a peek over the edge

Alright, as I began to blog this, my nephew came up and interrupted with a cute story in the making. First, some background. Since I've moved in with my sister's family, I've developed a reputation for sending kids screaming from the room. It's a new skill I've been working on in order to make myself more valuable in the job market. So anyway, my nephew came up to the table to see what I was doing. When he recognized that it had nothing to do with cars, trucks, buses, or tractors, he turned to leave. Then, as if he suddenly realized that any computer could have pictures of cars, trucks, buses, or tractors if you flirt enough with the grownup sitting in front of it, he spun around, in the process smashing his face on the corner of the table. "Are you alright?" He looked stunned, but wasn't crying. "You're alright." Confusion. "You're fine." Realization. He ran into the other room where both of his parents were. "I didn't do it," I shouted. WaaaahhhWaaahhhWaaahhh. Once again, a kid runs screaming from the room with his uncle. . . sigh. . .

So, at the writer's convention, I went to a session about creative nonfiction. One of the most important things I took out of the session was that you should never bring the reader to the edge of the cliff without giving them a look over it. If you aren't willing to go into detail about certain episodes, you should leave those episodes out entirely. Well, in the name of full disclosure, I wasn't just panicking earlier this week, I had a couple of panic attacks, which is new to me. I've had issues with my nerves my entire life, but I've never really experienced anything quite like this. I was sweating, having a hard time breathing (maybe hyperventilating), pacing furiously, saying who knows what, fidgeting with my hands, rubbing them together, and I don't know what else. During each of these episodes, there was a logical sanity in my head saying, "Calm the fuck down. This won't help you with anything. You will come out of this whole experience, and you will be better because of it." etc. etc. etc. But there's a sort of anti-logic to panic that's almost as convincing as actual logic. "Imagine how good you'll feel if you just give in and allow yourself to become a panicked wreck. Chicks dig a guy that's an emotional wreck." Yeah, shut the fuck up panic. I'm not listening. I'm plugging my ears and humming the Belgian farting pig song (I can't believe I just linked to that. I blame Piwok). As I made the mistake of freaking out in front of my mother, I wound up in front of the doctor Tuesday afternoon. He said he had never heard of anyone reacting to the medication I was on for my headaches in such a fashion, but we might as well take me off of it anyway since I seem to be having more headaches while I've been on it than I did when I wasn't on it. He also gave me a prescription for something to take if I feel another panic attack coming on. He says a lot of times just having the medication available is helpful, because once someone has had a panic attack, they tend start to worry that they will have another one, and that worrying will actually trigger another one. So having something that I know will stop a panic attack, might actually keep me from ever needing to use it. Did that make sense? So, that's where it stands I guess. I'm supposed to give him a call in a week and tell him where I'm at. If I'm still not happy with what's going on with my headaches and my anxiety, he said he thinks that maybe we'll skip the beta-blockers and anti-seizure medicines and try some anti-depressants because that will probably help with anxiety as well as the headaches. Honestly, what will help my head and my anxiety the most is a job, a girlfriend, a publisher/agent, or a life. . . Until then. . .

I was going to write about the job search today. But really, I just went back to the insurance place and talked to a guy who said that they would start out seeing if I was a fit for any of the agencies needing someone in underwriting or claims. He said it would take at least two weeks to get my info spread out. So. . . more waiting. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Fun.

I ate lunch today at one of those greasy places that has those place mats with ads for various local businesses (usually septic maintenance companies, construction companies, and what-not). This one had an ad for His Way Alpaca Farms, because if you're going to be buying an alpaca, you really should be buying one that was raised how the Lord wanted him raised. . . I'm grateful for that (20).