When I say “everybody” I mean all the different little anxieties fighting for attention.

I would love to say this isn’t a common occurrence, but has been life for a while. I mean, it is better. Once I got past some physical shit, my anxiety got way better. It had to get better. You just can’t stay in crisis mode forever. It is exhausting and then becomes super annoying. I was sick of myself, I can’t imagine I’ve been easy for the people around me. Not always at least.

Even though it is better doesn’t mean it is great. When I stopped taking a medication that cleared up an issue I’ve had for going on two years, my body didn’t just snap back in place like a rubber band. It was pretty quick though. I felt some relief within 48 hours and it got better from there within a few days.

My brain? I think that elastic is way more worn out because it is taking it’s own sweet time coming back.

I had a new anxiety join this morning and y’all it was fucking weird.

When I have to concentrate at work, I listen to music. I have specific playlists for specific tasks. First thing in the morning I listen to my “get this shit started” song.

So, I am listening to my morning playlist and wake up my monitors.

I heard that you were talking shit

I have 3 monitors. I am not sure what size they are. They’re not tiny and I’m not measuring. I woke my monitors and the picture I was faced with instantly made my stomach hurt.

The picture was terrifying. But it wasn’t. Not really. It just looked a lot like my anxiety dreams except presented in a manner my brain hadn’t thought of.

So it’s not just gonna happen like that

Sometimes I have nightmares that involve immersing or being covered in green murky water. There are a number of themes I can count on but nothing like that fucking picture. I don’t want that one making an appearance.

I texted Randy and he said to just change the picture.

But no, I’m not doing that. It is a stupid picture that is actually kind of pretty. I totally accept that anxiety is a buddy that probably will be by my side until I shuffle off. Sometimes you have to put your foot down and push back a little.

A few times I’ve been around that track

I got involved in a few things and switched over to the monitor on my left and that fucking picture startled me.

That shit is

I’m not giving up yet. I’m prepared. The weird ass swirling well picture doesn’t get to win. Also, if I am being honest here, I don’t really know how to change that picture. I have worked in IT for over three decades, but if I get outside my old ass server and black screen with green letters, then I am like a child.

I could probably figure it out, but I avoid learning anything new in my field. If I don’t know something, then I can’t help users with it. I already have enough crammed in my brain.

Also, trying to figure this shit out stresses me out and makes me feel dumb. I’ve already seen the well to hell picture. It isn’t going anywhere.

Bananas.

I did it.

I am now a professional comic.

I performed in a show and earned enough money for a tank of gas and a cup of coffee.

It is more money than I ever planned on making for trying to make people laugh with my mouth. Or the sounds that come out of my mouth.

That sounded dirtier than I intended.

I have a hard time watching the video. I’m good with my performance, but it is weird to watch the awkward way I move. Why do I keep touching my hair? Could I just calm down a little? I look like I have to pee. Also, do I make that face a lot? Because damn.

But then I tell myself, this is who you are. Just because you can actually see what other people see doesn’t really change anything, does it?

Anyway, here it is. My first paid stand-up gig.

Changing the subject a little. And not for the last time in this post.

Getting my head around the election on the heels of my father’s death and my mother’s broken back wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. My coping skills had taken a hit and I did what anyone would in that situation. I adopted another cat.

This is Rudolph Valentino.

Since we have a Gertie and Bea, I wanted to stick with the old timey names. It doesn’t get much more old timey than Rudolph Valentino, aka Rudie can’t fail, aka Rudie, aka Dee Dee, aka Bubby. Because all cats are Bubbies.

He has the sweetest personality. He and Bea scrap a little, but mostly they play. Gertie hated him with the passion of a thousand burning suns, but he defers to her and she seems to tolerate him now. He is six months old and has been with us for 3 weeks. It kind of feels like he’s always been here.

The other thing that happened was over the holidays, I ended up in the ER. I haven’t been feeling good for such a long time. Mostly I felt exhausted, anxious and panicky. Which is understandable. But it turns out that my pulse was very low, which can make one feel exhausted, anxious, and panicky with brain fog.

Can I just say what bullshit it is to have a medical issue that mimics the other ways in which I already feel shitty? Makes it kind of hard to figure out. 

On Christmas Eve, I felt so awful that I could barely get out of bed. I was fairly convinced it was something more than just my normal anxiety and panic. I took my blood pressure which wasn’t bad but noticed my pulse was 50. My normal resting heart rate is the high 80s low 90s. My sister, who works in a hospital, told me to go to the ER and to not take any chances.

I was fine. Everything checked out. I went to my doctor and he took me off one of my medicines and ordered a monitor for me to wear for two weeks.

So, it was the medicine. I had a similar issue a year ago with a beta blocker. This was the drug that replaced it. I had the same reaction, I just didn’t know it. I thought it was my normal bullshit and was just powering through. All the while, my mortality anxiety was screaming in my ears. It has been exhausting and terrifying. I went to the ER because my pulse was low, but I think it has been low for a long time.

Within days of stopping the medicine, I started feeling better. Better than I’ve felt in nearly 2 years. I got the results back from the monitor and I’m fine.

I can’t begin to express how grateful I am. I don’t spend every day feeling like I’m wading through molasses. I can focus. I’m not cycling panic attacks.

Okay, so back to the stand up.

The show went so well that the venue invited us back. We think it will end up being a quarterly thing. Our next show is March 22. I’m working on new material. Because working on comedy and playing with the kitties is what I’m focusing on. Because I can focus now. Before, I was clinging to comedy and kitties.

Focusing is so much better than clinging.

Not an actual icon. The word. Specifically, the word “iconic”.

I told Randy this evening that we are witnessing the death of a word and there isn’t a goddamn thing we can do about it.

I noticed this about a month ago.

I had some interactions with people younger than 75% of our kids where they used the word “iconic” in a way I didn’t fully understand.

I meet with a group of humorists (Comedians? Funny motherfuckers?) Anyway, I meet with a group of people once a month and we work on stand up material. Last month, I met a young woman, Ariel, and we had the following conversation:

Ariel: You should perform at the LGBQT clubs. We love iconic older women. 

Me: Okay. So, to be fair, I am only older. 

Ariel: See? That is hilarious!

Me: Okay. 

I was terribly confused. Because I’m not an icon and, therefore, am not iconic. But she was awesome and funny and I loved meeting her.

As it turns out, Ariel took the same improv class that I took, just on a different night. She ended up making up one of her classes, in my class, a few days after we met where she said I was an iconic older woman. During the class she told one of my classmates that she could tell he was an iconic man.

And I thought “Oh, I get it. I think it might mean something else now.”

Just this evening, Randy was texting with our granddaughter, Madelyn. Randy and the grands share music here and there. Randy sent Madelyn a link to a Bob Marley song and Madelyn responded “Bob is so iconic!”

To be clear, Bob Marley, is an icon. He is iconic. Saying he is “so iconic” just isn’t quite right. Right?

I’m guessing iconic sort of just means “cool” now? Because everything that is cool isn’t also iconic. At least it wasn’t a little while ago.

Me: That’s it. It is all over for the word “iconic”. It’s dying. Maybe dead. 

Randy: You think? 

Me: Absolutely. We’re old. We know your name has to be Marilyn or Elvis or Madonna to be iconic. Or maybe you are bell bottom jeans, because they’re definitely iconic. Anyway, we’re old and dying. They’re misusing the word and that misuse will become the new definition. 

Randy: That’s depressing. 

Me: Right? Pretty soon we will have no icons because everything will be iconic. Like the new flavor of Mt. Dew will be iconic. 

Randy: Or my jokes will be iconic. 

Me:…

Me:…

Me: Still no. 

Randy: How about the joke about the goat? 

Me: Nope. 

Randy: Oh well. 

Randy: What do you want to do this weekend? 

Me: Let’s watch all the Nick and Nora Charles movies. 

Me: They’re so iconic.

Randy: There you go! Assimilate. 

I mean, in the big scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. You know, with our democracy on the line and all.

Please check your voter registration. Deadlines are coming up fast.

We aren’t going to let him back in office, right? That would be so not iconic.