Jimmy Legs

I got myself a case of the "Jimmy legs" tonight. You know, those restless legs that led to the demise of one of Kramer's relationships. I'm sure you've seen the ads for some medication to treat it on TV. Well, it's one of the delights (read with HEAVY sarcasm) I get to experience from time to time thanks to my chemically imbalanced brain. Restless legs. How uncomfortable can it be? I had no idea it was even a real medical condition until I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. I actually laughed when my doctor told me what I was describing was restless legs. Well, let me tell you, it is un-fricking-comfortable! My legs don't want to stop moving. Literally. Sometimes I have to hold my legs down to stop them from moving. I am not kidding here people. It is frustrating and ridiculous. It spreads throughout me, making me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin. It really is a most incredibly uncomfortable feeling. A different kind of pain. Relief only comes when I'm vigorously moving my legs - kicking them, pacing around the apartment, jumping up and down. Even then, it's brief before the restlessness kicks in again. Well, I can also take some Seroquel, but we all know I hate Seroquel, so I leave it until I can no longer bear it. At the moment I'm still waiting for some relief on that front (my faith in said drug skyrocketing - dripping sarcasm now). And so it is while I'm leaning on the kitchen counter, jumping up and down and kicking my legs from side to side that Dave (oops - forgot he was there; I try not to do this in his presence) commented that with my outfit - old, worn out, green capri sweat pants with black dress socks - I looked like a crack addict waiting for my next fix. To which I laughed - a good sign on the mood front. I did snap at my boss first thing this morning for no real reason so I am on the look out for irritability!

Well, I'd love to continue ranting about how irritated and uncomfortable I am, but my legs are trying to get up and jump around and apparently I must oblige them.

Celebrity Status

I believe I may have somehow crossed the line from regular gal to celebrity. No, I haven't become a reality TV star and I haven't suddenly lost 30 pounds, purchased a minature dog and made a sex tape with Dave that "accidentally" hit the internet. But I did just find out that I have a fan club. And I'm pretty sure that to have a fan club, you have to have fans. And well, if you have fans, doesn't that usually mean you're known for something? Like well known? Like a celebrity. The Merrium-Webster's definition of celebrity is "the state of being celebrated" or "a famous or celebrated" person. The definition of fan is "an enthusiastic devotee (as of a sport or a performing art) usually as a spectator" and "an ardent admirer or enthusiast (as of a celebrity or a pursuit"). I believe I have made my case.

So what about this fan club, you're wondering? How did I get a fan club? And what does this fan club do? Well, for those of you who are familiar with Facebook, a group has been created in my honour (well really, in honour of my blog) on Facebook. It is the "Angela Simpson Blog Fan Club". Facebook users can join this all important group and chat about me and my blog. For those of you who are not familiar with Facebook, well, ask your child, grandchild, or the kid who lives next door to explain it. Anyways, my friend (and apparent ardent fan!) Lisa Riley and Dave put this together way back in March. I just discovered it today. I know... you can't believe it's taken me this long. How could I, seeker of praise, recognition, and general ego boosting of all types, not know she has a fan club?

Well, today, after having a huge fight with the machine that loads money onto my laundry card (enabling me to use the machines and thus dry the wet laundry that I had) and losing to said machine; and then being told by the service people that they might be able to get to fixing it on Tuesday (um, hello!!! I have a couple loads of wet laundry here and other clothing I'd like to wash before then!) I was feeling bitter, edgy and really like I could just lose it. Okay, not the end of the world, but for whatever reason, it got me all agitated. I was sitting at my computer, trying to cut my 1,100 word essay into 400 - 500 words, but really just feeling agitated and like lighting up a smoke, when, Dave pulled this pick me up out of his hat. Bless Dave. For managing to ignore my disproportiate rage at the laundry machine thing and for finding a way to cheer me up.

He directed me to his Facebook page, and then to his groups, where I saw it - the "Angela Simpson Blog Fan Club". I clicked on it, and there it was! There were some pictures of me. The link to my blog (obviously!!). Some comments about the fact that I was oblivious to the group's existance. And 24 members! Some of these people I don't even know! I was, of course, reduced to tears at this fact. And that Lisa and Dave had taken the time to create the group. And that anyone would really care that much about what I write on my blog. Especially people I don't even know. It certainly lifted my spirits and makes me feel incredibly special.

Which leads me back to my celebrity status. After shedding tears and being reduced to mush inside, I bounced back with an inflating head and the realization that having a fan club certainly made me special and really, probably was grounds for celebrity status (refer back to definitions of celebrity and fan noted above). Not to worry though, I will not forget where I have come from or the people I have met along the way, I will try to answer every piece of fan mail (I should expect fan mail, yes?), and if I ever write that book everyone in my fan club will get a free signed copy.

Now, I've got to go practice thinking like a celebrity! I wonder if I should have Dave make up t-shirts or something? Hmmm....

Ah Summer...

Aaahhh summer. As if on cue (it is the May long weekend, which in my world signifies the beginning of long hot days) summer seems to have arrived. After days, weeks, months of rain and grey, dreary days, the sun came out, sweaters came off and it is as if it has never rained a day. Suddenly it feels like I'm on vacation...sun + warm weather + beach in my backyard = vacation. And I can only hope that we have now put the past year of miserable weather behind us and I can spend the next four months living like I'm on permanent vacation...aaah patios and cold drinks, bbq's (okay, I will admit, I am enjoying our big bbq and my patio), and of course, the beach.

There is something about summer in the city that gives me a hazy sense of carefree-ness, like I really am on some vacation. Maybe it's suddenly being surrounded by all the people that are actually on vacation (can you believe people pay to spend time here while I just get to live it?!!). Maybe it's the change in energy. Maybe it's the notion that being close to the water somehow equates with vacation. Maybe it's just the fact that I can walk out my door and in less than a minute be soaking up the rays. Whatever the case, I will take the all the rain in the world for even just one day like today. Because when the sun shines, you really do forget it ever rained. It's like my brain. When I'm depressed the world is all dark and misery, but just one high day and all those miserable thoughts are all but forgotten. Interesting. Perhaps I'll ponder this more tomorrow while I'm kicked back on the beach. Or not. I will likely just be kicked back on the beach patting myself on the back for choosing to live in such a beautiful city! Oh ya.

My Words In Print!

It's official...I am having a piece of writing published! (insert cheers, oohs, ahs, etc.) Okay, not it's not like I'm having an article published in the New Yorker or even that rag 24 for that matter. But I will have a little piece published in the next edition of Balance - the Mood Disorders Association's newsletter. In the April edition I noticed they were seeking submissions from readers. Finally! I immediately answered the call, sending in my bit which you've all read here - "Only Crazy Knows Crazy". I got an email the same day from the editor who said she would like to include it in the next newsletter (it is published every two months) and would contact me closer to the deadline. I was beyond thrilled!!! Like you would think the New Yorker had called!

Yesterday I received an email from the editor advising me my piece is 1,100 words and it needs to be 400 - 500 words. So, can I cut it in half? Aaahhh... my first real taste of having an editor! Whatever! She could have told me to write a sentence and I would have - I want to see my words in real print on paper! And glossy paper for that matter! So I will work on saying what I originally said in 1,100 words in 500 words and await to see what it looks like in a newsletter that people all across B.C. will read!

And of course, I have to add some of my editor's comments (notice that she is now "my" editor...I am definitely feeling like a "real" writer!) because, well, that is what the little narcissist in me likes to do!

Comments From The Editor:

"I will understand if you think you cannot shorten your piece...but I'd sure like it if you could. I really do want your voice heard and I love your story Ange."

".....because it so eloquently speaks to the shame, embarrassment or fear we have faced when "coming out" as someone with a mood disorder."

"I love your piece Ange and we can work together a bit to make it represent your experience but in 500 words."

HOW COOL IS THAT???????

For more information about the Mood Disorders Association of B.C. - check out www.mdabc.net. Members are mailed copies of the newsletter, but I believe you can also find them in hospital psych wards if you would like to find a copy when it comes out. (laughing out loud here - unless you actually have to attend a psych ward, I advise you not to go there) Of course I will be trying to get my hands on a few copies and will of course post the article as it will appear in the newsletter once I've done editing it.

Next up...I think I'm going to try to send in something to BP Magazine (A national magazine focussing on mood disorders - info found at www.bphope.ca).

Well, I must go check my email - perhaps my editor is trying to get in touch with me! :)

Something, Anything...

If anybody is still bothering to check this, here it is...a long awaited post. You are probably expecting to read fun and entertaining stories about my trip to Puerto Vallarta, since that is where I last left off. While I have some bits and pieces drafted, I just wasn't able to put it all together when I came home. I blame it on a combination of being too busy working the first few weeks immediately after I returned home (my December resolve to stop working all together obviously was still out the window) and writers' block, which I am blaming on my psychiatrist for the medication cocktail he insists I take (I have to blame someone!!!). I promise details of the trip will come in time. For now, I can tell you that the highlights were meeting our trip-mates Shelley, Al, and James; cruising high above the jungle on a zipline; having guacomole made fresh for us at our table at Pipi's; and Andales, a tiny bar where Betty served up shooters plus and we danced our asses off to everything from Al's favourite "Alice, Alice, Who the F--- is Alice?" (I don't know if this is the actual name of the song, but you know what I'm talking about) to "The Twist" and everything in between. It was like Jack FM on crack and no doubt the best little bar I've ever been to. Sigh. I'm sure there are many more highlights, I just can't rustle them up right now.

So what's going on now? Well, I'm not working much at all. April seemed busy and still that writers' block. Sometimes my mind wanders around words to write but I can't get them on the page. It's not like there's no subject matter. There is a plethora of subject matter! Dave and I had two absolutely fabulous ski trips to Whistler. Dave had a birthday. Dave quit smoking. I have now quit smoking. (yes, you read that correctly!) And of course there are numerous little things that go on that I could turn into pages (ie. the lovely but ginormous BBQ that now takes up what seems to be half my patio space, ruling out a herb garden (Dave I love you); the crows that continue to mess up said patio by dropping everything from shells to cigarette butts on it; the wonderful new patio set I have from which to enjoy the most beautiful sunsets; just to name a few more recent ones). But everytime I thought to write something, I couldn't. Then my mood took one of its usual little crashes so the thought of even waking up, let alone writing was too much. Now as I'm coming out of that fog, and needing to fill time that was previously spent smoking, I figured I should just start typing. Don't think. Don't try to write. Just write. Something. Anything. They say that is what you are supposed to do. I guess it works. Or at least helps. I've got two paragraphs and can now post something! As George Constanza once said, "I'm back baby! I'm back!" (I hope, I more meekly say).