Gah.

I am so out-of-touch with blogging I didn't even think about yesterday's post until 30 seconds ago. And this is all that will be of today's post . . .

Enochlophobia

Today I went to a political rally - Chelsea Clinton was campaigning for her mother Hillary Clinton. I got there early, standing in line for 2 hours in order to be right up front. As more people came in and pushed those of us in the front further forward, we became so squashed in that it was difficult to move. After standing right at the front for about 10 minutes, I started to feel the beginning tingles of a panic attack. I struggle with enochlophobia, and way way way underestimated my ability to handle being stuck in this large crowd. I turned around, and couldn't see the door because there were so many people. I could feel the panic begin. I took about 30 seconds to try and talk myself out of freaking out. At the end of the 30 seconds I turned around and fought my way to the very back. Where I could breathe. And see the door. And move around. As I listened to Senator Tammy Baldwin, and then listened to Chelsea Clinton, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be right up front. When this kind of panic hits, it makes me feel small because it's out of my control. I guess if I need to put a positive spin on it, I didn't pass out or vomit on Chelsea. So, there's that.

NaBloPoMo

It's National Blog Posting Month, so if I'm ever going to get back into blogging - here's my chance. I've been thinking about getting back into blog-mode for a while, and have been pondering where my desire to blog comes from. What do I get out of it? 
1. I am able to record bits of life I want to remember. Both the good and the bad. I read through old blog posts and can't believe some of the things I forget about - until I'm reminded through my writing.
2. I need the writing practice. I go through "phases" with writing, some inspired, some mechanical. Some of it good, some of it definitely not good, much of it mediocre. All of it with potential that can only be realized with practice.
3. I get satisfaction in entertaining, even if I only entertain myself. 
4. I can work through strong emotions more effectively if I write through them. I have lived with varying degrees of depression for many years, with my biggest struggles coming during winter. The short days limit the light in my soul. Writing prevents me from burrowing in, doesn't let me hide from the emotions I need to process and work through.

Committing myself to NaBloPoMo means I will be writing every day in November. I'm intimidated, but also curious to discover the arrangement my words will take.

The Bad Thing

Dear blog . . .

Dear interwebs . . .

I have been intentionally ignoring you. . .

I have wanted to write, but everything is stuck. 

Because I have to write about the bad thing if I ever want to write about anything else ever again. Which sounds melodramatic but is perfectly true.

But I'm so scared because writing about the bad thing will make it real. If I have to read the words I write there is no going back.

The bad thing isn't about me, though it consumes my heart and mind and soul every moment I'm not occupied. And there is nothing. I. Can. Do. About. It.

And it is the most helpless and alone I have ever felt in my life. Again, so melodramatic. But not one bit of exaggeration.

So I'm going to write about the bad thing. And maybe it will allow me to take a deep breath. Because I have not been able to do that in so long.

I am losing my mom. That is the bad thing.

To dementia? Alzheimer's? Stroke related brain damage? We don't know yet. But honestly, it doesn't matter. Because the core of who my mom is. Was. Isn't there. 

And I don't know how to do this. 

Vegas

My 2 days in Vegas were a whirlwind, but there is one event that will stay in my heart and mind for a long time. I have been trying to find the right words . . .

Wednesday evening, after a day filled with friends, reunions and great meetings, I decided I was going to be brave enough to play Blackjack. For real. With actual money. I found a table that had an open seat with very kind players and a dealer who was GREAT at teaching. As I got into my groove, a young man sat down in the remaining empty seat next to me and began to play. Being several drinks in (they were free!) I was chatty and we exchanged names and small talk. I detected a Middle Eastern accent. We reached a pause in the game when the dealer needed to shuffle the cards. Out of the blue I had a question I needed answered, so with my liquid courage, I asked where he was from. "Syria" was his answer, but there was defensiveness in his posture and voice. Then I asked, "Have people been kind to you since . . ." and I didn't know how to end the question. He ended it for me, ". . . since the war? No. They tell me daily to go back where I came from." He went on to explain his family fled several years ago to escape persecution, and they now manage/own a gas station. I was stunned. I know this kind of cruelty happens, but to have the proof in front of me broke my heart. I said the only thing I could think of, "I'm so very sorry." He smiled a sad smile and turned back as the next round was dealt.

This will haunt me for a while, mostly because it has me wondering what I can do to make the world, or at least the world around me a kinder place. I don't know that I have an answer, but saying "I'm sorry" seemed like a start.

Sleep

Isn't it funny how there are periods when sleep comes easily and lasts all night, and other times you sleep in fits and spurts, never quite sinking all the way in. The latter has been my reality the last week. I think my preoccupation with Nora's Marine graduation AND preparing for the largest forensics tournament of the fall semester AND being buried under a mountain of grading . . . well, it's no wonder I wake up at 3:30 am and can't get back to sleep.

So, this morning I got up (at 3:30!) and after a cup of coffee, decided I was going to tackle the grading for one class before I had to shower and leave for the day. I'm kind of proud of myself that all those papers are graded - it's a weight off my chest!

I still have 30 minutes before I need to get ready for the day. So I'm going to savor this cup of coffee, enjoy the morning news, and gear up for a GREAT DAY!

Proud Auntie

In August, my niece Nora began a great adventure. She traveled to Parris Island, SC to begin Marine boot camp.  I feel I need to point out that Nora is 5' 2" of stubborn determination. You can see her determination on this picture captured by the Parris Island photographers:

Last week, she completed her final test as a Recruit: The Crucible. It is 54 hours of 45 miles marched w/ 45 pound packs, more than 40 combat and problem solving exercises, 6 total hours of sleep and just 3 MRE's. At the end of the Crucible, Nora became a Marine.

So this weekend, my sister and family will travel to Parris Island to see Nora graduate. I'm sad I cannot be there, but I know there will be photos and texts and phone calls to come during Nora's 17 days of leave. I am so damn proud.