Pancakes Solve Problems

Image

I made them from scratch!

It’s been a rough couple of days. Sometimes there is just a lingering sadness, that you can’t seem to get rid of. It’s been lingering of late. I’ve been fighting it, these past few days. But the combination of the sadness, of how uncomfortable I have been physically, and of missing my dad (away on business for the past 3 weeks) has just pulled the fight out of me.

It’s a push and pull trick, keeping the sadness at bay. Sometimes it’s easiest to not acknowledge it, sometimes it’s easier to write about it. But no matter what I try, the process always stays the same. I try to fight it for a little while, and then something small will make me cry and everything will come rushing out. Rushing out to myself, though. I don’t share these moments with other people, because that wouldn’t bring to anything good. It’s not a moment where I need a pep-talk, or a hug, or sympathy. It’s a moment where I need to say hello to the sadness, and let it out to roam the room. When I’m ready, I let it back in and I move on.

There’s something funny about the moments that make me cry. They can be totally trivial, like seeing a cat on the side of the road, missing a phone call, someone misunderstanding something I’ve said or realizing I don’t have any milk for my cereal. Other times they truly are upsetting, like today. I got an 88 on my math test, which isn’t that bad a grade, but I was expecting much more. I made one mistake, on the whole test, and it happened to be worth twelve points. If I hadn’t made that mistake, I would have gotten 100. I’ve been working my butt off all year in math, and this was the last test. I studied so hard, and I felt really prepared. I took the test, and it went really well. I came home with a good feeling, and told my whole family that I think I did well, even better than last time (which was a 93). Now I have to tell them all that I got an 88, which, again, is not such a bad grade. It’s just upsetting, is what I’m saying.

So basically, the moment comes and I let the sadness out, in wretched sobs that tear their way out of my soul. I curl up in a ball, cry, and the anguish takes up residence. After a few minutes, I run the bottom of my wrists under cold water, dry my tears, accept the sadness, and go do something productive. That’s how it ends, until the sadness comes a’knockin’ again.

So today, walking home from school, I listened to Chocolate (by The 1975), which is a strangely uplifting song, then I came inside and let myself cry. After that, I marched to the kitchen and made pancakes. Yeah.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to really be able to make the sadness disappear, because it feels like it’s here to stay. But I think I’m handling it pretty well. I’m a dealer. I deal with the stuff that life throws at me (not drugs). And when things get too hard again, I’ll make some more pancakes. Because hey, pancakes solve problems.

Pancaking,

Ella

Song Quote:

Come on, what would you do? Get up on my feet and stop makin’ up tired excuses. -What Would You Do, City High

P.s. Thank you to Kiersten and Chewitt over at Socially Oxward, for nominating me for The Very Inspiring Blog Award! 

http://sociallyoxward.wordpress.com/2013/06/14/the-much-delayed-vi-blogger-award/

Advertisements

The Little Things

balloons against sunset

I like writing g’s, because it’s fun. I like bobby pins, balloons, stools, mug handles and zippers. I like honesty, erasers, flags, glue, furniture, faucets, blankets, railings, calculators and magnets.

I like the little things. Only recently have I been able to curate such joy from all of these, and it’s a good thing I have. I’ve been having a hard time, with a lot on my plate. Too much. It’s like when you’re at a brunch, and there are so many good foods that you just take a bunch of everything, but your plate is way too small to hold it all. As much as I try, after piling it high, there simply isn’t any more room for those five pastries and two apples I want as well. No more room.

But then, if I’m going to continue this ridiculous metaphor, I suddenly realize how beautiful it is that apples are juicy, and that the pastry I’m stuffing in my mouth was just dough a few hours ago. I see the stool in the corner, the blanket over the couch, and the mug handle I’m be holding. I’m just so filled with glee that I don’t notice that everything on my plate has just fallen on the floor and is now sticking to it, thanks to the glue I spilled earlier.

FIN metaphor.

What I’m trying to say is, maybe my days will look brighter now that I’m seeing the positive light. That was a pretty sentence. Maybe, this is what I need in order to start coping with everything going on: a little appreciation of the underlying particles of my day.

A few posts ago, I talked about “big thinking moments”, when I realize how big the world is and I have really deep moments. Maybe writing g’s plays into that somehow. You know, that whole “big things are made up of small pieces” talk that I wish I had gotten as a kid, but that I now give myself daily.

Living with Fibromyalgia, a chronic pain illness, you sort of start to realize that if you don’t appreciate the small things you have, you won’t have all that much to appreciate. And that sucks.

So now, I enjoy zipping up my jeans, and I smile at my faucets.  I decorated the entire girls bathroom (at school) with Winnie the Pooh stickers, because maybe that can make someone else smile. I’ve started bringing extra forks with me, so every day, I’m someone else’s hero (because I give them the gift of food. Well, the gift of being able to eat their food. Same silver).

All of these, make me feel that maybe I can live with Fibromyalgia, and maybe I will make it out okay.

Huzzah for the little things.

Yours truly,

Ella

Song Quote:

The world looks better through your eyes. –Firefly, Ed Sheeran

P.s. Just checked, the post about “big thinking moments” was I Am Effervescent.

I Am Effervescent

Image

Every now and then, despite everything that is going on and all of the hardships, I have these moments where my thinking becomes big. By big, I mean I think beyond whatever is going on in that moment. I think about how incredible society is, even the fact that it exists. I think about what the point of life is, why we’re here. I think about the little things of life that I love more than anything. But most of all, during my big thoughts moments, I think about the positive of my world.

 

I have an internal list of the nicest things people have said about/to me. My mother told me the other day that “to know you is to love you”. A family friend told my mom that when she thinks of me she “thinks effervescent”. My father tells me that “your kids are going to be so fortunate to have you as a mother”. All of these things, that take people seconds to say, stick with me, forever. For the better and for the worse. But with my mood right now, it’s for the better.  I love it when I feel like this.

 

My friend has this huge jar sitting on her desk. Every day, she writes down something nice that happened to her and puts it in the jar. As opposed to me, where every night, as I try to fall asleep, every bad aspect of my day comes to haunt me.

 

I feel like every person is born half blind. We have to spend our entire lives training ourselves to use the other half available to us. We need to learn how to see the little things that are so incredible, I can’t even write them down. You’ll have to feel them for yourself. When you do, suddenly everything around you will have this sort of… buffer. This buffer lets me be in a good mood even though I’m having a hard day physically. This buffer is letting me write even though I want to lie in bed. This buffer is… the other half.

 

Moods go up and down, but buffers don’t. Find yours.

 

Good luck,

Ella

 

Song quote: (You’ll get two today! The words always meld together for me, and these two compete each other)

 

“It’s harder than you think, to delay this sadness that creeps up my spine, and haunts me through the night”- These Streets, Paolo Nutini

 

“How am I gonna be an optimist about this?”- Pompeii, Bastille