“Impulse control” is a phrase we use in the psychotherapy biz.
I now have an uncontrollable impulse to share a definition.
Impulse control disorder (ICD) is a class of psychiatric disorders characterized by impulsivity – failure to resist a temptation, urge or impulse that may harm oneself or others. — Wikipedia
I am impulsively and uncontrollably thinking about impulse control this morning, probably because
the President of the United States demonstrates impulse control issues on Twitter and
some people I know have not controlled their impulses to share their doubts with me about a decision I recently made.
I hope I control my impulses in responding to people who do not control theirs.
I had photographic impulse control yesterday — I took only these four:
Please share your thoughts about impulse control in an impulsive and/or controlled comment.
As always, I shall not control my impulse to express gratitude to all who helped me impulsively create today’s post and to you — OF COURSE! — for impulsively reading it.
My own experience is that I am the expert on my own experience.
That is my own t-shirt, which I’ve experienced owning for two years. I own that I enjoy the experience of wearing that t-shirt to appointments with my own doctors.
Yesterday, my own experience included talking to Josh from Liberty Mutual who is now managing my long-term disability claim. Josh started off our conversation with, “You’ve had quite the year, haven’t you?” My own experience is that Josh has had good experience dealing with disability claims.
My own experience has included all this:
My own experience is that pictures can tell a story.
Because dreams are so important to me, I’ve written several posts about dreams (including here, here, here, here, here, here, and here) since I started dreaming this blog. When I look at those previous dreamy posts, I realize I wrote each one never dreaming we’d have the U.S. President we have today.
Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night from a very scary dream where morphing people and frightening creatures were staring me in the face and grasping me by the hand. I immediately posted on Facebook:
I was having a bad dream and just woke up to another bad dream.
My friend Marc Zegans soon replied with this dream of a comment:
Before I had those dreams, I spent yesterday looking at a possible dream house for me and my dreamy boyfriend Michael with our dream of a real estate agent, Jane C. Hoffmann.
While I was taking photos of Jane, she was also taking photos of me and Michael (which was probably a nightmare for him, since he hates to have his picture taken).
Today, we might make an offer on a dreamy house by the sea in Quincy, Massachusetts. If we don’t end up in that dream house, we’ll end up in another one.
In four days, I’ll be turning 64 years old, an age nobody ever dreamed I’d reach when I was born in 1953 with a very unusual heart.
I shall now look to all the other dreamy photos I took yesterday for ideas about how to live and dream in the future:
I trust you know I have the intelligence and integrity to express my thanks to all who helped me create this dream of a post and to you — of course! — for your dream of a visit, here and now.
Lately, a lot of people have been showing up for my therapy groups. Last night, “Showing Up” showed up as a topic.
Some people showing up last night thought that “Life is just showing up” was a variant of a quote by Woody Allen. Here’s how that quote is showing up in my Google search:
“Seventy percent of success in life is showing up.” — Woody Allen
“Eighty percent of life is showing up.” — Woody Allen
“Eighty percent of success is showing up.” — Woody Allen
As usual, different versions of the truth are showing up.
I’ve been showing up more frequently on Twitter:
“Get over it” has never helped anyone get over anything.
There needs to be a new diagnostic code for Trump-related anxiety.
That last tweet showed up because so many people are showing up in my office with Trump-related anxiety.
New photos have been showing up on my iPhone, which means they’ll be showing up in this blog post.
That’s Harley, showing up in the kitchen on some of my clothes. Harley’s fear of the camera is showing up less these days.
Sorry! I don’t know what I’m going to say in today’s blog post.
Yesterday, I said, “Sorry!” to somebody in a supermarket for absolutely no reason. People often say “Sorry!” to each other as they negotiate space.
In my therapy groups, when people say “Sorry!” I immediately reply, “No need to apologize.” Most people there are working on saying “Sorry!” less often.
Last night, I said, “Sorry for your loss” several times at a wake. As I told my son last night, I’m sorry that I don’t know why a wake is called a wake.
I woke up this morning feeling sorry for myself. Whenever I feel sorry for myself, I remember that soon I’ll be feeling less sorry.
I’m not sorry that somebody left this note on my car:
My car’s mirror is looking rather sorry this morning. However, the sorry person who left that note is eager to fix it.
Here are the rest of my sorry photos from yesterday:
Because I’m not qualified to give you an exact definition of “qualified,” here’s how it’s defined online:
qual·i·fied
ˈkwäləˌfīd/
adjective
1.officially recognized as being trained to perform a particular job; certified.
“newly qualified nurses”
2.not complete or absolute; limited.
“I could only judge this CD a qualified success”
Yesterday, I asked my boyfriend Michael — who is qualified to be a boyfriend, a cook, and (according to one of my doctors) a nurse — how he was feeling. Michael qualified and quantified his feelings like so:
While Michael is more qualified than I to explain exactly what he meant, I can tell you that “Q” stands for “Qualified”” I will also qualify that by explaining that Michael’s “Q” reflects the second definition of “Qualified” above.
Why is my qualified boyfriend responding that he is “Q fine” lately? Again, Michael is more qualified than I to describe his thoughts and feelings, but I am qualified to guess that Michael’s feelings are qualified by worries about whether Donald Trump is qualified to serve as our President for the next four years.
I don’t think of myself as a qualified photographer, but some of my readers do. Here are my qualified images from yesterday:
I think those photos need to be qualified as follows:
My son Aaron and I are both qualified to use FaceTime to communicate while he is away at school in Scotland.
Aaron was qualifying many of his remarks to me yesterday while playing with tomatoes.
Even though I am a qualified mother, I did not tell Aaron to stop playing with his food.
We are all qualified to practice mindfulness, to breathe, and to make time for ourselves.
Am I qualified to pick the right music for today’s post? Yesterday, Michael and I heard beautiful music on the radio played by Nicholas McCarthy, who is completely qualified as a concert pianist despite having been born with only his left hand.
How would you qualify your thought and feelings, here and now? You are the ONLY ONE qualified to truly know and express your own experience. I declare that as a qualified psychotherapist, mother, and human being.
I am also qualified to give unqualified thanks where thanks are due — to all those qualified people who helped me create today’s post and to you, of course!
ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW about this blog includes this: I try to share ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW with my photographs from the day before.
ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW about those chocolates:
my two managers from work sent them to me,
they’re incredibly delicious,
I ate too many of them since they arrived yesterday,
In this daily blog and elsewhere, I like to present my best side. That is, I tend to focus on the positive and to share hopeful and optimistic thoughts and feelings.
Of course, each one of us has more than one side, and all of those sides are important.
Today, “my best side” in this post actually refers to somebody else showing a worst side.
Several decades ago, when I was in my 20’s, I was doing my best to create a marketing brochure at a high tech company. The high tech company had hired an advertising company, now defunct, to help us produce that brochure. One day, the account manager of that advertising company, the project manager within my company, and I discussed who would appear in photographs for the brochure. Here’s the worst side of that conversation:
Project Manager: We would like to use some of our employees in the photographs for this brochure. As a matter of fact, we would like to include Ann in one of the photos.
Me: So, make sure you get my best side in the photo!
Account manager (turning to project manager): Well, in that case, she’d have to be bending over. (sleazy laugh)
Me (stunned and shaking my head): WHAT?????
All of my sides were horrified that the account manager of an advertising agency we had hired had just objectified and dissed me, so blatantly, in front of me and my co-worker. I was so appalled, I spoke to many people on different sides of my company, hoping to get them to see my side — that the account manager’s behavior was unacceptable, unprofessional, and worthy of swift retribution.
Here’s the worst side of the story — nobody did anything about it. The project manager didn’t protest, the female executive I spoke with suggested I just let my anger go, and the high tech company continued to work with the account manager and the advertising agency. I remember being VERY disappointed how none of the decision makers at my company took my side.
Why am I focusing on this dark side of human nature today? Here’s my best answer for that: two days ago a candidate for President of the USA was shown demonstrating a similar misogynistic and women-objectifying side. Today, as I write this, most sides are protesting his behavior, which I see as progress.
Back in the late 1970s, I would have wished that somebody else took my side when I was so egregiously objectified and dismissed. However, I’m grateful for the opportunity to tell my side of that story, today.
What are the best sides of the photos I took yesterday, before I knew which side of myself I was going to show in today’s blog post?
What does your best side believe about this post? On my side, I believe that I and other human beings deserve to be treated with respect on all sides.
My best side now wants to thank Aretha Franklin, my long-time friend Barbara (who colored “your beautiful heart”), my son Aaron (who FaceTimed with me from Scotland yesterday morning), all those who helped me create today’s post and you — of course! — for witnessing and bringing different sides, here and now.
