WanderingAmylessly 2.0

Crazy. Nutty. Wacko. Psycho. Freaky. Cuckoo. I'm probably a hypocrite. I've used the words before, frequently to label myself. Usually in a self-deprecating way. But the last thing someone who's ill needs is to be belittled or insulted or, for that matter, labeled. Anyone who uses these labels keeps the stigma of mental illness alive. I'm as guilty as the next person. I'm not pointing fingers. I'm reminding. I'm raising that red flag of awareness. Would you tease a cancer victim for being sick? Of course not. So why should this be any different? I've heard and/or read each of those six negative, harmful words above in the last few days, all uttered to describe one person and his erratic, out-of-control behavior: actor Charlie Sheen. He's gone on rants, often nonsensical and seemingly delusional. He claims he's cured himself of addiction. He brags about women. He bemoans how people are out to get him. His paranoia leads him to declare war on other

We booked a babysitter. Those are four glorious words in the Schoon household. We don't hear them often. But we've now found a new, reliable, consistent, responsible young woman who loves our kid and who's generally available when we need her, who luckily agreed to relieve us of our parental duties for one evening so we can go have dinner and drinks and conversation like grownups. (Tim, there better be NO whining. NO negotiating. NO complaining that you'd rather be playing video games. Hear me?) Dinner's at HuHot mongolian grill, one of the only places we can NEVER go with Henry because, well, the concept of various foods all mixed together...not a hit with the H-man. Foods covered with sauce (that's not ketchup) and touching -- a deadly combination in the eyes and palate of our 7-year-old. Then we're headed to the First Avenue Club in Iowa City to watch the River Rats Dueling Pianos show, featuring two guys from Minneapolis, two grand pianos, and an array

1. Politics. Everyone hates everyone else. No one listens. Lots of people are nuttier than I am. It's amazing anything ever gets done. 2. The Weather. From mid January to early April, it just simply sucks. At least, here, anyway. It's probably delightful in Florida or Australia or somewhere where I'm not. 3. House cleaning. It doesn't matter how well you do it once. You're just going to have to do it again. That holds true for laundry, dishes, and working out. 4. Glasses. They're always half empty with me. Sorry. Just the way my brain works. If you're searching for Patty Positive, you'll have to look elsewhere. 5. A size 4. No matter how much I diet, nevermind how many running miles I log or the exorbitant number of ab crunches I complete, I am fairly sure I will never squeeze myself into size 4 jeans. Perhaps later this year I will prove myself completely wrong. Or vanity sizing will treat me kindly. Both optimists and pessimists contribute to our

I've written about the Kenyons before. They are an inspiration. They also went through something no one should ever have to: losing a child. Little Will was one reason I started this blog, way back in 2004. I think a little piece of everyone who heard his story passed away with him the day he left us . Click here to see pictures of three sweet, beautiful boys. Read their family's story. Then donate to the March of Dimes' March for Babies if you can. Or find a walk in your area and sign up to participate and collect donations yourself. Tim and I are so lucky; we had a full-term, healthy baby boy with no complications. To ensure that the risks and challenges decrease for other babies-to-be and their families, we support the March of Dimes in its invaluable research efforts. I plan to walk with them on April 16 in Iowa City, remembering Will and celebrating his two adorable, treasured siblings!

Several people on Facebook posted that today is National Margarita Day. Mmmmm. Nibblin' on sponge cake, watchin' the sun bake; All of those tourists covered with oil. Strummin' my six string on my front porch swing. Smell those shrimp They're beginnin' to boil. Wasted away again in Margaritaville, Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt. Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, But I know it's nobody's fault. Don't know the reason, Stayed here all season With nothing to show but this brand new tattoo. But it's a real beauty, A Mexican cutie, how it got here I haven't a clue. Wasted away again in Margaritaville, Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt. Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, Now I think, - hell it could be my fault. I blew out my flip flop, Stepped on a pop top, Cut my heel, had to cruise on back home. But there's booze in the blender, And soon it will render That frozen concoction that helps me hang

Warm rays Sweet tea and iced chai latte Sundresses and sandals Outdoor cafes Street musicians Runners Dog walkers Lovers holding hands Cyclists riding the roads Giggling children Packed playgrounds Reading in the hammock Sandy beaches Lying by the pool Sleeping with the windows open

Last Thursday, the temperature soared to nearly 70 degrees. I ran outside on the trail in a t-shirt and shorts. In FEBRUARY. In IOWA! Here we are, four days later, and it's 30 degrees, drizzling, with the promise of snow showers later in the day. I pulled out my light box this morning for the very first time this winter, hoping it will help me through...so a rough patch doesn't turn into a deepening chasm. Yesterday I felt grouchy and out of sorts. Today, I'm sleepy and grumbly and staring out at the gray day, wishing I was anywhere else but here. Snap. Out. Of. It. I so wanted that beautiful day from last week to be a sign of things to come. And I guess it was. Too bad the "things to come" are a month or two off...

I often wonder what my life would have been like if I'd been diagnosed with mental illness when I was in college. If someone would've told me that what was going on inside my head wasn't a character flaw or simply just the way I was born, then helped me find the right meds and therapy, it would've saved me a boatload of pain, anxiety, and self-loathing. Who knows, given that the very best meds have only recently been released, maybe I would've ended up on a regimen of electroshock therapy or with a good old fashioned lobotomy. No one even seriously suggested I might have a problem, even though I was an emotional, manic depressive basketcase for years and years and years. That's why I'm happy to find out that there's a web site out there devoted to a campaign that aims to "change the conversation about mental health on college campuses." At ActiveMinds.org , organizers promote development of chapters of a student-run mental health awareness, edu

5 of my very worst ideas 1. Wouldn't it be great to work for corporate America?! 2. How about meeting men on the Internet. Yeah. There's nothing dangerous or freaky about that at all. (Let me just add that it was long before Tim made his appearance in my life AND before Match.com became something all the cool kids do.) 3. I graduated from college and bought a car...without having a steady source of income. Thanks to Mom and Dad for paying my insurance and various other debts... 4. At various moments in my life: "Oh, sure, I'll just have one more glass of wine..." Hardly anything good ever comes of that. 5. Trying to write responses to this particular blog topic

Close your eyes, open a dictionary, and point to a word. Does your word mean anything special to you? performance 1. the execution of an action; 2. something accomplished: deed, feat; 3. the fulfillment of a claim or promise; 4. the action of representing a character in a play; 5. a public presentation or exhibition; 6. the ability to perform; efficiency; 7. the manner of reacting to stimuli: behavior The first thing that popped into my head when I saw this word was "work performance." As in "performance appraisal." As in, let's sit down and have my manager tell me all the reasons why I do a great job but am not being promoted. This year it was because I had communication issues, specifically that I displayed negative nonverbal cues. I'm not altogether sure what the problem is. It's not like I flipped people off in staff meetings. Some days, I would like to wear a shirt that says, "I think I'm doing pretty well for being mentally unstable."

That's about how old this blog is. Doesn't seem possible. I went back and read some old posts during lunch. I swear I never remember writing half of that drivel. Most of the rest, I wish I wouldn't have written.

Do you watch The Biggest Loser? For that matter, do you watch any reality show? I feel completely manipulated. I react the way the show's editors and producers want me to react. By playing up certain scenes, by leaving out other important information, by changing up the background music or camera angles, they lead me to believe one thing happened. But really something else entirely is going on. Manipulated. Tricked. Teased and toyed with. I'm such a puppet. The fact that "reality" shows are anything but reality isn't really news to me. I just had a moment last night, watching a DVR'd episode of TBL, when it all came together in a nice little package with a big, shiny bow. Is that what makes these shows compelling? I think the stories would speak for themselves, without all the overly produced touches. Maybe, in TBL case, they could cut down the artificially inflated drama at the weigh-in and have more time to let the stories play out on their own rather than

Do not put statements in the negative form. And don't start sentences with a conjunction. If you reread your work, you will find on rereading that a great deal of repetition can be avoided by rereading and editing. Never use a long word when a diminutive one will do. Unqualified superlatives are the worst of all. De-accession euphemisms. If any word is improper at the end of a sentence, a linking verb is. Avoid trendy locutions that sound flaky. Last, but not least, avoid cliches like the plague. -- William Safire, Great Rules of Writing

Just yesterday, I was bragging to my friends at work about how my kid hadn't missed a day of school all school-year long so far due to illness. Today, when we picked him up from the after-school program, he sniffled and sneezed all the way home. Then I took his temp, just for kicks. 102.8 Poor baby. I don't know how long he has been running the fever. Why didn't anyone at school notice? He mentioned "I got so hot in P.E., I totally wanted to take off my shirt in the gym." Well no wonder, poor guy is practically boiling. I hate seeing him sick. He's so not himself. He just sprawls on the couch, curled up with a stuffed animal, and stares at the TV as if in a hypnotic trance. It's like he's asleep with his eyes open. So there goes his stellar attendance record. Now Tim and I have to play rock, paper, scissors to decide who'll stay home with the puny punkin. It really had been a long time since he's been sick. When I reached for the unopened bottl

Little Wonders Rob Thomas Let it go Let it roll right off your shoulder Don't you know The hardest part is over Let it in Let your clarity define you In the end We will only just remember how it feels Let it slide Let your troubles fall behind you Let it shine, Till you feel it all around you And I don't mind If it's me you need to turn to We'll get by It's the heart that really matters in the end All of my regret Will wash away somehow But I cannot forget the way I feel right now In these small hours These little wonders These twists and turns of fate Yeah, these twisted turns of fate Time falls away Yeah, but these small hours, These small hours Still remain

lo·qua·cious    /loʊˈkweɪʃəs/ Show Spelled[loh-kwey-shuhs] –adjective 1. talking or tending to talk much or freely; talkative; chattering; babbling; garrulous: a loquacious dinner guest. 2. characterized by excessive talk; wordy: easily the most loquacious play of the season.

I noticed that, after a couple weeks of being out of his own Suave 99-cents-a-bottle shampoo, Tim was still using mine in the shower. Me: So you really like my shampoo, eh? Tim: Eh, shampoo's shampoo. Whatever. Me: My shampoo's 25 bucks a bottle. Tim: *shudder* Next time I go to the store...

If you're with someone, you love this day. If you're not, you're likely spewing venomous curses on the world. OR you might be a jaded, cynical beast somewhere in between, ranting your conspiracy theory about the card companies, candy makers, and florists. Whatever your take on romantic gestures, I wish you a happy day. If you love hearts and flowers, enjoy! If you can't stomach one more mention of the holiday, go eat some chocolate or buy new shoes and shut up about it. For the cynics: lighten up. Go kiss someone. It'll make you feel better. And for my valentine: our song. These Are Days 10k Maniacs These are the days These are days you'll remember Never before and never since, I promise Will the whole world be warm as this And as you feel it, You'll know it's true That you are blessed and lucky It's true that you Are touched by something That will grow and bloom in you These are days that you'll remember When May is rushing over you With desi

Just saw one of those automatic ads pop up on the right side of my Facebook page. It was from groupon.com, the web site where you can sign up for daily coupons and deals from local businesses. The ad said, "365 things to do in Cedar Rapids before you die." I wonder if number 1 on the list was, "Get the hell out of Cedar Rapids!"

Tim and I were sitting on the couch, watching bad TV and chatting about a lot of nothing this weekend when it suddenly struck me that as of this summer, Tim and I will have known each other for 15 years. Last year, we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary, and that was big. But 15 years is a LONG time. We met in the '90s. Remember when the Olympics were held in Atlanta? When the Packers won the Super Bowl the LAST time around? When Princess Di divorced Prince Charles? When Boris Yeltsin was leader of Russia? Bill Clinton was elected to a second term? All those things happened in 1996. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast yesterday. So I'm not that surprised I had to Google 1996 to come up with some major events to relay. However, my hubby surprised me...really floored me...when he told me he remembers what I was wearing the first moment he laid eyes on me when we met that day for a meal at Applebee's in St. Joseph, MO. He was specific: those shorts that looked l

We ended up with 15-17 inches of snow, but some drifts were chest high! Wacky stuff! Schools and businesses closed. City buses stopped running. I worked from home half day and took the rest off to play. We had to clear paths for the dogs to run in. Tim went in to work about noon, once the buses started running again, and took pictures for a campus-snow-day photo gallery (even the UofI canceled classes, which is nearly unheard of). Today, I'm back to work. H had a 2-hour delay for school. And the sun is brightly shining. If only it weren't -14 on my way to work. UGH! I'm ready for spring.