The problem with knowing you have a mood disorder is that you're often left wondering if your current mood is a result of that disorder or if it's actually related to external stimuli. (or both?) As I sit here stewing and feeling what I call the "buzz" that's in the back of my head that's making me miserable, I can't help but wonder if it's because I'm a fucked up dude or because my brother has Christmas music on from B101 in the office next to mine. Or perhaps, it's because my father/boss was in the office today in his usual rampage.
I have no doubts that my father suffers from some sort of mood disorder like I do but he refuses to acknowledge or see it (forget about treating it or medication). Many times he comes into the office and he starts ranting about what I haven't done and what needs to be done and he works himself in such a whirlwind that it's impossible to recall what the hell he said unless you had a stenographer from the early 60's following him around. As much as it's put me in an even worse mood than I already was, I can't help but recall a similar rampage I had on my children this weekend and how they can't put their toys away and how ungrateful the little brats are and yadda, yadda, yadda.
This "temper tempest" is a build up of sorts and a release of manic anger that is dumped upon the next underling or peer you encounter. Sometimes, I can catch myself and do what's best to avoid confrontation. But, hey, let's face it- sometimes confrontation finds you. I'm sure half of what my father said in his blasting was correct, but if he were to slow down, listen and not take a dump on me then maybe most of it would get resolved quickly.
Advice I need to take myself.
History repeats itself and the best thing we can do is learn from other people's mistakes if not our own. Yet the thing about rage is that the flurry of brain activity doesn't allow oneself to exactly remain in control or think rationally. Somehow I've been able to stoically detach myself from sadness but I still can't conquer my anger. Just call me Bruce Banner without the green skin and super strength. I guess it's why you don't see comic books where the hero has radioactive tears and the ability to super-emote.
Showing posts with label Duane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Duane. Show all posts
Monday, November 17, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
I'm out of my cotton pickin' mind!
The human mind will occasionally make an usual hiccough. Some of these hiccoughs will manifest into serious mental disorders like OCD where the person has to make sure his light switches are all turned up or down and he can't go through a doorway without touching the frame 5 times or else suffer "dire consequences". There is no logic whatsoever to the behavior, it's just that something isn't working quite right in the person's brain for this to happen. Aside from what I suffer from myself, bipolar disorder, other such brain hiccoughs include anxiety disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, Turret's Syndrome and phobias. While there are certainly mostly serious and debilitating problems that result from these disorders, the pure illogical nature of these quirky behaviors can be sometimes be somewhat comical.
Which brings me to a confession that not all of you are privy to. I suffer from a phobia of touching an object that is completely benign and what everyone else would view as a good experience. It doesn't affect my everyday life, in fact I'd be surprised if it comes up 4-5 times a year. But, when it does enter into my life, the end result is that I freak out and everyone else around me giggles with amazement or flat out guffaws at my illogical fear and girlish screams of protests.
I can't touch a cotton ball.
Before I continue, I will answer your immediate questions-
1) Cotton shirts and other items made out of cotton don't bother me at all. It's the loose ball of fluffy cotton that gets me in a tizzy.
2) I have my wife open up OTC pill bottles. (thank you for wasteful blister packs!!)
3) Polyester balls are fine, they are synthetic enough to not have the same feeling, although I don't like looking at them.
4) Cotton candy is also a different texture and is a yummy treat that I have no problems in enjoying.
I'm not lying when I say that I now have chills up and down my spine as I write this. While the fear isn't out of control when I just look at a cotton ball, I do get a serious case of the willies just thinking about cotton. The worst is when I touch one, I get so anxious and afraid that I actually feel pain. I'll run and make a big production and scream, "GAHHHH!" as I vigorously shake my hand that touched the offensive ball of fluff. I do understand that the whole thing is absurdly funny for others to witness. My behavior makes no sense, so therefore the comic possibilities are near endless. At least, with other phobias like fear of heights or spiders, you can see why a person fears those things. The danger may not be imminent, but creepy crawlies are somewhat scary and a long fall can kill you. Most of us wouldn't think to tease a person with such phobias.
Yet, since I was a child, whenever someone finds out about my fear, they always tease me and do something to see my reaction when I encounter the harmless cotton ball. I recall that once my dorm floor tenants in Denton Hall found out about my phobia I was often was greeted to a door covered in cotton balls. I would have to wait for Jeff to get back from class for me to enter my own room. I could hear the snickers echo down the hall as I dejectedly walked away into the common living room to wait. I am grateful that I have avoided being video taped as of yet.
Even my own brother betrayed me today. My father had left a package in the warehouse for me to send by UPS to a customer of his. I guess he's forgotten about my irrational fear as he packed it in a box and used cotton for packing material. (my father is notoriously cheap, he'll use whatever he can find to accomplish his needs) Upon witnessing the box, I tried to remain calm and I paged my brother discretely so our employee Rocco wouldn't hear. He came up to the package and dutifully took away the cotton for me. As I repacked the box, I realized that my brother took the cotton balls into the office with him. When I entered the room I trepidatiously asked what he did with the "box". I immediately heard Rocco snickering so I knew I was in a bind. I then noticed the cotton balls taped to the bathroom door.
I suppose, if I can dish it out I need to take it as well. I am always the first person to needle someone when it comes to their weaknesses. I am especially fond of the absurd so I can't hate my persecutors, in fact, I even admire their tenacity (but I think their creativity needs work). Mind you, this is NOT an open invitation for you to start bombarding me with cotton balls, you probably won't like the results.
If I had to find any logic in fearing cotton balls I have to look back at my childhood. (how very Freudian!) I did get alot of ear infections as a youngster. Being on a swim team, I would get swimmer's ear alot and in the winter I would get the ear infections because I would sniff instead of blowing my nose. Back in those days, the treatment was to put in ear drops. The object that was used to keep the drops fro seeping out? - Of course, a cotton ball! I must associate the cotton ball with the pain of my ear aches. I surmise it's also why I hate the sound of walking in the snow- it's eerily similar to the sound of a cotton ball being pushed in your ear. Besides, I think this makes much more sense than what a girl in college once said to me- that I was a cotton picking slave in a former life.
I guess I could look to cure my phobia with therapy, but I don't think the amount of times it's truly made me uncomfortable that it makes it worth the expense. So, until my logical mind can somehow allow me to enjoy the tactile sensation of cotton balls, I will keep one eye open for the dreaded little suckers.
Which brings me to a confession that not all of you are privy to. I suffer from a phobia of touching an object that is completely benign and what everyone else would view as a good experience. It doesn't affect my everyday life, in fact I'd be surprised if it comes up 4-5 times a year. But, when it does enter into my life, the end result is that I freak out and everyone else around me giggles with amazement or flat out guffaws at my illogical fear and girlish screams of protests.
I can't touch a cotton ball.
Before I continue, I will answer your immediate questions-
1) Cotton shirts and other items made out of cotton don't bother me at all. It's the loose ball of fluffy cotton that gets me in a tizzy.
2) I have my wife open up OTC pill bottles. (thank you for wasteful blister packs!!)
3) Polyester balls are fine, they are synthetic enough to not have the same feeling, although I don't like looking at them.
4) Cotton candy is also a different texture and is a yummy treat that I have no problems in enjoying.
I'm not lying when I say that I now have chills up and down my spine as I write this. While the fear isn't out of control when I just look at a cotton ball, I do get a serious case of the willies just thinking about cotton. The worst is when I touch one, I get so anxious and afraid that I actually feel pain. I'll run and make a big production and scream, "GAHHHH!" as I vigorously shake my hand that touched the offensive ball of fluff. I do understand that the whole thing is absurdly funny for others to witness. My behavior makes no sense, so therefore the comic possibilities are near endless. At least, with other phobias like fear of heights or spiders, you can see why a person fears those things. The danger may not be imminent, but creepy crawlies are somewhat scary and a long fall can kill you. Most of us wouldn't think to tease a person with such phobias.
Yet, since I was a child, whenever someone finds out about my fear, they always tease me and do something to see my reaction when I encounter the harmless cotton ball. I recall that once my dorm floor tenants in Denton Hall found out about my phobia I was often was greeted to a door covered in cotton balls. I would have to wait for Jeff to get back from class for me to enter my own room. I could hear the snickers echo down the hall as I dejectedly walked away into the common living room to wait. I am grateful that I have avoided being video taped as of yet.
Even my own brother betrayed me today. My father had left a package in the warehouse for me to send by UPS to a customer of his. I guess he's forgotten about my irrational fear as he packed it in a box and used cotton for packing material. (my father is notoriously cheap, he'll use whatever he can find to accomplish his needs) Upon witnessing the box, I tried to remain calm and I paged my brother discretely so our employee Rocco wouldn't hear. He came up to the package and dutifully took away the cotton for me. As I repacked the box, I realized that my brother took the cotton balls into the office with him. When I entered the room I trepidatiously asked what he did with the "box". I immediately heard Rocco snickering so I knew I was in a bind. I then noticed the cotton balls taped to the bathroom door.
I suppose, if I can dish it out I need to take it as well. I am always the first person to needle someone when it comes to their weaknesses. I am especially fond of the absurd so I can't hate my persecutors, in fact, I even admire their tenacity (but I think their creativity needs work). Mind you, this is NOT an open invitation for you to start bombarding me with cotton balls, you probably won't like the results.
If I had to find any logic in fearing cotton balls I have to look back at my childhood. (how very Freudian!) I did get alot of ear infections as a youngster. Being on a swim team, I would get swimmer's ear alot and in the winter I would get the ear infections because I would sniff instead of blowing my nose. Back in those days, the treatment was to put in ear drops. The object that was used to keep the drops fro seeping out? - Of course, a cotton ball! I must associate the cotton ball with the pain of my ear aches. I surmise it's also why I hate the sound of walking in the snow- it's eerily similar to the sound of a cotton ball being pushed in your ear. Besides, I think this makes much more sense than what a girl in college once said to me- that I was a cotton picking slave in a former life.
I guess I could look to cure my phobia with therapy, but I don't think the amount of times it's truly made me uncomfortable that it makes it worth the expense. So, until my logical mind can somehow allow me to enjoy the tactile sensation of cotton balls, I will keep one eye open for the dreaded little suckers.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Get the fuck outta the fast lane!!
To honor the recently departed George Carlin-
"Anyone who drives slower than you is an idiot and anyone who drives faster than you is a maniac!"
If you include bathroom breaks, fast food stops and gas fill ups I drove a combined 21 hours in the last 4 days on my trip to Greenville SC and back. 12 hours on Thursday and 9 hours on Sunday (Lynn drove for 2 hours) I've recently been in Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Washington DC and Delaware. (Trivia question- which of those states wasn't part of the 13 colonies?) I've seen gas pricing range from $4.33 a gallon to $3.67 a gallon. It was the sort of drive the sucks the life out of you. Admittedly, however, it doesn't come close to being as bad my 60 hours on a plane in 10 days that I once did on a trip to Asia. I really did try to make it go quicker but it's next to impossible to do some real speeding in the Atlantic corridor. The way down we took the PA turnpike to route 81 to route 77 to route 85. Almost the whole way was 2 lanes of traffic. We took route 85 all the way to 95 to get home. It was slightly faster but we had a decent amount of traffic to contend with for a Sunday.
My luck was the worst when it came to passing people. It seemed like trucks were driving side by side to make it impossible to pass. Plus they'd seemed to jump out in front of you at the last minute. Either that or you were constantly running into clusters. You'd have a good mile of driving by yourself on the highway at 85 mph and then you'd have about 10-20 cars all bunched up together for 5 miles. Unless you weaved in and out like Speed Racer or just pushed on the horn to get people out of your way you got stuck going slow. I guess some people feel safer when they have others in front of them or near them instead of driving out in the open. But the most annoying part is that people just will not get out of the passing lane when you move up behind them.
ARRRGHHH!! I really hate that! Get the fuck outta my way dammit!!
Whenever I see someone coming up behind me in my rear view mirror I move over to the right lane as soon as there is an opening. It's common courtesy and it's also the law in most states. Sure, my lead foot isn't exactly legal, but move over and you won't have to deal with me anymore.
At least the kids were about as best behaved as possible for a 12 hour drive. The DVD player helped, but even still I commend their demeanor as I have awful memories of me and my brother Duane constantly fighting in the car on vacations.
"Mom! Duane's touching me!!"
"Brian won't get his foot off my book!"
"Stop making faces at me!"
"Are we there yet?"
Duane and I used to fight over who sat in the seat behind my dad because the other side was considered the "hitting" side. He couldn't reach behind himself to whack whoever was misbehaving, so he would just hit whoever was sitting behind my mom whenever one of us would start complaining about the other. You definitely can see the strategic importance of sitting behind dad as you could be the aggressor without much punishment. Although, if you really did push your luck you'd get it good once you got out of the car and I do remember both of us getting a good beating one time when my dad pulled over to the side of the road because we were being so bad.
My kids hardly complained about how long it was taking at all and they got along fine. I must be a better father than my dad, especially since my kids don't argue on who gets to sit on the hitting side.
"Anyone who drives slower than you is an idiot and anyone who drives faster than you is a maniac!"
If you include bathroom breaks, fast food stops and gas fill ups I drove a combined 21 hours in the last 4 days on my trip to Greenville SC and back. 12 hours on Thursday and 9 hours on Sunday (Lynn drove for 2 hours) I've recently been in Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Washington DC and Delaware. (Trivia question- which of those states wasn't part of the 13 colonies?) I've seen gas pricing range from $4.33 a gallon to $3.67 a gallon. It was the sort of drive the sucks the life out of you. Admittedly, however, it doesn't come close to being as bad my 60 hours on a plane in 10 days that I once did on a trip to Asia. I really did try to make it go quicker but it's next to impossible to do some real speeding in the Atlantic corridor. The way down we took the PA turnpike to route 81 to route 77 to route 85. Almost the whole way was 2 lanes of traffic. We took route 85 all the way to 95 to get home. It was slightly faster but we had a decent amount of traffic to contend with for a Sunday.
My luck was the worst when it came to passing people. It seemed like trucks were driving side by side to make it impossible to pass. Plus they'd seemed to jump out in front of you at the last minute. Either that or you were constantly running into clusters. You'd have a good mile of driving by yourself on the highway at 85 mph and then you'd have about 10-20 cars all bunched up together for 5 miles. Unless you weaved in and out like Speed Racer or just pushed on the horn to get people out of your way you got stuck going slow. I guess some people feel safer when they have others in front of them or near them instead of driving out in the open. But the most annoying part is that people just will not get out of the passing lane when you move up behind them.
ARRRGHHH!! I really hate that! Get the fuck outta my way dammit!!
Whenever I see someone coming up behind me in my rear view mirror I move over to the right lane as soon as there is an opening. It's common courtesy and it's also the law in most states. Sure, my lead foot isn't exactly legal, but move over and you won't have to deal with me anymore.
At least the kids were about as best behaved as possible for a 12 hour drive. The DVD player helped, but even still I commend their demeanor as I have awful memories of me and my brother Duane constantly fighting in the car on vacations.
"Mom! Duane's touching me!!"
"Brian won't get his foot off my book!"
"Stop making faces at me!"
"Are we there yet?"
Duane and I used to fight over who sat in the seat behind my dad because the other side was considered the "hitting" side. He couldn't reach behind himself to whack whoever was misbehaving, so he would just hit whoever was sitting behind my mom whenever one of us would start complaining about the other. You definitely can see the strategic importance of sitting behind dad as you could be the aggressor without much punishment. Although, if you really did push your luck you'd get it good once you got out of the car and I do remember both of us getting a good beating one time when my dad pulled over to the side of the road because we were being so bad.
My kids hardly complained about how long it was taking at all and they got along fine. I must be a better father than my dad, especially since my kids don't argue on who gets to sit on the hitting side.
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