To The Batcave...

The last week has been a flurry of everything and nothing. The HOA meeting was a resounding success, and ended with the ejection of the old board and the election of a new board. One that will, hopefully, be able to enact changes to the benefit of all. The new secretary, though? She seems a little wonky. And this morning, when it was a frosty 40 degrees outside? She could be seen running down the street in her bare feet and pajamas... carrying an infant... and chasing a very fast puppy.

In case you haven't figured it out yet? That would be me.

So the week was wrapped up in working on and thinking about a variety of HOA matters. And for some reason, there was a completely out-of-proportion-to-reality sense of immediacy about everything I did. No matter what I was involved in - typing minutes, chasing the dog, feeding the kids, tossing in a load of laundry - I felt a sense of overwhelming urgency and guilt about all of the other things I was not doing at that very moment.

Apparently my psyche thinks I should be able to be in 54386 places at once. And do every one of the involved tasks to perfection at the same time. To the result that I accomplished very little, and ended up feeling very tired.

Last night I went to bed at a decent hour. And I slept. And I woke up this morning still grumpy, but after a cup of coffee and my morning trip to the medicine cabinet I was feeling very much improved. So much so that I started making out a grocery list, ordered a few more things for the business, and finally checked my blogroll (which has whimpered over here in the corner as the numbers kept cranking up and up with nary a perusal from yours truly.)

Which is when I read this post over at dooce. And then followed the link to this article by a New Orleans Times-Picayune reporter on his experience with depression as a person who didn't really believe in the illness.

And I came to two very sudden realizations.

1) My parents were very skeptical of mental illness, beyond outright psychosis, for most of my life. I have learned to admire them in a whole new light as they have evolved the past few years and, my mom especially, been incredibly supportive of me since learning of the struggles I have had.. and continue to have, really. It requires several deep, calming breaths on my part to keep from tearing up whenever I remember that they will soon be on the other side of the planet... which brings me to

2) It's time to stop telling the psychiatrist how well things are going and be more honest with him and with myself about what is still broken. I am doing so much better than I was in April, in so many ways, and I have wanted that to be it - to be able to say "see how well I am doing!" to myself and to others, that I have been reluctant to admit that there is still quite a distance to go before I am able to really cope with any effectiveness. Until I can open up about that, I am in denial and I don't believe in denial unless it involves counting the calories in a piece of birthday cake. (which totally don't count, because what kind of world is this if I can't enjoy my funfetti with blue icing in peace - I ASK YOU?)

I have got to work out some sort of sanity check on a real schedule. Because though my plate is very very full at the moment, there is no reason that it should overwhelm me if I can learn to prioritize and keep certain time sacred.

Which is why, at this moment, I am headed to the shower so that I can take the boys out for lunch and to do some grocery shopping. Time. Together with the boys. Out of this house. Sacred, indeed.

But fear not, my friends. I have not forgotten my participation in NaBloPoMo (as evidenced by the badge I finally have up here). In fact, I just got my copy of Mighty Maggie's new Book of 100 ideas for your Blog, and I fully intend to pad the pages of this little internet empire with my take on some of her suggestions.

Because you know you're dying to read an excerpt from the diary I kept in high school. It's full of deliciously angsty teenage meanderings and several exquisitely humiliating rants on my breasts. And I do have a photo of the ridiculously huge yorkshire pudding T made for Christmas dinner last year somewhere around here.... You're salivating already, aren't you?!