Thursday, May 10, 2012

Piss piss, moan and whine.

*We interrupt your regular programming for a random kvetch*
I'm really depressed about having asthma. The first attack I had, I figured 'Ok, I'll take this junk they give me and it'll be ok, I'll get on with life, run my 5k and do my weight lifting'. But last week, running was harder, after 3 minutes, I was gasping for air and taking my inhaler. It didn't help and I had to get off the treadmill. Today I ended up in Urgent Care again. Now I have more medication and a nebulizer to use at home. This just seems to be getting worse and it's so depressing to think that I'm kind of tethered to this medication in order to breathe. I've spent most of my life not being sick, being able to enjoy going outside and wandering in wild places. I haven't a clue how I'm going to fulfill my oath of running 5k, hell, I haven't even got a clue how I'm going to walk the half mile from the bus stop to work without having an attack. Moreover, I keep thinking about how my gran died of an asthma attack. Even now, after all the medication of the day, my chest is still a little tight, but hey, apparently you can cure this shit with meditation, or a vegan diet, or stopping yourself from 'overbreathing'(according to the Butekyo nutters), yes, because breathing too much is a chronic issue for asthmatics...that's right, just get used to having a diminished lung capacity and you won't notice the asthma anymore!

I hate living like this.

*Normal programming shall resume shortly*

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Lessons From The Spindle: One And A Half Weeks On

Making myself spin every day has been hard for me. I'm a perfectionist when it comes to fiberarts. When it doesn't go right, I tense up and in turn mess up the spinning. I start to grasp the roving more tightly and my drafting becomes more 'ripping', I cringe at each scub and uneven patch. When the thread snaps and the spindle falls, I turn red with embarrassment, even though I'm the only one in the room.

I've struggled to clamp down on the perfectionist and just concentrate on production. Some of the wool I've spun is done well and some not so well. But that's not the point. The point is simply doing, actually practicing and not fearing the mistakes.

There have been days when I haven't wanted to pick up the spindle and spin, and this week, I'm worried that I assigned myself a little too much to spin for the week, life just keeps getting in the way, and unlike my forebears, I'm still terribly self-conscious of spinning in public. The perfectionist that stops me from doing so many activities if I'm not sure I'll do them perfectly (or as close to it as I can manage) steps in.

Once again, these are lessons from the spindle. The more I spin, the more I'm surprised by how much spinning can teach about life and the more I think I understand a little more of how spinning became its own mystery of sorts. It's not just about wool production, there is so much more to spinning... sisterhood, the transmission of stories and legends, a schooling of sorts, morality, taboo, heritage...

But back to that damn perfectionist streak. This perfectionist streak, which I don't often acknowledge or realise is most definitely there. It's what stops me from actually moving forward with writing my book, or the myriad of other stories I have in my head. It's what makes me edit and re-edit and re-edit again and again and again until I'm second/third/forth guessing my word choices and the mental picture I'm painting to the point that I can't write full stop (I'm already on my third edit of this blog post). It's the part of me that causes me to stop seeing the scene that I'm writing and to see only grammar tenses, punctuation and words. It's what stops me from moving on with my career, this all-pervasive fear of failure and not being that perfect person.

I'm only just beginning to realise these lessons, hopefully given time, and more spinning, they'll sink in and I'll actually finish that book and plant the seeds for that career I should be getting on with.