You Are Here: The Museum and the Zoo

Since I started feeling better, somewhere around the beginning of December, I've been plagued by these ridiculous daydreams. 

And by that I mean that I've been perpetuating these ridiculous daydreams. They mostly involve my job situation, but not always... I imagine myself as an intern at the art theater downtown (I don't think they even have those, but this is daydream logic, so bear with me), I imagine myself writing scripts, I imagine myself in plays, I imagine myself going back to JBU in January. 

My psychiatrist says that daydreams are the sign of an active mind. 

I think they're a brand of masochism. 

My friend Katie texted me about a week ago. "Hey Meredith, do you want to hang out over break? I'd love to see you!"

All this Christmas break hanging out with high school friends who are doing well in college is... humiliating? Infuriating? Making me want to get up, run around, scream, throw things?

But Katie. Katie is a friend from school. All of it. We go all the way back to Kindergarten. Our moms both worked at the school, so we were in with the other staff kids. Think Little Rascals with school uniforms. Like, plaid jumpers. 

Life Rule #345: don't say no to your plaid jumper friends. 

I decided that we should go to the local art museum (The Colorado Springs Fine Arts Center). I drove.

"Meredith, how are you doing? I feel like we haven't seen eachother in forever!"

"Well, I'm taking a gap year, living with my parents, working..."

"Really, why?"

(This is the part of the conversation where my counselor has encouraged me to say "Health reasons. How are you doing?")

"Well, I was diagnosed bipolar this summer. I thought I could take it, just throw some pills at it, you know, but I had this crazy manic episode at the beginning of September. I was psychotic. I spent ten days in the mental hospital... I tried to do school after that, but it just didn't work, so I came home."

"Wow. I'm so sorry." 

We exited the neighborhood at this point. 

She told me about her boyfriend, her twin sister's boyfriend, her sorority, her work on the event planning committee, what it's like to drive in Chicago, the terrible weather. 

We arrived at the museum an hour and a half before it closed. Katie paid for my entrance fee. 

The featured exhibit was carnival-inspired art (with distinct feminist undertones) by Pamela Joseph. I neglected to read her bio. 

We entered the gallery. Color and craziness, freaky and fascinating. There was a paper-mache she-man cat that was lifting a leopard, a "museum of torture," a wheel of fortune that had pieces of a baby doll decorating the middle. 

"This is weird. I feel like I could do some of this stuff... I want to get paid for throwing a bunch of random things together and calling it art."

"Hey, don't dog on modern art." 

"Alien Fortune Teller" was an interactive piece. My favorite fortune teller is in the Penny Arcade in Manitou Springs, but the alien twist... nice job, Pamela.

"You are the master of your fate. Your future is cloudy, but you hold the power of decision. You will experience great success in your next endeavor."

Well, thank you, Alien Fortune Teller. 

The exhibit repeated most, if not all, of its images in varying forms. She-man cat had a whole wall of sketches and a painted mesh banner. 

We slipped in and out of Pamela Joseph's wild daydreams. 

"So. Have you watched the 50th anniversary episode of Doctor Who?" 

After I dropped Katie off at her house, I drove back downtown to go to the Electric Safari at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo. The Electric Safari is another annual CoSprings deal. Basically, droves of people come to walk around the zoo in the dark (and the cold) for half price admission. Also included, light displays. Some people bring their babies. Sometimes I think I'm going to be a very lazy parent.

It's also an annual old-guard church group event. I've known most of these people since I was a youth group rookie in fifth grade. 

"My favorite places I went with YWAM (Youth With A Mission) were probably England, Ireland, Italy, and South Africa."

"I started my own film business. It's called Twelve Stones. I record the activities of different ministries around the world. God's doing amazing things, and people need to hear about them." 

I stared at the light displays. A pink elephant shaking a tree, two bighorn sheep crashing into eachother.

At one point David, who is now a pole vaulter at the University of Nebraska Kearney, sat on a metal elephant head and sang to the crowds.

"Prince A-LI, marvelous he, Ali-a-BWA-BWA..." 

This happened about four times. 

My favorite exhibit, probably because it was inside, was the reptile house. The reptiles were in glass cages with colored sand and various pieces of pottery. 

I leaned close to one of the snake cages. The snake wound its body around the decorative branch. There was a beautiful contrast: the red scales and the yellow sand. And I let the daydreams descend in force. 

A theater, a manuscript, my hand held tightly.

The lengthy conversation that will never happen. That monologue I've practiced a hundred times in my bathroom mirror. 

What I would have done, who I could have been, what I should have known. 

"Sleepy?" 

In a way. 

"Yeah, I'm just tired."

Someone Had to Know

My friend Liz got me a cigarette case for Christmas.

On the front it says, "It's exhausting being so fabulous."

Merry Christmas!

You Are Here: The Glen

If anyone reading this can see random links in the blog entries, I'm sorry, I didn't do that, I don't know what they do, probably best not to click them.

Ok. 

In the absence of something really interesting and secretive and Colorado-Springs-y to do with my friend Morgan, I took her to Glen Eyrie. 

I could tell you that Glen Eyrie is a castle owned by the Navigators, or I could tell you that I've slept through my last two Glen Eyrie volunteer shifts.

For a few weeks, I had been picking up shifts as a housekeeper or a coat-check at the castle. But everyone else was getting paid for the work that I was doing, and I ... well, wasn't. And apparently the goodness of my heart would just not wake up last Friday or Monday.

At the same time, the hiking trails around the Glen are only accessible to staff, conference guests, and volunteers.

Also, you can hike in Colorado in December. It was 45 degrees out. 

"Mom, where is my volunteer pass to Glen Eyrie? You were the last one in the PT Cruiser... Mom, you did not put it in the photo album pile!"

After securing my pass, Morgan and I climbed in her jeep and drove towards the castle. 

Morgan is a camp friend. We met at staff training week when we were both 15. I distinctly remember grabbing her arm during some team building exercise when we were supposed to find partners. I saw this as an unspoken agreement that we would be the best of camp friends. She just remembers it as a little weird. 

Regardless, we are very good camp friends. 

She wanted to see the castle before we went hiking. 

"Ooh, can we get a picture with it?" 

I saw a team of housekeepers approaching the castle in a golf cart. 

"Uh, yes. Yes, just park over there." What were they going to do? Stop my next check?

We posed in front of her camera, which she set on a timer. There was, of course, no encounter with the housekeepers. 

"Yep, Morgs, this is Glen Eyrie... it was built by General Palmer in the late 1800s, but his wife didn't like it and moved to California." 

(I looked this up in my volunteer packet later: General Palmer's wife, Mary Lincoln Mellen Palmer, had a heart condition and was advised to move to a lower elevation. She eventually died in England. Woops.)

"Huh."

"And then the Navigators bought it in 1975 (1953), and they've been using it ever since." 

We found the trailhead with little difficulty. We parked and surveyed the map, but it did little good. We took a left instead of a right and wound up in a construction site. After wandering across a field of shrubs, we found the trail again. We hiked our way up to the top of Echo Canyon, taking the obligatory Facebook shots along the way.

"Look, I'm rock climbing!" "Take a picture of me on this bench" "Look at this rock!"

"Wow."

"That's all that Ivy would say. Remember that?"

Ivy is another camp friend. We spent the summer of 2012 with Ivy at Camp Elim. Ivy and Morgan would stay at my house on weekends before we headed back to Woodland Park for another week of camp. Ivy is from Tennessee, so the Colorado-ness of everything often reduced her to "Wow"s.

"Remember Pikes Peak?"

Morgan and I convinced Ivy to climb Pikes Peak with us after Ivy had done a week of Trail Camp. We remember this story differently. I think it was Morgan's bad idea. Two miles up Barr Trail, Morgan pointed at the summit of Pikes Peak in the distance. "Look, Ivy, that's where we're going!"

The summit must have appeared too far away, because we both turned around and saw Ivy crying on the ground.

This is funny now...

She was determined, and we made it to the top. Fortunately, a friend drove us back down (Another lil piece of Colorado trivia - Pikes Peak is one of the only 14,000 ft. mountains in Colorado that has a road all the way to the top - there's an annual road race on it).

At the top of Echo Canyon, we wandered around, not saying much to eachother.

There was an overlook of the city. My city.

And I felt impossibly bored and desperate.

I stood on a rock, lifted my arms, closed my eyes. I remembered the stretching and soaring of mania like an old friend.

One-hundred possibilities and plans, abilities and thrills, interests and ideas. A world that spreads and stretches and moves with you and from you, for you and for everyone.

All gone.

And I was reminded, once again, that it's never about location. These things we carry with us.

Bored here, bored anywhere. Alive here, alive anywhere.

"Meredith, what are you doing?"

I stepped off the rock silently.

"We need to hike back down to meet Amy for coffee."

The rocks angled upward in Echo Canyon. Hope is a sort of desperation, too.

And I have hope. Hope that there's adventure here. Hope that I'll go looking for it.  

You Are Here

I'm overdue for a new blog series.

So, here we are. And I am here.

I'm going to be in Colorado for a while - a long while. And it's time to stop sitting in my house. That's not helping anyone.

So I'm going exploring. Interior exploring. It's really symbolic, but that doesn't matter.

First stop: Colorado Springs Visitor Center.

I gave myself a pep talk as I walked up to the brick building. 'Sloan, you're going to have to TALK to people. That's how this kind of stuff happens. Don't just wander around, say something!'

The greeter's name was Olive. I introduced myself.

"One of my friends is coming to the Springs on Saturday, and she's been here before, so I was looking for something, you know, unique to do."

Her ideas included the money museum, an exhibit about Biblical documents, and Cripple Creek.

"Just throw a quarter in one of the slots at Cripple Creek. You might become a millionaire!"

I wasn't exactly encouraged, but I thanked her and took the visitor's guide.

Time to go with route two: the Carnegie Library downtown. They have all of the historical documents and travelogues. None of the materials circulate, no backpacks or pens allowed, and the librarians wear ties. At least, the two male librarians who were working the desk wore ties.

It's all very official.

After stuffing my backpack in a locker, I wandered around the stacks.

I was looking for a mystery. Somebody's lost grave, or trek across the country, or abandoned house...

Instead, I stumbled across the official proposal for the charter school that I attended from kindergarten to graduation.

I decided to sit with it on the floor for a few minutes. Ask it a few questions.

I flipped it open. The mission statement:

The Classical Academy exists to assist parents
in their mission to develop exemplary young citizens
with superior academic preparation
equipped with analytical thinking skills,
a passion for learning, and virtuous character,
all built upon a solid foundation of knowledge. 

My first impulse was cynical: 'Well, my "solid foundation of knowledge" didn't exactly help while the bottom was dropping out of my life.'

The school didn't prepare me for failure. I didn't prepare me for failure. It's a stupid thing to complain about, but things were too perfect.... all built upon a solid foundation of knowledge.

No, it's not something I can blame on the school. It's not an excuse, but it is a piece of the "why."

I turned back to the task at hand. The proposal included curriculum, so I searched through it for Colorado History. I was curious: I don't know much, but what was I supposed to know about it, anyway? I was supposed to understand colloquialisms like "birthday suit" by grade 5, understand basic animal classification by grade 3, and complete an exercise in orienteering in grade 2. I actually remember that last one - running around on the dirt playground with cheap compasses, hopelessly lost.

Nothing about Colorado History.

What an interesting place to start my Colorado exploration. Ground zero.

I thought about driving up to the high school, sitting on the top of my car and looking at it, making my peace with whatever bitterness or angst I have towards it. Forgiving it. Letting it forgive me.

Then I remembered that the high schoolers would be getting out of finals around the time that I could make it to the school.

I want to explore, yes, but that one has a little too much risk involved. At least right now.

After I went home, I looked through my third grade history journal, positive that we must have covered Colorado History at some point...

We did. Now I know that the state dinosaur is the Stegosaurus. Boom.

Running with Scissors

Let's talk about my job.

I am a group leader for the after school program at Academy Endeavour Elementary. I found the job on Craigslist, and I convinced myself that it was a teacher's assistant position.

Don't trust Craigslist.

Or yourself.

The only question I was asked in my interview was, "How would you discipline a child?" I can't remember my answer. They had me fill out a tax form and sent me to the school the same afternoon.

I walked into the modular, expecting desks and maps on the wall. There was a table with six chairs, Barbie dolls on the shelf, and a big plastic tub of Hot Wheels in the corner.

My initial impressions of my coworkers were as follows: the man wishes he had a better job. the girl younger than me knows what she's doing, but I probably wouldn't be friends with her. The older woman has a wide-eyed, clueless look.

The kids' age range spans from 4 to 11.

Within the first few days, I'm wordlessly assigned the post of "Craft Girl." The others insist that they aren't crafty.

Clothespin Turkeys. Pumpkin Play Dough. Christmas Chains. Handprint Rudolphs. Paper Poinsettias.

3 hours seems like a long time.

But.

"Miss Meredith!!"

Friendship with the fifth grade girls.

Steadily built rapport with the coworkers.

Yarn club.

Hugs from first-grade John.

"We love you here. I've been talking you up at headquarters."

And when the answer to Hangman is "We love Miss Meredith" ...

Maybe I don't want to leave.

Tuesday

7:51 - woken up by brother
8:00 - woken up by alarm
8:05 - snooze
8:10 - snooze
8:15 - snooze
8:20 - snooze
8:25 - snooze
8:30 - YouTube
10:34 - get dressed for climbing
10:46 - pick up Rachel
11:03 - wait outside climbing center so we're not the first ones in.
11:06 - be the first ones in anyway
11:13 - fall off wall
11:14 - fall off wall again
11:15 - pick a new problem
11:26 - more falling
11:32 - stranger asks us to film him climbing
11:33 - consent
11:45 - more falling
11:56 - close but no cigar
12:15 - give up and go for lunch
12:34 - ask Rachel to "Tell me all your secrets."
12:44 - success
1:01 - drop Rachel off at UCCS
1:16 - try to write something, anything
1:44 - this is not a sonnet
2:00 - leave for work
2:09 - "I CAME IN LIKE A WRECKING BALL..."
2:24 - sit outside work in the car
2:27 - text
2:28 - walk into work
2:36 - start cutting paper for paper chains
3:17 - fail to open can using a can opener in front of 17 small children
3:19 - use other side of can opener, experience relief
3:27 - help with homework
3:45 - paper chains
3:58 - despairing look at clock
4:06 - paper chains
5:00 - clean up
5:18 - aimless wandering
5:25 - leave work
5:39 - "EVERYTHING THAT KILLS ME MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE..."
5:56 - UCCS paperwork
6:05 - dinner with family
6:19 - meltdown
6:46 - beginning of Take Shelter
7:04 - summoned upstairs for tree decorating
7:06 - meltdown
7:35 - discover tiny wooden Christmas trees, paint them
8:00 - more Take Shelter
8:37 - pie
10:00 - finish Take Shelter, mind blows up
10:01 - texting
10:34 - try to write something, anything
11:37 - Seraquel, 50 mg, Lithium, 900 mg
11:48 - down for the count

Seroquel Dreams

There are things that you

aren't supposed to talk about.

Like the pills that you're 

taking. It's not table conversation.

But it's what I have

to say. When someone asks

"How are you?" I either

bite my teeth into a 

grin and give the standard

"Good. And you?" or I 

launch into a monologue about

lithium or klonopin or my 

seroquel dreams. Don't lower the

lithium until you've been stable

for months. You can stand

the tremor until then. Careful 

with klonopin, or it'll be 

next Tuesday before we see 

you awake. And 

seroquel. 25 mg flattens most people 

         the first time.

   And a few recommendations: don't

go see a midnight showing of Catching Fire 

        and then take some,

  because the seroquel dreams

have a field day

       with movies, especially in theaters,

and just might take you 

     back there. But it's different,

because they're in your 

                  own head

with your memories

    and they fold them into

               any pattern they want to. 

I'm lucky enough to have

friends who enjoy these little

talks, who laugh and ask

"Have you ever tried ... " and 

give me a story of 

their own prescription drug use. 

And my hands shake, and 

I wake up at 4 

to get water, and I 

dream seroquel's brand of unreality.

But so do these friends. 

And we talk about drugs. 

And psychiatrists, and family history,

and there's humor in it

I wouldn't have seen by

myself. 

It's a side effect not listed on the bottles.