Attachment Issues



Hoodie and a Fist Bump - Happy and cool...

 I’m logging back into blogger after an almost two month hiatus. While it wasn’t necessarily on purpose, I have published at least one blog entry every month since September 2005. Wll, there was August 2008 that I missed for some reason and June and July of 2009 that got neglected for some other reason. I bet if I looked back on those dates I’d find that I was either too depressed to write or having too much fun to write. The extremes are usually the culprit when my motivation takes a vacation. Either way, somewhere in the back of my head, it’s been my intention to post a blog entry every single month. I never set out to do that. It just became that.  And it stresses me out a little when I don't.


The fact that I know and recognize this fully confirms my Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) IV diagnosis (300.3) of obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). Or to put it in spiritual terms – it confirms my attachment issues.

Thanks to the big screen, we’re all familiar with OCD. Think Jack Nicholson as Melvin Udall in As Good as it Gets. Hand washing, refusing to use restaurant silverware, not stepping on cracks, and counting the number of times he locked his door. I’ve never watched the television show Monk but apparently that character suffers from OCD as well. You get the picture. All of these “must dos” interfere with one’s ability to focus, to get along in life and to connect with people. We all probably have some sort of routine that we just have to follow…or else…or else it messes us up.

That’s pretty much my view of what attachment issues are – a lesser (or not?) level of OCD. What do we have in our lives and our daily routines, that if it gets interfered with, screws us up, plays with our heads, keeps us in our heads, and makes us anxious or depressed? We all know that nothing stays the same and that we have no control over most things in our life. Becoming attached to things, routines, people, and life in general is normal. Recognizing these attachments, noticing what’s happening in our minds when our attachments get knocked around, acknowledging what’s happening, and letting it move along, is not as easy as it sounds.

So what am I attached to besides writing a blog entry at least once per month?

• Being happy and cool - see above.

• The weather channel – I must know the forecast, especially when I’m vacationing or walking to MARTA.

• My two favorite places to lay down my yoga mat at Yoga Samadhi – it messes me up when I have to practice in a different spot!

• Stephanie’s spot in the yoga studio – it takes me time to get over it when someone else takes her spot!

• Sleep – loving this extra hour this morning!

• Olives and popcorn - enougj said.

• Glenn Campbell’s latest version of Wichita Lineman.

• Religious handouts – see below.

• My hairdresser – see below

• Speaking of Pam, Michigan accents.

• My good health – this getting old thing sucks.

• Pet names that co-workers, friends and family call me - such as sweetie, honey, boo, Carrie O, Care O., little bunny fu fu, and Care Care.

• My pets

• Doc. B.

• Going to yoga everyday

• Being predictable and non-impulsive – thus the reason I’m purposefully skipping yoga today – working on my attachment issues – it’s not going so well. I keep thinking I should be there instead of drinking coffee while sitting on my butt in front of the computer!

Hair Salon "hoodie" and a beer - Happy and cool.

Adults Will Be Adults

Last night I playfully busted the neighbor girls playing ding, dong ditch.  Here’s the routine: they ring the bell and I open the door to quiet giggles in the distance - but of course no one is in view.  So I hide patiently behind the front door, with a smile on my face, waiting for them to tip-toe up the front steps to try it again.  When the bell rings this time, I fling open the front door to catch them in the act and yuck it up with them for a bit on the front porch.  They seem to love it and their obvious goal - to get caught.  I hope these girls are as friendly and chatty when they enter high school but unfortunately, I’m not counting their chickens before they hatch.  These young ladies will probably have to go through an ornery phase, like I did, and do some stupid stuff, like I did, before they turn out to be perfect adults, like I did.  In the meantime, we were able to chat about what they were having for dinner and “weather” or not they’d have school on Monday morning.  4-6 inches of snow and ice falling on Atlanta usually means a day off.  Their fingers, inside their mittens, were crossed.

Even though I’ve never wanted children of my own, I at least try to be supportive and nice to the kids I know.  Okay, maybe I haven’t always wanted them in the house with their grimy paws (just ask Kali), but I’ll eat pizza and play video games with kids (at their parents’ houses) any day of the week. I generally like pre-teens the best - they’re still at that age where they’ll laugh at my Grandpa O. corny jokes and they aren’t too cool for school…yet.

I used to love playing games like ding, dong ditch; kick the can; kickball; Annie, Annie over; spin the bottle (only once Mom!), lets skip school (only a few times Mom!) and of course I loved ALL sports.  Most of the time, the adults in my life encouraged most of these activities.  My parents would let us run free through the neighborhoods – it was safe back then.  We’d meet up with our friends to play street hockey, baseball, go skateboarding and dad would even make us an ice rink in the winter.  My dad also coached my losing 5^th grade basketball team without making us feel bad for not winning.  And my mom cheered for my teammates and me from high up in the bleachers whenever there was a basketball game in the Twin Valley conference (what are the twin valleys anyway?).  Several adults adopted our teams and made sure our pictures got in the local paper.  Numerous teachers gave me breaks because they knew I had a game the next day.  The list of caring adults involved in my youth was thankfully long.

But there are those few adults who I let ruin things for me. 

Could have been my spiritual doorway - but no...(plus, this is not really me)

Like the first time I ever went downhill skiing.  I’m going to guess that I was in 4^th grade yet it seems like just yesterday that I was coming off of my first exhilarating run down the bunny hill.  I was so excited that I wanted to go again and with that, my dad helped me over to the rope tow that pulls you up to the top of the slope.  Apparently I was a bit too anxious and accidentally bumped the man on the tow line in front of me.  "Be careful; you could have hurt me!" he said in a gruff voice - and that was it for me and skiing.  The adult me knows that he was probably having his own insecurities about learning to ski – it didn’t matter then.  I took up cross country skiing later in life but have never been downhill skiing again. 

I prefer strips and no gut, thank you very much

Then there was the time that I went golfing with my baby sister and her then boyfriend.  We were young and new to the game but were careful not to leave too many divots, and we followed the rules of etiquette to the best of our knowledge and ability.  We purposely picked an unpopular time so that we wouldn’t be holding anyone up while we took our extra swings and putts.  Like good sportswomen (and man), we slowed down our play when we came up behind a foursome leaving our putting green for the next hole.  Little did we know there were annoyed adults behind us. From their bloated beer bellies, under the waistlines of plaid pants, they yelled "Hit the ball!  What do you think; you’re going to drive the green?"  So much for etiquette.  I’ve put the faces of those men on many a golf ball at the driving range but haven’t played a game of golf since.  Probably best since it’s so dang expensive not to mention stereotypical (See you at the Dinah Shore in Palm Springs - March 30, 2011?).

He's making 5 million a year, but we're getting a housekeeper, so there!

And finally there was swimming class in Junior High.  The gym teachers would make us strip down, put our clothes in a locker and then get in line outside the swimsuit storage room.  They would eyeball our naked bodies (up, down and around) and then toss each of us a well-worn, navy blue, one-piece tank suit.  My locker room and bathing suit issues started at a very young age thanks to some uncaring adult gym teachers.  From that point on, it always seemed to be "that time of the month," before I even knew what that meant, because that was the only way we could get out of swimming.  But I did, on occasion, swim with Jim Harbaugh, a Tappan Junior High classmate and the new 25 million dollar coach of the San Fran 49ers.  Guess he doesn't have locker room issues.

Time to watch the snow fall!

What I did over my Summer Vacation, I mean, my December Day Off.

It's DISH Network, they want to know if we want to upgrade our service?

I decided to take yesterday off of work to read the new Oakhurst Leaflet, wait for Christmas cards to arrive and get my energy up to watch Glee.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that our neighborhood newsletter had increased its font size and not so surprised that the first holiday greeting card delivered to our black metal mailbox was from our favorite gay-boys. And of course Glee did not disappoint - Doc. B. even liked it (but don't say I told you).

In between waiting for the leaflet and mail carriers to arrive, I figured I’d also take care of some other binn-ness.

My first e-mail, at 6:00 am, was to the local computer repair guy.  I asked him if he could please come apply the automated external defibrillator to my lil’ old Sony Vaio in an effort to revive it from its frozen state.  Given the fact that temps were in the 20’s with a wind chill in the teens, I wasn’t all that hopeful that he could revive the poor thing.  After all, it is a 4 year old baby and laptop PC’s of that age don’t usually enjoy life that long.

Then off to my favorite gym – Core Body .  I did a secret alone time 45 minute spin class*, of my own creation, including the below iPhone play list that I hooked into the overhead speaker system and dared anyone to make me turn it off:

Blue on Black – Kenny Wayne Shepherd

Low Rider – Barry White

Sun Rising – The Beloved/Chilled Spirit

I Gotta Feeling- The Black Eye Peas

Everywhere I go- The Call

She Sells Sanctuary – The Cult

Are We Ourselves – The Fixx

Jump – Madonna

Shut Your Eyes – Snow Patrol

Closer – Ne-Yo

*Bonus Points - Weight Watchers now counts a 45 minute spin class as 8, count 'em 8, activity points!  Not that I know anything about Weight Watchers or anything.

As I’m leaving the gym, Computer Repair Guy calls to tell me he’ll be over at 11:30.  So I decided to go home, get cleaned up and add s’more items to my to do list.  

Next, I directed my Ford Ranger (‘cause it’s too dang cold to ride my bike) to the Decatur USPS with mom’s L’Oreal lipstick that she left while visiting a few weeks ago – I’m splurging to mail it back to her…because she’s worth it.

Then on to the CVS to use up my medical spending account money on over-the-counter standards (Aleve, Tylenol, Zyrtec, Neosporin, Epsom salts, Percocet and Oxycontin – well, not those last two unfortunately).  Can you believe that next year’s medical spending account, to which I contribute my own fairly hard-earned money, will only reimburse me for OTC items if I have a prescription?  That’s so STUPID!  Like I'm going to ask my gynecologist to write me a script for Nyquil?  Guess I’ll drop my annual deduction in half and hope that I don’t need a root canal or bifocals – thank goodness for the large print in the Oakhurst Leaflet to help the latter!

The CVS clerk checked me out (well, she didn't really check ME out, just my items). She was in awe of my CardStar iPhone application on which she was able to scan my rewards card bar code, AND she was also in awe of my $80.00 worth of drugs.  Okay, I added some red licorice to the bill – maybe it's reimbursable?  After all, it is medically necessary to combat depression and prevent any possibility of some resulting suicidal ideation.

Computer repair guy shows up right on queue and resolves the problem for a measly 50 bucks – LOVE HIM!  He tells me I can put off replacing my laptop until I’m ready to give in and buy a Mac – and in the meantime, he’ll keep coming by and fixing the PC (‘cause when I buy the Mac, he says I won’t need him anymore).

Last on the list was my quarterly call to Dish Network to find out what they’re billing me for that they shouldn’t be.  And when I say me I mean Doc. B. because of course I had to lie to DISH about my identity again.  Can I just tell you that it was the most pleasant customer service call Doc. B. has had in quite some time?  Brittany, clearly not sitting in an Indian call center, clearly sitting in a Georgia, USA call center, handled all of Doc. B.'s concerns and even acknowledged Doc. B. for being a long-time customer.

Question:  What is it called if you are talking about yourself, but not really you, in the third person?  Third person once removed?  Remind me to e-mail Grammar Girl to find out.

Off to Glee I went, rear end fitting perfectly in the love pit sofa butt print.  And since I was in the music mood after Glee, I HAD to watch some of Celtic Woman: The Greatest Journey on Georgia Public Broadcasting.

Self-Furloughed

Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all now:

"Are you doing your blog anymore?"

"I haven't seen anything on your blog recently; what's up with that?"

"You know, I'm going to lose interest and delete you from my favorites if you don't keep writing."

"WTF? Are you raising your rates on the blue mailbox, just like the United States Postal Service does every other day? Are we going to have to pay you to write funny, self-effacing, publication-worthy stories?"

Okay, so no one actually said that last one, unless you count me reading the cat's mind.

The truth is, I inadvertently took a self-imposed furlough for the summer. It all started back at the beginning of June with me going to my regularly scheduled therapy appointment. When I arrived at my usual every-other week 6pm time slot, I realized it was making me mentally sick to even think about the 50 minute sessions. The pressure of having to come up with something to talk about, and then realizing I had more than that hour's worth of discussion fodder, was starting to get to me...I decided, as I pulled up in front of the building, that I would take the summer off from therapy.

Thankfully, my therapist agreed that she supported this decision and then we both acknowledged that this was probably the most spontaneous I'd been in the past 16 years. Well, unless you count the time I almost called in sick to work because it was a nice day outside but then chickened out at the last minute and still got to work on time. Or the time I said I wanted pizza for dinner and then all of the sudden changed my mind and decided that I really wanted sushi.

So I made my next appointment for September, gave my therapist a hug, and walked out of her office carrying a huge, helium-filled ball of relief.

With this major decision behind me, I started randomly, and not too consciously, taking the summer off of other things too. If I didn't make it to the gym 6 days a week, 5 was okay. If I didn't get to work until after 8am, so what. If I wanted to buy Rosetta Stone and practice my Spanish, okay. If I decided to sit out on the back deck and watch the squirrels dangle upside down trying to get to the bird food, so be it. And if I felt compelled to read my friend's copy of Atlas Shrugged (the 1000+ page book by Ayn Rand), I'd do it (well, I'm only on page 608, but I'll get there!). In the midst of all of this vacationing from my normal routines in life, the blog got put on the back middle eye of the six burner stove - that's the one that only gets used at Thanksgiving. Does anyone really ever use all six burners unless it's a holiday?

So here I am, with no postings in June or July. This is the first time since Opening Day of the Blue Mailbox that there has been a month, let alone two, without a post. I just couldn't let it get to three. And my self-imposed furlough ends in a week anyway. The cool thing is that I'm writing because I want to, not just because I want there to be a post on the blog...

So here's to the end of summer vacation - cheers with a jaeger and a beer chaser!