"I hella heart Oakland"*

For the past couple of weeks I've renewed my love affair with blogging, revisited my deep desire to break up with Work once and for all, and then watched it all come to a screeching halt in light of family drama that knocked the wind right out of me. Perhaps that's being too dramatic - but to be quite honest, no matter what the situation - no matter how long it has gone on, no matter how much it's to be expected - when something goes wrong in my family, it hits me to the core. Unfortunately, it hit me so hard that for the last few days I haven't wanted to write at all. This has SUCKED because for me, whenever I experience an excess of emotion - be it joy or sadness, confusion (can that be classified as an emotion?) or fear, I write. I don't write novels or poetry or deep thoughts (though I admit, I hope a few sneak in from time to time), I just pour whatever is churning around inside me onto the page in some form or another, and then I feel better. If it's happy stuff - I feel better for recognizing it, for taking the moment to commemorate a blessing. If it's bad stuff - well, it's a form of release. It's a process to get it out, reflect on it, and realize it's never as bad as I think - especially if I can in someway keep my head on straight about it - which writing seems to do.

This week, however, I haven't been able to do any of that. I've been so angry and so sad that I've just let the thoughts rage around in my head - sometimes bursting out in entirely the wrong manner (like when I broke into tears when I got my second veto from a health insurance company**, or rather, the computer program that decided in less than 30 seconds that I was not a candidate for Tonik - which is geared towards young healthy people. You know, like me). Or, going practically ballistic on my dad the one day I let him make us lunch (I've been heading up a healthy salad kick for us while my mom's been out of town) and instead of creating the perfect salad I'd dreamed up in my head with last night's salmon leftovers, he mixed them in with the salad he'd made three days before (this lettuce was not just tired, it was fucking fatigued), and ruined it. Kicking a gift horse in the mouth? You bet.

I know when I get like this, when I'm angry and sad for all the right reasons, but can't find anything but the wrong ways to get it all out, is when I need writing the most. It's taken me a few days, but I'm finally back at the page. THANK GOD.




*This is actually the subject of what will have to be my next post. I got kinda side-tracked here...

**Probably not a good thing when you're trying to explain to the insurance company that's just denied you how insignificant the low dose antidepressant you take (for which your application was denied) is in the scheme of things. "What, you can't understand me through the tears? I said I'm fine. What's my problem? WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM!?!" No really, I'm fine.***

***Do NOT get me started on the fact that you are effectively denied coverage if you actually seek help and/or counseling during stressful times. Would this really be a healthier country if people chose not to see a counselor when marriages ended, or loved ones were lost? That's not necessarily why I went - but I sited "transitional life event" (that makes it sound like I had a sex-change doesn't it?) and apparently, you're not allowed to have had one of those within the last year to join the Tonik gang. Funny, as one of their slogans is, "Not that we've tried, but you can't walk off a broken ankle." Well you can't always walk off a broken heart either, asshats.