I have never, in my fantasies, wanted anything named after me. If I were rich, I’d donate money for a building to be named after someone else who actually accomplished something other than accumulating money. My favorite revenge fantasy was to name a building after a colleague who greatly disliked me, so she would have to take the honor remembering where it came from. But, alas, I haven’t come up with any money.
Most people don’t understand mental illness. They believe that mental illnesses are either no big deal or horrific. And they’d be right … and wrong.
Mental illness is no big deal when it’s under control. There are lifestyle changes — for example, I can no longer stay up late with my bipolar (II) disorder. I have to have a set sleep schedule every night and sleep for about 9 hours a night. This is necessary not only to help monitor changes in sleep (which could be mood swings) but to keep from creating mood swings. I also monitor my energy levels for the same reason, and I don’t push myself beyond my limits.
I would not say my mental illness is horrific, but the potential consequences of mood swings are great. So far, hypomania has yielded some tension in relationships, incomplete projects, and somewhat risky behavior. My examples of the latter are going fishing in a deserted park at 2 AM and getting in the car with a drunk driver. It could be so much worse. Depression on the other hand is not only unpleasant, but can lead to suicide.
My bipolar is a lifetime thing controlled by medication and taking care of myself. I have not had either a depressive or hypomanic state for many years, so it’s mostly maintaining medication and good health practices. I regularly talk to my psychiatrist to monitor my moods and meds. I can live with my disorder; it’s neither trivial nor horrible.
I laugh a lot. So many things make me laugh.
I laugh at quirky circumstances. There was the time in high school when a classmate started his announcement on the PA three times, thinking he wasn’t being heard. The third time, he started his spiel with “My name is X, and if you don’t know by now …” I was the only one laughing.
I laugh at silly things. My husband and I act silly toward each other — making faces, making silly noises — and I laugh when that happens.
I laugh at really dark humor. I grew up with a sick sense of humor. I can’t give examples of what I laugh at, because I’m a little ashamed of this. Let’s just say I laugh at a lot of the depressing humor coming out of this political cycle.
Kittens. Kittens make me laugh. My husband shows me pictures of kittens all the time so I can laugh. And otters. And baby sloths. Cute things make me laugh. The latest thing was an AI video of kittens in Starbucks aprons making cappuccino. I could watch that for hours.
I laugh at clever wordplay. Especially bad puns. Okay, I groan at those, but close enough. ‘What is the difference between ignorance and apathy? I don’t know and I don’t care.’
I think laughter is a great way of getting through life.
When I was five, I wanted to be a doctor. I think that’s because doctors seemed so different than anyone else I had encountered at that age. They had their own offices, they wore white coats, and they talked to little kids instead of over their heads.
When I was eight, I aspired to be a poet. My third-grade teacher taught an ambitious unit on poetry where we actually wrote in different forms (my diamante was less than desirable, but my limerick was pretty good). She had posted my Groundhog Day poem (free-form) on the door of the classroom. I told my mother I wanted to be a poet and she asked, “Do you like to eat? Poets don’t make enough money to eat.” That was the end of my vocational aspiration, because I did like to eat. I went back to wanting to be a doctor.
When I was ten, I saw a lot of doctors for a stubborn malady. At that point, I had had enough of doctors, and that cured me of wanting to be one. My career aspirations were on hold until I hit high school. When I was sixteen, I wanted to be a dietitian because I had lost a significant amount of weight. I was what they would call nowadays an orthorexic, someone who followed a strict diet and lost more weight than advisable. I held that aspiration until my sophomore year of college, when I started gaining the weight back and feared the organic chemistry classes I would need to take. I changed to Foods in Business, a corporate foods career.
By the end of my sophomore year, I wanted to be a professor. I didn’t know what I wanted to be a professor of, but I had a friend whose father was a professor and I wanted a lifestyle that would keep me in academia. It took me till my first semester senior year to find the answer. I took a family economics class as an elective, and I fell in love with the class. We talked a lot about why women earned less than men, and I found the discussion intriguing. After class one day, I asked the professor if grad school was a possibility. She escorted me down the hall to the department office and introduced me to the department chair. Thus, I got into graduate school in Family and Consumption Economics pretty easily.
Once I got my PhD, my jobs have been only slight detours in my field. I teach a few psychology classes, due to my many hours in Psychology along the way. I teach human services classes, which in my case are akin to what I trained in. At one point, I wanted to be a winemaker when I retired, but I now think that would be too much physical labor. Now, I want to be a writer when I retire.
I started my research career in the realm of DOS PCs, card catalog library searches, and statistical computing on mainframes. Today I have a computer where I can see what I type in full color. I can search my library catalog from home and run statistical analyses. The change is enormous, because I can now work from anywhere I have wi-fi. I hardly even need to set foot in my library because I can download articles from the Internet. If I wanted to, I could compose articles and lectures on my phone. A pretty dramatic change in technology right there.
Technology also allows me to create graphics-filled slide shows for students that I can show on my computer with a projection unit. Before, I was using typed overhead sheets and an overhead projector. I can use a color copier for handouts, where once I was using a mimeograph. I produce clear and attractive documents with little effort. A couple of weeks ago, I produced a 3×4-foot poster with graphics and sections for a research conference I will soon go to.
Because of the technology, we do more ourselves. It doesn’t bother me to compose my work instead of sending it to the secretary; I have more input into the process and I can change things instantaneously. We also expect to have a level of sophistication in our products we weren’t able to achieve before. Research papers are more complex, document design more exacting, and with the expectation of quicker deadlines.
I am so much more productive, having the means of production in my hands. Despite the faster pace, I prefer this era of technology.
What’s a secret skill or ability I wish I had? By secret, I am assuming there’s a reason I’m keeping it secret. That makes me think it’s a superpower or something, although the original question says “you have or wish you had”, which sounds more like a mundane activity. Why would I keep a mundane ability secret? If I could build cabinetry I would not be keeping it secret; I would go into business. So I will assume superpower for the sake of this question.
I wish I could teleport. I wish I could blink and end up somewhere else. Travel would be insanely easy with this talent. Ireland could be a weekend excursion. Going to work would be an instantaneous action. Around the world in eighty hops? I’m game.
It wouldn’t be that easy, though. If I wanted to be undiscovered, I would have to teleport into hidden places. I would have to know where I am going before I got there, which would necessitate having been there before. So, in reality, I would not be teleporting to Ireland unless I have visited before and I had a storage closet in mind.
Another downside would be energy expenditure. Dissolving into one’s component molecules and reforming would have to take a lot of calories. Not that I think eating whatever I want would be an onerous task. It could be, though. How much can one really eat in a day?
Teleporting would be a great talent. And a great burden, which is a given for any superpower. Maybe I’d rather try carpentry.
I love the weather. I could lose myself in an early, sunny March day. A fresh snowstorm makes me happy. But my favorite weather is thunderstorms.
The darkening of the sky, the amassing of clouds, the torrents of rain, the boom of the thunder, and I want to stand out in it and scream into the wind. I don’t, because of the danger of being hit by lightning — I respect the power of the storm.
When I lived out east, in a town at the foot of the Catskills, the thunderstorms reverberated on the hills surrounding the base of the city. Now I live back in the Midwest, where thunderstorms feature gusts of rain washing the streets.
We might get thunderstorms today. I will stand on the porch and watch them.
I wish I could sleep more.
I am capable of sleeping at any time in any position — in my chair, at my desk, while editing a book. I have napped during lectures (not while teaching them) and in the car. I’m pretty sure I could sleep through the end of the world.
Left to my own devices, I could probably sleep 13 hours a day and enjoy it. I have this feeling of comfort and security if I can sleep all day. I have done recreational dreaming, honestly.
My doctor doesn’t want me to sleep over 9 hours a day. I sleep 9 hours a day easily, and although I don’t wake up tired, I could still sleep in. This will surprise my husband, because I wake up at 5:00 every morning totally refreshed. But I could sleep longer, given an excuse. Any excuse.
Is it naptime yet?
The word that describes me is ‘exuberant’, which is defined by Oxford Dictionary as ‘filled with or characterized by a lively energy and excitement.’ That’s me.
I used to think this was a matter of my bipolar disorder, that I had times of almost giddy happiness, but on medication, it’s still there. I am a naturally bouncy person. Except if depression breaks through, and we usually get a handle on the depression pretty quickly.
Someone once said about me, “Nobody can be that happy.” And in these times of a treacherous idiot as president, it surprises me I can be that happy. I don’t know if I am that happy. I’m just glad to see the weather outside, the surprises that life gives me, and things that make me laugh. This makes me exuberant.
I used to think I wanted a tattoo. I thought (and still think) they’re marvelous looking, and I love the idea of having a tattoo to commemorate something special in your life. But I’ve never gotten one, and I have several reasons.
First, I’m afraid of allergic reactions. I know that I have a nickel allergy, a copper sensitivity, and who knows what else? I don’t know what they use for color in tattoo ink, but I bet metals are used in the ink. The last thing I need is to become allergic to something that’s injected under my skin.
Second, I read somewhere that tattoos have been linked to depression. As I’m already prone to depression, and I’ve had reactions of depression to other things, I don’t think exposing myself to more depression is a good idea.
Finally, I don’t know how well it would age. I’m over 60, and I’ve seen tattoos age. Putting one on my old skin is an imminent disaster.
But if I were to get a tattoo, it would be a photorealistic dragonfly on my shoulder, with a slight bit of irridescence in its wings (if possible). The irony here is that I would never be able to see it, so where’s the enjoyment in that? It’s just not a good idea, is it?
Words Like Me 