Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Personal Life

Big braining and small braining, part three/seven

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Let’s talk more about how I brain–or don’t. One of the most frustrating things is to be told not to worry/be anxious, etc. Or to be told that it doesn’t help. Of course it doesn’t! I already know that. I try not to talk about my anxiety because I know it doesn’t help, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I hide it better than most, but it’s still pretty bad.

I noted that when I had my medical crisis, I came out of it with my depression down by 90% and my anxiety down by about 60%. Now, it’s because up to depression about 80% of what I used to have and my anxiety is about 90%. I’m talking of the original depression and anxiety. Granted, it’s still down from what it used to be, but it’s still not great.

It’s so frustrating to know that much of my problem is (literally and figuratively) in my head. I am am used to thinking my way out of my problems, and I can’t do that when my brain is the  problem in the first place.

Side note: I have been working on my Taiji/Bagua routine. I have it somewhat hammered out in that I do all the Taiji stretches/warmups every day. I also do one section of the Taiji Solo (Long Form) every day. In addition, I do the Swimming Dragon Form (left side or right side) every day. All of these are easy and gentle, which is why I can do them every day. Before, I had all my weapons rotating on a weekly basis. This was fine when I only knew a few weapon forms. Now, though, I know…let’s count them. Sword Form (left and right); Saber Form (left and right); Cane Form (left and right); Cane Form with Saber (left and right); Double Saber Form (right); Double Fan Form (right); Fan Form (right); and I’m learning the Bagua Knife Form (right). I’m almost done with it; I’m hoping to finish it in a month or two. I also do a staff/spear set that is not a form. I’m hoping my teacher can teach me the two-person forms for the staff/spear–they’re all very short. Or the two-person form.

I want to work on Push Hands (which is the basis for the two-person form. I’ll write more about that later.

Back to the weapon forms. I was doing the forms a varying amount of times a week. The Double Fan Form I do every day as it’s my newest form, and I want to make sure it gets in my body. Plus, I’ll be doing it for the next demo, so I want to have it down.

When I knew four or five weapon forms, it was fine to practice them all every week. I did one a day, and I was good to go. Now, though, it’s overwhelming. The whole routine takes up to two hours, and that’s too much. I was starting to hate practicing my weapons. Or rather, not hate, but dread. That’s when I needed a change.


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The hidden costs of my way of braining, part…two/six

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I want to talk more about my brain and how it works, but also how I have to constantly monitor what I say. In the prior post about the former, I was talking about how fringe I am, even in places where I feel mostly welcome. In the latter category, in yesterday’s post, I mentioned how I have to constantly figure out what Ican say to normies and what I can’t.

Side note: Because I’m usually extremely good at reading the room, it really bugs me when I fuck  up. Quite plainly, it’s part of my anxiety and how I try to control my environment.

Side note to the side note: I see it in my mother, and it’s so clear how she tries to control her anxiety by endlessly spinning out over what might happen. She tries to plan for every little thing that could possibly happen in a vain attempt to make sure nothing bad happened. I do the same, but iI do it inwardly and not outwardly. That’s one reason it’s so hard for me to listen to her–it echoes the voice in my head.

I know that other people aren’t thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about myself. However. I also know that people notice me because I stand out like a sore thumb. I’m Asian an a very white area, and I just have a distinct look. I wear all black, have a funky pair of glasses, and my hair (that I wear up in a high pony and halfway braid) reaches my waist (when done up). And I have huge boobs. Believe me–I don’t fade into the background.

You know that The Hulk quote, “That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always angry.” That’s me. I’m always angry. Before my medical crisis, I was able to keep in in control except on rare occasion. Now, I have a much harder time modulating it. I would add, “I’m always anxious” to that. Anxious about being outed as a weirdo. Or rather, as being super weird. I thin kit’s fairly obvious just by looking at me that I’m not normal.

You know what? I’m not sure that’s true any longer. Now that I’m middle-aged, maybe I can get more of a pass. I still have huge tits, though. And I still have people talking to me when there’s no need for that.

*Restrains urge to go off on a thousand-word rant about charisma*

This is how my brain works, by the way. Me going on tangent after tangent until there’s no main path any longer. I’m used to it by now, but I’m still slightly amused when I start veering wildly off path. I promise you that I fully intend to write what I initially thought about in my mind. It’s just that so many things are interconnected to me, I can’t stick with just one.

At least now I know why that is rather than when I was a kid and just thought my mind was haywired. Well, to be fair, at first, I thought everyone thought the way I did. I mean, it was so clear in my head, why wouldn’t it be clear to others as well?


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My brain and me, part four

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Let’s talk more about how my brain is weird. I’ll give a very recent example. Tonight (last night? About five hours ago), my carbon monoxide detector/smoke alarm went off. I thought it was four quick, sharp (and loud) beeps in rapid succession while the lights flashed green. I looked it up, and four beeps meant CO. Before I go any further, here’s my post from yesterday.

I’ve had one go off before, and it was because it had reached the end of its life. I read a lot of conflicting information about the beeps, but I finally decided that calling 911 and just explaining the situation as I did the last time was probabl yfor the best. Three policemen came, and I explained what happened. We tested the detector/alarm (I had put the two batteries in wrong, so we put them in the riht way and tested it.) It was actually beeping five times. We counted several times. That meant it was at the end of its life, but why is it so close to the actual alert for CO, I don’t know.

They checked the gas levels all over my house, and there was nothing. The lead cop told me to buy a new one (I only had one) and to monitor how I was feeling. I knew the basics–flu-like symptoms, dizziness, etc. The lead cop told me that I really don’t want to turn chherry red.

I’m not overly concerned, but there is a nagging thought in the back of my mind that maybe there is gas somewhere. And I should have tried harder to get the detectors (I’m getting them tomorrow morning). I don’t think that’s so unusual, but I don’t know.

That’s the worst part of having a weirdo brain. Not knowing what is normal and what isn’t. I don’t think this is that unusual (to be worried even though there’s no real reason to). The higher the stakes, the more the worry explodes. And even though the chance of dying from CO poisoning is minimal, it’s impossible to detect except for with a detector.

I don’t know if I’m overreacting or underreacting. Or maybe just reacting? It’s so hard for me to gauge. Also, I’m tired AF because I only got three-ish hours of sleep last night. So knowing whether I’m fatigued or not is not that possible. I was joking with the lead cop that who wasn’t fatigued these days? He had a girlfriend and a child, so he knew all about tired.

He sent his cohorts back to the cop shop to get the CO monitor, and we chatted while they were gone. I learned about his prior jobs and how he ended up in New Brighton on the night shift. It was a nice little chat, and I proved I can be normal when I need to be. Granted, I had a vested interest in keeping the cops on my good side, but still. I was able to talk like a normal person, and that felt good.


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Not feeling it

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I was startled by some loud popping about ten minutes ago. Some VERY loud popping. I nearly jumped out of my skin, and for several seconds, I had no idea what the fuck was going on. Then, I remembered that it was the fourth of July tomorrow.

Sigh.

I can deal with fireworks on the actual day as long as it’s brief and at a decent time. It’s gone from fireworks on the day to fireworks the weekend of (or the few days surrounding the actual day) to more than a few days sometimes.

It’s so loud. SO loud. And sharp popping. I was not happy, and I know that poor animal friends will not be happy, either. Funnily enough, my scaredy cat, Shadow (who jumped at everything including his own, well, shadow) did not bat an eyelash when it came to fireworks or the vacuum–two things that most cats did not like. Raven, on the other hand, did not like either.

I’m in no mood to celebrate. I haven’t been for a long time, and–

Wait. I need to clarify something. I have never been a patriotic person. When I was a kid to when I was thirty, I was neutral to slightly negative as to how I felt about America. Then, when 9/11 happened, my opinion took a sharp nosedive. Not because of the event that happened, but because of what happened afterwards. Everyone put American flags outside their house, and so many people said if you didn’t, you were unpatriotic.

And the company line from the president and his acolytes didn’t inspire confidence in me, either. We all knew who was really in charge, and I knew he had a hunger for power–no matter what. it seems kind of quaint now, but also sad that I considered W and his VP to be the pinnacle of corruption and the worst thing to happen to the country.

I was so naive back then, thinking that was the worst it could get. Then again, how could I know how utterly batshitcrazy my country would get just because we had the temerity to elect a black man as the president. We are still paying for that in so many ways.

When I think of the trajectory of the country from 2016 until now, I just want to close my eyes and cry. That wouldn’t be wise or advised, but that’s how I feel. When I think about all the steps we could have taken to avoid this, and when I think of how many men weren’t willing to have a female president–let’s just say that I have very dark thoughts in my head.

I find myself saying often, “I did not come back from the  dead (twice!)”, and it’s really distressing. It’s not even the fact that this president is so mean and spiteful, and he (and his acolytes) are doing so many vicious and vindictive things.  I mean, that’s a large part of it, but it’s not the only thing that is bothering me these days.


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One more post about labels, part six

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I still have one more post about labels in me s so let’s go! I’ve been planning on writing about labels when it comes to dating for the past two posts, but, well, that’s not what I ended up writing about. In the last post, I talked about labels I use for myself that I’m mostly fine with, including bi, Taiwanese American, and areligious. I don’t love two of them (bi, and areligious0, but they do the job. The other one (Taiwanese American) is factual, which makes it fine*.

I was going to say that in writing a dating profile, I would like to be able to avoid labels completely and not include a picture–but then I realized that’s not exactly true. What I want to do is avoid the people (ahem, men) who loooooooooooove Asian women and send me pics of their dicks unasked for, and, indeed, unwanted.

This was my experience the last time I tried to use the dating apps, and it was really dispiriting. I explicitly said that I did not want anyone who had an Asian fetish and DO NOT SEND DICK PICS. The  vast majority of responses I got ignored both of these edicts.

In a twisted way, it’s a blessing because they are just self-selecting out. If I didn’t have to actually see the dick pics, I would be ok with that. This was decades ago, so I don’t know if there are strictures in place on apps now that do not allow unsolicited dick picks to go through. I would think there should be a way to do that, but I’m not a tech person.

PSA: Guys. My dudes. I rarely make blanket statements, but this is one I’m more than comfortable in making . Do not send unsolicited dick pics. Period. There is no exception to this, and you are certainly not it. (I know there are guys out there who think their dicks are just that special; trust me, they aren’t.)

PSA II: Your dick really really isn’t that special. For many people who are not dudes but like dicks, it’s a specific dick that is attractive and not just dicks in general. I know for many straight dudes, any tits and/or pussy will do. But even then, I think more of them would be weirded out by random pic of them out of the blue. It can be disconcerting, and especially when you were not asking for it nor especially in the mood for it.

Again, I don’t know how common or acceptable that is now, but back in the Wild West days of PlentyofFish, it was rampant. I would hazard that I got a dick pic for at least one out of four responses I got. And the “I loooooooove Oriental girls” response ratio was much higher.

I was talking about this with my brother when he started dating again. Not the specifics of my travails, but how now that we were in our mid-fifties, we were much more certain about what we wanted and didn’t.

When I talked about this with my Taiji teacher today, I mentioned how as she knew, I liked being alone. So anyone I dated needed to add something to my life and not make it more stressful. When I was in my twenties, I was told that I needed to settle. Basically, that any man was better than none, and the worst fate that could befall me was ending up alone.

After several disastrous relationships, I would have to disagree with that. It’s much worse being with someone who is disdainful of/tired of you than being by myself. In fact, I love being by myself. It’s the only time I can relax and be me. I miss my Shadow (still) more than I can say, but that’s not the same as living with another human.


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My daily report for shits and giggles

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I’m back with the daily weather report. Why? Because it’s still occupying my mind, and I’m going to keep going on with it until I’m bored with it. Here is my post from yesterday in which I did just that and a whole lot more. It’s 62F now, which seems to be pretty normal for this time of year. I ran to the pharmacy and for the first time this season, I wore shorts. Long shorts, yes, but shorts, nonetheless. It was such a nice day out, and it’s finally spring? I think? I am not an outdoor person at all, but it felt nice to have the sun on my face. And 62F is right at the top of my comfort zone.

This is another thing I know and accept about myself–I hate the heat. I have hated it since I was little. It doesn’t make sense because I’m hypothyroid, which usually means quick to feel the cold. However, I was hyperthyroid before that, which maybe is where my hatred of heat comes from. It should have gone away when my thyroid was destroyed, but it did not.

Now, my tolerance of/enjoyment of the cold is slightly lower than it was before I hit menopause, but I still much prefer it to the heat. And, to me, the heat is anything over 65F. Actually, up to 70F is tolerable. Once we go over 70F, then all bets are off.

Back when I was younger, I was much more into the cold than I am now. I mean, I was dancing in the snow naked at midnight for funsies. I haven’t done it in some time, but it made me feel so alive. I may have to revive it for next winter. Then again, I’m not sure I will be able to handle it, either. I’m not going to do it foolishly if my body can no longer deal with it.

Similarly, I used to play a fun (for me) game of seeing how long it would take me in the winter before I rolled up my window. When I was at my peak, I could tolerate the cold until roughly -10F. Then, I would reluctantly roll the window up. After that, it was another new game of when was I going to turn on the heater? I did it once or twice a winter, which was about how often I used the heater inside the house. Well, that’s a slight exaggeration. I probably used it three to five times a winter in the house–and that was mostly as I slept.

I can tell I’m getting older because I have my heater in my house at 62F all day round instead of 62F during the day and 60F at night. Yes, it’s just a matter of 2 degrees, but it’s still a significant different.

I’m still adjusting my sleeping schedule. I went to bed around 4:30 a.m. last night and got up at noon. Well, a bit before it. So seven hours of sleep, which is decent for me. I got up once to pee, but quickly went back to sleep again.


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Groove is in my head

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I’m back with the weather report once again. Right now it’s 55F, which is nice for me. It’s supposed to get down to near-freezing tonight, which…look, we all know I love the cold. I think I have been pretty clear on that. However, I am having the roughest time with the wildly fluctuating temps. My body is, I mean. Here is my post from yesterday, and I’ll just keep going with my musings in this post.

At the same time, I’m just exhausted from the lack of sleep. I mean, I don’t sleep well in general, but I’ve been managing to have decent sleep until the last month or so. Maybe a few months? It’s been especially terrible in the last few weeks. Going to bed at eight or nine and still forcing myself up by two-thirty because I was determined to have a regular time to get up. I was hoping that it would force me to go to bed earlier. Did this work? No. Did I really think it would work? No.

I know myself. I know the way my brain (doesn’t) work. I know what I can make myself do and what I can’t. And yet, I still foolishly do things I know won’t work. It’s not even as if I’m fooling myself–it’s me trying to convince me that I can fool myself.

I think this is one of the things that frustrates me the most about my weird-ass brain. I know what I can and can’t do, but I still try to do the thintg that I know won’t work with the futile hope that it’ll end differently this time.

What I’ve learn is that I just have to do something big and completely different. NOT stay up for 72 hours straight, but moving from one computer to another by a certain time after actually doing the first thing I need to do. This is how I used to do it back in the day before I had my medical crisis.

Side note: I’m exhausted. I’m so tired. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. After having so much trouble sleeping and being so sleep-deprived, now that I’ve actually gotten a few nights of decent sleep, I’m more tired than ever. I’m not alarmed because that’s how it’s been in the past. My body can get used to not sleeping much (at least when I was younger), but once I start making up the deficit, my body wants more.

I don’t know if there is ever a point when I’ll be truly caught. I’m guessing that if I do this for, say, like six months, I’ll make up a good portion of that. Even if I don’t, I’ll still get more sleep and more consistent sleep than I have already so it’ll be a net plus. That’s the thing I have to remind myself about any progress I make–it’s progress. Even if it’s not as big or as much as I want, I’m still better than I used to be.


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I can’t believe it’s May

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Right now, it’s 40 degrees, but it ‘feels like’ 39. On May 5th. We are nearly halfway through the year, and we’re still having frost warnings. As anyone who knows anything about me knows, I love cold weather–the colder the better. The problem is that I do not love cold mixed with hot. Going from one to the other day to day is really fucking with my inner something or the other. Not sure what, but it’s really hard on my body. Even if it’s a steady 62 degrees in the house, my body is rebelling against the wild temperature swings. I mean, it was over seventy a few days ago, and now we’re almost below forty.

I switched the thermometer to AC once or twice in the past few weeks, but then I had to put it back to the heater for the rest of the time. It’s currently on heater and I’m just leaving it there because I don’t actually turn on the AC until it’s at least 75. It used to be even higher, but I’m living a little in my old age. Actually, I only keep it that low during my Taiji and Bagua routine and then bump it back up to 76.

I would not be unhappy if we did not go over eighty for the whole summer. not only do I hate hot weather, but I hate the bugs that the hot weather brings. Ants, flies, mosquitoes, wasps, and all the other jerks that I do not want to encounter. I rarely go outside for long stretches of time because all I see are enemies. One of the few times I had an outside private lesson with my teacher two years ago in the summer, I got bitten by a wasp. It got infected, and I had to go to the doctor.

Mosquitoes love me, too. I remember playing tennis with my father when I was younger. The mosquitoes would devour me while they left him strictly alone. It didn’t matter how much I drenched myself in mosquito repellant–I would be covered with bites by the time I got home.

When I was in my early twenties, I spent two months in Taiwan–in their summer. One time, the nurse at the house (long story) gave me a ride on her motorbike. Not a motorcycle–more like a scooter. When we got home, my legs were covered with mosquito bites–and I mean covered. There were upwards of forty of them on each leg. I didn’t know for sure because I lost count. Then, an hour later, they swelled up really badly. Each was about the size of a tangerine. I probably should have gone to the doctor, but I didn’t. I was lucky that nothing bad happened (other than massive itching), but it really underscored  how much the outdoors hated me. It didn’t matter whether I like the outdoors or not because it fucking wants to kill me.


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I’m all about the (lack of) sleep

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Before I start, let me just link to my post about sleep from yesterday here. I don’t want to stress about it, so here it is. When I was in college, I used to sleep four hours a night and then crash for fifteen hours my first night home. It was as if my body was saying, “Oh, I can sleep now? I’ll show you sleep then!” I’m sure it’s quite common–the body breaknig down when it’s safe to do so. I mean, you HAVE to sleep at some point or the body will rebel.

I bring this up because I woke up at 5:30 p.m. today. I was very disoriented and shocked. That was ten hours of sleep–which does not happen to me unless I’m sick. But I’ve really been skimping on my sleep the past month or so, and this was my body’s way of saying that it needed more.

I did not know why my alarm did not ring because I had set it before I went to bed. Or rather, I turned it on and just assumed it was set correctly because it was the day before. I’m talking about an ancient manual clock that I’ve had for probably three decades. I have no idea how it went from 3 p.m. to 8 p.m.

Side Note: I have this weird thing that I do–I set all my manual clocks in the house (and my car) to different times. I have no idea why or how that started, but I’ve been doing it for decades. So the fact that my alarm clock was set at 8 p.m. meant that it was acttually set for 7:17 p.m. Why? No clue. I’ve been doing it forever, and it’s something I consider a harmless idiosyncrasy.

Side Note to the side note: One could spend their whole life trying to fix their flaws. The list is endless, and there’s always something that can be improved. However, something I learned a while back was that there’s a difference between an indiosyncrasy and a flaw. The latter should be worked on whereas the former is fine. Really, it is. We all have things that make us unique, and many of those things are harmless. My having my manual clocks at different times is one of those things.

Another thing I used to do was if I saw one of my clocks being on the quarter hour, I had to count to twenty-five as quickly as possible. Even as I was doing it, I realized that it was silly and not something I should be doing. My therapist at the time asked me what I thought would happen if I didn’t count. I didn’t know, but I was sure it would be terrible.


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Let’s talk more about sleep

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I have started my journey to stay awake for quite some time. Originally, it was going to be 72 hours, but I decided that was unreasonable. I was already so tired, and I didn’t think I could make it 72 hours. I will say the first 24 hours were easy. I got up around 10:30 a.m. yesterday morning because I had Taiji (Zoom) class at noon. Lately, I’m been going to bed anywhere from 5:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. so staying up two more hours past the latter limit wasn’t that big a deal.

Oh, and around five in the morning,  I went to shut the curtains, and what did I see outside? A noticeable dusting of snow! In late April! My bestie’s birthday is coming up soon, and her metric for snow is that it has to fall before her birthday to be allowed. I messaged her letting her now that a light dusting just squeaked by her legal limit.

I love joking with her about snow and heat v. cold. She is a hot weather person (though that has changed since she hit menopause), and I am a freezing cold weather person (though that has changed somewhat since I hit menopause). Back when she used to live in Minneapolis, we would go out once a month or so. If it was in the winter, I would be happy as a clam while she was shivering (as we smoked outside. This was after smoking was banned indoors. I do not smoke any longer). She would look at me incredulously and demand to know if my spine was scrunching up.

“Nope!” I would say happily. In my youth, I played the fun (to me) game of seeing how long it would take me in the winter to roll up my window. Usually it was around -5F to 0 degrees. And then another ten degrees lower until I actually turned on the heat. In other words, I really fucking loved the cold.

My bestie, on the other hand, grew up in Miami. She thrived in the heat and humidity, and when we went to the beach in the summer, I would moan and groan like I was being asked to drag myself across the Gobi Desert. My other bestie lived in Raleigh for some years and visiting him in summer was the worst. Even after immediately taking a shower, I would be dripping in sweat once again.Ugh. I’m sweating just thinking of it right now.

How the hell did I–oh yeah. Back to sleep.


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