TGITW

Thank God it’s the weekend! I have three days now, all to myself — no IOP classes; no other appointments; nowhere I have to go; no one I have to be, but me. It’s a nice feeling after this past week, this not having to do anything unless I want to do it. Sure, there are always the things I really need to do around the apartment. I’ll get to them if I get to them. I’m really trying to not pressure myself, to be more forgiving and accept that I have a lot of physical limitations which prevent me from getting it all done in one fell swoop, as I used to do. And CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome) is very real, something with which I was diagnosed in my early twenties. I would do well to accept that, to learn to not be so hard on myself when I’m really too tired to do much. Yes, I would do well, as long as I do not allow myself to use CFS as a crutch, as an excuse to not do anything at all.

I don’t have a lot to say (for once!) this morning. Yesterday’s IOP class started off as a disaster because the facilitator, an intern who has been gone for over a month and missed all of the dust-up over lack of control, too much disruption, etc., was in charge by himself. There were just five of us in the group, and two of them were talking all through everyone else’s time… talking loudly to each other, not paying attention. Totally, totally against the rules of “no side conversations.” But I found that I didn’t really care too much, because I didn’t give two shits about the class other than being glad to see the intern/facilitator back from his training. He’s a super nice guy, and seems to really grasp my level of anxiety over a lot of things. An example: toward the end of our first hour he told us that, after our break, we would be going to a different place they run, a place a couple of blocks away from where the class meets. The last time we went there I had horrible anxiety to the point of embarrassing tears. It’s not on my short list of places I feel safe enough to leave my apartment to go to. (That short list: the clinic, where both my doc and my counselor are; physical therapy, which I don’t have to do anymore; the convenience store, to fill my tankard with Diet Pepsi; and the grocery store.) I talked with N (intern/facilitator) before the other guys came back from break about how I was uncomfortable about going to the other place, and the difficulties I had had before. We made an agreement that I would at least try, and then if it got to be too overwhelming I could take off and come home, to where I feel the most safe. I did pretty well, making it a good half-hour, and then, my stress level at 10 out of 10 and beginning to hyperventilate and all that other anxiety attack stuff, N let me go. I practically ran to my car (well, I don’t run, can’t run; I speed walked to my car, causing me to lose my breath too much to the point where I had to sit in the car for quite a while before I could head home. But I finally did, finally got home, and it took me a while to calm down. But I did. I started to feel like I had made it, that I was safe again. Lesson learned. And also a new goal to work toward: increasing the semblance of “It’s okay!” when I need to go somewhere with which I’m not familiar.

I loves me some unicorns! Before I moved away from Santa Fe, in 1989, I had a collection of over three hundred unicorns of various styles, qualities, and expense. I desperately needed money to move with and, since I and my friend, V, were selling stuff for my parents every weekend at the local swap meet, I took along my unicorns and other stuff I wanted/needed to get rid of, as well. I kept just a couple of the more special unicorns, letting all of the rest of them go. A really special moment happened one of those weekend days when I had my unicorn stuff out: a little girl, dirty and obvious from one of the vendors who lived in their vehicles and traveled from place to place, selling whatever they had found or traded for at another swap meet — basically homeless, itinerant people — where? Oh, this little girl kept walking by, slowing each time to look intently at our tables. She was really shy and wouldn’t come all the way up to get a good look, though, until I asked her if I could show her some of the unicorns. She lit up and practically knocked everything over in her delight of getting an up close and personal look, at being able to touch and pick up. It was easy to tell that she had been told, probably over and over, not to touch anything. I let her, though, and I swear, she picked up every single one of my unicorn figurines and other related items, practically studying each one. I really wanted to just up and give her something she seemed to really like; but I didn’t know if that was proper for a twenty-three year old guy to give a stranger, especially a little girl, something nice like that. I didn’t know how her parent(s) would feel, and I didn’t want to get either of us into trouble. So after a long, long time of continuously touching and holding various ‘corns, she thanked my friend and I and went along to wherever else she was going.

A while later, the whole thing started over again, with her walking by, gazing intently, but not stopping. After she did this a few times she finally got up enough courage to come up to us. She held out her had and in it were two very small lidded boxes, not really even big enough to hold more than a couple of aspirin or something. The lids of the boxes were decorated with detail from the very famous unicorn tapestries.

The little boxes were really great, even though they wouldn’t serve any practical purpose. And I could tell she really, really liked having them. I thought she was just showing them to me but then she asked me if we could make a trade. I mean, one could easily tell this girl was used to the swap meet culture, with the deal-making and haggling, etc. Of course I told her we could make a trade. I would take the little boxes and she could pick out something from among the unicorns that were left. By this time I had sold a lot. She pored over the remainders, looking back and forth again and again. I could see she was a little disappointed, but was still looking for something she might like to trade her little boxes for. I looked at my friend, V, winked at her, and pulled out the very beautiful unicorn the little girl had seemed most taken with when she had stopped by before. I had put it aside, planning on going for a walk-around later to find where her family was set up and asking if I could give it to her. When she saw me set that particular unicorn in front of her, I swear, it was the very first time in our entire interaction that she smiled. I told her I thought we could trade the boxes for that particular piece, if she really wanted it. Of course, she did. We traded, and off went the happiest little girl I had seen in a long time. What she didn’t see was that I was the happiest young man anyone had seen in a long time, too.

The unicorn she liked was worth a lot of money, really, especially compared to the cost of those little plastic boxes. Monetarily, it wasn’

t an even trade at all. But I still felt like I got the better deal, like I came away from that exchange much richer, due to the happiness I was able to bring to a little girl who didn’t seem to have much of a happy life. Over the years, I have thought of her often. V and I have talked about her from time to time. The girl would be in her early-thirties now, I would guess. I wonder if she thinks about that day from time to time, too, and maybe remembers V and me as fondly as we think of her.

Shortly after moving back here, in 2008, I was unpacking a box and came across those two little plastic boxes that had given me the best story and the best memory over the years. Since V and I had talked about that girl so much, so often, and I think we will forever, I sent V one of those boxes so we could both have one. She loved the surprise, and I love that the three of us involved in that interchange all have something to remember it by. I mean, I don’t know if that girl still has the unicorn she so wanted that day. Part of me doubts it, thinking her parents probably took it away from her to sell with their miscellaneous stuff. But the bigger part of me has a fantasy of her keeping that unicorn all of these years, taking care of it and loving it, and remember the two people who were really touched by her and wanted to make her day just a bit brighter. God knows she did that for us.