Velma, Robert, Norine, and Willy

I finally finished all of my unpacking today. I hung up the last few pictures on my wall, my grandparents. It's been a few years since I lost my last grandparent, and it was bittersweet to see their faces smiling up at me. I have to sit and wonder what they would think of how my life has been and where I am now. Would they be proud? Would they laugh with me? Would my past make their heart ache the way mine does sometimes?

I see so much of their influence on the person that I've become. I find myself listening to swing and jazz, dancing and humming a tune as I open my mail, just as one grandma used to. Every winter I take up knitting and crocheting as it reminds me of her. I think of my other grandma every time I bake. She's the one who taught me all of the family recipes. My grandpa's laugh lives in every corny joke I tell, and my other grandpa's tongue in all of my smart-ass sarcasm.

My grandparents helped to raise me. I don't mean that in the sense that my parents weren't around, quite the contrary. We happened to be able to expand on a house when I was around four years old to make it big enough to fit all four of us kids and one set of grandparents. I loved growing up with my grandparents. I thank them every day that I am the old soul that I am. I thank them for the values and common sense that they taught me. I thank them for helping me to appreciate all of the goodness and life around me. They were always the most grateful people, and that rubs off more than anything.

It's sad that they aren't around to sit and have pinochle games like we used to. I have so much that I'd like to talk about with them now, so many things I wish I had known to say when they'd left. I always remember them when the holidays draw near because of how much bigger those four people made my family feel. Their lives were by no means easy, but they made them beautiful, wonderful things by the end. It makes my heart happy that they can be part of my home again now.

Psychic Readings and Green Eggs and Ham

Today was a fantastic, self-assessing, wonderful, anxious, panic-stricken day.

Today was the local Psychic Fair.

I have never been to a Psychic Fair before; I've never even seen a Psychic. My friends and I will read each other's Tarot cards here and there, but that, until today, has been the extent of it. There is something soothing in reading Tarot and seeing the things you already know you have to do laid out before you. It's affirming in a way that's almost like someone else is telling you that you're doing great at this thing called life -- and that someone else is the cosmos and life itself. Some people may balk at this, but I find a certain comfort in it. Which is why I was so excited to have my first psychic reading today.

I started the day off excited in anticipation, which rather quickly turned to anxiety toward the amount of lines we had to stand in just to get everything scheduled properly, the amount of time spent in said lines, and the close proximity to aggravated people also in said lines. Once we were scheduled (for three hours later) and out of the standing masses, there were a lot of awesome vendors to go and see. Being able to move helped curb the terrifying amounts of anxiety and panic building up inside of me, but left me in a slightly manic edge.

It wasn't until after we had left the fair and come back two hours later that I began to calm down slightly. The crowds had dissipated and no one was in a hurry. This was more my pace. One vendor was even incredibly kind and offered my friend and I some cupcakes she'd just bought. Our time slot came up, and to the psychic we went, and holy crow was I not expecting what came next.

It wasn't some flouncy, over-dramatic, guessing-vague-items presentation that I half-expected. I literally gave this woman zero information and she told me exactly what was happening in my life and how I need to approach it, and the most amazing part -- that it's okay to focus on me.

I always say I'm going to focus on myself, and to trick myself into thinking I am I do one little thing and call that focusing on me. I never actually look into the care I take of myself. I don't make sure I'm getting 7 hours of sleep each night. I don't make sure I'm eating healthy every day. I don't make time for all of the things that I love doing. I make time for things that have to be done, that are required of me, and that other people want of me. To have this woman I have never met look at the cards and look at me and tell me my cup is empty and even though I want to give, I need to be giving to myself, blew me away.

I've always taken care of other people. It helps me compartmentalize and distract myself from the emotions I can't handle. Whenever I have mood shifts and all of the other joys that come with bipolar, I feel like I'm out of control, so I reach to the one thing I always have control over -- taking care of other people. I know this doesn't sound like a horrible plight, and I actually do enjoy it, but when I stop taking care of myself it only makes my problems worse. When I stop taking care of myself it becomes unhealthy.

It's a lot to take in, being told that it's okay to put yourself first and care for yourself. So, to whoever is reading this, you may not actually know me or attribute any weight to what I say, but I want you to know that it's okay for you too. Go take long walks by the river, wander the streets at night, paint a mural on your bedroom wall, create blueprints for a machine that records dreams so you can always remember them, write a song, hop on a pogo stick, and read Green Eggs and Ham. Do what makes you happy. Always make time for that.

You are important.

Don't ever forget it.