August 2009


I have a tendency to get t-shirts in dark colors. It’s just what I prefer. But on the bike I feel like lighter colors are better, even if part of me thinks that unless you’re wearing day-glo yellow, it doesn’t actually matter. Still, the bike commuting has driven me to get some t-shirts in white or light colors.

One of them is a bike themed t-shirt. “till death” by twin six.

This is a shirt that has never really done it for me. That is, the shirt fits fine and is comfortable, but I always found the graphic a bit…off. It just didn’t work for me. I got the t-shirt because it was light in color, no more, no less.

Oh, and I think it was on sale.

Anyway, I’ve worn it many times on my bike commutes, once a week all summer long. All summer long being an important point, as you’ll see. Yet yesterday was the first day I noticed the hidden message…the hidden message that I’d been revealing all summer long, and neglected to notice!

Yes, indeed, when you sweat on the bike, the graphic suddenly works a whole lot better! You create the “lake” graphic via sweat!

I find this incredibly witty of twin six. I didn’t know a t-shirt could use sweat to be witty, but by george they’ve done it!

This has immediately become one of my favorite bike-themed t-shirts!

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I was sharing some music love with someone I know online, and she asked if I knew Soko. It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t think of why.

I looked up some music by Soko, and the first song to be listed was “I will never love you more.”

Instantly I knew why Soko had sounded so familiar. That song was introduced to me by a mix created by a blogger I follow, and it grabbed me as soon as I heard it. It was on my iPod when I did my long bike ride to the sanctuary (oddly, the only time I have listened to music while on the bike), and thus I can’t help but to flash back to a specific part of the ride home when I hear this song.

So, here is Soko singing “I will never love you more”:

I will never love you more than peanut butter.

This has bugged me, on a low level, for a couple weeks. A coworker sometimes emails me with questions about health and specific foods, things like that. He’s changing his diet for health reasons, so he’s researching a lot, and my Bike Commuting Vegan status (aka, Office Freak) has firmly embedded in everyone’s mind that I’m the go-to person for health.

That’s okay with me. I don’t mind answering the questions, or sharing resources that have helped me research things in the past.

What bugged me was that in one of these emails he made some off the wall comment about people who don’t know how to spell their own names. A bit of a weirdness there, since in that email he spelled my name incorrectly. Something that’s an annoyance of its own, given that the way work email systems work, you have the name right there in the “to” box, which should theoretically make a misspelling impossible.

Given what he said in the email about people who don’t know how to spell their own names, it made me think that he was directing this comment to me. It confuses me. Does he think I’m misspelling my name? What kind of arrogance does it take to tell someone that they misspell their name, since whatever we have on our legal documents is, technically, the correct spelling of our names?

My name, my full name, is not spelled in the most common way. It is, oddly, the Latin spelling, though, so it is arguably the most correct of all the spellings, simply as the oldest (I believe) spelling. If that actually matters!

When I responded to his email I made sure to sign with my name. My correctly, if not commonly, spelled name.

He has since then spelled my name correctly in his emails to me, but once in a while he’ll include a “(sic)” after my name.

What the hell is that about?

It makes me want to call him Joe in some future email. Not his name. Not even close. But if I’m “Debora (sic)”, then he can be Joe.

I’d been thinking about it more and more in the past couple of months. I have been feeling steady, and good, and ready.

I talked to my therapist today, and we discussed where I was at when I started, and where I’m at now. We discussed the goal I’d set for graduation, and whether I had reached it, and whether I had other goals in mind to pursue. We agreed that I was ready to fly free.

Today was my last Friday appointment. The last Friday I’d have to drive to work. The last week I’d have to work extra to make up time for the Friday appointment. The last Friday I’d have what felt like a half day extra to myself.

I’m flying free. Two and one quarter years after I started going to therapy to deal with my essentially lifelong depression, I’m flying free.

I’m thrilled. I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m a little bit sad.

After two and one quarter years, it is going to be a bit strange to not see my therapist on Friday afternoons. I didn’t realize it until afterward. Until after I’d gone to the bookstore for my final Friday splurge, until after I was home again. I’m going to miss her, though that’s not really the right word. It isn’t the same as a friend you talk to periodically. It isn’t the same as a relative. It is both more and less than that. It is the safety net, a structure, a person who I wanted to live up to and yet never needed to worry about acceptance. She is a person who had what seemed like an unending kind regard, who helped pull me from a depression that I was so deep in I couldn’t even see how much it had consumed me. She is the person who held the hope and confidence that I could someday be without depression, even before I could conceive of such a thing for myself.

It is so strange, to say goodbye to a person who I never saw outside of those 50 minute sessions every Friday. To say goodbye to a person who helped me so much over these past couple of years.

I’m flying free, and if there are tears falling in counterpoint to my giddy laughter, it feels right.