thoughts

So, I've been trying to resurrect this here old blog, which explains why I'm writing yet another post. Writing a blog feels kind of weird sometimes - especially since I've kind of gotten out of the habit. It's almost like I'm starting over and don't know what to write about. There's this fine line that one must straddle when writing something that's public yet personal at the same time.  How much personal information should be shared? How do you determine where the line is between journaling and writing for an external audience? These are questions that have been buzzing around like mosquitoes in my brain. Or perhaps they are more like moths, that continually beat themselves against the light bulb in some kind of horribly ironic futile attempt . . . at what, exactly? Why DO bugs bash themselves incessantly against light bulbs? What do they expect to gain? It's kind of an interesting phenomenon, if you think about it. Are they blinded by the brightness of artificial light? (I almost wrote that phrase differently, conjuring a horrible "classic rock" song that I had no intention of alluding to. *shiver*) And what about the cruel joke of bug zappers?

But, I digress.  I had no intention of ruminating on the tragically convenient deaths of otherwise annoying, yet largely harmless creatures. Apparently I'm in a more "literary" and/or "philosophical" mood.  Does that make me seem pompous? Perhaps. But, whatever. Sometimes it's enjoyable to think through things "verbally."  That's the best way for me to process things.  When I'm not writing I often find myself composing in my mind.  Not composing music, obviously, but letters, e-mails, journal entries, etc. There's something soothing in the act of verbalizing thoughts and feelings. I realize that not all people work this way, but I have come to accept the fact that I often do my best thinking at a computer keyboard, or with a pen and pad of paper.

The interesting thing is that I feel handicapped when I have to brainstorm in front of a keyboard.  I far more prefer to sit with a pencil and pad of paper.  There's something about the freedom to write in an unstructured environment that lends itself to brainstorming.  I wonder if that's because of a difference between so-called left- and right-brain activities. Hmmm. It seems possible. Kind of like how you can derive a fundamentally different kind of pleasure from drawing or painting compared to writing or speaking.

Anyway. For some reason I have Annie Dillard on my mind. She's one of my very favorite authors. If ever a person fell in love with another person entirely for their intellect, it is me for Annie Dillard's writing. She has the most remarkable mind. I might as well add that I also developed a huge brain-crush on Virginia Woolf after reading To the Lighthouse. It's a real shame that it can be so difficult to find someone like that (but, obviously on a smaller scale — after all, I'm not completely unrealistic in my taste of women; I just find intelligent, talented women the most attractive) who is also a Mormon and not too bad on the eyes. 'Cause, I guess that's really what I'm looking for: someone whose mind I can admire. I would love to find someone who thinks deeply about things, the way that Annie Dillard does. If you haven't read her, you should. She's phenomenal. You will find that you have entirely missed out on some of the most sublime moments in nature, simply because you haven't learned how to truly see. One of her greatest talents is that she knows how to just sit and watch. Imagine a more interesting and modern female version of Henry David Thoreau. That's what her Pilgrim at Tinker Creek is like. I tell you one thing: you will never think of a weasel the same way after reading this amazing essay. It is one of my absolute favorite pieces of literature.

I rather enjoy this stream-of-consciousness kind of writing. I had no intention of writing about any of these things that I have mentioned. In fact, the only think I had on my mind before I started writing was totally unrelated, and I'm struggling to recall it to mind. I believe I was going to say something about my medication. As has been mentioned previously, I take Zoloft for depression. I recently went to the doctor to get a refill. It was a new doctor, because my old one retired. Neither of them is a psychiatrist, which is probably part of the problem. I have really felt, lately, that I would like to try weaning myself off of these meds, just to see if my body can regulate the serotonin levels in my brain naturally. I've started wondering about my personality, and whether or not it is adversely affected by my meds. I have become an extremely laid-back, low energy person. But, I don't know if that is who the "real" me is, inside. The real question, though, is whether or not the "real" me is better, or worse, than the medicated me. I've been taking the highest recommended dose possible of this medication for around 8 years now, and have always been terrified of what might happen if I stopped taking it. Life was so unbearably painful and dreary before I started taking my meds. But, I wonder how much of who I am now is due to learning better coping methods (thanks largely to cognitive behavioral therapy techniques), or simply due to my medication. The best answer is that it is probably a combination of the two.

I guess the bottom line is that I would like to see if my brain can regulate itself, now that it has been "shown" pretty extensively what it should function like. There are really two schools of thought with anti-depressants and chemical imbalance: either they can restore you to balance, at which point you can stop taking them and your body will continue in the new "balanced mode," or, they restore you to balance temporarily, and you have to rely on them for the rest of your life — like a diabetic needs insulin. I guess I just feel like it's time for me to find out which of the two schools applies to me. I've tried to taper off before, but never got very far because I was too afraid of what might happen. But, I think I'm ready to give it a real shot this time. I'm tired of making decisions based on fear, which is, I'm sure, one of the very worst reasons for deciding anything. Too much of my life is determined by what I am afraid of, and I'm frankly getting tired of it. A life of constant fear isn't much of a life at all. And, despite all appearances to the contrary, I'm often scared out of my gourd —which is basically why I don't date much, why I don't work out at a gym, and why I do (or don't do) a great deal of other things.

Anyway. This is getting ridiculously long, and I should really get to bed. Lately I can't seem to sleep through the night. For some reason I keep waking up at 5:20 and can't get back to sleep. I blame the change in my meds. I also blame the change in my meds (because I've dropped from 200 mg/day to 150 mg/day) for the fact that I have been much more irritable this week than usual. I was really ornery/angry today at work, disproportionate to the negative stimuli encountered during the course of my day. But, that should settle down as my body adjusts. Luckily, I've been on these meds long enough that I know pretty much exactly what to expect side-effect-wise. So, that's good.

Well.  That's it, from your favorite rambling wiseacre. (Where the heck did that word come from? It's a weird one, but I love it. And it's totally apropos at this juncture.)