Witchy Woman

Try to imagine that depression is like being in a dark tunnel. The person with depression can’t see a thing, because everything is surrounded by darkness. Every sound is amplified, every fear is magnified. All they want to do is get out of the tunnel, but they can’t see where to go, they don’t know what to do. Your natural reaction is to lead them out of this dark tunnel, back to the light.

This is the WRONG approach.

In case it wasn't already obvious, I am severely cleaning/organizationally challenged.  After all, who cares about the pile of seed and crap under the birdcage when I have an Elizabethan court gown to sew?  If it's a choice between cleaning and playing with silk and velvet, the cleaning will almost always lose.  That is, until the OCD's CMB beats the ADD's CMD, and then it's time to CLEAN ALL THE THINGS!  To prevent the twitchy-eyed monster from taking over my crafting time, I developed these habits to trick my mind into thinking it's not really cleaning.

1.  It's Dangerous to go Alone, Take this

If I'm going into the kitchen, I take cups, plates, dishes and any other odds and ends that belong in there.  Say that the kitchen is merely on my way to the bathroom, I deposit said dishes into the sink and/or dishwasher.  I pick up the new tube of toothpaste and stack of towels that were folded and waiting to be put away.  On my way back to the living room, I collect the books that made their way to the bathroom over my last couple of visits.

2.  There is no Spoon

Who else here hates to unload the dishwasher?  Do you sneak the item that you need without taking anything else?  Stop lying.  You know you do it.  Everybody does, and that's ok.  I take a few dishes out along with the one I need and put them away.  If it's just a spoon, then I take a whole handful of silverware.

3.  Zombie Washcloths

I scrub down the kitchen with my washcloths and then toss them in the laundry.  They sit there, waiting, watching, staring, molding and stinking.  Then I realize that the laundry should get done.  If I used only one or two washcloths at a time, they would gradually accumulate in the dirty clothes pile, which can wait just one more day.  By that point, the damage is done.  There's an odour that haunts my dreams.  The stank of the dead washcloth come back to life.  This way I can avoid the reek of zombie rags and hey, clean laundry!

4.  Create Obstacle Courses

My blinders are remarkable for blocking something from sight until I trip over it.  So to make sure that I remember to do it, I place it deliberately in the way.  Folded clothes are stacked on the stairs.  In order to pass, I have to take an armful.  Think of it as a game, like Calvinball or Ironman Croquet.  For added hilarity and bonus points, play it with your partner/roommate...  without telling them.

*Please note that the administration is not responsible for any injuries, trauma (physical or mental), or asthma attacks incurred by uncontrollable maniacal laughter.

5. One Day at a Time

I suffer from anxiety and bipolar disorder, which means that when faced with the daunting prospect of a 2-story/3 bedroom house that looks like it's been "tossed" (as per my crime-show addicted parents' description) because its sole occupant is recovering from a two week bout of depression my ability to face it becomes non-existent.  My Martha Stewart-esque mother raised me with the mentality of all the cleaning had to be done on the weekend.  Unfortunately, when my weekends are usually filled with camping, and my work schedule was designed by MC Escher on LSD, combined with my aforementioned maladies this is a recipe for disaster.  After 29 years of this, I only recently came to realize that I don't have to clean the whole freaking house at once!  Each room gets tackled on a different day of the week, with the bigger and messier rooms assigned to when I have more than a single day off at a time.  Sure, the living room's still buried in camping gear from last weekend and the current sewing project, but the kitchen is fabulous.  That's a clean mother-freakin' kitchen if you ever saw one.

I find myself at a unique stage of my life in which most people assume I have children.  Being that I am 29, this is not an unusual presumption.  The oddity is, is that the person in question assumes that I want or will have children.  Since I work in a nursing home, I am surrounded by elderly residents and nosy female coworkers, so the following conversation (or variations thereof) occur on a regular basis.

Me: "Happy Mother's Day!"

Them: "You, too!"

Me: "Oh, thank you, but I don't qualify."

Them: "You don't have kids?" in surprise.  "Oh, you will someday," reassuringly as I shake my head.

Me: "I don't think it's in the cards for my partner and I, but that's ok."  At this point, if the person in question feels that children are necessary in order to be complete, they usually drop the subject because the ambiguous phrasing could indicate fertility issues.  (For all I know, with my health problems, this could very well be true).

For some reason, there's a part of me that just won't smile and nod.  Perhaps it's because I refuse to kowtow to public opinion that all women of childbearing age desire offspring, perhaps it's because I am opinionated, or maybe it's because I don't know when to shut my mouth.  It's part of my charm.

I don't feel a need to justify my decision, but rather I feel that others need to justify why they project the stereotype of the nuclear family onto others.  One would think that we have reached the point where women, whether single or partnered, need not defend their decision to live childfree.  Having been adopted, I am firmly of the belief that every child should not only be wanted, but also planned.  While I was certainly wanted, my biological mother could barely take care of herself, let alone a baby.  

I suffer from much the same illness that plagued her, meaning that caring for myself can be a struggle at times.  I recognize that having a tiny, helpless person dependent upon me would be negative for both my and its well-being.  Not to mention that my partner does not wish to begin procreating in his early 40's.

By simply stating that I do not have, nor intend to have, children I feel I am doing my best to politely subvert the cultural paradigm without baring my soul for the scrutiny of strangers.  Perhaps next time they will ask someone if they have kids, rather than how many or how old they are.  Perhaps that person will realize that in assuming someone has or desires children they might be opening a whole can of emotional worms for other person.

Then again, I might just jump straight to grandmother considering the way my youngest cockatiel is chasing my eldest across the keyboard in an attempt to court her.  Although, judging by how she's avoiding his advances, she may just follow in my footsteps yet.

To all those who decided to make the wisest decision for themselves as an individual and their hypothetical offspring, Happy non-Mother's Day!

Several of my friends have asked me how I managed to lose 30 pounds.  The quick answer is: I cheated.  I went from a sedentary lifestyle to working as a CNA on my feet all day with heavy lifting.  Now I actually have to work at it by learning how to cook, unable to go to the gym, and deal with stress eating and a junk food addiction.  One of my ex-girlfriends loves to tease me about when we were together because I'd habitually eat two cheddarwurst dogs and a pomegranate Rockstar energy drink for breakfast.  So I've got some major hurdles to overcome.

I started with little changes, and am working my way up.  If you have anxiety issues and an addictive personality, you will become too disheartened and overwhelmed by everything and fall off the bandwagon.  So don't look at my advice and go whole-hog, you want to make lifestyle changes.  If you want to lose weight quickly and then go back to the life you were living before, I can tell you now that it's not going to work.  You have to change your whole self.

Most "experts" will tell you to ask yourself why you want to lose weight.  Being the woman I am, I sure as hell knew my reasons.  I did not feel good in my own body.  I didn't like the way I felt, looked, or moved.  I would constantly refer to myself as a "hideous, fat cowbeast."  It started out as a joke about when I was emo and tried to laugh off my depression and body issues with exaggeration.  The problem was, was I had brainwashed myself into believing it.  I wanted to get into SCA heavy fighting, but knew that I couldn't physically do it until I lost some weight.  My body simply wouldn't be able to handle it.  I wanted to make later period garb, but didn't want to put forth the time, money, and effort until I was where I felt I would look good in the dresses.  So I have some very personal, practical reasons.  You need to assess your motivational factors to ensure that this is something to which you want to commit.

The very first thing I told myself is, "You are not on a diet."  Say it with me: "I am not on a diet."  Again.  "I am not on a diet!"  Doesn't that feel good?  There is so much stigma, marketing, and general insanity in American culture regarding the word "diet" that I refused to burden myself with that.  Hell, I had 75 extra pounds to lug around as it was along with the baggage that society associated with my weight.  Not to mention that diets are seen as something temporary or something that can be ruined by one piece of chocolate.

Don't set yourself up for failure and accept now that you will make bad choices.  You will make excuses for your bad choices.  Acknowledge your mistakes, figure out what to do next time, and stop before you slide even further.  Ok, so you had an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's.  Not the best choice of lunches in the world, but deal with it and move on.  No, it doesn't mean you should go ahead and eat out at the all-you-can-eat buffet.  Nor does it mean you can only have celery and carrot sticks for dinner (unless you like that, in which case you are either insane or a were-rabbit).  It means you should have a well-rounded dinner that's especially low in fat.  Don't beat yourself up, and don't keep backsliding just because of a mistake or three.

Drink water.  I know, I hate water and am very picky.  Yes, I know that living off of soda, juice, and tea is not good for me, but I'm addicted to the caffeine.  Water will help make you feel fuller, flush toxins and other crap from your body, yadda yadda yadda.  I will only drink purified water, preferably with tons of ice.  There are flavoured waters, packets to add to your water, and other products on the market.  The possible chemical content of those scares me, so I haven't looked at them yet.

Good fats are good.  I'm not an expert, but natural occuring fats are fine in moderation, such as olive oil, avocado, and nuts.  Just don't go deep-frying an avocado stuffed with walnuts.

Speaking of moderation: stop when you're full.  That's one of my biggest problems.  If it's yummy then I just want to om nom nom nom nom and some more nom.  It's so good I don't want to stop.  No, I don't have impulse control problems at all.  Luckily I'm also easily distracted.  For lunch today I threw some hummus, salsa, and lettuce on a tortilla and wandered off to play on the computer while drinking some water from my Brita pitcher that's kept in the fridge.  After checking my email, my stomach informed me I was still hungry.  Rinse and repeat.  Also, don't eat straight from the container, that's kind of a no-brainer.

Buy fruits and vegetables that you like.  I hate celery so much I used to have disturbing dreams where I'd go to the grocery store and all I would buy was celery.  I had some anxiety issues when I first lived on my own and had no idea how to grocery shop or cook.

More to follow as it percolates through my un-caffeinated brain.  By the way, quitting soda cold turkey sucks.

Today's post is brought to you by fevered delirium. Now remember, boys and girls, when using communal stethoscopes ALWAYS disinfect the earpieces first.

I have an extremely overactive imagination. As such, I have been forbidden from ever watching scary movies. Unless they are in the mood to be scared because of my jumps and screams, which evidently helps frighten them in ways that cinema can't.

I was living in downtown Eugene when my partner at the time and I went to see The Village. On the way back, I thought about how I do not conform to my society's standards and boundaries. That was sufficient impetus to conjure my own personal bogeyman. So by the time that he dropped me off at the curb, sprinting 25 feet across the tiny yard mud-wrestling arena in flip-flops and long, tight skirt seemed like a good idea. A kind neighbour, who spoke little English, summoned my roommates from their Bacchanal celebrations to haul me off to the ER, where I had to browbeat them into taking x-rays to confirm that I was correct in that two bones in my ankle had snapped like green twigs and that I wasn't overreacting to a sprain.

That was just a Shyamalan movie. Now, if it's anything involving zombies, I turn into a gibbering pile of paranoia clutching my sword and wondering why I seem to be the only one in this podunk town who doesn't own enough firepower to defend themselves when Obama comes 'round to revoke the second amendment.Zombieland is one of the scariest movies ever because it includes many of my terrors: public restrooms, clowns, and crappy processed snacks.

If I am anywhere for any length of time, I automatically assess the defensive capabilities and survival supplies in case of zombie apocalypse. As much as I'd love to watch The Walking Dead, I am more fond of sleeping ever again. A former boss thought I was joking, until I told him that the warehouse was theoretically a fortress, but lacked weaponry, food, and water. He started to back away slowly when I mused aloud as to what equipment and product could be altered for optimal decapitation.

When visiting friends and leaving after sunset, I ask them to escort me to my car. Now, I don't tell them the real reason because that just sounds crazy. (Crazy, until I'm holed up in the woods in my very own treehouse and enough ordinance to take out a one horse town). Sometimes they will assume that I'm afraid of axe-murdering rapists. If they start looking like they think I'm coocoo for cocoa puffs, I tell them it's ninja squirrels.

I will be helping out at Gold Key at the Long and Short of It. Speaking of garb, I had a nightmare last night that I was roadtripping to Pennsic. While driving through Iowa I realized that I had absolutely nothing non-mundane to wear while I was there.

I met a wonderful woman at Lebus who writes a magazine called Down to the Roots. The issue she gave me had instructions on how to build an inkle loom and a rope bed, she even let me have a go on her loom! Each issue is full of good things such as recipes, natural gardening tips, crafts for kids, and other self-sufficiency bits.

If you check out her blog post from August 15th you can see a couple of pictures of me in garb. The first one is of my usual "Huh?" face when I've been interrupted in the middle of something (in this case, a 9-man Morris game) and the second I'm concentrating really hard. Not to mention it was so hot my brain melted out of my ears.

While Lebus was a small event, it was a lot like a warped summer camp. I showed up not knowing anyone and left having met nearly everyone. There was even a talent show and water balloon fight. It helped that I asked the autocrat if there was any way I could be of use, so I got my first taste of voice heraldry. There was a central permanent gazebo encased in concrete. I simply stepped up on a picnic table, faced one direction, and shouted the schedule. Rinse and repeat on the other side of the pavilion and I was done because the acoustics and my projection (theatrical experience) carried so well over the small encampment. I was even asked to do town cry at Summits Coronet. Muahaha... I mean, *ahem.*

I apologize for the recent lack of photos, however, my camera's batteries keep dying at events because of the heat and one of my memory chips was borrowed and never made its way back to me.

Someone in Adiantum threatened to conscript me into the Chirugeon’s Guild. I can’t imagine why. I mean, my campmates and I at War only took care of a guy who had hypothermia from falling in the creek. (By the way, it’s general common sense: get him out of his wet clothes, towel him off, put him in dry clothes, wrap him in a wool cloak by the fire, and get hot fluids into him).
Then there’s the fact that I’m allergic to aloe vera, but still rubbed it into a friend’s horribly sunburned back with my bare hands. I washed them right away, so it was fine.
At fighter’s practice, I was hand-sewing a snow-white, pure linen coif when a fighter got a gash on his hand. Since no one there had a first aid kit, I rinsed out the wound with a water bottle and tied the coif around his hand. I figured that I could just bleach away the germs and then dye it to take care of the stain.
The chirugeon came with her kit later, but was in the middle of a corset fitting. He was reluctant to get properly bandaged up, but I told him to get his ass over. He still complained as I cleaned it until I told him to shut up and just stand there and look pretty. Keep in mind that I am short and was wearing a flowered sundress and flip-flops, while he was in full gear. That’s what prompted her to suggest that I join the guild. Evidently ordering around injured heavy fighters is a prerequisite.

An Tir/West War was a blast, and the first ever medieval Sock Wars were a hit with yarn donated from Brown Sheep. We An Tirians won, naturally. The winner knitted an entire pair of Pre-Literate stockings over the weekend. 0.o I’m a sock addict, but that’s just plain nuts!
I had the honour of meeting Dame Christian de Holcomb, who taught a fascinating class on rosaries. I learned to spin with Snorri, card weave, and more fingerloop braiding techniques from Idonia. My campmates knew that I was essentially camped out in A & S all weekend.
Here are the mistakes that I made, so you might not repeat them:
1. Forgot the plug to my air mattress. The nest that I was able to cobble together was warm, but not necessarily comfortable.
2. In the excitement of my first major event, I forgot to eat or stay hydrated throughout the weekend. Very bad idea.
3. I did not know that there were going to be showers and, therefore, did not bring soap.
4. If you are going to dye anything that you plan to wear to the event, do so well ahead of time. Luckily, my cotehardie is dark coloured so that the marks left by my black belt were unnoticeable. My hands and chemise, however, were not so lucky.
5. Should you intend to wear a particular garment to an outdoor event, do NOT under any circumstances make it white. On the other hand, I now have a gown for 12th Night.
6. I volunteered my time at Sock Wars, which necessitated an early rising. Most people would use their cell phones as an alarm, but if the event is in an area with poor reception (which most of them are) the batteries will be quickly drained. Note to self: pick up a small portable alarm clock the next time I have a full schedule at an event.
7. I planned my days too full and never got a chance to get out to the battlefield, where I knew many of the fighters.
8. My camera was allowed to sit in hot areas too long, quickly draining the fresh set with which it started.
But I didn’t screw everything up, here’s what I did right!
1. I already had a pair of Pre-Literates that were absolutely wonderful. They were very comfortable, their thickness helped prevent blisters, and kept me warm at night. After I finish the Sock Wars ones I started, I plan on making a third, vermilion pair.
2. I packed a very large basket in the morning with everything I thought I’d need throughout the day so extra trips back to camp weren’t needed. (Obviously, more food and water could have been packed).
3. Most of the food I brought did not require cooking (bread, cheese, fruit, and granola bars), allowing me more time to play. Bonus points because it’s period!
4. I have a headlamp that garnered envy from some campmates. It’s a portable light that keeps your hands free for the biffies, brushing your teeth, doing dishes, etc. I have excellent night vision, so when I do end up using a light it’s inevitably the headlamp.
5. Even though it was Independence Day, we were on the Oregon Coast so I brought my wool cloak just in case. I was very grateful for the brief flash of common sense that prompted this because I used it in my bedding, protected against the winds that picked up after sunset and the temperature dropped, and helped warm a hypothermic man who had fallen into the creek.
6. Let’s just say that chemises are not overrated. Our ancestors wore them for some very good, practical reasons.
7. I packed an extra set of shorts and a tank top. There happened to be a swimming hole on site, and my mundane pajamas worked well as an impromptu swimsuit.
8. Linen is fantastic material!