Buses be bussin' (I guess)

 There's a phrase that's new-ish (I think?) that I feel was very much needed - for my life experience, anyway. It's down bad. 

I think of it as depression's cousin; I'm missing something or Something Is Vaguely Wrong or I know I need to sit with and process my emotions but I just fucking hate spending the time on it without the peer pressure of an appointment and a person either providing body doubling or feedback to bump up against. Sometimes I allow myself to mourn a little bit in the time it takes me to drive from work to home (ten minutes on a sloggy day). That's good, right?

Anyway. I'm down bad right now for various reasons. I'm happy to say none of those reasons include the weather.

Some things to try for falling asleep:
1. white noise and a weighted blanket, obvi.
2. do that yoga thing where you start with yourself and then move outward ending with the entire world, saying "May I be well, may I be healthy, may I be at peace". I've started moving outward geographically or by closeness of person in the family sense, but you can modify however you wish.
3. try to remember some choreography; it doesn't matter which one.
4. play "I love my love with an A"; it's a 19th century name game where you go through all the letters of the alphabet and assign a name that starts with that letter, a reason why you love them, where they live, what they eat, and some other quality it doesn't matter what. (e.g., "I love my love with an A. I love her because she is avaricious. I hate her because she is affable. She lives in Atlanta. She dines on asparagus and apples. Her name is Agatha.")
5. try to remember the setup of a place you've lived before for the future purpose of building a memory palace with it; never actually build

And with that, it's time for bed. Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite.

Funnel Tunnel

 I'll bet you already knew this, but carpal tunnel syndrome really just refers the tendons in a lil' tunnel in your wrist getting squished. The surgery is just snipping the tunnel, which is made of a bunch of fascia called the TFCC (Triangular Fibrocartilage Complex), so the tendons can go back to living their best life and gliding without getting squished. It's truly amazing what humans will do: if it's not working? Cut it. Move forward. Don't look back. Don't slow down. Love means never falling over.

Two more minutes then a shower.

I've been trying to break the day into three chunks again: morning, afternoon, evening. Something homework in the morning, something kid-oriented, something chores. Rinse, lather, repeat for afternoon and evening. And two nights a week in the evening I have lab, so that works out pretty well.

We're doing upper extremity stuff for this class. Fabricating orthotics. I'm imagining scenes in Sci-Fi movies where robots arise from baths of water in all their plasticine glory. That, I think, is kind of what we'll be doing. Except, with each-others' arms, somehow.

An oldie but a goodie.

10

 Anchorage has been making up for the horrible winter the last week. Sun, 70s, light breeze, a whisper of a thunderstorm here and there. 

S has gone fishing with M, my dad and my father-in-law. Looks beautiful from the pictures, sounds totally stressful, glad I’m here instead - even if we’re dealing with things like no hot water at work, people calling out, and last-minute promos of the devil. 

We’re kind of keeping an eye on my mother-in-law, since she’s been falling/close to falling often. Although I’m mostly just keeping an ear out and trying to keep her from driving so 🤷🏻‍♀️

L and N are playing at the walrus park at the moment. I’m glad they still play together. Even when they fight.

…

I’ve been trying to pay a little more attention to my intra-dynamics. The voice in my head that’s more “parenting” myself. What feeds it, when it shows up, what drains it. How much of it do I have per 24 hours? What should I spend it on?

The effort of sustaining attention being SO MUCH. The effort of initiating any type of contradictory opinion being a lot: just never doing it. Even though should.

Tacked on at the end of neurorehab was a lecture about attention. Exciting to learn that I struggle with all types of attention and attention and executive dysfunction.

Insert meme with monkey looking down and sideways here.

I hope it’s pretty where you are. And warm. But not oppressively so. 

11

The second part of the third season of Bridgerton is out now. But we’re are the part of the mini-mester where there’s a butt ton of things due on Monday, I haven’t monitored the FASD board whatsoever even though I committed to it, and there’s a test on Thursday and on and on and on it goes. 

S and the kids are starting up late so I’m coping with missing them (L especially) and feeling like a crap mom even though I need my sleep to not be a monster and S stepping up to parent is exactly the right move.

Buncha hormones buncha hormones buncha hormones (like a mantra).

The sun’s been out for once in its life the last couple of days and we had a nice little monsoon last night; hail and everything. It truly helps dispel tension, I swear.

Watched Inside Out 2 last night. So much crying, but so good. We were supposed to walk to the movie theatre, but S’s gout was flaring up.

My camp name is Karen, more on that later.

I'm taking an Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Disorders (FASD) class over the summer. So far that's been pretty interesting to me. Many classmates are Team When You Know Better, You Do Better

However - no? Not exactly? I haven't really gotten up on that soapbox to the extent I feel it, but...no? I remember a random kid I met at some gathering my mom wanted to go to at a local church and decided it was cool to let us run around outside together (to the tune of 8 years old, maybe?). She thought it was very important to make me swear to never do drugs ever ever. And this was when D.A.R.E was super big, remember? I said, "Sure." I think about her sometimes, and sometimes the cognitive dissonance gets me. But.... 

So, a lot of the problematic elements are pretty clear, but, um, what if we assume that people who binge drink or use substances are using it to medicate A Thing and that preventing substance use full stop could be linked to finding the actual appropriate medication or series of therapeutic modalities for them. Not just replacing Intense Drug(tm) with...whatever they replace that with which is supposed to ease the transition to sobriety or at least make life suck less, but figuring the fuck out what a person needs. Is it possible to do that? Is it not?

It is completely bonkers to me this idea that FASD is only up to 5 generations old. No, sir/lady-sir. Alcohol has been around for ages. When I think of alcohol I think of film noirs where Gloria Grahame gets smacked one across the kisser after mixing another hurricane (I guess it's an alcoholic drink; I don't know). Where All of That was Clearly a Result of Generations of War. I think of the art style of the late 50s and early 60s where the linework started one way and ended up another and I think mainly because of PTSD, alcohol, and cocaine. Maybe the Southern Baptists had it right. The women in the 19th century who swore:

When I was trying to get pregnant with L I was being really silly. I wanted a girl more than anything (and I understand how that is problematic; and I wanted it anyway; and I'm glad to have gotten it; and I digress). I ate no protein other than white chicken. I ate carbs otherwise. I exercised exactly at least 20 minutes every damn day I did not drink alcohol I did not eat breakfast cereals I had never exercised this much control over my entire being since being anorexic in my early teens. And I yet, now, worry that she somehow has FASD because the criterion for binge drinking is eight or more drinks a week. And, yeah. That seems reasonable! I worry that the amount of alcohol I drank in the years leading up to conceiving her...anyway. And it's tangled, isn't it? My mother kept a corkscrew in her purse before she had me and I was a surprise baby. So what could that mean, right? And my dad's mom was 13 when she had him. So maybe he wasn't an FASD baby? Or maybe. She's not around to ask. And there was very little oversight considering *gestures at situation*.

Anyway. Some themes so far:
Stigma/blaming the birth mother. Bruh, the feeling of being pregnant is not always mystical. It can just feel like having snakes in your belly, which somehow does not equate to a human child who will (hopefully) someday become a human adult. I'm sorry about it. Maybe your partner is pressuring you into drinking. Maybe you're in denial about being pregnant. People can deny entire parts of their own, visible, body for various reasons. Denying pregnancy is not such a stretch. And then there are the (in my experience, often men) who pshaw the whole idea of FASD. In Europe! They drink! During pregnancy even - what of it? This, perhaps.

Love for the child. 

Support for adults affected by addiction/FASD. But what is it like to be an adult with FASD? Are there ways to help adults realize their shared experience? 

Alright, goodnight.