Month: August 2013

Swimming in Mental Drama

Image ~ ~ Carie ~ 1 Comment
Orin Zebest-Rio Vista, CA
Orin Zebest-Rio Vista, CA

I try to do too much. It’s my normal. What am I to do if no deadline exists? Without the busy-ness, my brain takes a dive into the pool of depression. In reaction, I isolate myself—only drifting further into dangerous waters. So I am busy. On purpose.

At work, I am in the heart of holiday. We are building Black Friday, rebuilding Black Friday, getting Christmas underway, and preparing for the frenzy of New Year’s. At home, I am ready to move back. I face a flurry of walkthroughs, city approvals and financial data. With my current book, it’s time. I am pushing through revisions. I am fighting to get the pictures right on the page. I am carefully picking through word choice. Or I think I am.

I shut down this week. Tuesday night, toward the end of class, the instructor said something that struck me wrong. Somewhere in the dark crevices of my grey matter I lost it. This level of frustration is unlike me. I can file away any emotion for examination later, but this one. I dove head first into a mental tailspin, too stubborn and angry to pull myself out.

I have written before about revision. I told you to let go, and I meant it, but this one off-hand statement set off every alarm. I cannot clearly tell you why. My just-roll-with-it attitude stopped dead in its tracks and prepared for battle, but there was no one to fight. I had to seek help, and quick. Otherwise, my manuscript would end up in a heap of deletions—last man standing in the Alamo.

As humans (not as that ethereal thing known as a “creative”), we need help. We need outlets for all of the stuff running around in our heads. Other creatures do not sit around questioning themselves. They do not contemplate the pitch of their howls. We do.

So my advice this week is to not be afraid. There will be a moment of dark, but it’s not as bleak as you believe. Like my drive to be busy, help is everywhere. I met with an editor today. Their words settled me. They gave guidance. They offered light. That’s all I needed. I needed to stand face-to-face with the fear my writing is unworthy. I needed something to settle the beasts.

The Anti-Christmas

~ Carie ~ Leave a comment

I loathe christmas. Yes, with a lower-case “c.” In my eyes, there’s not a lot of Christ in it any more. Why? Let’s go back to the fact I work in advertising. We’re in full gear on holiday advertising. We’ve talked about it, run the estimates, negotiated the prices, ordered the product, worked on concepts and attended far too many meetings. By the time the Clydesdales make their appearance on TV (and, oh, how I love those beautiful horses), I will want to slap anyone who brings up Santa or shopping.

Don’t get me wrong. I take every chance I get to spend time with my family and friends. I just don’t enjoy the holiday. It is too commercialized. Look at it. People camp out for days in front of stores just to get a cheap television, cheap toy or cheap t-shirt. Is this really how we give thanks? Is this what we want to teach our children? I guess so. Our gods aren’t solely made of gold anymore. They’re made of plastic, glass, motherboards and flammable fabrics. That aside, wouldn’t you be better off spending all of that time with your friends, spouse or children?

Granted, my job is to make you want to do these things, but what happened to your brain? My own godchildren are too busy checking out the labels to understand the meaning of the gift. I give because I care about the person. And watch out, if I write you a letter (which I try my darndest to do amidst my tumultuous schedule), I am expressing a high level of admiration for our friendship. I’ve broken out the stationery and the fountain pens to express my thoughts. I have more love for the epistolary arts than I do for the holiday season.

This might be why I search for the right Christmas cards. I like to be inclusive of all of my family and friends. I like the cards which wish peace and joy for the season and the New Year ahead instead of focusing solely on Christmas or Santa. Don’t start with me about dropping “the reason for the season.” The reason is peace on earth and good will toward man. I wonder if we could all remember that every once in a while.

Why the Summer Cold?

~ Carie ~ Leave a comment

I’m sorry, everyone, for my lack of writing prowess last week. Rain clouds and scattered showers invaded my hot Texas summer and brought with them every last particle of allergy-ridden air. When I was a kid, I didn’t suffer like this. The only thing I was allergic to then was down, which was easy to avoid. The allergy to the fluffy softness did cut out my option to time travel to plush homes in ante-bellum or Victorian era times, but I thought of other things to do. Now I am stuck in buildings all day in which they pump cool recycled air through the vents, and I get sprinkled with all of the dust and germs from the 5,ooo plus occupants.

As an asthmatic, I rush into action to crush the allergy attack. If I let it linger, the allergies turn into a sinus infection, and I turn into a mouth-breather. That leads to all out warfare to stave off Bronchitis. Asthma and Bronchitis are those neighbors that build an eight-foot high fence between each other because someone at some point didn’t RSVP on time to the Fourth of July block party or the kids’ My Little Pony bash or the Next Great Thing MLM. It’s localized chaos—in my lungs.

I tried to write you something pretty and witty, but my synapses weren’t firing correctly due to all of the snot and antihistamines. I did spend time admiring the teal ink color of my newest gel pen as I doodled various things on my white sheet legal pad. My brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen as I hunched over the desk, mouth agape, trying to suck in enough air to think. I felt like a kid trying to catch their breath before they tattled on their brother (which I did, a lot). It was that kind of mouth breathing.

I am not good at being sick. Even in my delirium, I have to be doing something. Do not recommend I sit down and rest. Don’t bring up taking a nap. I have things to get done. Don’t I? Somewhere in the haze of my thoughts is a to-do list that needs doing. I’m sure of it. So I get to work doing things which don’t need to be done.

One time, when I had the flu for a few days and was confined to my house, I taught myself to knit. I made two scarves and a hat for my dad during said illness. My mom hates the hat, but Dad loves it. I don’t care either way. Learning to knit kept me occupied, and I gained a new skill. During yet another illness, I completely repainted the house. I had painted it the month before, but the living rooms walls bothered me as they started to close in on my boredom. Their pale yellow color threatened me with their semi-bright cheeriness, so they had to go.

I don’t understand the people who can lie around, wallowing in used tissues and chicken noodle soup. My soul needs more than mere soup. It needs over-the-counter drug fueled purpose. When I’m fine and dandy again, it’s a bit depressing the purpose couldn’t have been a little more purposeful—and actually on the to-do list.