Plot twister

I'm good at spotting a plot twist a mile away. Sometimes, I almost feel bad watching a TV show or reading a book and see this huge turn of events, and other people look so shocked when such-and-such happens. My brain, in all of its chaos, is pretty good at running lots of possibilities and coming up with ideas and potential outcomes.

People love them, the juicy, fat plot twists that leave you staring, jaw dropped and in awe of what the hell just happened.

When the plot twist is in my own life, I somehow never see it coming.

It came in the form of a phone call from my dad on Wednesday night. I ignored the call initially; I was in a board meeting and wanted to be respectful of the board's time. When I arrived home, I checked my voicemail to find the standard message: "Hi, it's Dad. Call me when you have a chance."
I dialed Dad's number and flopped down onto my bed. My dad says, "You remember that you have a half brother?"

Of course I did. My mother had told me, although I don't know him; he was born a full 11 years before me, the result of my mother being a teenager in love and doing what teenagers do. In the 60's, keeping the child wasn't always the option that exists today for a teenage mother and her boyfriend. The boy was put up for adoption.

My dad didn't particularly pause. "He showed up on the doorstep tonight."

Beat.

Incomprehensible non-words consisting of mainly me stating that I had, "zero words. No words. Zero. For this situation. Zero. Words." For a solid minute before I finally managed to strong arm my brain around the concept.

I'd looked for him. I'm a naturally curious person - find a long lost sibling? Challenge accepted! There was to be no achievement unlocked for me, though: I wasn't operating with enough information, and short of trying to literally dig into adoption records, I kept coming up short. Even if I found the information, what would I DO with it? When you're the adoptee, chances are you can find someone in a family you'll get along with, but a random family reaching out? Who knows what would happen, and it didn't feel like it was the "order" of things.

A parallel search was occurring at the same time on the other side of the state and also coming up short due to sealed adoption records. Records that were released in the last few months. It's still not an easy thing, though, between marriages, moves, name changes, it takes time to finally track down a breakthrough.

I was the first person that they actually found. With a mother's name, they found her, but couldn't actually "find" her. It's an easy jump to finding me from there, and that's where the pieces started to fall together a couple of weeks ago. His wife, a former private investigator, found pictures of me. Something in the eyes prompted her to comment that she was fairly sure that I was his sister.
They tried to reach me initially, but there's only two numbers that were found - my home number (and it turns out the ringer was off), and the number for the nonprofit that I work with, which rings straight to voicemail.

They settled on calling my dad, because chances are he'd know about it and he's a relatively uninvolved party who could provide information. My dad is one of those guys that is very stable, extremely cool and laid back, and knows how to talk to people well (in my opinion). We couldn't have asked for a better person to break the ice and feel out this brave new world of contacting each other. He wasn't in town, but they managed to talk on the phone when my dad returned and generally got it worked out that yes, my younger brother and I knew.

While in town last week for a concert, they were driving to the place they were staying. It oddly happened to be close to my dad's house, and my older brother's wife noticed the name of the road as being the one my dad lived on. Perhaps on a crazy impulse, they decided to drop by.
It sounds so much like something that I'd do that I couldn't just help but laugh. I've had a lot of laughs, since. I get what information I can from my dad, and then we move onto other topics. We say our good nights, and I start to think on it all.

By this point, it's around 22:30. I walk back to the living room in a daze, look at my husband, and say, "You should pause your game and put down the controller for this one."

So many questions burned bright in my mind; I hardly slept, and that was only day 1.

No, I am not good with my own plot twists, apparently. Not at all.

Making the little changes

I am finding ways to change my life. It's not easy, but I think there are some simple things I can do to help myself out. I am going to start tracking them and determine what works/what doesn't. Here's the first day:

9/29/14:

Strategies:

• Write it down: When stuff is in my head, I will write it on a piece of paper and keep going. This may or may not help, given that the presence of the paper will trip me up later, but for now, I'm doing it.
• Get it out: and that pile of papers that's been piling up on my desk? Get rid of it. So it doesn't trip me up.
• Work on doing the hardest thing first.
• Practice time boxing (breaking up chunks of time and focusing one task at a time; for example, set a timer for 30 minutes, and work on just one task until the alarm goes off).

I updated my post-it note that I keep under my monitor. I've changed it to have different colors to help my eyes focus, but it says:

Focus!  Smile!  Stretch!

  Water!  Get started!

            No fear!

Ok. It's time to rock this bitch.

Chupacabra Bugs

I can hear cicadas.

They're everywhere, a sound that is both constant and ever changing. The sound is always there, but the tone, direction, and volume all change moment to moment.

It's a bit like life, when you think on it.

I'm sitting outside a condo in Sedona, AZ, at night. I've finished my first official day without Lamictal.

The song is, really, no different than when it started this morning. I'm really no different, and I really couldn't tell the difference if I didn't know. It's just one day; I go one day without my medication all the time.

This, however, is me off of it entirely, for better or for worse. I wasn't particularly happy with how it made me feel in terms of my creativity and how I approached life. Some say there's an energy in Sedona that can't be found anywhere else. I can't speak to that; I stood atop one of Sedona's famed "vortices" yesterday and felt nothing except for the heat and the breeze.

I'm not one to come in search of a spiritual revelation - I came here because it's beautiful. Without much light pollution or clouds, the stars actually twinkle here, in a way I don't always see at home. During the day, I'm surrounded by cliffs of a startling red hue. There's enough in that for me.

I'm going to get ready to get some sleep as we're getting up early to go to the Grand Canyon, but I think there's lots I'd like to say.

For now, it's me, my husband, a nice cold hard cider, and the cicada choir.

Fun fact: before we figured out that they were cicadas, my husband called them "Chupacabra Bugs".

The Mental Taco

Of random note: in my first post I noted the voices in my head complaining about the lack of beef tacos. My husband and I made beef tacos for dinner on Friday night. Tacos, hard cider, and a movie, it was a relaxing and fun night.

I will admit that I gloated to that guy in my head that is always ranting on about tacos.

I have no apologies. He was asking for it for gloating every time he eats a taco. I was thinking of making a drinking game out of it.

Meet the new boss, who is an old boss

My manager dropped the news casually, as he might comment on weather:

“You’ll be getting a new manager.”

It wasn’t what I expected to hear this week, nor something I wanted to hear. I won't bother making my opinion pretty: that sucks.

Change is can be terrifying to me. Being bipolar, I do best if I can set a stable environment on an even keel. I crave excitement, I crave things happening, input, and that's the ADHD. There's a fine line to walk, finding a stability and routine that leaves room for things to get shaken up enough that I don't get bored. It's taken years to get that routine down, to have that comfortable space where my manager trusts and respects me, and I know how to deliver my best work because we've got the right framework in place. I like knowing that my boss give me all the tools to do my job, then let me work out the how, since I need the ability to just shut the door, ignore everything and everyone, and work. I need that. I've flourished in part to having found that sweet spot, that delicate balance. With my life often a chaotic whirlwind, work was that place that was "quiet" in comparison. I knew what to expect, even when life became a matter of expected the unexpected, put out a fire. I've done this job over 14 years, so it's not as if I need a specific manager to have that balance. However, I have been strongly enabled to do my best work here and I didn't want my situation to change.

After he spoke I froze for a moment, a rabbit in headlights. I don’t recall what I said, but I scribbled “new boss :(" in my notebook. It certainly wasn't necessary to note it down but the significance was automatic and my hand conveyed it.

Honesty fell from my lips before I could stop it. I told him how much I appreciated having him as a manager, and how much he'd helped me.

I have many reasons for why I thought he was a fantastic manager. When this man got handed me back in 2010, he didn't know what he was getting. He was given a my name, some background, probably some comments from my manager at the time, and the worst review of my career. I dreaded walking into his office to meet with him for the first time, not knowing what to expect. At first he scared me a little because I couldn't read him at all.

He didn't mince words, but essentially said that what we'd need to do is get my work up to a point where we could prove what I was capable of. It wasn't doubt. It wasn't a lecture.

Next steps. That's all.

At the time, I didn't deserve that much consideration in my own eyes. The horrible review had not been entirely of my making, but the "why" didn't matter so much as the fact that my poor performance was documented. All the focus was on how I could prove that I wasn't what was written in that review.

Many things happened in the time that followed. I realized that I needed help, and I went out to get it. I deliberated what to say to my boss. I had my diagnosis in hand: bipolar type 2, ADHD, mild PTSD. I didn't know if I wanted to say anything, but alternately, there was a lot of scrutiny from all sides to see if I'd make it. I knew it was there. I also knew that having to go to appointments or have crap days because of medication adjustments could come around and bite me later. I asked a friend of mine for advice; he was a manager on my team, and worked with my boss frequently. He said simply, "Absolutely."

I told him. There really wasn't much to say on his end; what do you do with that dropped on you? I felt better telling him, not only because I would have to deal with what I already outlined, but he'd see some changes I got bigger and better projects, projects that gave me a chance to stretch, to grow, but that didn't set me up for failure. I got to take on and learn things I didn't know I was capable of. When I got a promotion in October, I wanted to just run down the hall telling everyone. I made it.

You'll be getting a new manager.

I went back to my office feeling like I'd swallowed marbles. I didn't want change, I was comfortable, and my team shared the sentiment.

What happens now? Who will I report to? Will they "get" me? How much do I tell them? Would I have to act "normal" until this new unknown manager got to know me? Could they keep up with the crazy stuff I sometimes say, or get that sometimes I just can't keep it all bottled up? Would he/she be someone I could occasionally bust out the f-word in front of?

The marbles started jostling around. The work I was doing was going to another group, leaving me adrift from both a manager and the work that had been my life for over a year and a half. While they said our team would likely stay together I don't believe that's likely. We work together almost on instinct now, we know how to support each other and prop each other up. We can write up a list of tasks and know who is most suited for every part with very little thought.

Of the two best managers I've had at this company, one is the manager I'm losing, and the other was my manager back in 2000. He was my mentor and later friend. He saw potential in a girl with no degree or resume to speak of, but raw smarts, determination, energy, and a passion for the right things. The things you can't train.

In an interesting twist, he's a peer to my manager, so I have also worked with him the last year and a half, as well as on and off for the last few years on other projects. I would have loved to be on his team, but our past friendship meant we knew things about each other and I wasn't sure how he felt about that. The stories I could tell, that won't get told unless my toenails are getting yanked off. We haven't been "friends" in years just due to how life plays out sometimes but we still get along great.

On Friday I worked from home. For lunch, my husband and I walked out to get a bite to eat. As I sat down at a table, I looked at my email and found an email from that manager, asking if I could come talk to him if I was around. I had a hunch what this was leading to, as very rarely did I get messages with that much ambiguity. Since I wasn't in the office, he called me later that afternoon. He dropped it on me as easily as my other manager delivered his news. "How would you like to be on my team?"

I didn't quite squeal. Contrary to rumor, I do have some self-control.

I get to work on something I'm passionate about, too. It's the ideal outcome given the situation.

The marbles are out of my stomach and put in a bag before I lose any more of them than I already have.

Cranberry

I can already tell that attempting to do this daily won't work. I spent over an hour on the phone working on nonprofit related things, which ate into my time but was good because I really love the people I work with there.

Today I'm taking something of a low hanging fruit topic. I haven't talked much about my food allergies, even though they play a significant role in my life. I got the results of my blood test back in January of 2013, and started cutting food out in February.

I don't really exercise much. I walk a bit, but that's about it. I don't count calories. I went from 176lbs to 143lbs.

First off, it's worth noting that there are different kinds of food allergies. I have what's known as IgG allergies, which means I have an immune system reaction, but do not have a full out reaction that puts me in danger.

Reports vary on the effectiveness of the testing; it's possible to test positive for something, but it won't have an effect on you. What was recommended to me by my doctor was to cut everything out for a few weeks, then try adding stuff back in. I've mostly just left stuff out, because it wasn't hard for me to adjust.

It's worked out really well for me. I'll probably talk more about it later, but for now, I thought I'd just throw out there what the test came up with.

Level 4: cranberry (… sad is me :( )
Level 3: Baker's yeast, brewer's yeast, casein, cheddar cheese, chicken eggs, crab, duck eggs mozzarella cheese, pecans, sesame seeds, sugar cane, yogurt
Level 2: Cottage cheese, milk, whey, coffee beans, amaranth, spelt, spelt, wheat, mushrooms

I mostly cut the 3-4 stuff out, but did go ahead and cut all cow dairy because they were so related. I cut wheat-type stuff for a while, but to tell you the truth, it's one of my lesser allergies in a pretty decent list. I started eating it again, I'm fine, and still losing weight.

But I seriously miss cranberry juice.

Terminally interesting

Going through all the stuff in our house is hard.

Throwing stuff away is easy. I love getting rid of anything I can, giving it away, selling it, throwing it out. I'm not big on keeping a lot of things. The killer is staying on task when there's a whole room full of Potentially Interesting Things. It can be torture on a bad day. While I was cleaning out one of our storage spaces (yes, we have THAT much stuff), I found myself distracted by pictures, old letters, or books. I read almost an entire book from when I was a kid while sitting in the storage space last time. It only took me a half hour because I skimmed it, I only wanted the reminder of what the book was about. That half hour could have been used to get something done, the book brought home to look at later when I wasn't sitting in the storage unit.

The storage unit has been particularly challenging, as the one I've been dealing with has a lot of my possessions from when I was younger. There's nostalgia, stories, moments frozen in time. Horrid letters from my ex talking about things that I don't think I'll ever repeat (how did I ever think that relationship was going to last?). Or maybe a toy that I really liked as a kid. Maybe it's a toy I want to keep. Maybe donate. Maybe it's just broken and it needs to go.

A constant stream of keeping focused, sorting, taking an item, evaluating, moving on. It's pretty hellish when everything is so damned interesting.