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I picked up a book called Meditations: On the Monk Who Dwells in Daily Life by Thomas Moore at The Victory Clubhouse. I don't know why but I started to insert the phrase chronically mentally ill for the word monk or to attribute characteristics of monks to us.
"Modern Life is becoming so full that we need our own ways of going to the desert to be relieved of our plenty. Our heads are crammed with information, our lives are busy ith activities, our cities stuffed with automobiles, our imaginations bloated on pictures and images, our relationships heavy with advice, our jobs burdened with endless new skills, our homes cluttered with gadgets and conveniences. We honor productivity to such an extent that the unproductive person or day seems a failure.
CMI [monks] are experts at doing nothing and tending the culture of that emptiness.
Traditionally the CMI [monk] is extremely active, and on many fronts:actively engaged in inner life, actively committed to a communal style of living, and actively producing words, images, and sounds of extraordinary meaningfulness and beauty."
I'm somewhat sad tonight as I have been alone for two days. I might go to Big Bear in September. That would be a lot of fun and a much needed escape. I'm looking into medical transcription school. Also, I'm going to sell Avon. My Mom still hasn't had time to take photos of me so I haven't gotten pictures online yet. Bummer. It is time to go back to school and I feel at odds because I'm not returning this Fall. I think a major problem is boredom. I am expanding my hours with work; but I'm not that excited about that. I tried to get one club located at a board and care to go to the park to play croquet and volleyball; but they wouldn't go. They like their building. Tomorrow I go make a presentation to consumers at a multipurpose organization for the homeless mentally ill population to see if they would like to have a Schiz. Anon. meeting there. I feel very sluggish these days. It is hard to get inspired early in the day to get up and go. I've been going to the Y a little lately and that has been good. I am considering going to a church down the block; but I am a little anxious about going. I don't know what I fear.
I see my therapist on Wednesday. I found a flyer for an hour long massage for $35. That would be very nice. I might do it.
Is accupuncture good? I'd like to try it.
She who licks her lips knows the taste of her lover's desire.
Instead of a spoon she uses her feet to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
She is round and rosey; he is the whisper of her muse.
He thinks "this is the dawn of the first goddess".
She knows that beauty will save the world; maybe this is all an absurd fairy tale.
She thinks "you are like a feather duster when what I need is a brick."
Every song you sing every tale you tell has got a river in it.
They are like harpoons arcing in hunger.
We are dreaming beings
walking the line between hope and despair
skilled at the art of burning bridges.
This must be the dark side of the rainbow
because these thoughts lie too deep for tears.
The artist in the ambulance
with the history of outrage
says that there is a war against the weak
and to be reminded of the virtue of the small.
I open my balcony door
and I hear sounds of the city.
This is paradise:
The San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles.
I hear birds sweetly singing: nature is nearby,
an ice cream truck playing Brahms Lullaby: children are nearby
A fire truck: help is nearby.
A car alarm goes off, children chatter, a puppy barks, a jet flies overhead, a car starts with a squeek, the sun is shining, a whooperil coos its reassuring song
reminiscent of a Texas farm, the palm fronds rustle in a warm breeze.
A big hello to all. This person tramadol is really a trip. Give a few more of those. The name what does it mean? To Sharon Dianna: I will e-mail you. I just realized people had written. I'm fairly giddy tonight. No reason. My dr. turned out to be a hypochondriac. I mean it takes one to know one. He said at the beginning that he needed to accept a call from his optometrist during my visit and that he would be needing to leave soon to see her. He told her that he had gotten some debris in his eye while showering earlier and had asked coworkers to look in there to see if they could find anything and they couldn't. So for this he needed to cancel the remainder of his appointments. While I was at the counter in the lobby of the med office this guy walks up and says that I would really like this Dr. but that he had a tendancy to be flakey and to cancel half of his appointments.
I didn't make it to my photo shoot. There was a huge traffic jam on the 405 freeway and we only made it to UCLA by 3:00 and it had taken us an hour to get that far. My Mom wouldn't let me go alone for fear I would be found dead in Angeles National Forest later. So now I'm waiting to reschedule. It seems so lame that I'm struggling so much when I could at least be earning a decent wage.