(Mostly) outdated notions

I still distinguish between nauseous and nauseated, though Merriam-Webster doesn't anymore.

I still capitalize Bohemian and know decimation has a literal definition.

I'm disturbed that M-W's word of the year for 2007, as chosen by online voters, was w00t ... because it isn't even a word (yet).

However, as I hang my head in shame, I'll admit I've relaxed usage of Google from noun to verb form, though I maintain capitalization. Am I a bad grammarian?

We'll be together soon?

If you've e-mailed me this week and I've been incommunicado, it's because this whole adoption thing is sapping all my energy. A couple of posts ago, I mentioned getting an e-mail from my birth mother. Things got kind of wild 'n' crazy after that.

I have two sisters: Cari, who's almost 25, and Lynn, who's 23. Two little sisters. Kate just went from being an "only" to being an "oldest." Both of them still live in Memphis, and I've been in contact a few times with Cari. I know after nearly three decades apart, we won't have a normal sibling relationship. (E-mail from Cari today: Also, do you have a cell phone and do you like to text? I can give you my cell number if you ever want to communicate that way. It's really cool to not be the older child anymore! LoL)

Not only have I connected with my past (and thus my medical history, which are the files I really need), but I have sisters. I'm a sister. I haven't processed it yet.

And that comes to the second piece of news I haven't hit on yet in the blog: Paul and I are going to be spending June and July -- and probably part of May -- in Memphis because he's been contracted to run a laboratory there. A job. Back in Memphis. (Big congrats to him, no matter the location of the contract. I'm proud, as usual.) So, if you're keeping track: My parents visit us in Charleston this weekend, we move to our new apartment next week, we spend about two weeks in the new apartment before going to Memphis for two and a half months -- a logistical nightmare -- and while I'm in Memphis, I'll be meeting my two little sisters.

I guess I started therapy at just the right moment. (It coincided with the blog going down.) As far as bipolar patients go, I'm definitely manic right now -- definitely -- though I'm trying to sleep and at least eat a little and do not-crazy things. I never, ever miss my meds ... and I even dyed my hair back from pink to sensible brown.

I'm not sure I'm making any sense. This post wasn't well-planned. There's just a lot bouncing around my head right now -- a lot to process -- so it's probably best that I'm taking my mind off things with crap like You Don't Mess With the Zohan. See last post. Didn't give proper credit to Paul.

If you get a sec and know anyone who's part of the adoption triad (an adoptee, a birth parent or an adoptive parent), this DMC video had me in tears. Lots of tears. But (finally) good tears.



I'm a sister. And I'm going back to Memphis. Kind of hard to figure out where and who and what and when.

You don't mess with the list of movies Kate needs to see

You know what movie is not on the List of Movies Kate Needs to See?

You Don't Mess With the Zohan.

You know what he just watched on Instant Queue? I'll give you three guesses and the first two don't count. And what's worse is that he rated it a 4 of 5, saying it would have been a 4.5, had that been an option. For real.

... I have made no progress on the list.

Encore, encore (the "Mom" convo)

Tonight, XBL Rock Band, Paul on guitar, Jon on bass, Drew on drums, Kate -- checking her e-mail and singing vocals.

(Very inebriated) Drew: "Kate, 's your turn to pick. This is our encore, ev'rybody. Thanks for coming out and don't forget to pick up our album!"
Kate (scrolling through song list): "It's our encore, for real? Last song tonight?"
(Paul whispers, "Ooh, ooh, pick 'Real Good Looking Boy'")
(Kate quietly picks "Real Good Looking Boy")
Drew: "Aww, don' be sad, Kate. We'll play together tomorrow or something."
Kate: "No, it's not that. ... I just got an e-mail from my birth mother."
Jon and Drew: "Your birth mother?"
Kate (biting her lip): "Yeah."
Drew: "Well, that pretty much says it all right there."

Considering the e-mail I'd received literally eight seconds earlier and the context of the lyrics, I'm not sure if "Real Good Looking Boy" was the best song or the worst song on which to end the set. To my credit, I was the top performer, and to my double-credit, I stole Drew's favorite backup-singer line. ... We'll discuss details later.

[Edit: It's Saturday afternoon. Drew doesn't remember playing "Real Good Looking Boy" last night ... or that conversation at all, for that matter. Wow. Total blackout. I'm ... wow.]

Tasteless all around

It's like they just took the Pizza Hut Premium Bacon Mac 'n' Cheese and loaded it into the undigested waste from the CleanseRX ad.

This page is kind of "eww" all around ... except for the half-picture of John Mac(k 'n' Cheese).



(Sorry. Couldn't pass up a stupid pun.)

And suddenly he pays attention

As I've said many times in my blog, I'm adopted. Depending on my mood, I most often approach this with an indifferent "meh." But when my therapist said it would be helpful -- though not mandatory -- to find whether there's a history of mental illness in my birth family, it opened a door for me to ask.

Kickin' rad. So I did. Casually. In conversation with mom that night.

She said she'd only had a brief chance to read over my birth history but knew she "had to memorize everything on there so I could remember it later." She said we'd talk about it more when she and Dad visit in early May. (It wouldn't be packin' and movin' time without Mom and Dad here!)

She gave me the 30-second version over the phone: mom named Carol, lineage from Quebec, intelligent, something about VMI. I relayed this to an indifferent Paul, who was surfing the Intarweb. "VMI? What about VMI?" Paul said, perking up.

"Oh, I dunno. I guess I'll find out when Mom gets here."

"That's, like, kinda funny," he replied. VMI/Cit is like Louisville/Memphis or Palmer/Nicklaus or ... I dunno ... Windows/Mac, or something.

Note: I'm not the only telephobe (is that the right word?)

Happy middle of the night! Ambien wore off, I had to pee ... and I was looking for a pretty important e-mail (which I did not have, if you were interested. And you weren't.), So I finished a book about bipolar disorder -- and, honest to god, there was a whole chapter about not answering the phone. I am not alone. A whole chapter. On not answering the phone. I should print a copy out for my friends and my mother and ... well, just about everyone who's ever tried to call me, ever.

Progress feels good. This is (ahem! I sound very educated, no?) a cycle or a mixed state, which soon will be followed by depression, probably for a few months. In the meantime, I'm going to try to mix it up a little (no pun intended) by splitting my time between CNBC and cartoons. And I'm going to do a little house cleaning and packing because we move in a week. And basically, I'm going to live my life as if it's all going to be OK. Because it is. ^_^;

Ooh. That Xanax is kicking in. I'm allowed to "save up" and take several at a time, which is precisely what I did. Hits ya like a brick in the head, it does.

So last thing on my list of stuff to mention today ... and I can't even really get into it yet ... and then more important things will be on our minds, what with the impending move and all. But I'm thinking about reactivating my City of Heroes account because it looks like Champions Online is going to be in beta forever. Theoretically, I could play CoH with (some of) my old buddies or meet people Paul knows and make new friends that way. I won't burden you with the list of pros and cons, other than to say I'm shy and it's hard for me to meet people, so once I connect with someone online (via blog, XBL, MMO, AIM ...), it's not easy to turn them loose. :-)

Okay, Xanax. Now. My post tomorrow will have no content whatsoever because Drew says I talk too much. And he doesn't like my taste in music. And he tells stupid jokes and can sometimes be a butthole. Good thing Paul and I think the world of him. Doesn't matter; this post is too long and he won't read it anyway.

Happy trails (back)

Hi, world. It's me, back from outer space.

Actually, it's kind of fitting that it's Earth Day, which means it's Matt's birthday, which means it's almost four years to the day that I was diagnosed bipolar. ... And that means it took me just about four years to get the help I needed. Need.

It took a new city, a very long winter (winter changes everything -- you didn't believe me, did you?), a lot of soul-searching, a trip to Atlanta, a day in Memphis, a serious chance at losing everything and then, finally, someone who cared enough to take the first step for me ... and who kept an eye on my pills and stuff.

I'm not saying I totally know which way is up yet, but I've been handed a map and a compass. And a couple of books to read. And another mood-stabilizing med.

The blog came down because I felt I'd said it all. It started as therapy (with a little bit of the bizarre thrown in) and, well, therapy was over because I was sure I had it all figured out. I'm not sure anymore, and that means there's still a reason it's here. And I'm here. The other casualties: my MySpace page is no more; Xbox Live was expunged; and Facebook was stripped to bare bones. (No offense intended.)

The only thing I couldn't bring myself to delete/strip was Twitter. I just couldn't do it. I love keeping up with you and your 140-character goodness.

I know I've done a lot of stupid stuff in the past four years, and I wish I'd been smart enough (or prudent enough or better equipped cash-wise) to get the help I needed. If you're reading this, you deserve a pat on the back. Happy Earth Day; and happy birthday, Matt; and, um ... welcome home, Kate.

Kiss my assets

I love CNBC. When I'm in charge of the remote control -- and that's all day here in the Land of Unemployment (it's OK, Michigan, at least you're No. 1 at something) -- my TV tunes to two things: cartoons (channels 295-301) and financial news (355). If I'm in my car, I listen to CNBC on XM ... especially if Erin Burnett is on. I have a girl-crush on her.

I do a good job keeping up with financial news. That's my background, so I really do care about things like employment and mark-to-market and TARP funds. Oh, and Bernie Madoff. I spent more time following the Bernie Madoff story than Nancy Grace spent on Natalie Holloway and Caylee Anthony combined. (Missing white women, ahoy!)

Problem with CNBC is that it makes me feel so inadequate. I know I'll never be Warren Buffet. I'm over that. But when I watch shows such as On the Money, I realize I'm really, really far behind. One caller tonight has invested assets totaling about $300,000 in savings/inheritance money. She has lost about $100,000 of that in this market. Now she's wondering whether she should buy a house with mortgage rates at their current level.

She's 28.

I'm 28.

I don't have $300,000 in investable assets. I don't even have a job. I just have an expensive little apartment in an expensive little town, and a professor husband whose salary doesn't begin to cover the student loans he took out over the past five years. (Or the expensive apartment. Or the cost of living in the expensive town.)

But honestly, I can't complain too much. I just found out half an hour ago that my 401K lost about $3,500 last year -- a blow, yes, but nothing akin to losing $100,000 because someone can't pick stocks worth a damn. We pulled our (dwindling) assets out of the market last year. I guess one of the few benefits of being broke is that I don't have to worry too much about cost/benefit analysis.

If you don't gamble, you can't lose.