Warranty?

I think it ran out four years ago.

Not on my car.
On my body.  😦

I am sitting here, stiffly, painfully, and somewhat embarrassed with a bulged disc in my lower back. 

How did I get this?

Competitive rodeo-clowning?
Bar fight with a pack of Dobermans and their poodle overlords?
Crash testing a new rocket sled in the back forty?

Nein.

I got it, DO NOT LAUGH, by sitting for hours in my crappy office chair while I look for a job. I think the Evil Bed might also have played a heinous part in this tragedy.

At any rate, I finally went to the University Health Services – because I had serendipitously gotten an email that said I had a ‘Grace Semester’ left to use their services, post-graduation. The very nice doc gave me Rx for Prednisone, a corticosteroid, to help with the inflammation. She also prescribed generic Norco for the pain. I’m not a huge fan of taking pills or meds, but I am pathetically grateful for these.

Even if I do sit up until 3AM looking up drug interactions, side effects, and the like.

Anxiety and WebMD do NOT mix.

Stayin’ Alive, or the John Travolta Method for Getting Over Yourself

Should have just gone for a damn run earlier.

So.
Today I had a nasty anxiety spike. It was mostly just the goddamn old tapes in my head – you know the ones: worthless, wordless, everybody hates you, worm-eatery, blah yarg fuckety smuckety.

Did I warn you that this post might contain a cussword or two? I didn’t?
Consider yourself warned.

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Man, I loathe feeling like that. I guess there isn’t a person alive who doesn’t have those moments, every now and again. They suck syphilitic goat, no two ways about it. For most of the afternoon, all I could really do was sit on the couch, play a stupid video game, and tell myself over and over that my brain was being an idiot. I eventually reached out to my friends – who I know care about me – and asked for a bit of love. Which they poured over me, with gusto.

A lot of gusto.
With a promise of cut-off shorts and bartending, even.

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I have *very* good friends.

I wish I could say that I snapped out of it right away. I didn’t  Brain weirdness doesn’t just go away. But I did convince myself to stop huddling in on myself, to interact with friends and family, to make dinner, and eventually to go for a run.

Please refer to the first sentence in this post.

I feel better now than I have all day. I mean, minus the wobbly legs and the sweat pouring down my face. Of course, part of it is the endorphins; however, some of it is just not letting the stupid anxiety win.
Fuck that shit. I deserve better than being a whiny neurotic heap on my couch.

At any rate. I didn’t have much more to say. I wanted to write about kicking anxiety’s ass (mostly) to the curb, at least for the evening.

I also wanted to post (with video links because I’m cool like that) my run music. It was on shuffle, so it was totally the Universe channeling the right music for me. Even if much of  it had to do with Code 187-MDK and the 80’s.

Ladytron – Destroy Everything You Touch

 [SITD] – Plastination City

Suicide Commando – Bind, Torture, and Kill

Duran Duran – A View To a Kill

Rammstein – Du Hast

Camoflage – The Great Commandment
What ARE the fucking lyrics about??

CombiChrist – This is My Rifle
Today? You pukes will sleep with your rifle. You will give your rifle a girl’s name.

Wumpscut – Evoke

BeeGees – Stayin’ Alive
Totally John Travolted all the way home during this one.

The last song was really, really appropriate and *totally* cracked me up. I was shuffle-dancing and giggling the last few minutes of the run.

Infant Solitary Confinement is bad, mmkay?

For the first time in ages, I have time to sit and read. Read blogs, news sites, Facebook, etc. etc.  It is glorious. Informative. Thought-provoking. And sometimes, angry-making.

I came across an article during my breakfast bowl of Sriracha and chicken Ramen noodles (don’t judge) that infuriated me.  Not the article itself but one of the ideas it was debunking.

The implications of the entire article are interesting and something that I have slowly learned as a parent. Letting your kids roam is good for them. Letting them learn autonomy is GOOD FOR THEM.
But, and this is important, in order to do this – kidlets must, must, must (and I will reiterate this point a lot) know that they are being raised in a world by parents who will back them up.
One of the concepts that this article bashes is that of Ferberisation. A concept dating from the 1890’s. Haven’t we outgrown this bullshit?

“Parents are encouraged to schedule and limit the time they spend checking on the baby. Does the system work? Of course it does. That is hardly the question. The real issue is why would such a thing be promoted?”1

What the ever-loving fuck?  Why are parents being taught to put their infants into what amounts to solitary confinement? What the hell, people? Who thought this was a good idea?2

 “a famous British advocate of the system….[says] that babies who have been forced into a routine will later adapt easily to a school routine and, one presumes, be more malleable to a workforce system.”

Yes, by Gumby. Because malleable and easily controlled drones are exactly what the world needs right now. Yanno, instead of babies and children who know that their parents got their backs.

FERFUCKSAKES.

Now before anyone says anything, I totally grok needing a schedule for a child. I also grok that the needs of a hunter/gatherer tribe and an industrialized 8 to 7–er  are going to be completely different.  It is the price we pay for the privileges we have – running water, electricity, the internets, etc. etc.

However, and really why should I have to say this?, you adapt. You pick up your crying baby. You make sure that from an early age they understand that Mums and Daddums (or Daddums and Daddums, or Mums and Mums, or Mums and Mums and Daddums, ∞) are going to be there for them.  That way, later on, they will be able to roam with the sure and certain knowledge of parental backup.

1– Quotes are from here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2013/may/04/leave-them-kids-alone-griffiths which is, in turn, an extract from Kith: The Riddle Of The Childscape, by Jay Griffiths, published by Hamish Hamilton

2– Note, this is NOT up for debate. This is a rhetorical question. My blog. My rules. Keep in mind that I am the person who quietly barks at lax parents to “pick up your crying baby, you moron” while in public spaces.  You want to debate this, go to another forum where it is being bandied about. I am commenting on the absolute bugfuckery of this idea. BUGFUCKERY. >,<

3 – 9 to 5 has gone the way of the dodoes in today’s society.