#14: I still find enough humor in what aches to keep creating, because it should make a great story one day.
Making a mental healthcare directory is making me mentally ache, but I still find enough humor in what aches to keep creating, because it should make a great story one day.
You are not more aware of your technological privilege than when creating a 2018 directory without a twenty-first-century computer. I am working on a 2-in-1 tablet, with the operating capacity of a goldfish compared to Sparky, my 2010 Mac computer that moved onto worse things after seven faithful years’ service. Sparky saw me through college, graduate school, and a snip-it of my quarter-life crises.
We also know how strenuous it is for any keyboard to keep up with thoughts relating to multiple thought categories at one, despite the world’s best piano fingers on only a 12-inch keyboard. But a fast-paced, cognitively impaired memory introduces new challenges: each one of four bifocal eyes scrunching into an 11.5-diameter-tablet screen – a screen known for sporadic freezing because its working memory cannot sustain one open excel document mail merging one open mail merging document sharing time with one Google chrome window with three tabs: Squarespace, KEDALL.com, and Google maps.
Who am I to have such high expectations? How disrespectful I was to ask a two-faced tablet to insist so many programs run at one time, all to help me cross-check what information I’ve already typed into the open excel document, to make sure it will match the mail merging word document when it finally prints.
In the background, I hear what sounds like a loud, industrial churning that shifts rusted wheel cogs each time I consider and reconsider questions relating to which behavioral and medical health fields to include in the directory, and which providers to post. I know that mental health is not an isolated from holistic wellness, and therefore I understand my directory must reflect a hodge-podge seeming list. Still, I refuse to submerge myself in a three-eons-length commitment to list each provider, practitioner, and third cousin practice category east of the Mississippi River.
I feel, at this point, the need to assuage you that though I blog this entry with great anxiety, I am still smiling, because it is both therapeutic and eye-opening to vent into a twelve-inch screen. I enjoy seeing what kind of shit I say out loud daily when describing basic, and I mean the very most mundane, activities. I enjoy what suggestion family, friends, supervisors, and strangers alike make: I am funny. My wordy, rounded bush-beating language with borderline pretentious, disheartening, and yet inspirational tone sounds like… well, everything I was told to have dually noted.
Essentially, what I hope to communicate is that though most updates aren’t actually funny, it is humorous for a few minutes, if I describe it humorously enough to make it so. And that, friends, is much more interesting to read than some monotone post listing seizures when I sleep, my body fleeing nightmares by sleepwalking, and walking on tendon-torn feet. And it is a coping mechanism, whatever the interpretation. But let me not get ahead of myself.
So, in addition to the privileged yet inefficient technology, loud ruminating in my background, and seizures while sleeping creating extreme sleep deprivation, I do have– you know – jobs, that I attend as a method of income.
“Oh, you mean, creating a mental healthcare directory does not attribute income?”
Correct: Zero. Zero income.
I go to work, and then I come home and input data into cells into templates into a website, ruthlessly shifting the data as it structurally changes, back and forth, back and forth, as I determine what to include, “well, actually not include,” “well, maybe just include it because what would it hurt,” “it would hurt your time and already-deprived-number-hour-sleep.”
Then there’s the fact that I’m behind on updating my food stamps paperwork, so I’ve got to make sure I’m not spending money on groceries that the good state of Tennessee has already paid for, that I love my full-time nanny job but live by day-to-day-grace, that my insurance is going to cut on Saturday, July 14, and I need to apply for federal healthcare, because it will likely be significantly subsidized, that I have no social life, and find contentment having no social life, which is likely an unresolved issue, and my mailbox is swarming with past-due letters.
I know, right? Why not just put in a change of address form to the local post office so they can send those bills directly to the Tennessee Department of Health and Human Services?
Well, funny thing is, when I had the post office hold the mail for me the last time I changed living locations, I never went to pick-up the mail they held for me for one-month-long, and what a shame too, because I know the post-office delivery person by first name. (He’s probably shaking his head at me right now. Well, probably not, because I’ve come to learn that people don’t think about you nearly as much as you think they do.)
Speaking of which, I haven’t talked to my mentor from my church discipleship program since January. And, ain’t that a bitch, because it’s another relationship I feel went to shit as a result of falling off the cliff called “Kendall’s evasive eating disorder.”
And then, I still want to move to Dallas. I miss my two younger siblings and cousins back home, so I need to go back home, but I need to do so without dipping into relapse. (Insert continued issues here.)
In short, I am pursuing my dreams, living my best life, and changing my sphere of influence to the extent that I can while amending, maintaining, and creating framily relationships, ensuring I follow my meal plan, ignoring 1-800 numbers, behind on my food stamps and other occupation and financial paperwork, revitalizing myself while sleeping, and – oh yes:
creating those freelance photojournalism pieces.
I am pretty sure all of this has little to do with making a mental healthcare directory.
Collage art © kendall crouther