Pseudotherapy

Apparently FaceYour Manga is so five minutes ago, and now it’s all about Yearbook Yourself. I tried the yearbook thing, and my pics were just dreadful. And not in a funny way. In a horrific way. However, I am here to tell you I’ve WORN some of those hairstyles, and they weren’t that bad. Well, with a couple of exceptions. As proof, I present to you now … 40 Years of SJ’s Hair! Shudder at hideous abuse wreaked upon innocent hair follicles! See her eyebrows shrink before your very eyes! Watch in morbid amazement as her face expands beyond belief! Thank all that’s holy that you never had hair shaped like a disco ball! Oh, go ahead and laugh. I am.

(click image to view larger)

1967: Total helmet hair, going to my first formal dance in 10th grade.
1970: All natural hippie girl.
1972: A shag cut, trying to look like a grown-up.
1976: Flippy bangs and over-plucked brows.
1978: It took 3 hours at the salon to achieve that ball of permed curls.
1980: One of my all-time favorites, a bi-level angled over my ears. I was pregnant with Juli here, and the prenatal vitamins gave me killer hair and nails.
1986: Newly divorced, newly redhead.
1988: Strawberry blonde after two years of double-processing. And I do mean straw.
1993: Back to my natural color, layered and lightly permed.
3/2002: I let my hair get long and gray, but usually wore it ponytailed atop my head. This was a portrait I had done for Juli’s birthday. She didn’t like it.
8/2002: Big change in 5 months! Reunited with my first love and recapturing my youth.
2007: Accidentally red and super-short.

What hairstyle nightmares are hidden in your past?

Just in case you really *are* checking up on me …

Today is Day 7 since my last visit with you. If you read my previous post, you know I really took our discussion to heart. I’m not afraid of dying, but I HATE knowing I couldn’t run like hell in the event of attack by zombies. I would be the first to get eaten, and that upsets me. Plus, I have a deep phobia about being left in a vegetative state by a stroke. So I am serious as a heart attack about reclaiming my fitness before it’s too late.

As you commented, I am very much a person of absolutes. Yes or no, not maybe. Black or white, not gray. Things have to be this way or that way, nothing in between. Hence my decision to quit blogging completely. Once I saw that pie chart thing showing how much of my time was actually spent online I knew I had to make changes, and being me, I went straight to the extreme. NO blogging. NO reading blogs. This past weekend, I actually used a timer to limit my computer use. I’ve also made a real effort to re-open communications with my family members and pre-bloglife friends. And we did get out of the house some this weekend, shopping at actual stores instead of online. See? I’m working on it!

However, since it doesn’t matter what I’m doing on the computer as long as I stay within my daily time limit, I’ve decided not to shut down Pseudotherapy completely. One of my friends recommended occasional posting as an alternative to disappearing altogether, and another suggested challenging myself to write posts within a specific timeframe. That one might actually help me to become less obsessive about “perfecting” what I write, don’t you think? I’ll have to see how those work for me, and how successful I am at policing myself.

The bad news is I couldn’t bring myself to do the gym membership, but I did get an exercise DVD to try (I KNOW, no social interaction, but also no public humiliation). And! I have actually remembered to take the lovastatin for four straight days, woo hoo!!! I set the bottle in front of my monitor.

See you in October, Dr. B!

Thanks to Carolyn for this post’s inspiration.

I want to:
avoid the drama shitstorm polluting the blogiverse lately
have five pairs of pants that actually fit me properly
become a strong person, mentally and physically
read books aloud to my husband like we used to do
go on more photography-geared day trips

I want to think:
that I can change my mind without being accused of hypocrisy
that someday I will finish one of my novels (any one)
that people miss me when I’m not around
that I am not the failure I think I am
positively even when feeling negative

I want to learn:
to surf
to speak Spanish fluently
to think before I speak/write/publish
to make perfect pie crust
teleportation

I want to see:
my daughter in a healthy, loving, committed relationship
women treat their husbands with the same degree of respect and
M consideration they give their friends
smaller numbers when I’m standing on the scale
London in the fog, Dublin in the rain, Edinburgh in the gloaming
a sincere heart and a generous spirit in people I care about

I want to try:
to be less paranoid
going for a 30-minute walk daily
applying the basics of my work ethic to my personal life
getting a solid eight hours of sleep every night
living The Buddha’s teachings, not just knowing them

I want to tell:
my daughter not to fear getting hurt … because you do survive
my husband that he HAS to quit smoking
my niece how much I enjoy her companionship
my blog friends how much they all mean to me
someone what I suspect, and why … but I don’t trust anyone enough

I want to touch:
the rock-hard muscles in my husband’s arms
the souls of people who read my words
cool fresh sheets spread snugly over our new bed
anything with my right-hand fingers and feel it
the ground on Mars in this lifetime

I want to smell:
the scent of my daughter’s hair
the breeze coming off the ocean
almond-scented bubbles floating over my wet skin
the ink and paper of my own novels
the spiciness of wet eucalyptus after a rain

I want to feel:
my husband’s warm breath on the back of my neck
the firmness of muscle under my skin instead of marshmallowy fat
wet sand buffing my heels as I wade along the shoreline
the touch of my mother’s hand again … just once
like I matter in the world

I want to stop:
sabotaging my own efforts toward fitness
bleeding from cuts that should have healed long ago
staying up too late
being too lazy to do housework regularly
grieving for what might have been

I want to let go of:
my self-loathing
guilt about past mistakes
impossible dreams that will never become reality
my resentment for what I lost in the Georgia debacle
the need for approval

What do you want?

I am exhausted and feeling mildly braindead. That’s my excuse for resurrecting a week-old meme for today’s post, which I wrote last night when I was even more tired than I am now.

Accent: I loved it on popcorn when I was a kid! Who knew it could kill us?

Breakfast or no breakfast: I seldom voluntarily skip ANY meal. (SHUT. UP.) I love big breakfasts with bacon, eggs, fried potatoes and biscuits.

Chore I don’t care for: When I come up with a chore I DO care for, Bret will announce it on a billboard along I-5.

Dog or Cat: Bret often declares that he’s a dick in a houseful of pussies. He’s half-right.

Essential Electronics: My cameras. I am never without one.

Favorite Cologne: J.Lo Glow. Hate the name, LOVE the scent.

Gold or Silver: The only metal I can wear is steel. Everything else gives my skin a blistery rash.

Handbag I carry most often: My own.

Insomnia: I have narcolepsy. I can fall asleep while talking to you.

Job Title: Legal assistant/Gatekeeper.

Kids: I made more mistakes being a mom than in anything else I’ve done. Oddly, she turned out great.

Living Arrangements: Not here, so what does it matter?

Most Admirable Trait: I have a wildly vivid imagination.

Naughtiest Childhood Behavior: Sex in the family pool.

Overnight hospital stays: Three: Major surgery, childbirth, severe sleep-deprivation.

Phobias: The Dark. And birds. Raise your hand if that’s news to you.

Quote: “Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything.” ~ Plato

Reason to smile: Ghost Hunters International returns tonight!!!

Siblings: Some.

Time I wake up: 3 a.m. every day, almost as if a 15-pound orange cat jumped onto my stomach at exactly that time every morning.

Unusual Talent or Skill: I can tell when it’s 3 a.m. without opening my eyes. Bizarre, huh?

Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: Okra. You absolutely cannot fry the slime out of it.

Worst Habit: Jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

X-rays: Of every part of my body, scalp to sole.

Yummy Stuff: Dark chocolate peanut clusters. Oatmeal raisin cookies. Macaroni and cheese. Shredded beef tacos. Peanut butter, pickle and ketchup sandwiches. And PIE.

Zoo Animal I Like Most: Ugh, NOT a fan of zoos. And most animals smell BAD. If I *must* pick, I’ll say iguanas.

I want to thank all of you who took time out of your day to post a supportive comment yesterday. You can’t even imagine how much they comforted me. The worst thing about the abyss is that you can’t see your friends in front of your face, and you feel utterly alone in your despair.? But when people care enough to express it in writing, that’s something you can hold onto. I’m sure I was my own #1 visitor yesterday because I kept coming back to read your words of encouragement and understanding. I love you all.

I AM better today. Not dramatically so, but enough that Bret can tell. He was scared yesterday, and called multiple times to check on me. During his lunch-hour call, I cried the entire time. When he called on his afternoon break, I was calm and hopeful. He expressed relief at my improvement, and I explained to him that I’d spent the last 30 minutes of my own lunch hour meditating. I wish I could make him understand how much that helps me when I remember to do it, but Bret just does not get it. If he sits for even 15 minutes focusing on his breathing, he falls asleep. It settles me. I like to say that it re-aligns my ch’i. Thank you, John, for reminding me of the benefit of being still.

Last night I slept. Gave myself the night off from the “5th” stuff and went to bed with a few good friends. No bad dreams starring Dr. Daveorkian. No bad dreams at all.

Today, although still sad, I am at least looking upward at the light above the well. I hope it’s friends with flashlights, not angry villagers with torches.