I wanted to scream, so I sang Chicago

I think I'm suffering from what I can only self-diagnose as "activity overload." I have a life again; it's nice, but now I remember that the last time I had a life this full, I was in my 20s, and my 36 year-old self handles constant activity slightly less well. Don't get me wrong, I much prefer having too much to do to rocking back and forth in the dark listening to Adele (not that I did that), I'm just sort of out of breath.

I don't run unless being chased, but I've heard runners describe hitting "the wall," like when they just don't think they can go any further. I had that feeling on Sunday, after working until 1:45 a.m. Saturday, sleeping some, and then staying out until 2 a.m. Sunday. I felt I had hit the wall, for sure. I don't think I changed out of my pajamas Sunday, and I really didn't feel all that bad for that.

I'm trying to carpe the diem and appreciate all these good changes in my life, but I am starting to realize there are times when I just have to say no to things for preservation of sanity and health. It's very sad that I can't play "American Idol" anymore due to apartment living. I mean, I guess I could. My former upstairs neighbor, also known as "DJ Bucketfeet" certainly had no trouble being extremely loud at all hours of the day, but I do have my pride. I don't want the cops called for a noise complaint to find me belting out "The First Cut is the Deepest."

So, I sing a cappella. I sing Chicago and Sheryl Crow and the Rolling Stones while I'm loading the dishwasher or cleaning or gathering laundry. I figure I don't have the accompaniment of the bass or vocals from the game, so it can't be that loud. If it is, frankly, I don't give a damn. It's not normal to hold in tension. You gotta vent somehow. I have writing and singing badly and my friends. Yes, I get by with a little (a lot) of help from my friends.

Sometimes, I think, I could so easily freak out (again), but thank God, I found a strength in myself I didn't quite know existed. I read a quote today that is my new motto, "My entire life can be described in one sentence: It didn't go as planned, and that's ok." Yep; that pretty well encompasses it. I'm finding that a key element of figuring out what you do want for you life is systematically eliminating what you don't want. Alas, that's a list for another day.

My head is running wild again

There are so many thoughts running through my head just now, it's hard to even organize them to write this blog. My mother averted ovarian cancer, I couldn't be there, the Wonderdog Piper has taken to extreme puppy behavior, I'm taking a new anti-depressant that's making me feel bipolar (freaking great one minute, anxiety-ridden at another), and I just have this feeling like I'm not doing anything right. That's not much, right?

I have divorce papers, revised, and being sent back to the attorney tomorrow, which means by the end of this week, I could be officially divorced. Props to my BFF attorney for helping me when I sorely needed it. It's not even a thing anymore. I have felt divorced for so long, I think the official seal will go out, not with a bang, but with a whimper. I am markedly concerned that I don't know how to be a partner/girlfriend/lady companion anymore without inadvertently bringing the "crazy" that I feel I've acquired. I feel like I've come so far, really, all things considered, but in some ways, I worry that I'm stunted forever, stuck in Needyville as the Mayor, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As an added bonus, due to what I suspect may be Obamacare, I had to change anti-depressants. That's been awesome in the middle of adjusting to a new job and my mother dealing with cancer and a surgery for which I couldn't be there. I'm strangely emotional, dizzy, sleepy and not able to sleep, depending on the day, and I feel a little disconnected from my life. I see my life, as I'm a balloon floating above, and it doesn't look too bad, but I worry that stress or this disconnection is keeping me from completely experiencing it.

Oh, how I don't want to whine. I really, really don't, and I am trying like holy hell to be positive, and I've gotten so much better at it. It's just hard. Life is hard. Damn you, Daddy, when you answered my "That's not fair," with "Life isn't fair," I thought you were just being your quintessential smart ass self. As it turns out, that was dead on.

I also worry, in my myriad of worries, that because I'm trying to give the air of being "perfectly fine," I'm not even being myself, in some ways. There are things I want to say and do and ask, and I think that fear may be holding me back. To quote "Grey's Anatomy," if I'm "scary and damaged," who would want to be around me? Ohhhh, life, you're throwing me all  kinds of little curveballs. I see what you're doing, and I raise you a "you don't know who you're dealing with." I vow to scale back on the freaking out, I have no patience part of my personality, and just have fun and work on myself. God knows, I  need the work. I have some things to prove, it appears.