Busted Advice: Migraine

If you're like a lot of people with internet access, you've likely investigated different maladies you've had from an ingrown toenail to a case of the sniffles. For better or worse, we've all done it. Sometimes the advice we find is helpful, but other times it can increase the anxiety about the condition until you're convinced you have some incurable disease. What's even worse is when the advice for your chronic condition is laughable or when it comes from a well-meaning friend or acquaintance. Honestly, I've read and received some fairly ridiculous advice for migraines over the 30 some years I've had the buggers. Here's just a short list of my favorites.

Thanks for lending an ear, Goat. I appreciate it.

Drink Water

Are you freakin' kidding me with this? If your headache gets better with water, then good for you! You had a dehydration headache. They suck; don't get me wrong, but they're not true migraines in the sense of chronic pain condition migraine I experience. Some folks feel this is their trigger. To them I say, "Congratulations on figuring out your trigger." I wish mine went away that easily. Furthermore, I have Sjogren's Syndrome, so I'm always drinking water. I am one of the most hydrated people you'll meet. I think I'd know if my headache would get better with water since I'd likely have been exerting myself and sweating a lot and not had my trusty water bottle with me. I'd likely also miss out on the fun light show or tingly scalp or yawning that usually go along with an impending migraine, too. Thanks for playing, but water doesn't help my chronic migraine. Don't tell me to drink more water. 

Seriously. I could do this and still have a migraine. I would, however, need to pee. A lot.

Grab a Sports Drink

This kind of falls under the hydration idea. I hadn't heard this one before, so I decided to try it because at the time, I wasn't taking anything that was helping. True story about migraine--you will try just about anything to make the pain stop. This shouldn't be one of them as it is a bust unless you've been exerting yourself and sweating a lot and lacking your trusty water bottle. If dehyration is your trigger, this might help ward off a migraine for you; However, again I say nay to this one. I have never been assisted in relieving a migraine with Gatorade.

This guy probably needs that sports drink. Me? Not so much.

Grapefruit Juice

A well-meaning individual suggested this to me when she learned I had a migraine most of the weekend. Apparently, her parent always recommends this as a remedy for headaches. I'm not entirely sure what the therapeutic effect would be on this one, but I do know that grapefruit juice, or any citrus for that matter, can actually be a bad thing. The tannins in citrus can actually trigger migraines in some people. Not only that, but grapefruit is contraindicated for a host of medications including beta blockers used to treat migraines. Ummmm, as much as I used to love ruby red grapefruit juice, I stopped drinking it because some brands add so much sugar. Between that, the tannins, and the medication warnings, I'll call this a bust for me.

It doesn't make sense to me either, Obama. 

PS: I miss you.

Get Some Coffee
*sigh* If I had suddenly stopped drinking coffee in the morning, I might consider this one as caffeine withdrawal headaches suck ass. Some years ago I decided to taper myself off caffeine because I was having heart palpitations called premature ventricular contractions (PVC) and it was freaking me out. I was taking in way too much caffeine, so I decided to take my doctor's advice and cut back. Despite slowly eliminating the caffeine, I still got the caffeine withdrawals for a while. However, unlike migraines, taking an OTC medication helped. You know why? Because they contain caffeine! One of my actual migraines though? Nada. Zip. No effect. I was very alert for my migraine experience though.

Even the best damn cup of coffee wouldn't do the trick, Cooper.

Coconut Oil
I love this stuff. I love cooking with it. I also love swishing some in my mouth for a while each morning as it does whiten my teeth, destroy coffee breath, and keep those pesky mouth sores (gums included) associated with lupus and Sjogren's at bay. However, when I was investigating coconut oil for these purposes (it's called oil pulling), some site made outlandish claims about the health benefits like--you guessed it--eliminating migraine pain. *insert furrowed brow here* If only it were that simple like the person who actually believes that nonsense. I've been oil pulling for about two years and guess what: I still get migraines.

Coconut oil for migraine? More like snake oil.

Manage Your Stress
Why must this be on every fucking chronic illness therapy list? I manage my stress just fine, but suggesting this to me is not helping with that effort. In fact, it makes me want to throttle you. Throttling would make me feel better, but it's still not likely to get rid of a migraine. I do yoga, I meditate, and I listen to the most relaxing song in the world (Really. It's called "Weightless" by Marconi Union) and I still get migraines. Migraines don't give a damn how Zen you are. They will bust your head regardless.

Stress? What makes you think I'm stressed?

Pressure Point
Some sites and good-intentioned people suggest applying pressure to that web-like area between your thumb and index finger. I tried this pinching technique hoping beyond hope that it would be a lifesaving strategy for me when the migraine gained ground in the war. You know what happened? I got a nasty bruise instead. Really. It was kinda blue in the middle a green as it got closer to the edges. It covered the whole triangular area on my hand. Maybe in my pain I pinched too intensely that time, but I was gentle at other attempts and still the migraine raged on.

 Yes, I know it was a long shot, President Underwood. Of course, you didn't see your wife's betrayal, so from where I sit you've got no right to judge my choices.

Have Sex
Yes. Really. The suggestion here was to ignore that old cliche of "Not tonight. I have a headache" and go for it. Ignore the throbbing and nausea; just get down, baby! I did actually try this a few times with my less intense migraines. I have to say that during the actual act, the headache did indeed lessen in intensity, but as soon as the afterglow was over, the migraine came back. It came back with a vengeance in fact. Those feel good chemicals can only block your awareness for so long. I guess, if you have a migraine and feel up for a few moments of peace and that lovely orgasm, be my guest. Just be prepared for the aftermath.

 I agree. You take care of you and leave me and my migraine alone in agony.

I guess it boils down to this: find out what triggers those migraines (I use an app for that) and be honest with your doctor about the experience you have with migraines. Tell your doctor what you've tried and what has worked as well as what has failed. If you're someone who knows another person who has migraines, be supportive, but don't give a bunch of unsolicited advice. You can't make it all better like a mom kissing a kid's skinned knee. Your friend or loved one will appreciate a compassionate offer like "What can I do for you?" or "I'm sorry you're in pain" a lot more than a recommendation of something they've likely already tried and debunked. Who knows though. They might just take you up on the sex.

Good luck with that "Come hither" look, Moose.

* The current trend online is to recommend Himalayan salt water with organic lemon juice. This again falls under dehydration and electrolyte imbalance as your trigger. It's actually not a successful therapy for other types of headache without an added  abortive prescription as far as what I've been able to verify. (Sept. 23, 2017)

Changes To Have and To Hold

One summer, I sat next to one of my oldest friends as we chatted under a shade awning in a campground. It had been raining all day, so we played games and discussed the world's problems. As we did, I studied her face. It was a little fuller, pale like I remembered it, and more moles than she used to have. She always had a lovely mole on her cheek--you know the kind that French aristocracy coveted and would actually fake for idealized beauty reasons? I'm sure this probably unnerved my friend. It's an awful habit of mine: studying the way things change over time. The way the lake where we camp has added bits of development and "improvements" to cater to the wealthier visitors, or the way the homes in the neighborhood change as people buy and sell and remodel. Currently, the changes to my own appearance have garnered my study.

Don't give me that look, Goat. You've clearly spent some time looking in the mirror to get those horns just right.

I wrote previously about cutting my hair shorter. I had thought of shaving it down really short like Sigourney Weaver in Alien 3 short, but then I watched the new season of "Orange is the New Black" and decided I didn't want to be mistaken for a skinhead or Neo-Nazi. The gray in my hair though is something I'm rather fond of. I had one of those kinky, stick straight out of your head gray hairs this week. It made me laugh, but it wouldn't lay flat. I wound up plucking it for its insubordination, but on the whole, I rather enjoy the natural look of my hair. I haven't had the urge to go back to dyeing it except to make it all one bright, crayon box color like orange or purple. For now though, mousy with gray highlights is ok with me.

Damn straight, Sigourney.

Another change of age and chronic illness are the spots. I'm gaining spots. These aren't age spots mind you--not the things that resemble a bunch of freckles that decided to join forces to create mega-freckle. Although I do have two of those (on my jaw and on my chest), these are the lupus spots that indicate skin involvement in my condition. The lupus has been active for a while now and this is just one more piece of the fun. I have one on my arm that has faded, but it still looks a bit like a smallpox scar. I have another on my thigh, one on my back, and one on my other arm. They're roundish, red and slightly raised. Small potatoes comparatively, yet they keep showing up. Not on my list of favorite changes, but a change nonetheless.

Please don't be offended at my discomfort, Cheetah. Your spots are fabulous.

Earlier this week I had a class performance for belly dance. We do this about every 8 weeks after concentrating an element for that session. This performance concentrated on gypsy skirts. It's fun, lively, and exhausting. It takes a lot of energy to kick up your heels for even the three and a half minutes of a song I had. Well, my husband took his camera and proceeded to photograph us as we performed. I think he wants to update our Facebook page. Anyway, he  got a profile of me smiling. It's a candid shot. Ordinarily I find something to criticize like my expression is weird, my head is down making my neck look like it has elephant trunk wrinkles, or my smile is overly toothy--something is wrong dammit and I don't want to look at that picture. This one though was natural and dare I say it? Pretty. I have a nice profile. Ok, there. I said it. I did notice that I have a lot more lines around my eyes; the ones that crinkle when you smile ya know? I'm 43 and I stay out of the sun, but there are those laugh lines cosmetic companies try and shame you for. Me though; I own those lines. I love them in fact. They are testimony to all the laughs, guffaws, and chortles I've enjoyed in life. I'm not going to day and night cream them away.

That's right, Castiel. My laugh lines. No wrinkle-shaming allowed.

 Changes come in many varieties: ones you can change, ones you can't change, ones you love, and ones you'd rather do without. I'd rather get my strong, sculpted arms that I had before my neck fusion back, but that's going to be difficult. I can keep working to keep myself fit and healthy with all the yoga, strength training, and belly dancing I do. However, I work on those for me. For my self image and wellness not because some ad or product has shamed me into it. I only get this one body, gray hair, spots, and wrinkles included. I don't fear these changes; I embrace them. Well ok, the spots I will treat with the cream prescribed by my doctor, but I do accept them as part of living in this body. Maybe it's being 43 and part of that wisdom of age you hear about, but I'm thankful for the level of security I feel about my appearance at this age. Or maybe I just give a fuck what other people think anymore. I'm thankful for that, too.

Moose: You. Look. Marvelous!

Husband and Me and Baby Makes: Nope!

When I was young, my family played a lot of board games. I enjoyed board games very much, so one night when we decided to play a new one, Scruples, I thought it'd be enjoyable, too. Essentially, you are asked ethical dilemma questions and had to provide your answer to them. I got one question about what would I do if after a divorce my teenage daughter said that she didn't want me dating a new beau. I said that'd I'd tell my daughter tough! If I was ready to start dating again, then it was time to start again. My aunt, sister, and mother looked at me in horror as if I couldn't possibly be that callous. I didn't think I had said anything wrong and was confused why they all thought I should have answered differently. This was the first time it became clear to me that perhaps mothering was not something in my future.

Don't worry, Kid. You and I'd probably get along just fine. It's my own species that confounds me.

Upon further reflection, the not interested in  baby-makin' mindset has always been there. As a child in church, I would get incredibly impatient with babies crying or children who misbehaved or parents who wouldn't just take those out of line children out of the church. They eventually put in cry rooms mind you. I thought that addition was long overdue. Keep in mind that during this time, I was not yet out of elementary school. In fact, I was not any older than third grade. I simply couldn't stand how disruptive the cranky kids were to the whole service. I'm sure I had my moments of disrupting services when I was a baby or toddler, but I have no recollection of this.

This Crybaby? Probably safe from my disdain.

As I grew older, I became eligible for the pre-teen rite o f passage known as babysitting. I prefer to call it torture for money. I had some truly wonderful babysitters along the way including a young man who regrettably was peed on by my beagle, but I digress. He clearly was made for the job whereas I was not. I babysat 4 boys once. Omigod. I vowed never to babysit more than two after that. The boys were not all that bad at first, but then they became mischievous and decided to concoct a "potion" in the bathroom and they locked me out. I tried the butterknife in the lock trick that usually worked at my house to no avail. These young evil-doers then proceeded to put the potion on one of them thereby creating a most horrendous allergic rash. When the boy began to cry because his skin was breaking out in hives, they finally opened the door. I called his parents and asked about administering a Benadryl. They came home shortly thereafter, got the full scoop from me, admonished the boys, and sent me away with a little extra pay. That was nice, but I never babysat for them again.

Baby Groot is probably also safe. He's in a pot for cryin' out loud . Besides he's adorable and we could get our dance groove on.

There was another babysitting event where the youngest of the household snuck out his second story bedroom window to go skateboarding after 10pm. His sister was a wonderful kid who stayed in her bed and went to sleep, but not this punk. When I went to check on him and discovered him gone, I panicked. I looked high and low and when he finally came home, I told him that I'd be informing his parents of his shenanigans (he begged me not to and as I later found out, this wasn't the first time he'd done this. Perhaps a warning next time would be helpful.) I also made him sleep on the sofa while I watched TV so I could keep an eye on him. Babysitting and I were never to become friends. In fact, I turned to delivering newspapers at 445am instead. Alone, peaceful, early morning calm *sigh*

Not your mom, Stewie. Definitely staying far away. I think I babysat you once and that was plenty.

Later in my adolescence, I sat in my Senior Sampler (prep for life) class as we were discussing adult life and what it would take to build a relationship with a spouse and run a household etc. One of the inevitable questions was how many kids would you have. I felt annoyed and more than a little apprehensive at this. One of my friends wanted as many as God would grant her and another friend said she'd want a dozen. Their answers both mystified and horrified me. I thought why do I have to have any? Of course, peer pressure struck over this question and boom! I wrote down two. There were two in my family and that seemed reasonable. Who knows, maybe one day I'd feel like procreating.

Yeah, I didn't buy that one either, Jimmy.

I share these tales because over the last weekend my husband and I went camping. Camping always means a lot of families with children running amok in the campground. Thankfully, not a lot of loud criers and most kept their distance. I saw one young kid in Spiderman jammies and snickered. I saw another one in a brown and orange plaid shirt with bright green shorts and cowboy boots and remembered the camping rule that thou shall not judge fashion choices when camping. I snorted when I saw him causally strolling to the outhouse. Then there was a family with four children two of whom were playing with lightsabers; clearly their parents are doing parenting right. My husband took some items to the recycling bin and saw the dad of this family digging in the back of their car, the mom was digging in the under storage area of the trailer, and the kids were all running around, yelling at each other and shaking their lightsabers. My husband returned to tell this observation and said, "Here's to not having any," and he handed me a beer.

That's right, Buffy. Beer good.

On the web you can find all kinds of articles in defense of childless marriages. You can find articles that celebrate, articles that explain, articles that ridicule, and articles that dispell myths about opting out of reproduction. Some even speak to how we have a moral obligation to stop procreating for a while. I tend to agree with that assessment. My article is not really any of those, except maybe explaining my own journey toward not being a mom. However, in those dispelling ones they inevitably bring up how childless women don't hate children. Well, I don't hate them (C'mon, be real. "Hate" is fairly harsh phrasing), but I'm not overly fond of them either. Children at a distance work for me. While I love our niece and nephews, I just didn't get them at first. I am not one to do a lot of playing around or wanting to hold the baby when someone offers. Mostly, I was/am stiff and awkward about it. I guess I'm a little ambivalent or even indifferent to children in general. I do play board games with our niece and nephews, I have watched hours of the same movies with them, I have played keep away in the yard, and I have gone swimming in their above ground pool and enjoyed all of it, but why anyone feels the need to have their own mini-me's  still baffles me.

Oh don't try that, Jon. You caved in to the baby-makin' machine, too.

While a lot of the information in those other articles about how you shouldn't tell a woman who doesn't have children things like "Who'll take care of you when you're older" or "You'll change your mind some day" etc. are absolutely true, it's also true that not all of us childless ones want to spend a lot of time with kids and we don't all want to hold, play with, or try to have a conversation with you while your kid runs around doing those things that kids do. Some of us just don't get kids and never have--even when we were one.

It's ok, Baby Moose. We're cool, too...from a distance. Your parents prefer it that way.

Class of 2017

It's June. I have a precious few days left to our regularly scheduled school year. Finals start tomorrow. The weather will be gorgeous this week. I hope that I am able to keep a lid on things to get through these next four days. The unity of teachers banded together in order to confront the last week of school with fun, discipline, and recognition of growth over the last nine months is palpable.

Kids on the last day of school. (See what I did there?)

Even though we, like our students, are chomping at the bit to be released from the regimented school bells, this time of year is always difficult for teachers. We have a ton of papers and tests to grade. We have to pack up our rooms. We face students whose minds are elsewhere, and whose behavior shows their restlessness. For some, anxiety about being out of the structure of the school year complicates their enjoyment and anticipation. Through it all though, we cling to certain memories as we prepare to put another year behind us.

Make no mistake, Andrew. I'll still be doing this dance on Thursday.

For me, this year ends somewhat bittersweet. When you teach seniors in high school, their last day holds the potential for smeared mascara and raucous laughter. We discuss what they've learned, where they're going, and what they'll miss. We sign yearbooks and take pictures. This year's picture with seniors had the tallest young man resting his arm on my head. I'm a perfectly respectable 5' 6" mind you, but he's like 6' 4-5". Still and all, I shall cherish that photo. I absolutely love teaching senior English. I was sniffly all morning and saying goodbye as they strolled out the door made my eyes all bleary and watery. I am thankful I got to know each and every one of them.

My inner toddler was on overload with the all the feels.

Before their graduation rehearsal the next morning, some of them came to visit in their caps and gowns. They were killing time before their 9am call, but they chose to come see me one more time. For that I am grateful. Being a teacher has few perks, but students who want to come see you when technically they are free from obligation to sit in your room anymore is meaningful. I am thankful they chose to share those last few minutes with me.

That's right, Linda. Do a little happy dance. I did.

Last night was commencement. At my high school, staff attendance is optional. At my previous high school it was mandatory. This school though lacks a roomy field house like my previous school. Since the arena is more confined, not all faculty and staff fit with the stage, the band, and of course, the graduates. Last year my husband and I had tickets to see The Cure, so I didn't attend the ceremony. This year, I wanted to go. My relationship to these young people is dear to me, and I wanted to see them walk the stage and shift their tassels to the right. As stifling as I knew it would be, I wanted to go for them. Despite knowing that being required to wear our regalia of black gowns, stoles, and hoods would add to the sweaty experience, I need to be there. I am thankful I had the chance to cheer for each of my seniors.

Ok, so maybe not as happy as a cat with ribbon on Christmas, but close.

After the ceremony, one of my seniors gave me a huge and excited hug before exiting the arena. As I walked up the stairs and around the railing to the outdoors, another senior caught me. I always appreciated this young man's insights and observations about our literature. He didn't really like Handmaid's Tale at first, but as we continued, he began to feel the weight of the novel's implication. He also was enthusiastic to watch the adaptation on Hulu and visit with me about the series. Last night though, he said something to me that touched me deeply. He said, "Thank you Ms. M. I'm here in large part because of you." I was speechless, astonished, and moved to the tears I'd been holding back. He probably has no idea how meaningful that simple statement was. I am thankful for these moments and those yet to come.

Until we meet again, Moose. 

Cult of Meanness

Ever since I started on the Benlysta, I've been even more careful than usual about washing my hands. When you're on an immune suppressing medication, you take extra precautions. I wash with singing a refrain or two of "Happy Birthday" and I shake my hands free of the water a few times before taking one towel to dry them. I avoid touching anything in the bathroom after washing my hands. I use antimicrobial wipes in my classroom to clean desks and surfaces now. I do all these things to avoid a contagious infection like a cold or flu. However, sometimes the thing that is infecting people isn't a disease; it's an emotion.

That's right, Goats. Sometimes the emotion is gonna get your horns locked together.

I subscribe to the Big Think YouTube channel and their Facebook updates. I find their research and differing perspectives interesting from time to time. Today I saw one entitled "Did You Know That Meanness Is Contagious?" It was fascinating given the meanness that abounds lately. I'm sure you and the rest of the world are aware of how Montana's new congressman won the election even though on the eve of the election he grabbed a reporter, Ben Jacobs, from The Guardian by the throat, threw him to the ground, and began punching him in front of witnesses. Arrgh! Seriously? This man was running for office to represent me and other Montanans in Washington? Apparently he thinks that hooliganism is the way to get the job done. Reporters be damned. The most baffling part? The number of people who defended his actions. 

 I know, Pug. It's unreal that people think this is not conduct unbecoming a congressman.

I get why Gianforte won: A large number of ballots had already been mailed in and could not be changed. I am glad people called to check though. That's encouraging. However, some people defended Gianforte because that reporter interrupted a private interview, except he didn't. Jacobs thrust his phone in Gianforte's face and grabbed him. But, Jacobs didn't. The Fox reporters in the room fully denounced that account and maintained that Jacobs never showed any aggression. The door was open and the other reporters in the room hadn't finished setting up yet and had not started their interview. But hey! Let's blame the reporter and say that the victim was at fault, not the guy running for public office who will undoubtedly run into far more aggressive reporters in his time in Washington. It's called self-control and elected officials need to possess this skill, Mr. Gianforte. 

 It is funny, Dexter. You, a serial killer, have more self-control than this guy.

 According to the Big Think article, this is not unsurprising. Our society right now is experiencing what appears to be a resurgence in meanness. It is now OK to say what you think regardless of how mean it is. We have a president who has been accused of harassment and sexual assault. We have Southerners who can't let go of their Confederate idols even though their presence serves no other purpose than to legitimize and validate a treasonous force that believed enslaving other humans as a means of economic progress was ok. We have white nationalists receiving accolades and money from billionaires to support businesses, candidacy, and publications. One person who defended Gianforte for example, Laura Ingraham, went so far as to mock the reporter for not being like other Montana men who would've gotten up, dusted off, and then retaliated. She knows this from her ample time spent in Montana getting to know the men folk and studying their sociological patterns. Not really, totally made that up. Facetious me. Ingraham's argument seems predicated on the eye for an eye approach to conflict resolution. She also made fun of the reporter with connecting his calling the cops to a kid being bullied and informing an adult who can address the situation. WTH? 

Yeah, Captain. It's bizarre.

Another defender, the Christian activist called Dave Daubenmire, believes that Gianforte was in the right. He also believes that the Tangerine Shart was right to shove his way to the front of other world leaders. This meanness is contagious after all. If the people holding the highest of offices and responsibilities can be rude and physically aggressive, then clearly the rest of the population would, too. This mislabeled Christian activist actually thinks that we need more like these two truculent torchbearers so that we can have more aggressive Christians. His warped view is that these two were being manly men and were an example from Gad for how all men should behave. This guy's show is called "Pass the Salt Live" apparently. 

It's hard to take in, Buddy. It is hard to fathom. Go drink some syrup. You'll feel better.

Granted, it's not just the extreme right wingers who are being wingnuts. Some of the unidentified political party poopers are getting out, too. I read about how someone left a sign on the lawn of a republican representative, Jeff Fortenberry, that said, "Traitors put party above country Do the right thing for once, shithead" (Christina Marcos, The Hill, May 21, 2017). The guy's 10 year old daughter found that. While Fortenberry did not track down this protester and show that person how A Nebraskan handles business, he did remark about civil discourse being the solution to conflicts. Whew! At least one politician knows how to behave. Other meanness targeted at republican representatives included vandalism death threats. 

That's right, Dude. Don't abide that bullshit.

The meanness also leads to tragedy. This weekend three men who attempted to stand up to the meanness of Jeremy Christian (no really, that's his last name) who went on a tirade about Muslims when he saw two young women on the train. One of them was wearing a hijab. Taliesin Myrrdin Namkai Meche and Rick Best died standing up to meanness. Micah David-Cole Fletcher came near to death when the knife passed within millimeters of his jugular. These three men possessed the strength and courage and principles to recognize and reject meanness. Jeremy Christian subscribed to the philosophy of Ingraham and Daubenmire and Gianforte and President Peach. The contagion of meanness led directly to his assault on two young women and his murder of two men and attempted murder of a third. Christian went further than yard signs or leaving death threat messages. He actually ended the lives of two people. 

At least you feel shame, Dug. I'm not so sure about some of these other folks.

I've been mean in my time. I've been rude. I've yelled, screamed, shamed, and swore. However, I've not thrown my fists in anger (except that one time when I was 5 when I punched my sister in the nose). I've never picked up a weapon to attack or to make my point. I've learned not to do these things. Violence begets violence. Human emotion is contagious. If someone is mean, we react with meanness. If our leaders are mean, it's a conduit to the contagion for the masses. Soap and water cannot wash away the infection of meanness. May the Meches, Bests, and Fletchers be the vaccination our country so desperately needs. 

Sleep well, little Moose. Tomorrow we have another chance to make other choices. Tomorrow we have another opportunity to reject meanness.

Armchair Paganism

Today was finally a mostly sunny and mild spring day. No sudden thunderstorm or gasp! snowstrom. I finally had a wee bit of energy too, so I went and cleaned out the flower/herb garden. I usually spend some of my Sunday contemplating things of a spiritual nature, and digging in the dirt seemed like a perfectly Pagan way of considering what's plaguing my noggin.

That's right, Goat. Garden means fresh produce. Garden good.

I read an article "I'm an Armchair Pagan" by The Pagan Veil at Hearth Witch Down Under. I think I've been a huge armchair Pagan lately. OK, for like a few years. I do a ritual when I feel like it and I don't feel any guilt about skipping a full ritual in favor of a small remembrance or brief meditation. I suppose that's being an armchair Pagan. I don't much feel called to practice anything formal any longer. I just can't get too worked about it on a regular basis. This author truly seemed to feel as though something was lacking, though. She felt the need for more ritual and more connection. I don't. Being outside and weeding, and clearing mulch, and watching ladybugs, and chilling with our cats, and planting some tulips our neighbor gave us was enough Pagan points I think. I probably signed my fatigue warrant for the week, but the herb/flower garden looks beautiful.

Just you and me tomorrow, Zorak.

Another article I read about spiritual paths was entitled "Five Reasons You Can't Find the Right Spiritual Path" by John Beckett over at Under the Ancient Oaks. I seem to be a bit a like Siddhartha (Hesse), always searching for my path; exploring the ideas of spirituality has been an ongoing interest of mine. This article spoke to me for that reason especially given my recent discomfort with being called a witch or "baby" witch as some refer to my ilk. I seriously don't need the judgy thanks. Anyway, the points were: You don't know your core values, you're running from something, you expect perfection, you're looking for confirmation, and you aren't sticking with something long enough to see if it works. *sigh* In my case, I don't think any of those are true. If anything, I've solidified my core values over the last 20 years. This White House administration has helped set some things in stone as well. I'm not running. Rejecting, yes. Totally rejecting some things. Perfection? Ha! Nope. Not my thing. Nothing is ever perfect, so why should spirituality be any different? As for confirmation, well that's a bit of a puzzler. I don't think I expect the nature spirits or the Lord an Lady to come present themselves over tea. I did like this excerpt though:

This is really good. Wait for it, Raccoon. Wait for it.

Look within yourself.  Does your spiritual practice inspire you to live in harmony with other people and the rest of Nature?  Is it a source of encouragement instead of a source of fear?  Does it challenge you to live up to your values instead of doing what’s easy?  If it does, that’s all the confirmation you need. 

Totally down with that right, Gabriel?

The last point about not sticking with something is totally not applicable. I think I've given every path I've journeyed down plenty of consideration and participation. I just think armchair Pagan is as close as I can get to my Pagan leanings any longer. As a result, I took the spiritual path quiz on Patheos again. I took it long ago--far before I started studying Wicca and Paganism. I knew my views had changed since then, but how much I was not prepared for. Last time, it said a sect of Buddhism. I had to disagree at the time since the sect didn't believe in abortion and I totally did. My second highest suggestion was Pagan. Go figure. Now though, I got Secular Humanist. Not a shocker at all. 

OK, Owl, Take it down a notch. I sense your facetiousness from across the room.

Why am I so interested in defining this part of my life? I dunno. It's such a huge part of other people's lives I suppose. My family are staunch Catholics. I have friends who are Lutheran and Unitarian among others. Some are rigid, some are loosey-goosey. Most would think not attending church on Christmas and Easter is unthinkable. Others just don't care. It's a big issue in our culture though. For some, it drives their every decision. For some, they think we should all play by the same spiritual playbook. My favorites though are the ones who think they're open-minded until you mention being a Pagan. Then they furrow their brow and look at you oddly. 

Yes! Like that, Doctor. Exactly.

Last week, I had a guest in my class to teach my students how to write slam poetry. He started by performing two pieces. One of which began with the line "I don't believe in God." Talk about getting people's attention. Of course, the rest of his poem detailed what he does believe in and I found it powerful. I did have two students express concern about it though. One said that having come from a very religious upbringing that comment made him uncomfortable. Another student agreed. We agreed that it effectively got their attention, but they felt it colored their view of him. I encouraged them to see it from the perspective of art: We don't always agree with the image or the words, but that doesn't mean they shouldn't be out there. We discussed how an artist never knows how an audience or viewer might respond to their piece, but with slam poetry it is all about as the guest said, speaking your personal truth. I think knowing where my truth lays makes it easier for me to guide and navigate conversations like this one. My spirituality is personal and meaningful in my laid back methods. I know what I believe and I don't feel offended or threatened when others view things differently. I have no overwhelming need to convert anyone. I do wish more people were like that so we didn't have so much conflict over who's right and who's wrong; who's going to heaven and who's going to hell; who gets to practice their religion and who gets banned because of their religion. Letting go and figuring out things for myself was the best choice I ever made.

Good job, Moose. You go down the road you choose.

Slug Life

Yesterday I awoke bursting with energy. I got up, made coffee, cleaned the kitchen, and started a host of chores that had been neglected for weeks. I felt really good. I made a grocery list and had plans to start work on a crafty project I had been delaying. It was glorious. Then it hit. The fatigue rammed into me and commanded that I sit down. My head swam with the fog so I couldn't concentrate and man I needed a nap. Shit! Didn't even make it to noon on my energy reserves. You see, if you've been wondering why I haven't been posting consistently (you probably haven't) it is because lupus has been kicking my ass lately.

 I know, Goat. All that magnificent energy wasted on goddamn chores. 

I wrote previously about starting Benlysta. The irony here is that Benlysta is supposed to ease fatigue. For me though, this adjustment period has been nothing but overwhelming fatigue. They tell me this won't last. Of course, I had the added bonus of a cold last week. Thanks immune-suppressing drugs. You rock!

Even Kramer says so; therefore, it must be true.

Part of what makes fatigue like this so vexing is all the things I've had to cancel. Fatigue does that; makes you cancel plans. I have missed two weeks of  belly dance class. I had to bow out of one night of the talent show at school because I just couldn't do one more night. My head was fogged, my energy was tanked, and my muscles were trembling. Not so much with the performing for sure! I had to decline an invitation to lunch with a grade school chum who was in town for the afternoon. Thankfully, she's a doctor so she knows what lupus can do. I had to stay home instead of hanging out at a belly dance festival over the weekend. I've missed 4 days of school now in the last two weeks. It's been grand.

That's right Kelly Anne: I just gave alternative facts. At least my alternative facts don't have international ramifications. 

(Idiot)

This recent bout of autoimmune bullshit has also made it clear just how much I really need to change my eating habits back to the low carb avoid the grains eat the veggies plan I had been on. Of course, when you feel like crap and your husband also has autoimmune disorders, some nights neither of you can work that hard at cooking. So you order in, which around here is very limited: sub sandwiches, pizza, or Chinese. All of which are loaded with bad stuff. *sigh* 

OK screaming celery stick. I'm working on it.

I have spent a lot of time on the sofa though. I've binged through season 3 of Salem and I'm 2/3 through season 10 of Bones. When the lupus is in charge, reading is out of the question. I can't comprehend the words and that's frustrating. I'm also too tired to concentrate on anything that demanding, so Netflix is my only out...except for Diablo. My witch doctor is through to the torment levels now. She can just waltz into a crap ton of bad guys and hit the haunt or the locust swarm and wait until they all die. It's ridiculously easy. 

For someone who runs around with so much flesh unprotected, she's got amazing powers of hit recovery.

Unfortunately, all this extra time also means I have a chance to surf the headlines in my newsfeed about our current administration. During those precious moments of lucidity, I have read a few articles detailing how Sally Yates testified so professionally and how poor James Comey was unceremoniously dismissed (Seriously? He learned about it on a news banner as he was giving a speech? Chicken shit tangerine shart!). I'm also eager to learn of the next big step in healthcare reform since lupus is one of those pesky preexisting conditions. I honestly don't know anyone who doesn't have a stupid preexisting condition. I can't imagine that the upper 1% don't have their fair share either, but of course they have the means to handle the financial consequences without the subsidies or Medicaid. Why can't we just do the single payer plan? Why can't we give Medicaid to all? It'd be so much easier. After all, the Idiot in the White House even praised Australia's health care plan. Honestly, the man is such a cocktool!

 I know, Lisa. I do the same damn thing every time I read a headline.

Alas! Here I sit on  the same sofa I've been riding since Thursday. I have to go to work tomorrow. Hopefully I won't run out of steam by noon. I hate having jelly for brains. When you're a teacher, that's fairly prohibitive to the job. I have less than a month of school. My next treatment is the day after school is out. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this dammit!

I know, Moose. Pace myself. I know.