimes what she's doing now, if she's happy. I wonder how well we ever knew each other, and if she would recognize me if she saw me now. I don't often play anymore. I've long since lost the trophies, misplaced the pictures. I wonder if I've really changed all that much, or if tennis could somehow save me again.

Solid Ground

Sick with longing for something I can't see, don't know what it is; panting after a chimera whose shape changes constantly. My heart beating so fast, it burns through my chest and my breath catches. I am running out of air, running scared. The object of desire is out there and it waits for me with claws and fangs, it waits for me while I chase after it in a maze of unknowing. In this place I can only be alone and alone is where I do not want to be. I think I want certainty, but do I, when certainty can only mean the end?

As Seen on TV

Or rather, on Youtube. I dislocated my shoulder again yesterday, while playing Wii tennis with my brother. The funny thing is, we'd just played a "real" tennis game earlier, and the shoulder was fine for that. Guess the warnings they put on the Wii aren't just silly lawyer-talk.

Old Sports Injury

I developed a deep bond with two of the guys I used to work with when, as we were sitting around talking one day, the conversation turned to old sports injuries, sustained in our glory days. (For all three of us, these were, sadly, all the way back in high school.) It's funny but cute how guys love to talk about this. Their faces just lit up as they were describing torn ligaments, broken limbs, etc.

My chief injury in high school was a dislocated shoulder (from playing tennis), and it has proved to be the gift that keeps on giving. Once you dislocate your shoulder, those ligaments (or tendons or whatever they are) never really heal - they're always kind of loose, so that frequent re-dislocation is possible and even likely. It happened again yesterday. I made some weird motion as I was trying to open a door - a weird motion necessitated by the large box of groceries I was trying to balance in my other hand. Fortunately, it popped right back in again.

The last time it popped out and stayed out, I was with my husband. We were just getting out of the car; I was still in the passenger seat, and I reached behind me to grab something from the back seat, forgetting that this sort of motion is verboten for people without proper ligaments.

Shoulder dislocation is very painful. To give you some sense of the pain, I have a friend who has both dislocated her shoulder and given birth, and of the two, she claims that the dislocation hurt more. I fell out of the car in agony. My husband figured out what was wrong pretty quickly, even though I was in too much pain to say anything. "Throw yourself against something!" he yelled. "Like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon! Throw yourself on the ground!"

The ground was my only option as the nearest wall was too far for me to reach in my injured state. I threw myself down on the ground. This did in fact work, and the shoulder popped back into place.

While I was still on the ground, however, two women (maybe early middle-age, dressed in exercise clothes) walked by. It must have looked bad, me on the ground, my husband standing over me, both of us looking rather distraught. They stopped and stooped down to ask me if everything was okay. "She's fine," my husband said. They ignored him completely, and asked me again if everything was okay. "I'm fine," I said. My husband added, "She just dislocated her shoulder." This time the women glared at him, and then asked me if I was sure that I didn't need any help. I assured them again that everything was fine, and they finally walked away.

My poor husband was so traumatized. Now, any time we have even the slightest argument in a public place, he's sure that he's going to be arrested for spouse abuse.

In the Water

A list of injuries I have sustained while surfing:

• concussion
• black eye
• absolutely enormous bruise on my inner thigh, from my enormous center fin (unclear how this happened)
• wax under my fingernails, resulting in detachment
• many, many other bruises and cuts
  

But it still comforts me. I'm not very good (or any good at all), but surfing is the one thing I do where I don't care if I'm any good or not. I do it because it makes me happy. We live up the hill from the ocean. Sometimes when it's foggy and overcast here, we'll drive down to the beach and it'll be sunny. Of course, it happens the other way around too. Today it's hazy up here. It's supposed to rain again. They say it's an El Nino year. During El Nino, the water is supposed to be warmer, but so far, it's not.