BLEAK FRIDAY

I have never really been one to participate in the day known as Black Friday. I think it has more to do with the drunken satiation of being overly fed and indulged from a Thanksgiving feast of food, friends and family than any aversion to crowds, noise, shoving, pushing and the occasional outbreak of buggy rage at the local Wal-Mart. Well, there is all of that too. Yet as I sit here thinking about what all of this means and look longingly at the circulars brandishing slashed prices for the latest electronics, I can't help but think about who the people are who stand in these long lines waiting in frigid weather for their chance at an electronics lottery.

I have known quite a few BF shoppers. Most people I know who go, do so out of necessity more than anything else. I was the recipient of one excursion several years back when my significant other stood for hours in line to purchase two very necessary laptops for our growing businesses. Hers had died and I had given mine back to my former employer. Now, I was anchored to my desktop computer daily monitoring our businesses and out of the loop if I left it. The laptops offered us a modicum of freedom. Mostly though, the folks I know who attend BF are friends picking up a needed item here or there and relatives who are raising several often small children and who stand in line for hours to purchase the latest toys, electronics and more often clothes, shoes and the greatest of necessities of the brutal northern winters - coats.

I understand all of this of course. Who doesn't love a good bargain? And while for many of us, standing out in the cold for hours after stuffing ourselves full of turkey, pumpkin pie and football is just one more ritual in an otherwise long list of holiday pastimes, for others this shoving, pushing, grabbing and buggy bumping is done out of necessity to provide for our families. Our Black Friday shopping is less about want in America, it is increasingly more about need. Being allotted one day a year to fill this need in one of the most debasing manners I can imagine - the run-and-grab-free-for-all, to me is appalling.

Before you think that I am down on Black Friday entirely or am out to demean BF shoppers, please understand that nothing could be further from the truth. I am angry that our country of capitalist consumerism has descended into this bleak abyss of a Friday feeding frenzy to fight over a few scraps that corporations and manufacturers have trotted out for our freakish sideshow. For example, Wal-Mart cheerfully announced on Facebook on at 2 AM on this Black Friday that there would be 50-inch flat screens on sale at 5 AM at each store for only $299. There would be a minimum of 10 such TVs at each store. 10.

Think about this. 10 TVs for the masses of people already in the store shopping, those who read it on Facebook and decided to go into the lion's den in hopes of facing the lion. Who would get the TVs? The mom and dad who had been scrimping and saving all year to purchase a nice TV for the den so the family could have some time together? Or the single mom wanting to pick up a new TV for her brood to watch safely at home while she is working her second job? Or maybe the teen who has worked really hard this year and wants to make his first real purchase for his family, which has never been able to buy a new TV?

OK. I know I am laying it on pretty thick, but in reality those are the people who are in the lines. And they have been standing outside waiting while you and I were safely ensconced in the comfort of our homes watching the Patriots stomp the Jets. And for everyone who got the TVs, there were dozens more at each store who didn't. In fact, the comments following the Facebook announcement were that some stores had already sold out of the TVs at 2 AM although they were not supposed to go on sale until 5. Those families were having a Bleak Friday.

I think we should find a different way of doing this. Everyone purchase a lottery ticket to try to win an opportunity to buy the TV. $5. Give the lottery money to a local charity that feeds and shelters the homeless. Stop making people stand in line hoping for something that is beyond hope. Can you imagine the signs?

"All major appliance sales will now be conducted by lottery. 

Everyone has an equal chance to buy a ___________________.

Fill in the name of your favorite electronic appliance here).

All proceeds will support the homeless."

Everyone gets only one lottery ticket. And you must be over the age of 16 to purchase one. The money goes to charity. 10 lucky winners walk to the checkout aisle with their purchases. No one gets hit with a buggy. No one pulls out a shotgun. Everyone walks away feeling like they had a good shot (hopefully). And in the meantime, with a little bit of sanity we can get on with buying the coats, tights, jeans, clothing and gifts we need for ourselves and those we love. And not feel so bleak about the Friday after the day we give thanks for all that we have. I'm just saying.

Robin "Bobbie!" White is the award-winning author of several books of poetry and short fiction. She lives in Boston.

LAUGH AND THE WORLD LAUGHS WITH YOU...

AND YET ANOTHER LEARNING MOMENT...

So today officially was that day. You know the one. The one where everything that can go wrong eventually does. The one where you think, this can't really be happening. Thoughts become things in my world and at some point today as I rushed out of the house to take my roommate to work, per her request, I thought, "Should I lock this door? What happens if I can't get back in?" Ask a question, get an answer.

My roommate had a quick meeting and didn't have time to find a place to park the car and get there on time. As it was, she was already leaving later than planned so she made an offer, which I gratefully accepted. Take her to the meeting, sit in the car until she was done, drive her to work and keep the car for the day. Are you kidding me? That was a no-brainer. I had errands to run, laundry to do. I could run by and see my mom and take her treats while my laundry was washing! Wow. Multi-tasking in a major way! Woohoo.

The caveat was that we had to leave right away. I was on the phone with my web master going over details for my new website and how we were going to marry several of the sites and which ones those should be. I had a billion details and things that needed doing, like changing out illustrations in one of the books, contacting an author about her bio and spending time working on my novel for NaNoWriMo. Clearly a full day, but one I would gladly forfeit an hour to help my roommate in exchange for use of the car.

So, when she said, we have to go right now, I took her at her word and remembered I was wearing my slippers, put on some shoes and grabbed a light sweater out of habit to put over my pajama shirt that went with my pajama pants, both of which I was wearing. I got in the car and headed to downtown Boston. Now to be honest, my pajamas are an old pair of sweatpants and an old long-sleeved shirt. Both are ratty and stained, thin and you know - comfy. I lounge around the house in them, yes, but wear them out, NO. But, hey, it was only for a minute and I wouldn't get out of the car and although I didn't have on a bra, I wasn't going commando either! So, hey, I was OK.

Everything went smoothly. She was a little late for her meeting - traffic was heavy. Hey. It's Friday. I got her back to her office and promised to be available to pick her up around 7 PM. I called my sister who was at work so she couldn't hang out. The brakes sounded a little funky so I opted not to go down to Fall River to see my brother, but hey, I could go home, potty, shower, grab my laundry, laptop and some Fig Newtons and have a good day. Do some laundry, get my writing done, grab some coffee and take the Newtons to see Mom. You know, enjoy having a car in the city for a day. Cool.

I parked the car by the back door of the house thinking I would carry the laundry out that way so it would be easier. I walked to the front door, put the key in the lock; it wouldn't budge. Not one speck. OK. It has been a little stuck before, no problem, just jiggle gently, lift a little, turn the door handle, push harder, twist it with all of my might, bang near the lock to unstick it. Nothing at all worked. By now, 20 minutes had gone by and I was in the front hall doing the potty dance in my pajamas, with  my crazy hair and sore fingers. One roommate was at work where I had dropped her off, the other was out at an appointment with a friend. The landlord, who lives in New Hampshire had been by earlier and by now was safely ensconced somewhere north of the border. It is Friday afternoon, ya know.

I am going to spare you the details of this day except to say this. It was nuts. I drove back to the roommate's office to get the back door key only to have the same issue with that lock. A small front window was unlocked and while I could open it, I could only imagine the 911 call from my roommate describing what the neighbors would see of my big behind wedged securely in said window frame as I attempted unsuccessfully to climb through it in my ripped up jammies. Yeah, no, that wasn't happening. And the smaller roommate who had texted to say she was on her way, called an hour later to say, her friend who was driving her now had her own emergency and she wasn't coming.

So the melt down began. It had been several hours at this point. I was still in my pajamas and the wiggle became a full on disco display of dancing maneuvers as I tried to figure out what to do next. I called my roommate to let her know what was happening. I had to drive back to get her so she could fit her tiny frame in through the window and let us in. I told her fine, I would do that, but only after I stopped at the Starbucks to use the bathroom. I barely made it. And I mean barely. By the time I left, my other roommate text to say she had gotten out of her friends car, taken two buses home and had climbed in through the window. She was home. I could finally get in.

It had been nearly five hours since I had left home. And I was now home safe and sound. So, the moral of the story might be that thing our moms said about wearing clean underwear when we go out, but it's not. You see there is more. I am a bit of a recluse these days. Going out takes a lot of effort. I have been working on my writing projects, searching for a new job and cooking for my lovely family - my two roommates. I am still recovering from some pretty intense life transitions and have added a few more, so I am a little sore in spots (read depressed). I am working through it all just the same and I keep it moving forward. I have a great support system. And that is the lesson today.

I finally went back out and picked up my roommate a few hours after I had come home and passed out from the stress of the day. We were sitting at the kitchen table talking, eating sharing. I was clearly still a little frazzled when my roommate Celenia looked at me and started cracking up laughing. Sadie and I just stared. Sadie finally asked, "What's so funny?"

Celenia pointed at me and said, "You had the worst day," and started roaring with laughter. I looked at her and thought about my hurt feelings, the melt down I had because I couldn't get back into my safe little cocoon, the running back and forth, the frustration, the embarrassment of being uncombed, unwashed and in my pajamas and I looked at my roommate with the tears streaming down her face from her uncontrollable laughter, and I thought, You know what? This was all pretty damn funny!

We take things in life too damn seriously sometimes. I know I do. I cry and give in to the pain and heartbreak, the sorrow and fear when really, I need to smile at the joy that I am still here. Yes. There have been transitions, yes there have been times when I am ass out vulnerable and unsure, there are a lot of times when I have missed the mark, and have been under-dressed in life, but you know what, I am still here. I have so much more than most I know. I have friends and family and a whole bunch of tightly woven safety nets to catch me when I fall. I am so grateful. And yes, I need to exercise that humility muscle a little more often and I'm pretty sure if I give it some thought, that muscle is somewhere in the vicinity of my funny bone.

Listen, I wasn't out in the world waist deep in flood waters. I wasn't without electricity thrust into a makeshift shelter in my pajamas and I wasn't cold, starving or without funds. I was in my roommates car for Pete's sake, with a bunch of options the worst of which was to go to Starbucks and get a friggin' cup of coffee. It wasn't the end of the world and in the scheme of things, it was no where near it. In fact, it was and still is pretty darn funny. And at the moment all of it is making me smile. And knowing my two roommates, we will regale our family and friends with this tale time and time again. It is one of those defining moments when you know you have tremendously loving connections and things really are OK. I can hear it now over coffee and pie during the holidays, "And then she had to come all the way back and get me, but you know Bobbie!, she just had to stop at Starbucks first!" Insert raucous laughter here.

FEELING KINDA RED WHITE AND BLUE

I was watching the speeches of the DNC on my laptop this week. Often in the wee hours of the morning, I go to YouTube and catch what I missed from the previous day. It means I am a little late behind the news sometimes, but I get to weed out all of the objectional graphics and frivolity that passes for news these days. 

So, I pulled up YouTube and saw young Olympian Gabby Douglas recite the Pledge of Allegiance (nice) and Wynton Marsalis trumpet the National Anthem. And that's when I noticed them as the camera panned the crowd. The countless veterans standing at attention, right hand held horizontal to the left eye in salute of the flag. I looked a their faces and saw the strain and wondered what memories this conjured, what recollections this held of lost friends, comrades in arms, old chums. 

Earlier this week I had been moved by a similar display in a tiny town in the North Carolina mountains. Hendersonville has that Americana charm that reminds us of a partially fictitious yesteryear for which so many of us long, a simpler time when we moved under the power of our own steam, when we greeted neighbor by neighbor, face to face, eye to eye with pleasantry and gallantry. I fell in love immediately with this sleepy little hamlet all dolled up for its annual apple festival. It was full of pageantry and local color and everyone for that day belonged - everyone, young, old, black, white, latino, native american, gay and straight belonged. I fell in love so much so that I have vowed to go back and see the place again with its purple mountains majesty surrounding it in every direction. 

But what struck me most that day was the people lining the street for the annual parade. High school bands, choirs, dance groups, Shriners, Democrats, Republicans, Tea Baggers, local businesses, youth groups, women's groups, men's groups, groups for breast cancer awareness, hospice and HIV/AIDS awareness all marched side by side. And then one of the ladies seated on the ground in front of me said, "Here they come. Here's our guys, just what we've all been waiting for." She and everyone around and across the street from her scrambled to stand up and began clapping and cheering. It took a minute for the wagon to make it's way into my view. The veterans, men and women who had served our country, all ages, most of them in cars or on a trolley because they couldn't make it down the long 16 blocks independently. 

I watched them as the crowd roared to its feet and cheered them on, many of us simply saying, "Thank you." I looked at the few lone soldiers who strolled the parade route along with their wives and children by their sides. I wondered too what losses they have suffered in the name of freedom and apple pie. I thought about the families in the crowd whose sons and daughters, mothers, fathers, husbands and wives are still over there or who will never make it home. I thought about the men in my family - fathers, uncles, brothers, nephews who served and whose lives have been and still are haunted by what they witnessed and still so many years later will not speak of. I thought of my brother who works in Boston with homeless vets many of them battling addictions acquired to fight the demons in their heads. And I think of the fellow who sat down with Mitt Romney while he stumped in New England and asked why Romney is against his husband receiving the benefits he should receive as the spouse of a veteran. He wondered why Romney was against civil rights. And yes, I shed a tear.

I am a person of peace. I do not like war and although I do understand the rationale behind it, it still seems wrong. Yet, I am so grateful to the people who risk their lives in service to their country and who put everything on the line and ask for nothing in return. Let's face it, most of us don't think about the freedoms we have and how we get them. We are content to live our lives and shout about anything we don't like, fight for anything we don't want, maybe - just maybe sign a petition online when someone posts it on Facebook. But when it comes down to it, we don't really think about the bloodshed and the horror we tune out on the nightly news or the fact that someone's brother down the street may be fighting in that bloody battle over oil or land or religion that ultimately will protect our freedoms to scream at the convention idiots on our 120 inch 1080 DLP flat-screens with 7:1 surround sound from the comfort of our theater rooms.

And I am as guilty as the next person. So yes, I got a little verklempt when I saw the beautiful young African American gymnast put her hand across her chest, and a bit teary eyed when the myriad voices joined as one with the sax in singing the national anthem, and yes I proudly stood in my bedroom at my desk saluting the soldiers and saying, "Thank you," just as I had done this past Monday, Labor Day when those men and women went by. This country with all of its problems still yet to be worked out remains one of the freest places in the world, where so much is possible. And I will stand with any  man or woman who marches to defend our right to be as right or wrong as any of us sees fit. It is a good country, one for which there is still great hope. 

So shortly, I will watch my president accept the nomination of the Democratic Party for another term. And I will hope and pray that this good country will elect this man for four more years. I'm feeling a little red white and blue tonight and full of hope and faith. And a whole lot of Love.

Robin G. White is the author of Reflections of A Life Well Spent (Sunset Pointe Press) and the 2001 Resurrections: A Collection of Work (Kings Crossing Publishing). Her books, First Breath (Sunset Pointe Press) and Omphaloskepsis Guided Writing Journal (Sunset Pointe Press) will be released in the Fall of 2013.

www.store.robingwhite.com

BLANK CANVASS

The day we moved into our new home was crazy. We had decided at the last minute to pack up a U-Haul (no lesbian jokes please), grab some of the nephews and move in. It was haphazard and it happened in the middle of the night the day after Christmas. When we did finally get moved in we were dwarfed by the size of it all. Our furniture looked like dollhouse furniture against the ten and twenty-foot ceilings. We couldn't believe the size of it: seven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, sauna, steam room, gym, game room, movie theater and the biggest most beautiful pool I had ever seen outside of a resort. All of this on the 18th hole of the golf course with breath-taking views of the lake and the well-manicured nature. Our last name could have been Jefferson 'cause we knew we had moved on up.

Six years later I was packing a U-Haul with my stuff, my memories, and my kid and headed to Florida to start all over from scratch. It should have been the worst time in my life, but that would come later. The Universe has a way of putting things in perspective. To say I was devastated by the circumstances of the end of my relationship would be an understatement by any account. In an instant all that I knew of as my life was gone. My love, my identity, my business, my home, my finances, my stability, my future - everything gone gone gone. I didn't know what I was going to do or how I was going to do it. I got a job. I quit the job. I started a business. I stopped doing the business. I prayed. And then I prayed some more. You find out what you are truly made of when all of the trimmings (or trappings) fall away.

Prayer opened the door to new understanding. Where others saw loss, I saw gain. I knew I had an opportunity unlike any other. I could either dwell on all that I had lost or focus on all I had in front of me. My life hadn't been destroyed. I had been given the most remarkable of gifts: a blank canvass. I had a chance to truly and completely paint the picture I wanted my life to be. What an unimaginable present! I had no idea where to start. When I heard a voice saying, "Just start somewhere!" I realized I was going to need some help with this one, so I turned to God.

I've always been a person who prayed. As a child the rote memorization of my Catholic prayers offered comfort of some sort. As a Baptist seminarian learning to pray I often felt inadequate in my prayer life. But I have always known that I could talk to God and intuitively knew that God talked to me. So that's what I did. I talked to God and I have to say, I've had some great conversations with God over the past couple of years. I pray and God listens to me. I meditate and I listen to God. It is a pretty good system we have worked out. I asked what I should do and I listened in the quiet for the answer. I got it and I have been writing ever since. I love the picture I have been co-creating with God's help. It has been amazing.

In a time when everything I valued disappeared I could have called out in anguish and anger. And yes, I had my moments, but I dug deep and found the Faith I knew had always been there. And in taking the time I needed to be still and look inward, I found me there waiting patiently for my own arrival. It was as though the God in me said, "I knew you'd show up. Here's a brush; now, let's get started." Me and God have been creating the most beautiful life I could ever know filled with wonder and awe and abundance beyond measure. I have been blessed in ways I couldn't even begin to express. I have abundance in ways that have nothing to do with a big house or a fast car. I have more joy and more love than I have ever known! And yes, all of the goodies that come with it.

Last month I was given a gift and had the privilege of attending a Unity retreat hosted by Unity Center for Practical Spirituality. The retreat was held on a lovely resort-like campus in West Cornwall, CT. We were fed deeply satisfying spiritual, intellectual and creative food. The setting was remarkable. I was surrounded by beautiful nature, mountains, rivers, and some of the most loving, gifted, intelligent people you could ever meet. One of whom I met there was me. Fully cloaked in who I have been ordained to be I unveiled this picture God and I have been creating and it was marvelous. One of the best works ever! I liked it so much I decided it should be a part of my permanent collection. I am keeping it out where everyone can see it. I hope you like it as much as I do. I am expanding on the vision of this original painting, adding some color and depth here and there. It IS a work in progress you know.

And if you think that first canvas was fire... HA! Wait until you see what God is creating in me now. Stay tuned. It really is AMAZING!

WE ARE THE POETS

It's an ordinary Monday morning here in Boston and I am sitting in my room sifting through the overnight onslaught of emails and Facebook postings which now decorate my life. This is communication? Last week I had the privilege of attending the National Poetry Slam in Cambridge. I felt alive and wonderful as I sat listening to poet after poet share his, her, or their (team) efforts. I was out nearly every day sometimes reading at the side events, judging one slam and sitting with friends over coffee or pizza discussing how wonderful it is to be in a world of poets if only for just a minute.

And that is exactly what it was. Just a minute. A momentary wrinkle in time when all the world seemed filled with poetry and even the bad poetry - Chimps and Bononos - were worthy of our discussions. In person! As I strolled up Mass Ave in Cambridge and smiled at the bodies moving along the sidewalk, lanyards hung around each neck decreeing "I am a fellow poet and lover of all things poetry" I couldn't help but feel like the world had changed in an instant. That I had somehow been transported into a place where I was a part of the "in" crowd. That all of those years of writing and twisting words into their inevitability had somehow accessed me to the vortex of my parallel life and finally, finally I was living it. Ah. The bliss! I AM the holder of the golden ticket!

Then on Saturday and Sunday it happened. My fellow nerds went home to the places where they hold nerdiness in high regard among their fellow nerds - all five of them. We are that few. We are small in number. We write in quiet corners hugging laptops to our bosom along with artfully decorated marble notebooks and colorful purple pens. We smuggle words to each other; laugh brashly at jokes only we understand; whisper sonnets when a simple word would do. We are the poets holding court for another year. Praying we won't be discovered and stepping to the mic in cities around the world hoping to be heard. We are poets writing illegible passions onto paper and stashing them in the folds of Facebook longing for another poet nerd to respond in kind. We are poets. Setting the world ablaze with our words, and telling it off.

We are the poets and we are not alone.

Robin G. White is an award-winning poet, author and publisher. You can read more about her at www.robingwhite.com.

FLOODGATES

When I first began writing as a young girl I did it in observation of the world around me. I was always so excited to bring home those literary works of art to my Nana who ruled our household with a quick wit and a list full of proverbs designed to keep us all towing the line. I can hear her now, "The early bird catches the worm; don't put your cart before the horse; a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!" Just one remark from her lit fires under our feet.

Nana's colorful sayings found their way into some of the most comical lines of my early writings. I always wanted to out do her. As I wrote I would think long and hard of an interesting characteristic of some barnyard animal to warp into a proverb of my own. Needless to say, my sayings made no sense; but to Nana, they were as golden as the beautiful poetry I spun about weeping willows, lakes and oceans. "You are going to be a fine writer some day," she'd tell me. Her confidence in me was mine as well

When I was 11, Nana died. I left home one morning and she was gone when I got home that afternoon. The loss haunted me. I couldn't wrap my young brain around such a thing as death. And no matter how I wrote about it, none of it made sense and I needed it to. I wanted it to. Eventually, with the passing of time I released and let out the earnest howls of a youngster who had lost her greatest champion. I sobbed for days.

There have been equally great losses since. My adoptive father died 21 years ago. My step mom, five years ago. And even as I write these words it is hard to say how heartfelt those losses were. Daddy's was so bad I resorted to all sorts of concoctions legal and illegal to put down the feelings, keep the water at bay. Cocaine became the finger in the dike. And I stuck it in there hard and kept the water from breaking. Eventually, it did and I was so much flotsam and jetsam adrift until I landed, dried out and began the steps needed to rebuild a life without Daddy. By the time my step mom died I had all of the faith and support I needed to float through the pain. Faith is a powerful thing.

As I have often written here it is the thing which helped me find my birth family. It is the single thing which I can honestly say made the difference between finding them and not three years ago. And now, now they too are gone.

Today marks a month anniversary of the death of my beloved birth mother, Rosalie Young. The day before yesterday marked the month anniversary of the death of my beloved birth father, Lloyd Young, Jr. III. They died two days apart and hard as I have tried, I couldn't seem to wrap my brain around their deaths either. I have cried in spurts like a leaking damn when I think to call Mom and tell her about a job interview or someone I ran into whom I hadn't seen in a while.

I've cried when I've thought about laying with my forehead touching Daddy's as he slowly succumbed to the COPD and arthritis which had held him hostage for the past 12 years or so of his life. And I cry openly when I think of my two beautiful sisters and two strong brothers who with me mourn these losses. And still, I can't seem to wrap my brain around it enough for the floodgates to open.

Life is strange. You think you've seen it all then something peculiar makes its way up the road and there it is. Today on the anniversary of my mom's death as I softly sobbed, I learned of the passing of a close friend from high school. I promised to see her when I was in town and well, frankly I just didn't make it. I can't even say why. Shortly after I returned home, she was diagnosed with leukemia. She fought a good fight for nine months, but died before I could get home again to see her. And today is the day the universe chose to share this information with me.

And then, the floodgates opened.

Robin G. White is an award-winning author and publisher who now resides in her hometown of Boston, MA. To find out more about Robin and her work visit: http://www.robingwhite.com/.

NOW OR LATERS

There never seems to be enough time in the day and even if there was, I don't think I would know what to do with it all. I am a procrastinator of the grandest scale. If today is Sunday and it can be done tomorrow, I promise I will wait until the end of the week. It is annoying for me and most of the people I know. And what is most frustrating is I just can't seem to stop it.

I don't know how I ended up in this place of "I will do it later" especially since I know later seldom comes or when it does it doesn't present my best. Last summer while visiting my sister, I came to realize that this procrastination might be a part of a bigger problem one that may very well be rooted in a physiological makeup rather than just me being a slacker.

I have a dissociative disorder trait - schitzotypal personality disorder trait. I have had it for years. Because it is a trait it doesn't completely affect everything I do. A trait is a polite way of saying it colors my world, but is not entirely my world. Thank God for a few miracles. I was diagnosed with schitzotypal personality disorder trait along with PTSD as a young adult as it related to some childhood trauma. My disorder used to present as extreme anxiety, major depression and lack of close personal relationships. These symptoms have diminished over time; some are well managed or have gone away entirely. Some oddities have persisted. Some of them I like; others just get in the way.

One of the presentations of this trait is odd thinking and speech often metaphorical or elaborate. I honestly believe that this and the emotional anxiety and depression I sometimes experience are parts of the brew which make my writing so colorful and unique.

The most prevalent way my disorder still presents itself is in a poker face. I don't show the emotion that I am feeling. I can be laughing hysterically internally, but looking at my face, you would never know it. It's a problem. It makes people feel uneasy. They think I don't get the joke or that I am waaaaaaayyyy to serious. Nothing could be furthest from the truth.

The other way my dissociative disorder presents itself is through a lack of sense of urgency about things. Herein lies the root of my procrastination issues. Even though I know something needs to be done right away or it would be helpful to get something done, I become immobilized and just can't do it. It is like the synapses in my brain won't fire and turn me on. This sometimes means I miss real opportunities to connect with others in meaningful ways because I just won't get out of bed. Seriously. I should mention that I have managed to compartmentalize this down to social interactions rather than professional ones - in case you were wondering (or my boss was reading this). Just kidding.

One of the joys about this disorder is you figure out how to fix it by the time you are too old to enjoy the benefits of having it fixed! I am hoping for me this will not be the case. So far so good.

So, I have been working on this procrastination thing. I don't have it completely fixed yet, but I have gotten a whole lot better. It is something my friend Evelyn said when she was training employees for her new venture, Yogo Ono. She said, (and I paraphrase) "Remember those candies we ate as a kid, Now or Laters? Well think of that when you are doing something. Do it now or later. Now being the obvious choice."

So, thanks to Evelyn, I now think of Now or Laters when I am stuck and can't get moving. It is so simple - ridiculously so, but it works. I probably should send a note to Johns Hopkins or Mass General or somebody at Harvard. Memo to all of the psychologists who are working on personality disorders. Now or Laters work wonders!!!! Maybe I should send them a pack! I am going to get right on that!

Robin G. White is an award-winning poet, playwright and short-fiction writer. You can read more about her at http://www.robingwhite.com/.


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.