Trans Cranial Magnetic Stimulation Therapy – update 30/7/21

So here I am at the end of my second week(I think) of once-per-week treatment. Maybe my scalp loses its tolerance for the woodpeckering, but I came out with a headache, along with the usual neck ache. Honestly, TMS Australia, buy Glen Waverley the same neck bolster that Narre Warren have. I’m having to get weekly head, neck, and shoulders massage with my massage therapist to deal with the tension.

I have sent TMS Australia a request for the brilliant neck bolster, but so far, no action. The last purchase they made for Glen Waverley was a plain white waist-high cabinet to store the pillow covers in. By the way the doors don’t come together that well, I daresay it wasn’t an Ikea buy, but the Reject Shop.

Aaaaannyway, me. I am still holding steady with the depression, or the non-depression, or whatever this state is. I’ve said previously that I thought it would be ‘more’. I’m mostly in a non-sad state, just cruising along. No big swings either way. It’s still hard for me to identify emotions, and I think it always has been. It’s hard for me to recall how I felt about events in the moment. Autism? Inherited mild depression? Just born that way? Can I blame my astrological chart, with lots of Capricorn?

Whatever the case, I’m in neutral most of the time, so writing emotional poetry is hard for me. I….know how I felt about someone, how angry I’ve been. But happiness, joy? Slippery at best. Perhaps this leisurely life I lead, full of writing, reading, walks, fitness attempts, currently painting bits of the house, watching nature – maybe that’s contentedness.

A large gang of cockatoos are flying past my house. I thought post-TMS acute treatments would be me being as loud and as excitable as a cockatoo. Or as chatty and cheerful as a rainbow lorikeet. Mostly, it’s me, quiet, pottering, and not having suicidal ideation. It’s me not thinking everything too hard, and that the only way out is death. That death would be a nice rest.

The anxiety – well, sigh, it’s there. Yesterday was a busy day, and I ended up fried at the end of it. Brain and body are slow today, and the only reason there’s not generalised anxiety chatter going on, a whole row boat of ‘shoulds’, is that I’m simply too bloody tired, and have given myself permission to do not a lot today.

TMS works for me, and I’m holding steady at one treatment per week. I think the eventual plan is to go to one treatment every two weeks, but I have once a week booked in until mid-September. In half an hour, I’ll be taking a phone call from one of the in-house psychiatrists for a review.

Next week, I start art therapy, and I’m looking forward to that. There’s a whole lot of stuff inside that all the talk therapies in the world aren’t shifting, and I’m fed up with lugging all this junk around. Let’s see if art therapy can get at the places talking can’t.

Until next week, TMS-curious folx.

The Oodie

I have succumbed to advertising, and a cold Melbourne winter, and have purchased an Oodie. For those who don’t know, the Oodie is a massively oversized windcheater or sweater, with two layers. I have a pale grey one with quokkas on it. The ad showed the colours to be greenish, but the colour palette is grey, a sort of pale browny-yellow, and blue. Some of the quokkas are wearing blue onesies.

It arrived this morning and I’ve had it on and off several times. I get cold, put it on, get warm, then get hot, then come close to having a hot flush, and strip the oodie off again. Rinse and repeat.

Yes, it’s very warm, it’s very comfy, and beautifully soft. The inner lining is a fluffy fleece, and time will tell how it stands up to washing. Will it mat, like so of these sorts of fibres do?

I’m sitting in the lounge room, looking out over my street, and am sitting cross-legged on the couch. All of me is tucked up into the oodie. If it didn’t have a one-head neck opening, I’d suggest PizzaBoy and TwentiesPerson try getting into it with me, just to see if we all fit. I’m sure there’s enough room for all of us. The height differences might mean I end up getting hung by my own oodie neck opening, though. PB is 6’2″, TP is 6′, and I’m 5’2″.

I’m tempted to take the oodie to yoga. The perfect thing to wrap up in before class, then fling it off to reveal a tshirt underneath. But, it’s Rather Large, and would take up more of the yoga studio than would be good, seeing as we all have our little pods to stay within. If I’m still home yoga-ing online, it’ll work quite well.

Why write about my oodie? Why not? Not every post has to be Important Mental Health Updates, poetry, or some political observation. I have no advice on keeping slim – so would all the people who follow me for health tips, in the hope that I’ll follow them back (you have no idea how many people started following me after my blog entry FOLLOW ME FOR MORE HEALTH TIPS – NOT) please check yourselves.

Nor is this an ad for Oodies. I have one. I don’t need another one. I am capable of washing this one, drying it, and wearing it again. I am a big girl who even sews buttons back on jackets, and uses handkerchiefs instead of tissues.

This is me saying that on a wet, cold Saturday morning, I am snug in my Oodie, watching Melbourne open up again after lockdown 4. Our bubble is extended to a 25km radius. If I was inclined I could drive to Qi gifts and bookshop, and then walk down Glenhuntly Rd to The Avenue bookshop. I’m not inclined. It will be enough to take a walk this afternoon and maybe get my eyebrows threaded, and a pedicure. That’s just how fancy I am. (I can only imagine how many beauty bloggers will now follow me in the hope that we have loads in common. Trust me, we don’t.)

Who knows, I may even finish the mixed media art piece I started the other day. The paint is on the page, and flicks of black paint over that. Now it’s sitting there, dry, awaiting whatever I wish to do with it.

Well, I’m off to enjoy my warmth. Ciao, bellas and bellos.

Sciencing The Shit Out Of It

This was the morning where PizzaBoy said he was going to ‘science the shit’ out of my posting from my computer problem. As I was spelling out my password to this site, it occurred to me that I hadn’t tried accessing my blog from any browser but Microsoft Edge. That perhaps I should try it from Firefox.

And lo, PizzaBoy showed me a posting page and said: “Look.”

I looked. And there was a blank page, ready for me to begin. and lo, he used Firefox. So, I’m back, people. Did you miss me? What’s been happening?

Yesterday I went to a craft expo in Pakenham. I know, I know. One of my few days off from driving to Narre Warren for TMS, and I decide to drive an extra 22km to Pakenham to check out craft stuff, and meet up with UnicornGirl, who was art therapising down that way.

The expo was washi tape, journals, planners, stickers, Dylusions sprays, ink pads, alcohol inks, paper, ribbon, fancy shit that I knew not wot. I’m a baby crafter, sporadic in an art practice at best. Nevertheless, I bought washi tape until my bag runneth over. What do I need all that washi tape for? Well, I put bits on letters I write. I’ve done exactly one art page that started with a base of washi (which is going to be the name of my rock band when I start one). And I fondle it.

I honestly thought I’d broken the having for the sake of having habit. Nope. It’s just changed focus. Ah well, work in progress and all that. This week for sure, I will do at least one art page using washi tape, and some of the fuck tonne of stamps I’ve acquired.

An interesting predilection of mine is to go for minimalism when I create art. Yet, I desire big, luscious, multi-layered stuff. So, here’s to me being too much this week.

The Daily Blog: Dear Artist

Dear Artist Self:

Who told you that you are too much, and thus must put too little of everything on the page? Can you remember back?

Dear Satya:

I remember an early passion for pastel colours instead of brights, despite deep jewel brights suiting me better. I am ‘deep earthy soft’ according to one stylist, which makes me sound like damp earth, or manure.

I used to spend art class at school mixing up pale yellow paint, scoop after scoop of it. Not painting with it, just mixing it.

Dear Satya:

I’m scared that if I put too much of anything on the page, I’ll ruin it, I won’t be able to take it back. There will always be the smudged charcoal mark, the imprint of the pencil, the blobby paint. I’m so scared, I’m frozen.

Dear Artist Self:

Does writer self also hold herself back?

Dear Satya:

Yes.

Dear Selves:

You know that only by being too much, by going to end of our being, will we find the true gold.

Dear Satya:

We’re scared.

Dear Love:

What shall we do?

Dear Satya:

Hold them.

Autumn in Alowyn Gardens

Up early this morning, and off to Alowyn Gardens, in the Yarra Valley, for a workshop on macro photography. I had two cameras, one of which I would loan to my friend, Squirrel. Neither of them were fancy cameras, and neither had macro lenses. Oh well, we made do with what we had.

It rained nearly the entire time, so all my photos outside were taken with umbrella in one hand, and camera in the other. This was my first real experience handling a DSLR camera. We’ve had it for about 10 years, but I’ve been too scared to use it. My camera is a Pentax K-30 DSLR.

The Daily Blog: The Anti-Planning Girl

This morning, I received my package from backing the CosmaVisions oracle tarot deck. Did I really click on ‘all the goodies?’ Because, wow, I sure got a lot of stuff with my deck and book. Extra cards, a little wooden card stand, a coin, stickers(maybe?), a book mark, a badge, and the deck and book themselves. All are beautiful, and I’m feeling pulled already to interview the deck, and see what adventure awaits us. I haven’t felt that pull for a very long time. I guess part of this afternoon will be deck play, then. I had thought that it would be ‘edit that non fic piece for Knot Journal’ and ‘read PLAIN BAD HEROINES’. But no. Writing and deck play are in order. That’s okay. I have the time and space to do that.

I have two personalities, if you like, or planets, or aspects, at war in me all the time. One is the Capricorn Vital Busy Woman who wants to Get Things Done to feel like she’s vital, useful, busy, and full of Achievement. The other is my Scorpio Moon, Venus in Aquarius, Neptune in Scorpio Hippie Dreamer, who wants to play, and wander, and dream, and have things happen as they happen. More and more, I let things happen as they happen, and Busy Vital Woman screams in frustration.

She had today planned out: blogging first thing, then a 5km walk with lunch at the Jolimont Cafe, and home for editing the writing for Knot Journal. Then she would graciously let me read.

But, I realised this morning that I didn’t have enough ink sprays for the art journal pieces, and cards I wanted to make, so I measured the walk to Kmart Plaza, where KaiserCraft lives, and it’s 3.8km. Good enough for today in terms of exercise. I decided to walk there, each lunch, buy ink sprays, and have PizzaBoy pick me up afterwards. Then it was into editing.

Suddenly, CosmaVisions arrives, and the Muse says ‘interview this deck asap’.

Busy Vital Capricorn Rule The World Woman is screaming in frustration. ‘There aren’t enough hours!!!!!!’ She loves a set of exclamation points.

Oh, Capricorn, there is if we start now.