Saturday we went tubing on the Dan River. It was fun, but the water was low. This meant that a.) I was bored with the trip about 1.5 hours before it was over and b.) the "butts up" call was heard often, but sometimes not in time. It is very rare that you bruise your ass on rocks while kayaking. There was one area where the current was so bad that all of us had our feet swept out from under us. There was also a time where I jumped out of my tube and landed next to one of these. It looked at me for a moment and then swam away. We'd seen another snake earlier (same species, I believe), and everyone freaked out that it was a cottonmouth. I had to assure them it wasn't because a.) it was a slender snake and b.) no triangular head. Then, "How do you know all that?" Because I read up on these things? I have a fear of poisonous snakes, so I find out how to identify them. Seems logical to me.

On another note, the northwestern Piedmont of NC? Stunning. I suspect the job market is very bad, however.

Yesterday, I did some unpacking. Cdub and I went on the search for the TV stand, which is from Target. However, we skipped the Target close to us figuring they wouldn't have it. We went to 2 others before they called around to see who did have it. We picked it up at the North Hills one, but it was damaged, so we returned it at Cary (closest to my house!), where we bought one in perfect condition. Then we spent 2.5 hours putting it together.

This morning I picked blackberries (I'd like to make them into a sauce, for like angel food cake. Anyone have a recipe?) and took Jasper to the vet. The new vet. Where they want me to pay $200 every year for bloodwork to monitor for diabetes, kidney and liver problems (which, hello, he's not going to let me do much about) and send him to have dental X-Rays. And they charge me for a full office visit every time I bring him in for a shot. I am so switching back to my old vet, even though they are about 25 miles away.

Coming up: more unpacking, weeding, a pedicure, mini turkey shoot, and fireworks.

Monday I worked on unpacking (one room left!). I started weeding the flowerbeds as well. It was hot, and there was sweat running into my eyes after about 15 minutes. Also, I am having trouble pulling the grass up. Runners!

Tuesday I finished organizing my bedroom and then vacuumed before Ali arrived to pick me up for the Turkey Shoot. (Note: No actual turkeys were shot. Turkey Shooting.....target shooting that is, a.k.a. still board, card or block shoot. When we run it at the State Fair, the winner receives a frozen turkey or a T-shirt. Yesterday, the only prize was a T-shirt.) We broke for fireworks, and watched them from the roof of the Turkey Shoot building.

After we closed, Ali and I got to shoot. She'd never shot before; it was my 2nd time on a shotgun. Thankfully, we both hit the bottle we were aiming for. Otherwise, embarrassing.

When I got home, I had trouble sleeping. It seems that 5 hours of shotgun blasts winds me up.

So, one of my friends came up with the idea of a fitness challenge- her high school reunion (10?) is coming up in six weeks. She thought having a support network would help. As I have really fallen off of the fitness bandwagon lately (and by fallen off, I mean that the bandwagon is in St. Louis whilst I remain in Raleigh) I agreed to join. For the first week (which actually starts Monday), my goal is to follow the Weight Watchers points system and get some form of a workout 4 days that week. Since I have volleyball one day and riding another, I really only need worry about 2 days. I am hoping that the fear of letting my girls down will help me get back to a semi-healthy lifestyle.

Also, I think I agreed to celebrate my 31st birthday here.*

*Walking. The half.

For the past two days, my car has been a little tricky to start up. I did think that I'd probably have to get a new battery this weekend. Today when I got out of work (on my way to the barn. Never when I am just going home.) she wouldn't start. Luckily, our administrative assistant had walked out at the same time I did, and she heard my car not start. Also luckily, she had jumper cables. Because I? I took them out of my car for the move and never put them back. (Generally, I drive around with an auto-care crate. I had taken it out for the trunk space.)

When I went to start her up after riding, she was sticky again, so I thought, "Well, there's an AutoZone up the road, and I definitely won't be able to start her in the morning if I don't get a new battery." I went in, found out the price, and called Dad.

Dad: Hello.
WG: So, I'm at AutoZone, and since I just tried my car and she won't start, it's a bit of a moot point, but they are trying to charge me $60 for a battery. Plus $10 "core charge."*
Dad: Why are you arguing over $10?
WG: I'm not. But aren't batteries like $20?
Dad: Yes. In 1971.

I bought the battery, and the AutoZone guy came out to install it. (Also in the auto-care crate? Tools.) Took him forever to find the right size socket for the 4 nuts that you have to take off/loosen to take out the battery. Except that the 4th one? A completely different size. Took him about 20 minutes to put the new battery in.

But then? The car started. Easily.

On the way home? The gas light came on. My reaction? "I just bought you a battery!"

*I didn't have to pay this because I traded in my old battery. Still have no idea what it's about, though.

Do you guys know who came over yesterday? Jenny! This was my first time meeting a blog-friend. I was a little nervous, but it turns out I needn't have been. She is funny and delightful. (Also, she walks around my neighborhood with much less complaining than Randy.) We walked up to the Serendipity Grill for lunch, and then we explored Downtown Cary. We have a pharmacy with a soda fountain! Also a lovely little antiques shop next to the yummy yet closed bakery. We also had fun exploring the Indian Market.

When we got back, we toured the yard. I don't think I've told y'all, but besides blackberries, I also have some fruit trees. Figs, apples, and peaches. The peaches for some reason are not ripening. They are just rotting or drying out on the tree. No idea why. (Neither the figs nor the apples are ready yet.) Also, I have pecan trees, but the harvest for those is in the fall. Then Jenny took her boxes and left. (She'd come to pick up moving boxes.)

Last night, Cdub and I saw Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I enjoyed it, although not as much as the first. Do stay for the credits if you go.

I have lovely flower gardens in front of my house. They are full of weeds. Mostly grass, which, stupid grass and its stupid runners. I did half of the side garden (not one of the bad ones!) and it took me nearly an hour and I filled up a 15 gallon garbage can. I can't even begin to think about tackling the front ones.

Also? Some of the weeds I pulled? May not have been weeds. I just deemed them so.

The point is that I want pretty gardens, and I am somewhat convinced that once I get them cleaned out, I can keep them that way, but the cleaning them out is daunting.

So, this guy I know told me about his blog, and I went and checked it out, and while I like him in person, his blog makes me want to get in my car, drive to wherever he lives, and kick him. It's a blog chronicling his dating life, and he really comes off badly in it. Actually, he comes off as a tool. If I were dating him and I came across the blog, I would immediately dump him.

Now clearly, I'm not reading it anymore, but if he asks if I did, do I tell him, "Yes, you big tool, here's your kick!" or do I lie? And am I under any obligation to point out that people he doesn't want to find the blog may, in fact, find it, even if he doesn't ask?

The beginning of this year, things were not going well. I hated my job with the fire of a thousand suns. I was having difficulty finding something else. I was frustrated, I was angry, and I was very depressed. I was not in control of my emotions. Cool Boss (who is the hero of this story) was convinced that something was wrong with my meds. (After 8 years on Zoloft, I had recently switched to Wellbutrin.) I made an appointment to see a psychiatrist in May. (This was early March.) Things got worse, and he advised me that waiting for the May appointment was not the best idea. (Also at this point I had a long e-mail conversation with a fellow blogger about psychiatrists and therapy with a fellow blogger- I'm grateful that she took the time to do that for me. I'd had a bad experience with the only psychiatrist I'd ever seen (he creeped me out, so I stopped going.), and I needed some reassurance that not all of them were like that.) I was, at this point, sleeping about 4 hours a night.

I made an appointment with a different doctor for March 28th. After a taking a long and detailed history (something Dr. Creepy had failed to do), she said, "I don't think that depression is your problem. I think you have bipolar disorder." (I have bipolar II- I haven't gone into a full manic state. Depression and hypomania with some mixed-mood states thrown in. Mixed-mood state: All the fun of depression with the anger and irritability of a manic episode thrown in. Fun for all!)

My first reaction was not shock or disbelief- the reason I had seen Dr. Creepy was because my PA thought it a possibility. (I've since learned that several family members suspected it as well.) I felt a sense of relief, a sense of hope. I'd been on anti-depressants for 8 years and still never felt "right". For years, I'd watched myself lose control and rreact to things in a way that I knew was ridiculous. I couldn't help it- I had no control. I left with a starter pack of Lamictal and a prescription for a lower dose of Wellbutrin.

I alternated between wanting to tell everyone (maybe I had an answer!) to not wanting to tell people (by the time I left the doctor's office, I'd realized that I was not at all comfortable telling the guy I was dating at that time. This is not the reason I broke things off with him, but if there hadn't been those other reasons, this would have eventually been a problem.) There are still many people in my life who don't know (I have family members who don't believe in mental illness.).

Things didn't get better right away, but they did get better. As TR girl put it when I finally told her (and really, why she was one of the people I told was a mystery. Yes, keep that from you sister who works in the mental health field. Good plan.), "I bet you feel better than you have in a long time." And I do.

And yet, there are days when I am overwhelmed by the forever-ness of the diagnosis. It's difficult telling a friend that you need her to look out for you, that these are the things she needs to watch, and that if she has to take you to an inpatient clinic, this is the one you prefer. (Hopefully, I will never need hospitalization. But if I do, I probably won't know or admit it.) There are days when I cry. There are days when I know I will be OK; there are days when I don't think I'm strong enough to do this.

Everyone that I have told has been accepting and supportive, but I am still choosing who to tell. I still have questions about that. Do I tell my new boss, in case things get bad again? At what point do I tell someone I am dating? Clearly it's not a first date topic, but at what point does it become something I am hiding? I don't know the answers.

First of all, thank y'all for being so supportive. The reason I finally decided to write that post was because there were things that I was having to censor here because I hadn't.

I am not embarrassed about my diagnosis. I have bipolar disorder. I also have asthma. What I am frustrated by is the need to censor what I say. If I accidentally let it slip to someone that I am asthmatic, it's not a big deal. No one ever thinks, "Well, if she just wanted to breathe," or "Well, she just doesn't know how to handle her breathing." However, if I let the fact that I have bipolar disorder slip, it may very well change someone's perception of me. I have made the choice that anyone I consider a close friend will know, because I'm not hiding from my friends. That doesn't mean I am sending out a memo, or greeting new people with, "Hello. Let me tell you about my bipolar disorder." It means I'm not going to be careful what I say around my friends.

Work is really what concerns me, because work and my dad are my two biggest triggers. I've got a pretty good handle on the dad thing- I live in NC, he lives in NJ. However, I need to work. I hope that changing jobs helps, but I also worry about what will happen if I get too stressed out. I had someone in my corner at my old job, someone who would stick up for me but also let me know when I was getting out of hand. In therapy, we are working on gaining control over my emotions, especially anger, but I'm afraid that at some point it won't work. And then what? So it's really a question of do I do damage control, damage clean-up, or just hope for no damage? Right now, I am hoping for no damage.

Co-worker: So I told my wife you were in the Jaycees, and she said, "Aren't they a bunch of do-gooders?"
Watergirl: Actually, when I joined, one of my friends said, "Oh, you'll never fit in there!"
Co-worker: What?
Watergirl: She thought I said "Junior League". I wouldn't fit in well there. At all. But really, she reacted like I'd said I was joining the Hell's Angels.
Co-worker: You'd fit in better with them then the Junior League.

Yesterday, I went grocery shopping first thing. Then Jenny came over to help pull weeds. It made quite a difference, and I am not so overwhelmed with the gardening now. Jenny's good peeps.

After lunch, I headed out to the barn to get Bruno ready for today's show. Wash and comb his tail, pull his mane, clean his tack. Took about 3 hours, an hour longer than I had anticipated.

Run home, shower, get ready for symphony. (Was so tired actually fell a sleep for a minute.)

Today? Show.

On Sunday October 8 I plan to join thousands of others who will participate in the 18th Annual Thad and Alice Eure Walk for Hope. The Walk for Hope is 10k walk that raises funds to promote scientific research into the causes, cures and to discover more effective treatment of mental illness. If you'd like to make a contribution toward my fundraising goal ($200? Can I raise $200?) please go here. (If you are not comfortable donating on-line, please e-mail me and I will let you know where you can mail it.)

Please do not feel obligated to give. However, all donors will get a picture of me looking loverly on walk day!

My therapist asked me today if I'd thought about getting back into the dating scene. My answer, "I've thought about it. The problem is, I'm having fun right now."

Finding someone to date is work. My therapist compared it to a job search (which, really, we all know how that went for me for a good long time. Why wouldn't I want to get back into that?), where you are reviewing resumes to see if you find someone who fits. I hate that part of dating.

I think when it comes to men, maybe I'm more of a window shopper. You know, view from afar, have your little happy "what-ifs" and move on. If I see a cute halter top in a store, I can imagine wearing it and all of the fabulous things I will do in it (Parties! Clubbing!). Would I try it on? No, that would ruin the fabulousness. (Why no coach, I don't need any shoulder pads. Brought my own. I'll just be over there, tackling running backs.) Guys can be like that- you meet them in a group setting, you imagine what they would be like as a boyfriend. Then, they become the boyfriend, and suddenly, it's not so fabulous. Looked great on the rack! Try it on and wonder, "What was I thinking?"

So, really, probably not ready to start dating again.

At a party last night, the talk tuned to Star Wars (as it does). And then somehow Captain Jack Sparrow was brought into the conversation.

Guy at Party: Well, if Han Solo can survive being frozen in Kryptonite, Jack Sparrow can survive being sucked into the deep.

Watergirl: Han Solo was frozen in Carbonite, not Kryptonite!

I should preface this entry by telling you that I don't like paying a lot of money for a hotel. I don't need anything fancy- just a bed and a bathroom. And clean. I need clean.

I checked into my hotel today (I am staying at a chain that I would not normally stay at- the rate I'm getting, with taxes, is $100/night. And it's a good rate.), and went to my room, which was on the first floor. I don't like first floor rooms, what with them being easily accessible to anyone. But I also don't like to argue with the front desk people. It's not that big of a deal, really.

However, when I went into my room, the bathroom floor? Was so dirty that I did not want to stand on it without shoes on. I hemmed and hawed, trying to convince myself that it would be OK tomorrow- they'd clean it better. However, I finally decided that for $100 a night, a clean bathroom floor wasn't too much to ask for. So, I complained, and they switched my room. (Guy: I don't have any other King rooms on the first floor. Me: Didn't really want the first floor anyway.)

Still, I feel bad for complaining.

1. I am not staying in this hotel again. Not only did I have to change rooms, but I get no cell reception. I want to be able to call people, dammit!

2. Was e-mailing with on of my co-workers today. He told me I could get a copy of something the next time I was in Raleigh. I told him I hoped to be there next week, as I miss my house, my cats, and I very much doubt that they are weeding the flowerbeds. He wrote back, "If they do weed the flowerbeds while you're gone, will you send them to my house?"

3. Did I tell you the new room has a bad TV?

4. And also, this weekend is a Beach Trip! Now with kayaking!
   

When your brother-in-law and your cat have names that are similar, you may find yourself on the phone with your sister wondering why the cat called her.

Home again, jiggedy jig.

I'm home for one night. It's nice. Jasper, however, thinks I should just go back to Charlotte, because he doesn't need me anyway. Orion is acting like I was just in the bathroom, that's all.

Tomorrow, beach!

She's a boxer/lab mix.

Friday afternoon I headed out to Wrightsville Beach with a friend- a group of us were spending the weekend out there. The best part of the weekend? Kayaking. We did the marshlands paddle. Didn't see much wildlife, but that's to be expected when your do a tour from 1100 to 1300. Not the best wildlife viewing time. (We did see some cool spiders on a dredge island. Cannot remember what they are called.)

For the second time this year, I went on a trip with a large group of people, didn't bring my car, and ended up feeling trapped and chained to people. I will bring my car the next time! That way, when it's decided that trying to go to dinner on a Saturday night in a group of 16 is a good idea, I can say, "No, thank you," and go find a Subway or something, so that when we end up back at the hotel at 8 PM and still have not been served by 8:50 (we were seated right away. I still did not have silverware 50 minutes later.) I don't have to walk out of the restaurant and go have a ham sandwich upstairs, because otherwise I am going to start breaking things.

So, rules: 1. Always bring your own car. 2. Never go out to dinner in a group of 16. (Max group size: 6. Can't really have a conversation with more than that many people anyway.) 3. Do not let your roommates talk you into letting two more people stay in your room. 6 people is too many in a room with only one shower.

I don't think the fact that I'd spent the week out of town helped the situation any.