Cinco De Bison

We celebrated Cinco de Mayo yesterday by participating in nothing resembling a Cinco de Mayo festivity. (You might remember Skitter had already cracked open her piñata a couple of weeks ago, cuz she couldn’t wait any longer.) Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day helped us pack up the car for an afternoon excursion. We loaded up Diet Coke, water, and bug spray. And we loaded up Skitter. We did not load up The Saddle Purse. Off we drove to Antelope Island– which I always call Cantaloupe Island, convinced someone somewhere someday will think it’s funny.

We stopped at the beach as soon as we got on the island. The lake is so low that we had to walk at least 1/4 mile from the real beach to get to the water. It was the first time Skitter had walked on sand, and it was the first time she had seen a lake. She did well, despite her fear. She did not venture into the water. I think she actually had fun, even though she stuck to my legs the entire adventure.

Our beach-hangin’ did not last long at all. We were at war with the brine flies. We found ourselves in the midst of a near-Biblical true pestilence. We were outnumbered, and our bug spray was no match for the brine flies’ superior weapons of annoyance. They were ultimately the victors. Surrender can be a wise and glorious thing sometimes. When we got home I discovered brine fly bites across my forehead where my hatband had been, and poor Skitter had bites inside her ears.

We spent most of our Cantaloupe Island trip in the car, and we had a fine time. The afternoon was bright. The drive was pretty. We drove the island’s roads, checking out the bigly bison and a few antelope. I met a bison and a deer, and they each wanted a turn wearing Bow Tie o’ the Day. I obliged.

 

 

The Naming Of Things

‘Stache wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is yet another handlebar mustache. The handlebar style tends to stand out bigly from other styles, and so it is often used to represent all mustaches. If you find a ‘stache  decorating a product– coffee cups, t-shirts, etc.– it is most likely going to be a handlebar. And if I could grow a mustache, it would absolutely be a handlebar.

From the moment I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, it has never been difficult for me to say I’m bipolar. I do, however, have a heckuva difficult time saying I have a mental illness. For some reason, the term “mental illness” makes me uncomfortable. I’m not quite sure why, but I think it might have something to do with my idea of myself as an intelligent person.

To say there’s something “ill” about my “mental” self makes me worry that I’m not smart. The two I.Q. tests I’ve taken in my life say my intelligence is in “genius” territory. I dunno if I agree with that, but I have always prided myself on my ability to think well. I consider myself to be foremost a poet and an intellectual. It’s not boastful for me to say that: I simply know what my talents and strengths are. I don’t want to think I have an ill head.

I was prideful about my strengths and talents once, and it was a decade-long “once”: I thought my smart brain could out-think and defeat my mental illness. I thought my “genius” could save me. It didn’t, and it can’t.

20 TMS treatments down, 16 to go.