Still Here Eating The Bacon And Admiring The Star
by Nicole Freire
I told you I'd be back, right?
First, thank you everyone for the nice comments and support. It is hard to write when you are in a bad place, which is why Hemingway drank so much. And for those who worried, well, now I'm required by law to email and/or call my mom every day.
Kidding. It's not a real law. Not legal-ese law, just maternal law.
Also, did you know that I have the world's most amazing liver? That I can metabolize any given medication in less than an hour? I have had more than one fully accredited medical doctor type say to me, "Wow, your liver is really something! Most of my patients:
a) Tolerate this medication fine!"
b) Don't have to take as much as you do!"
c) Don't tolerate this medication that well!"
d) Don't take as much medication as you do!"
e) Have none of those side effects!"
Anyway, what I'm trying to brag about is that my amazing liver can metabolize the heck out of pharmaceuticals. Which means that when I get together with my professional helpers and we tinker (I love that word, ‘tinker", as if I'm an elf in Santa's workshop. It's just me Santa! Just using the workshop's pill cutter and measuring scales!") with my medication, we know pretty quickly how it's working. Or not working.
So far, the tinkering has paid off. I'm feeling a bit better, getting more sleep, less likely to honk at you in traffic, and -- wait for it -- I knitted something with a pattern.
But you know, because I am prone to the occasional bout of pessimism and introversion, I am keeping an eye on it all and crossing my fingers behind my back. And doing things in threes, three bites of a cookie, three squishes of toothpaste on my brush, check the lights three times. Please, OCD? I have enough going on, I just happen to like the number three.
And now I'm doing something I swore I would never do. I'm keeping a diary. Not a diary where I write my special secret thoughts for posterity, no, this diary is strictly boring.
It goes a little like this:
7:30: Take morning meds. Make faces in mirror while brushing my teeth. Wipe toothpaste off mirror.
9:00: Had some hot chocolate and a piece of banana bread. Feeling ok. (Who would not feel ok after cocoa and baked goods?)
1:00: Ate bag of Smokehouse almonds. Feel ok. Salty though.
3:15: Ate lunch. Feeling edgy, heart pounding, will take x amount of y.
4:30: Feeling edgy, a little hyper, will take more of x amount of y.
5:30: Blech, more x of y. Eat banana. Watch the Daily Show.
7:00: Ballet class. Very sweaty. Feeling kind of hyper, then realize that I'm panting with exhaustion.
9:00: Take some of the evening meds; eat a bowl of cereal and a hard boiled egg. Watch House. Wonder who takes more pills, Dr. House or me? Also, I love Hugh Laurie.
10:30: Feeling good, take rest of evening meds, go to sleep.
Have you ever read anything more banal? Sometimes I eat a muffin or a cucumber, which spices things up.
In other weird news, I was in Trader Joe's yesterday and this woman stopped me and said, "Hey, I know you!" And I got all smiley and said, "From where?" (Thinking to myself, name? hello, brain, any hints?)
Turns out that three years ago (I think it was three? I'd have to go Google it. Moving on in the name of deadlines…) I sat next to this woman at the SBIFF's director's panel. We talked about how cute Colin Firth was in Pride and Prejudice and then she told me all about fan fiction. And she gets the daily Edhat newsletter! And she watched me dither over how many energy bars to buy! So we chatted and then my kids got impatient and I still had to go to Costco on Superbowl Sunday because I am crazy and forgot that everyone in SB would be at Costco buying platters of deli meat and frozen pizzas and lots of liquor. So I had to say, "See you later!" Maybe I will dye my hair a different color. Or wear sunglasses and baseball caps when I leave the house. Or not.
The best part of the director's panel that year? I guessed that Paul Haggis would win the Oscar, because he was the only director to leave in a brand spanking new Lincoln Town Car - which he was not driving himself, so you know; clue number one. Also, I was wearing shoes that were too small and my feet hurt, so I was wondering what Paul would do if I ran over to the car and said, "Hey, can you drop me off at my house?"
I have such selective psychic talents. I knew he would win an Oscar and I knew that my old eye doctor couldn't figure out my contacts prescription,
but I can't pick lottery numbers or choose clothes for my 11 year-old that she'll actually wear.
Here's the part where I bring up the star picture. Pretty, isn't it? It's the only Christmas decoration that I couldn't put away this year. Sometimes I think I'm being creative and crafty and then I just buy a plain wreath at Michael's and glue a bow on it and stick that creation on the front door. Instant holiday. But this star? Was handmade by the eldest daughter. Using paper and scissors and her smart mind. In about ten minutes. So I'm leaving it up, right in the middle of our front window where everyone can see it.
We also still have pumpkins on the porch though, and those need to go. Or I'll draw hearts on them, because you know, Valentine's Day.
And the plate of breakfast goodness? It's been featured already, complete with the side of blueberry pancakes. But this picture is from a different angle. I think the bacon really shines through in this one. Edgy, no?
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Nicole Freire is a freelance writer who lives in Santa Barbara.