welcome to the danger zone

Posts tagged “inspiration

Because Sleep Is My Best Friend

I’m rewatching the most recent episode of Sons of Anarchy. I spent most of the day in bed – I’ve been spending most of this week in bed – due to the never ending pain that writhes through my body and my days like a nest of snakes. 12 days until I have another dr. visit, and hopefully find a stop gap for this stupid pain, other that 24/7 morphine with percocet chasers. So that’s why I’m not writing much – I hate the fact that my days are reduced to whining. I try hard to find beauty, be positive, laugh, but it’s a struggle and feels so fake – but I fake it anyway, because there’s no other way through. I keep reminding myself there’s a reason in all of this, a lesson, and I think back on the last time I was pain free like it was trip to Disney. I remind myself that life is suffering, that art takes pain, blah blah blah, but right now the only thing pain is doing for me is clouding my mind and making me sleep, and a sleep full of crazy mixed up dreams that leave me wondering what day it really is when I wake.

Yeah, I’m feeling sorry for my self. But in other news, this healthy eating thing seems to be working out. And some days I remember that I actually like eating things that are good for me. Even if they aren’t cookies.

I’ll find my way back here eventually – there’s too much in the world that I have opinions about not to.

Peace and pumpkins, people. It’s time to squelch the pain with another pill.panda


50.5 Hours ‘Til Depufferization

I am so restless. Monday cannot come soon enough. I had to stop taking motrin last night because of its blood thinning properties, and I’m out of tylenol until later so I’ve been nibbling on percocet trying to make the pain go away. It’s not.

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In an effort to distract me from writhing about in bed, bemoaning my situation, I decided to give cleaning out my closet a go. I applied the fifteen minute rule, and actually was at it nearly an hour. I got rid of a lot of things I won’t/don’t want to wear again. There are still some things I can’t get go of including the very Victorian/gothic long black dress I bought trying to hang on to my goth past, and a crushed red velvet mini dress from the same desperate period when I dreamed of returning to my glorious youth. I tried – I event took the black dress of the hanger, but in the end, I clutched it my hands, as my opiate-sotted brain harkened back to the days of pale skin and clove cigarettes and dancing wildly to Echo and the Bunnymen, the Jesus and Mary Chain, and Love and Rockets. Sigh. I realistically know that the dresses will hang in homage to my youth, never to be worn again, the same way there’s a pair of size 5 shorts in a box somewhere from when my short-lived border-line skeletal hips slipped them on one summer day following my high school graduation. Strange the things we treasure. Now, I’m lucky if I could get them over my ankles.

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Even though the pain is still a constant ache despite the medication, the sedative effects are doing just fine. My eyes keep slipping closed and I should probably take a little nap because I’m going to head in to the den of babysnatchers to get a few more things done before I am off on Monday and Tuesday to have my procedure and biopsy done. They pushed the time back to 12:45p so a pathologist can be available when they retrieve the tiny chunks of flesh from SPFXL from snappy steel jaws that will be tearing them out of me. Of course, I don’t expect to have the pathology completed before I am released to go home, even though I secretly know they do because all they have to do is look at the sample and it’s either normal or it’s not. I don’t need to know how normal or abnormal the cells are, I just need to know one way or the other.

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Not that it really matters, because as I was driving back from Pittsburgh on Thursday night, I was on Interstate 99, and if you have never been on it, there are 11 miles of the most beautiful stretch of highway I have been on, outside of Hwy 1, aka the Pacific Coast Highway, in California. The sun had just about set, the hills were green and purple and some of PA’s tallest rounded mountains were rising above the fog that was settling into the valleys amongst the farms and random houses spotting the countryside. It was so magically beautiful, I kept waiting for it to end, and each curve of the highway just became more breathtaking than the previous one. At one point, when the sun had almost sunk below the horizon, there was this lone cow standing next to a barbed wire fence on a hill close to the highway, silhouetted black against a violet twilight and I could not even remember when I saw something so simply marvelous. If I wasn’t moving along at 80mph, I would have hit the brakes and captured it on film. Fortunately, I can still picture it in my head. And I realized, after travelling 500+ miles that day, in the car, alone with my thoughts and in silence most of the car ride, that there’s nothing to fear, no matter what happens next. In that moment, it didn’t matter if I was going to live or die, because everything is connected and timeless. Yes, I had brief reminder of nirvana, one of those glimpses of what being human is all about, and why nothing is ever lost, why we are here, and why it matters, and that whatever comes is just another lesson for me to learn. It’s all going to be okay, even if it seems like it’s not. And I’m okay with that. I forget how strong I really am, and how much I have gone through and how I am so grateful for everything I’ve endured because generally speaking, it has made me the pretty fucking awesome person I am. And even all the not so positive bits, the parts of me I don’t like, are just challenges yet to overcome. Including the SPFXL.

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So now that I have waxed philosophical for the day, I’m off to get ready to face the day and head into work to tackle a few things so I can come back after the probing and get back to the grind. Then it’s off to Presto’s 3rd Birthday Party. Have a great weekend, friends. And if I don’t check in before I’m rocking the CT scanner on Monday while I’m probed like an alien in a secret lab out at Area 51 in Arizona, send me some good vibes – especially that they have some good jello in the recovery area. Peace.


The First Offensive, Second Edition

We’ll be going in to try and attack the SPFXL (see previous entry for clarification) which we determined today to be the size of my small desk fan. I’m just waiting for a procedure date – my treatment coordinator told me that they asked for it to happen in the next seven days, and if they don’t schedule it within seven days, she will call and tell them to make it happen, because I am symptomatic (based on my near-encounter with the ER yesterday). On the plus side, most of today was pain-free, or rather, pain-minimum, because for the last six weeks, I’ve been in pain to varying degrees.

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Like the last attack on SPFXL, when it was known as PF, there will be an attempt to aspirate it, followed by the painful snapping of flesh from the beast itself for purpose of looking for the C-monster. The difference is this time, it will be more pieces of flesh being torn from me, and in more areas to see if there is something that was missed last time, resulting in the return of SPFXL. They still will force me to be awake throughout the whole ordeal, but at least I can play with the monitors and make them think I am dead several times for my own personal entertainment.

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I’m trying to be positive, but pain puts a damper on that shit, especially when it feels like sharp spines in my lower back most of the day. The fact that it is in exactly the same are is a plus, and as I was told, I shouldn’t worry about it, it’s just concerning, not alarming. Of course when you have a blob the size of a newborn’s head inside of you, you are just a tad concerned. I will keep you darlings updated, I’m just not feeling the joy tonight.

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Sweet dreams my pretties.


Deep in the Valley of Pufferfish We Go (aka No Two Year Cancer-free Celebration Yet)

Yeah, I started to write a blog on Saturday. I was full of joy and rage and fear and I was inspired; then I got way-laid, and tried again on Sunday, but then the joys of being a baby-snatcher intervened, and I had work to do. Then it was Dr. Day. And after enjoying a day full of describing and pointing and whining and diagnosing I got home and passed out and woke up at 11pm wondering why it was still dark at 6am, and once realizing it was not 6am, I ate a bundukie (lithuanian meatball, a delicacy) and trotted my sleepy butt back to bed. I didn’t even want to write tonight, but as I ate the last cold bundukie in the fridge, I felt compelled to share the events of yesterday with you, my faithful companions.

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Yesterday was starting out pretty well, for Dr. Day. I won a necklace with a raffle ticket I bought at work, and was awarded my prize when I ran in to drop off the carseat I needed on Sunday. Then I buzzed up to court where the court hall patrol tried to halt me from seeing my client before I took the long drive to Hershey. But I could not be denied, and when he wasn’t looking, I grabbed a quick visit. Then I was off.

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Of course, I should have known when I blew by the poor man who was lying on the side of Rte 209 that this was not a good sign. I barely even realized he was human until I did a double take and saw his hand waving. I pulled over as soon as it was safe to stop (not many pull-outs on 209) and called 911. I was stunned that I was the first person to call 911, because he looked like he was there a while. Once I saw someone else had stopped and that an ambulance was dispatched, I was on my way.

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Being a good Samaritan made me late. Much to my glee, when I was finally called, I’d lost 16 pounds. Then the fun began. The nurse, who clearly did not read my chart as so often happens, asked me when my last period was. I told her it was when I last had a uterus and she gave that uncomfortable chuckle that finding out she didn’t read the chart always brings. She didn’t do any of the usual interrogation that my visits begin with. She tried telling me my blood pressure was high. Why do they insist on telling me my blood pressure is high, when it’s really not? Are they trying to see how long it will take to get it high? Fortunately, her painful encounter with me ended quickly and then it was onto the med student.

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Her name was Sam. She had at least read the chart. I told her my symptoms and whined a while about pain and pressure and how I was sure there was some small animal lurking inside. Or a rock. It does really feel like a rock. A boulder. But it was probably the return of the pufferfish. And then she went out to see Dr. K. He came in ready for me to tell him I’m great. You would think I killed his puppy when I said, I have complaints, I believe my pufferfish is back. And then it got really fun. That’s right, you guessed it…we have to feel internally for the pufferfish, and then we have the med student feel for pufferfish, and then we go back in and jab the pufferfish and confirm that yes, there is a large mass in there. Does the fun end then? No of course not – we then poke me in the stomach and lower abdomen about a billion times and ask me if it hurts. YES, YES, YES! It fucking hurts. There and there and ESPECIALLY THERE. Take the pufferfish out I beg, or give me a scalpel and I’ll do it myself. No such luck. Dr. K makes a grumpy face. He does not like that there may be a return of the pufferfish, but gutting me is not going to be our first move. No. Not even close. I will be the lucky recipient of another CT scan, and once we determine that it is a pufferfish and not an invasive lionfish or even a barracuda, or perhaps a giant ball of chewed gum, we can choose an option. Most likely I will get to have another one of those great draining biopsies like last time, except this time, they will take chunks out of the pufferfish in multiple spots using an ultrasound machine. I will undoubtedly be awake again. No morphine, not sedatives to make me enjoy the whole event asleep. Woo hoo. And no fucking jello.

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If it is a rock or a barracuda, we’ll explore other options. At this time we are not tolerating the idea that it is anything other than a return of the pufferfish, which will require a good poke with a sharp needle several times to make it go away.

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You thought that was the end of the adventure, eh? Not so fast.

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So Dr. K’s apprentice comes back and give me papers to checkout. And off I go. Only to get sent back to my exam room to wait for the nurse who does the surgical scheduling to get me over for a ct scan. Today if possible. She has me wait and while I am waiting I hear my treatment coordinator’s voice in the room across from mine talking to someone who has been told there is a contingent of rebel cells in her body that have created the dreaded C monster. I hear her being told she is on a schedule of 3 weeks on and 1 off and for 3 rounds. I want to cry for her. I hear the most feared words in the universe: Taxol and Carboplatin. And a cold chill runs down my spine. I can only imagine what stage she must be at, and I realize Dr. K was expecting me to be disease free to offset having to tell someone they are seriously ill and I really did kill his puppy.

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The nurse comes back and tells me I’m due in the meat slicer with toy story stickers on Thursday at 12:45. And we’ll know on Tuesday what happens next and when that can be scheduled. And you thought that was it? No, I still have one more appointment today.

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Off I go to visit a friend until the next appointment, which I believe is at 2:30. I am sure is at 2:30. So sure I didn’t even listen to my reminder message. And when I arrive at 2:20, I learn my appointment was at 1:50. I could have had a CT scan at 2:00 today, but I couldn’t because I had another appointment. Well now my appointment is at 3:10 because I missed my 1:50. I could have had a scan. I read my book, writhing in pain because the last 3 motrin have yet to kick in. Then I get ushered into the next exam room. No stickers. I read my book. I finally see the Dr. at 3:40. They take my blood pressure, which is NORMAL, but I’ve gained five pounds since this morning and all I ate was some cheese fries with honey mustard and a water. This is a female Dr. K. She’s a brandie-new Dr. She is excited that I came back to see her. She is glad to see the medication is keeping my blood pressure normal. I tell her I don’t take any medication, it’s always normal. Then I tell her about the problem of the pufferfish and what they plan to do about it. She asks me about 10 times if I see an oncologist or a gynecologist and I repeatedly confuse her when I say he’s a gynecological oncologist. And I’ve seen him for over 2 years. I tell her about the pain and now she thinks I have a kidney infection, and I have to talk her down from that. When I finally convince her I know my body better than she does because I’ve had it probably twice as long as she’s been alive, she lets go of the kidney infection diagnosis. But not until I show her EXACTLY when the pain is. Then she leaves me for about 30 minutes to confer with her attending. I’m still in pain. I’m trying to read to distract myself but all I can think about is how I want to go home and sleep the pain away. At least I don’t have to repeat this appointment for another six months. She knocks on the door and comes back in, and tells me they reviewed my blood tests from six months ago and it appears my thyroid level is really really low. I know this, I saw the results myself. Now she thinks that maybe I have too much medication for that and that is why I lost weight. I find this amusing because I’ve been taking this dose of meds for 18 months and weigh more now that I did when I started taking it. If anything, I need to have my dose increased. I don’t argue the point. I will let them take my blood. On Thursday. When I come back for the scan. Because I am tired, and anxious and need a Peanut Butter Cup Blizzard. Can I be excused?. She starts to insist I come back in six weeks for the results, and I tell her no, I see my endocrinologist in six weeks, so I’m good with six months. We agree, and I promise to lay off the lattes and try to walk more. And I am released into the sweltering summer afternoon.

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And thus the two year check-up and Dr. Day ends. So I won’t be celebrating two years cancer-free yet. Keyword YET. Unfortunately I know there will be some sort of procedure because I can feel this thing myself from the outside, and it hurts. I’m gonna make sure there’s jello for this one, and if I have to have the same procedure again, I’m getting that stuffed animal too.

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And there it is, the story of the two year Dr. visit, and a hiccup in the road. I’m gonna go creep into bed now and drift into air-conditioned comfort, and hope things are going better for that lady in the room across from me yesterday and that man on the side of the road. It’s a real reminder that things could always be worse. So sleep well friends, and enjoy tomorrow.

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The Racing Mind at 1AM Edition

Yep, just sitting here doing the math on how much sleep I’ll get before I get up for work in the morning

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It’s been a sort sucky day in a sorta sucky week, but if you harken back to last week’s dismal forecast, I’m sitting on top of the world in comparison. But it’s been a rough week and it’s only Wednesday.

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I sometimes think I am so naïve. I always try to see the good in people. Even when people repeatedly disappoint me or take advantage of my compassion. This makes some people hard and callous, and I am, a little – but I still don’t let it color my perception of the next person down the road. This week was hard, because sometimes in the baby snatching world, you go above and beyond and put all your faith in someone because you see potential for success, and then despite every possible effort you could have made, things just collapse to a level lower than you could have expected. And yet, I was lying in bed thinking as upset as things have recently made me, somehow I can continue to find that hope. I suppose this all came from my listening to Ryan Young’s Anxious and Angry podcast. If you haven’t listened to it yet, you should. Because it will make you think. A lot. And laugh, also a lot. I will pause here to allow you to click on the hyperlink or here to get to the sight and listen to the podcast. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

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Welcome back. I am sure you enjoyed it. Tell your friends. In this week’s episode, Ryan urges people to do one nice thing for people everyday and talks about how good it feels. I am far from being the kindest or nicest or generous person in the world (most brilliant, witty and craft are enough for me), in fact, I can be meaner than a honey badger, but I do always try to say one nice thing to someone every day. Or make them laugh. Something, and I do it without even thinking about it. Not because I want to be magnanimous but because I know how good it feels, and it’s a plain self-rewarding activity that makes me feel better about me. It takes nothing to say hey, I like your hair, or you look nice. And yet it means all the world to someone. I don’t know if I ever wrote about the story about the person who jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge in a suicide attempt, and survived. The person said that they told themselves, I’m going to kill myself, and hoped that one person would see the tears streaming down their face and ask what was wrong, and when one person stopped him and he thought, wow someone cares, only to find out it was a tourist who wanted him to take her picture. And he did, and gave the camera back and when the tourist walked away, he jumped off the bridge. One person could have made a difference. So I always try to smile and say something nice when I see someone, because I don’t ever want to ignore someone’s pain. Not that it works with everyone, but hey you put the effort out there. This is the same reason I buy stickers for the kids in my families for my visits. Because I might be the only person that month who gets down on their level and asks them to pick something they like when I see them on a visit. For those few minutes, they know someone cares.

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Of course there are going to be kids who will hate me anyway, but that’s the same as adults in my life. Some people will never change. And just because I want them to be happy/succeed/prosper/stay healthy doesn’t mean that’s what they want. Like my sister, maybe she’s happy with her choices – maybe she doesn’t want more than to live in public housing, on disability, drinking. Why do I think she does? It’s funny how we both had/have diseases we have to fight, both have kids we love, and yet my path couldn’t be further from hers. (note to my readers: ironically, I have the reputation of being the bad one in my family – you know, the drug user with the older boyfriend ((which creeps me out now)) who was wasting her brain nightly in a small town hanging with the bad seeds, my sister on the other hand, was all your typical homecoming and spring queens, head cheerleader, great husband, money, kids) and while I have clearly failed at snatching me up a husband and having a white picket fence, I’m pretty comfortable in my nest. I tried for years to help my sister, until I just had to say, done! I’m not going to continue letting your refusal to want more drag me down. So she does her thing, and I do mine, and if she ever gets sober and honest, I’m still gonna welcome her back in my life. As for now, I don’t need that drama. (note: the previous reflection was the result of running into my sister in the city where I work, as I was entering a rehab for a work visit, and she was merely walking by it – again, irony.)

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How does all of this related to my central theme here? I will tie it all together for you now – Jane is my sister, also sister of my brother Mike buys me a satellite radio → I hear Against Me! On the punk rock station → I go to see Against Me! → I want to see them again → they play w/ Off With Their Heads → I buy some OWTH downloads → I see OWTH play with AM! → OWTH’s music gets me through the roughest six month of my life with cancer -> Ryan Young is the vocalist of OWTH -> Ryan Young starts a podcast → podcast says do kind things → I blog. Of course in the midst of all that is some other stuff, but it’s all connect. Everything is connected so if you do something nice by way of OMG I THINK A SPIDER JUST RAN ACROSS MY BED…sorry… if you do something kind because you read this blog, then you will be connected not to just me, but that stealthy spider, Ryan Young, my brother, me, and even more people and things. What I am trying to say as I get more tired and ready for sleep, is that doing kind things is good, and it doesn’t even take any cash. Listen to Episode 13 of the podcast here.

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Sorry I have been failing at amazing humor the last few weeks. I’m really trying to stop being so reflective. I was going to relay my bad experience with my mobile phone providers customer service today, but that will just get me all fired up again, so instead, I’m going to crawl into bed, read a few chapters in my new book “Horns” and hopefully fall asleep with my glasses on. Peace.


Oh Yeah! We’re Puking Rainbows Again!

So, massive doses of vitamin B, medication, meditation, and writing kept me from sinking into the sucking abyss. You can all go back to poking me with sticks without fear of my mental breakdown again. It’s something you can’t even explain, but I will try to – it’s like waking up one morning and you just don’t even care that you have no money, and no gas, and there’s nowhere in walking distance that you want to go, and the house is a mess, and you have a stack of bills, but that’s all okay, because you’re fine with just hanging out at home, and it isn’t even depressing. Like that giant safe that was dropped on your soul from forty stories above has been pushed off and you can breathe again, and think of sad things without having a sobbing meltdown. You eat things other than chocolate and ice cream. You don’t really care that you aren’t chasing every dream you ever had, you’re just happy that you don’t have to fight to get out of bed, that you are back to considering a future, and the physical feeling of drowning under the weight of your tears is gone. Boom. Like that. Even though I don’t have the power to turn my depression on and off like a switch, some times it comes and goes like someone else has the power to control it. It’s not like anything changed in my life to make it better, it’s just I woke up on a perfectly gloomy day, continued to do the same mundane things I always do, but suddenly, it wasn’t like physical torture anymore. And I am grateful for everyday it gets to stay this way.

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This is a good thing because two year check up is in two weeks. I do believe my baby alien re-inflated itself after the last tortuous surgery, or at least that is what I am hoping. Actually, I’m not hoping that it did, I am just hoping that that is all that is wrong, because something is, and rather than whining about it, I’ve been just patiently waiting for the next day of probing to address it. It’s not like waiting a month would really make a big difference anyway, but I’ve got pain and weird sensations going on in ground zero and I know something is up. I’m pretty sure I’m still cancer-free, but I think that the poking around at the chrysalis in my former uterine cavity did little to eliminate the problem and was just a stop-gap, and at some point it’s gonna be either me, or a qualified surgeon, going in there with a knife and cutting that shit out. And if it is cancer, well, not much I can do about that except treat it – it’s not like it’s flesh eating bacteria or a bot-fly larva erupting from my skin. See? I come out of the darkness, and I’m all like, who gives a fuck? For the record, Vitamin B is nasty, but clearly works. Or I believe it works, and thus I prove the placebo effect valid once again.

puking_rainbows_for_real_by_pacifictoast-d2xv9byHopefully you are all breathing a sigh of relief at my return to normalcy. Normalcy is relative though, and I’m still pondering the secrets of the universe and scheming great schemes. Andy has agreed to go to Riot Fest with his mother, and I am buying his ticket for his birthday. The last time we went on vacation together was when he was five and we went to Disneyland for a week for his birthday – Riot Fest will be much like that trip, except, I won’t be charged with child abuse if I smack him in the head for being whiny. In other words, he will fall asleep in the car, whine about being hungry, complain about the music I am listening too, wander away and want to go in the opposite direction of wherever I want to go. And like when we went to Warped Tour to see AM! and Pennywise, he will spend all his money, and come looking for me only when he is covered in mud and has lost his shoes and is hungry. Mother and son bonding at its finest. If you want to join us, let me know – I will be staying in a hotel – he wants to stay in a tent – or the car – or on the ground – and as he will ditch me to see the bands he wants to see once inside the gate I will technically be alone. We’re driving because I love a good road trip. You can get tickets on layaway, which is the only reason we can afford it – because the universe has some sort of issue with me having a bank account with any sort of substantial balance in it (grasshopper).

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Well friends, it’s almost time to make something for dinner. Maybe if you are lucky, I will make something amazing and you will be treated to pictures of it on FB.  Have a great rest of the weekend, and Happy Father’s Day to all the wonderful dads out there, including my “son” Corey, and my dad, if he’s ever allowed to return from where he is being held hostage at my brother’s home (detention camp) in Maryland, and to all the moms out there who are filling in as dads. And the men who are like dads to the dad-less. Fight the power!

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Good Weekend? Bad Weekend? You Pick.

I came home this evening from hanging out next door with the Rooney’s, enjoying a glass of blueberry wine that I bought at the Pennsylvania Flavorfest, laughing til I cried while listening to Eric Rooney read some of my best impromptu poetry, including “Ode To Mikey” about his dead rabbit only to get some weird facebook message about pictures being posted of me on some ugly people website. At first I wanted to look, and then I decided not to, because one, I just had a weird vibe this was some sort of hacking activity, and two, because why would I subject myself to someone’s need to hurt me in that way (the link this person gave me had my name in it). This of course took the edge off my happy. I was about to launch into a rant hear about bullies and people who do ugly things like that. I was like, really, at my age who really hates me that much and has pictures of me that are, as the person who messaged me put it, disgusting. Whatever, nothing anyone else can say or do can cause me to feel worse about my body as I already do. So sorry mean people, I believe the word is “fail”.

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What that little message did though, was make me realize, once again, that nothing is permanent. And maybe, I should take my own advice, and make a list of positives and negatives and see which wins out in the total score for the weekend.

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Positive: Ryan Young actually had my email to him on his podcast (Episode Number 8, Anxious and Angry – Free on Itunes or here Anxious and Angry) You should download all of the episodes. They’re funny and interesting and will make you think.) He also said nice things about me. It made me happy.

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Negative: I re-read my email and saw that not only did I use some poor grammar, my dumb ass fingers are still switching letters and my brain is still tricking me into thinking I typed one word when I really typed something else. So, if I have spelled things wrong or used the wrong words in sentences, my brain corrects things so I don’t catch it until days later when I re-read something, or in some cases, never.

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Positive: I had an awesome Saturday with Kelly and her boys who are the most delightful littles ever. Rodney even performed a magic show with a rabbit in a hat. We had an awesome lunch and a semi-awesome milkshake. (Note to Sonic – Jalapeno Chocolate Shakes would be awesome if they did not have chunks of jalapeno getting stuck in the straw all the time. Find a way to fix that.)

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Negative: There were so many chunks of jalapeno in my shake, I thought it was salsa.

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Positive: I went to two impromptu barbecues today.

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Negative: There’s none for this really. I had fun. played in the pool with Presto. wrote some side splitting poetry. Ate corn. Drank wine. Can’t really find a downside.

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Negative: Andy was a served an arrest warrant for non-payment of parking tickets.

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Positive: See above, because those unpaid tickets were mine, and the car is in his name.

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Positive: I had three days off from work.

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Negative: My weekend started with having to do something I hope I never would have to do and trying to prevent from happening for almost two years. This was a big negative. Huge. Unfortunate. Sad. Troubling. Some days, work sucks. The only minute, teensy-weensy upside was that I took care of it myself, and no one else had to do it.

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Negative: I can’t sleep again.

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Positive: You get to have one of my more boring, less comical, blog entries.

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Honestly, I’m a little fired up about misogyny, murders, the internet, stupidity, gender inequality, remembering things I forgot to subtract from my bank account, the lack of breakfast food delivery services. I also hate my hair, the fat suit I am living in, the lack of motivation I have to do anything about it, social injustice, climate change and the fact that there is no IQ or other suitability test before people are allowed to use the internet. I need another week or three off. I got some bad news about a friend and my dad has some serious valve issues with his heart and I am not thrilled with the hospital he is choosing to address it.

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However, I got an awesome hug on Friday from a little who wouldn’t let me go until the stress was all hugged out of me, I laughed a lot, I ate good food, I slept, I met an alpaca that was wearing sunglasses, convince a little that his magic wand turned a girl’s hair pink, got to re-live some of the fun that having little kids around brings to your life, spent some time with my niece and relaxed.

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In other words, it was life. And tomorrow will also either suck or be awesome. Since it’s court day, probably more of the former and less of the latter, and I have the paper work from my unpleasant Friday surprise to deal with.

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If your Tuesday is in need laughter, you should check out Ryan’s podcast, really. It may also make you sad, but again, see above, ie: life.

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Be well my pretties. I wish I had flying monkeys.

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Black and Tan and Blue

I’m waiting for my laundry to get done so I can hang it up in order to be dry for the morning work. I suppose I should do this earlier in the evening, but I was unwinding from another troubling day of working for the man.

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As you may or may not know, I finally made it to the ocean. The Atlantic, not the Pacific, but the sound and smell of the sea took cleared away a lot of things that can only be washed away by something so vast and timeless as the ocean. I needed that. For those of you who have not seen both, I have to be honest when I say the ocean in northern California is a far more powerful force, even on calm days, than the Atlantic in New Jersey. Not to mention that the shell selection is somewhat better, and there’s more beach glass, and sea otters and sea lions, maybe an elephant seal. But still, the ocean soothes a lot in me. And made for a delightful Mother’s Day, even though it meant spending much more money than I intended to. I am somehow okay with that though, because every cent was worth hanging out with my son and laughing. It reminded me of when he was a little, and we would take road trips and adventures to see and do things we hadn’t done before. I miss that. And I miss the spontaneity – not many people I know are willing to do things at the drop of a hat, and thanks to my excellent child rearing skills, Andy has that inherent spontaneous streak. The beach trip came about at breakfast when I said, hey let’s go to the beach, and he said okay, but I need to go change first. And within an hour, we were on our way. It reminded me of when he was just a toddler and we would be leave the house to head to work/daycare and I would look at him, call “mental health day” and he and I would head to the ocean. Or the zoo. Or a park.

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And, as you may or may not know, during the beach trip, I learned some important information, which I believe should be shared. Large rocks at the beach are slippery if there is moss on them. Also, slippery without moss. Cement piers are also slippery, with or without moss. Women of my age should be careful on any of these things, lest they fall, as I did, and almost drown in the ocean/smash your camera/kill your ipod/get covered in blood, moss and sand. I also did some serious damage to my unscraped knee. It is getting better – but I keep thinking back to my fall, lying there like a giant beached pilot whale, flopping around as I tried to get up on the very slippery moss. Ah, a mother’s day to remember. My right leg looks like I was mauled by a demon too. Reminded me of the time I was going to showcase my mad skateboard skills for Andy and immediately had the deck shoot out from underneath me and I fell, slow-mo style, to the ground and smashed my head into the drive way. Days to remember.

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Well, I do believe the laundry is ready for my attention. Tomorrow, or today, depending what time you are reading this is “hug-it-out-hump-day” and I encourage you to drop your inhibitions, invade the personal space of friends and coworkers and hug the shit out of them. They might scream or tell you that it is unwelcome or unwarranted, but deep inside, they want them. Don’t let the mace or threats of legal action deter you.

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Good night my friends.

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btw, the title comes from the fact that I had Yuengling Black and Tan ice cream, and I was blue because it was all gone. sigh.

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This Space Intentionally Left Blank

 

So, there I was, prepared to lull you to sleep with my latest soul-searching foray and a treatise on forgiveness. And then I was about to dazzle you with my wit. However, my workday ended with negativity, so I feel it’s important to address that, so that my dreams are not a series of ways to work out my frustration (ie. murders). I won’t go into detail, but rather, share with you the wisdom that shook out of the no-good-very-bad-Tuesday-4:30-to-5:30 day (Read the book).

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If one wants to have people believe they are sane, they must attempt to act it.

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There are things you can tell everyone. There are things you can tell no one. Then there are things that you can tell everyone and yet no one will understand. Then there are things you can tell people OVER and OVER and OVER and they will never ever understand. All of this gives me a headache.

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Why do the trees in the valley areas get their leaves before the trees at the top of the mountain? Isn’t the top of the mountain closest to the sun? (It is unnecessary to explain why to me, I know the answer, it was just a rhetorical question)

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When you find a razor blade and want to put it somewhere safe, dropping it into a box of you craft tools will never be the safest place. Yes, you will find it, but it won’t ever be “safe” especially if you don’t remember it is in there. I should not be allowed to have razor blades in the first place. Or scissors, knives, needles, clippers, tacks, pins. Or matches.

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Sometimes you have to just say “fuck it” and pin pictures of cupcakes and furniture made out of popsicle sticks for hours on twitter.

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A salad will not make itself. And purchasing a pill box so you remember to take the pills you need to take daily is not effective if you fill it, put it in your bag, and then never take it out to take the pills. Pills will not take themselves. Despite what you “remember” from that one night back in ’99. (I have changed the name of the year, to protect the innocent, namely me)

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Cars should have lasers. So you can cut people in half. If it’s necessary.

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Peanut butter will be your best friend.

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It’s not important to know what kind of bug it is, just that it’s dead.

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You will always be thirstiest right when you sit down after forgetting to get that glass of water while you were up.

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One day you will suddenly realize that you know longer think that people are talking about you when you aren’t included in the conversation. You will feel wonderfully liberated. I mean, other people think that too, right? I can’t be the only one who thought that.

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Okay, that’s enough. Move along. Besos.

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the “a to “aw screw it already” challenge” aka I really should be doing work

I guess you expected another alphabet challenge entry. As predicted, I got to k, and have decided that for me, having to write with a prompt just is no bueno. I have too much going on in my head at any given moment to be limiting it to a single character to capture it all.

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Ironically, the next letter I would have written about was the letter L. Which is the type of work I am avoiding right now as I blog instead. Legal. I should be preparing my court questions for my hearing tomorrow. Or completing affidavits. I loaded up the flash drive on Friday to get this work done over the weekend. I was all about about doing work at home. I was….really. That said, because I knew I was going to do paperwork, I made a ham, cleaned my bedroom, organized my yarn. organized my art supplies, read some magazines, drank coffee, made a scrumptious salad with the ham, did laundry, napped, stacked books, watched tv shows I tivo’d, surfed the internet, pinned some shit, and made four hats. Procrastination 1000, Work 0. I will eventually get to the work stuff…probably at 11, and then I’ll get up at 5 am to do some more, because as my fellow baby snatchers know, the night before court is one restless night. No matter how solid your testimony is, no matter how much you have prepared, if you have to be at court, it’s usually because you are about to make one of the parties unhappy. And baby snatchers are disliked enough without having to deliberately make people more miserable. That’s not to say what I do isn’t necessary, and in the interest of keeping kids safe, but it’s never like anyone is all like…”hey, it’s CYS, hey how ya doing? Good to see you, I was just saying, I wish CYS would come by and visit, and uncomplicate my life” “oh we’re going to court? And you are going to testify against me and argue why my kids aren’t safe in my care? Well, come on in and let me bring you some cake!” So anyway, that’s why I will be up all night, tossing and turning – already I’ve got the burning knot in my stomach – and I actually enjoy testifying. I can only imagine what it is like for my co-workers who are uncomfortable with it. At least I now have a computer that has all the necessary keys present on the key board and isn’t possessed, throwing the cursor around wherever it wants and devouring whole manuscripts never to be recovered from the hell files again.

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Anyway, I was pretty fired up this morning when I realized that if I touched my computer I might be required to work, that I decided to wait a little and see if the passion subsided. As those of you who have delighted in my work for the last couple years know, I love to watch the Sunday morning political talk shows – specifically Meet the Press, and Face the Nation. If you have read this blog long enough, you will also know that I am a liberal of the worst kind…an uber bleeding heart socialist who believes that the wealth should shared in this country, guns are unnecessary, death penalty is inhumane, people come in all shades, sizes, languages, belief systems, gender identities (or not) and love who they love, kum-bi-yah (fill in the rest of the typical derogatory references to my political ideology here). I am also able to see past “belief systems” and see the person, which is why, despite my super left leanings, I also have a number of conservative friends who love me and I love as well. OH SHIT, I forgot to say I’m also a feminist with minor in women’s studies and a thesis on Feminism in the Colonial Period, which also makes me an intellectual elitist. For those of you still reading after this disclosure, I should also add I am fat and poor in material wealth, and also non-christian. Whew.

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So back to Meet the Press. The recording artist,Will.i.am, was on Meet The Press today. He’s a big supporter of the power of education to change lives. He has his own foundation. Of course all the political shows were heavy with people of color due to that nut job Sterling, but Will.i.am was not playing into it. He asked the politicians on Meet the Press, why does our country not care about making our children the smartest in the world and emphasizing things like project based learning. Then the politicos would open their mouths, and based on their political leanings, would blame the lack of funding for education by the Right or the stomping on State’s Rights by the Left. Of course, Obamacare is also to blame. And the Christian Coalition.

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Now, I suppose you’ve dozed off by now, but I will continue writing. Because here’s what I found fascinating. Will.i.am’s only question was why are we doing it, not who is to blame, and if we really want to foster American’s exceptionalism, why is it that we don’t capitalize on American creativity, and make it easier for our own citizens to get solid educations and hands on learning? He asked if we all believe in the same thing, then why don’t we do something to make it happen? And that’s when the light shone bright on how screwed up our nation is and why we border on the edge of the decline of Western Civilization. No one walks their talk. I find it hard to believe that every Republican politician believes in his or her heart that abortion is evil, we should let poor people starve, and that God should be forced into our education system. Nor do I believe that every Democrat believes that guns are the root of all evil, we should never say the word God in public and that socialism is the only answer. Yet, once we elect a “democrat” or a “republican” – they have to toe the party line and object to anything the other party asks for. No more acting for the good of the electorate. Make sure you don’t act outside your limitations. Don’t live your beliefs, adopt the beliefs of your party. And of course, it once again made me lose hope that anything will ever change, as the questions continued and each politician in turn, didn’t answer the question, but said why the other political party was foiling all of their ideas. And so another day, week, month, passes in America, and teachers are forced to teach kids to take tests, and try to squeeze actual learning and creativity in and around the indoctrination. Sigh. I did however, enjoy the jokes from the White House Correspondents Dinner, and yes, I am a science and political nerd. Add that to the list.

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I have so many more things that have been brewing in my brain to write about, and were stymied by following rules. Not that it wasn’t a good idea to start with, and I learned some new words, but 26 letters, that’s a lot for one month. While I have your attention however, or if you just skipped to the last paragraph to pretend like you read this, I encourage you to go to iTunes and download Ryan Young’s Anxious and Angry podcast. In episode 4, he interviews P22, the California mountain lion with mange from eating poisoned rats. I wish I would have emailed a question, to find out why they call him P22, and not ML22. Seriously though, its a great podcast, with very interesting discussions it’s swell being able to listen to Ryan talk with his guests and find that their lives are not entirely different from our own. It’s also quite effective in calming you down when you want to explode with rage at coworkers. Not that I ever would, but sometimes I am seething on the inside, and I wonder if they can hear my thoughts. Or if sometimes my thoughts are actually coming out of my mouth in a mumbly sort of way. So go download it. You can do it here. You should probably buy something on the website too. I mean, he went after a mountain lion with mange to try and reunite it with its family. That should make you buy a shirt. And be careful with the box, because there may be a note inside that you might almost recycle because when you tore the box open to get your shirt and flexi out, you weren’t paying attention. (Thanks for the note Ryan! – I will let you know if the flexi did its job in July – Harsh Realms is one of my favorite songs from Heart Burns btw) And there’s a link to the Anxious and Angry website on the right sidebar too. Just in case you forget to go here.

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Time to get my life together for work tomorrow…here’s a picture of the flexi and the awesome note I almost missed – I would have take a picture of the shirt too, but it’s currently in the spin part of the wash cycle…

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Oh, and before I forget, I believe the birds nesting outside my window must be eagles – they came swooping and screeching down this morning…definitely not sparrows.

 IMAG0092The almost lost note and the healing flexi disc

 IMAG0088ZOE_0006-004two of the 4 hats I made  – these went to a baby shower.


Kantikoy Komodo Dragons. Keraunoscopia. Kickie-wickie

Sentences using today’s vocabulary words.

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Last night was a great night for keraunoscopia.

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Some times listening to music make me kantikoy.

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Komodo dragons are really cool reptiles with supersharpteeth that tear things apart and have poison saliva.

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Is that really his kickie-wickie?

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Thus ends your vocabulary lesson for today. Write these words ten times each. There’s a test.

thsexy komodo dragon


and you came here looking for justice…

Justice? Not Tonight.

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Miss me?

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Well miss no more, I’m back.

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I did the unthinkable. I went to one of those rent to own joints, and put $100 hard earned dollars down (which probably would be better applied to one of my many overdue bills, but true to my grasshopper spirit, I threw it down on a computer) on this here ‘puter. It’s still just a windows based lappie, not the highly coveted macbook pro which I wanted ever since I got my master’s degree, but we just have to keep that dream alive. I’m a bit rambly tonight, since I am in a ridiculous amount of pain for the last two days – multiple tablets of make-the-pain-go-away-opiates have done nothing to take it away. And in case you have trouble remembering what that pain actually feels like for me, it’s like a mole is burrowing through my femur. Or like I am a magician’s assistant in some bad magic act and the guy with the hat is trying to saw me in half, except it’s the middle of my thighs and the saw is way too dull and trick isn’t working out right. Or like my thigh is being gnawed on by a komodo dragon. Oh wait, not that, because komodo dragon spit would paralyze me, and at this point, that would feel awesome.

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Sorry, none of this is j related.

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And you came here to read me ranting about justice. And I’m not. And I won’t be. Why you ask? Not because justice doesn’t warrant a rant from me, but because as I was playing with this new lappy, I loaded some pictures from one of my more recent zoo trips. I think this one was my birthday trip – and I found some pictures of the jacob sheep. What is a jacob sheep? I’m not sure. I’ll google it later. (so can you – I’m not going to tell you about it and ruin it for you) I’m just going to show you pictures. And tell you that I believe this sheep was often mistaken for a devil in early cultures. It’s the horns. I don’t know if this is actually true or not, but I’m pretty sure that I am entitled to my own theory about these things. I mean if whole groups of people can buy into the theory that dinosaurs never existed and that the earth is only two thousand years old, then I can come up with my own theory about what influence jacob sheep had on religious beliefs of people I’ve never studied.

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My theory is at least based on some sort of evidence. If you look at certain pictures of the devil/demon, it has horns similar to the jacob sheep. Some even have hooves like it. Or even wool. It’s kind of like a celebrity look-a-like photo, except that I’ve never seen a devil in person, but I have seen a jacob sheep, so I am sure at least one of these things is real. (I have, however, seen tasmanian devils, and the Shenandoah Valley Blue Devil, because she lives next door to me). The evidence is right here:

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See how these devil pictures are nearly identical to the pictures of the jacob sheep? Hard to tell the two of them apart. I was tempted to label them but I wanted to see if you could figure out which were which on your own.

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So now that you are schooled on the jacob sheep, you can go to the Philadelphia Zoo to see them. I am sure they are also in other zoos, but I have not been to any other zoo recently, so I can only authoritatively state where I know they are. They also have red pandas there there. But no elephants.

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It seems that my body is finally shutting down, and my eyes aren’t staying open, despite the pain, so I must be on my way to bed. I don’t want to fall asleep with the new laptop in my lap, because then it would slid off and break and I would be wandering around lost again like I was the last two weeks. For those curious about what I got, it’s a HP laptop with a touch screen. And it has THREE WORKING usb ports and ALL the number keys. And a really nice keyboard feel. And windows 8. And it’s quiet. And if I pay it off in 120 days, then I just pay the normal cash price, which is 1/3 of what the coveted mac book pro would cost me.

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Some new J words before I go: jactitation, jettatura, jobbernowl, jumart, and…

jentacular.


Hwyl

Hwyl is the emotional state capable of arousing intense eloquences.

Let’s see if we can achieve that here. I’ve already written a few paragraphs and then deleted them. Not happy or hopeful enough.

So let’s talk about home. Because lately I’m thinking a lot about what home means. I have a house. Well I rent a house. A big house. For me and my son. We’ve lived here for almost ten years. It still doesn’t feel like home. It’s a building, like a storage unit where we sleep. It’s never felt like home – always a temporary stop in finding home. It’s in my home town. Near my dad’s house. Where I grew up, and never felt like home. Just another place to keep my stuff temporarily. I’ve never really lived anywhere that felt like home. And weirder still, when I dream of home, it’s an ocean. A beach. Not a house. A small beach, with crashing waves. Maybe I’m a former elephant seal. Or walrus. Who knows? But home is an ocean. But for now, home is a box. With things in it. And most of these things were bought to try and make it a home.

Yesterday, when we were driving home, we were behind an airstream trailer. I told Andy that the airstream was my dream home if I couldn’t have a little stone cottage near the beach. Because I don’t know what it means to stay in one place. I’m a nomad who is stuck. Home isn’t meant to be a place for me but a feeling. And I haven’t found it yet.

So h is for home. And the hope I’ll someday find one.

 

and because you are waiting for them:  hadeharia, haslot, helminthology


glaumless. gormless gowk.

Clearly, I struggle with this idea of the alphabet. Or maybe my problem is counting. Or maybe in my alphabet there are two “f”s. Who knows, but now, we will move on to g. I apologize for either my inability to count to six, or my inability to recall that the seventh letter of the alphabet is g, please forgive me.

I can’t really think of a g topic. I mean there’s the mundane things I could write about: good, glee, Godzilla. Grunge.Gophers. None of those speak to me today. So I turn to my source of unusual words: The Phrontistery. Amazing lists of words that I can use in this challenge. Like today, when I cannot think of an appropriate topic. So we will gambol gadarenely into an examination of some g words that you would think mean one thing, but their definition is something entirely different. Unless of course, I become inspired by some other g topic in the midst of this post, which will result in me abandoning this plan, because I am a freaking gadfly.

Oops. It happened! God. I will write about God. Curiously enough, Microsoft auto capitalizes God when you type it. (it also auto-caps Microsoft, coincidence? Perhaps.) I promise not to rant too much on this topic, and I will provide some other g words at then end, okay?

So anyway, I haven’t been watching a lot of tv lately, except for three seasons of Game of Thrones, because I am a geek like that. But I did watch a Today Show interview of Bill O’Reilly who wrote some book about Jesus that he thinks should be used in schools to teach about the historical impact of Jesus in the formation of the United States. Now, I could be wrong (but I rarely am) but I do not believe that the native peoples practices Judeo-Christian religion. That was imposed upon them. And that the founders were not all Judeo Christians. I believe some were staunchly anti-theists. And while Judeo-Christian religious themes are prevalent in the development of declaration and constitution, I distinctly recall there being a very clear statement in the Bill of Rights that Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. So why do nut jobs like Bill O’Reilly, who are supposedly knowledgeable about our government, get it so wrong? Yes. There are no doubt a lot of Christians in this country. I have no doubt that many of them are good people. But I don’t know that many of them understand their God. Because I’ve read the Bible. Not just parts. All of it. And the God Christians drag out to support the many things they find offensive or against their values would not be the same God that is in the bible I have. I don’t know where they get their dude, but the god I read about is loving, and accepting and inclusive. That’s why I like this pope Francis guy. He seems to get it. And is humble. And likes poor people.And walks his talk. If there’s been a pope in the last few centuries that is close to what Christians consider their representative of God on Earth, this guy is it.

I used to be Catholic. I was raised that way. I remember sitting on the steps to the second floor on a Sunday morning arguing with my mom about going to church. My position was, why do I have to go to a church that has so much gold and give it money when they could melt that gold and help a mom in Africa with twins feed them so she doesn’t have to choose one to die. The response was you will go to hell if you don’t go. I was willing to risk it. And now, I’m not Catholic any more. Oh I love ritual, don’t get me wrong, but I hated the thought of having to go and listen to someone tell me they needed my money to feed the hungry when African babies were dying and things were not exactly flush in our house either.

I don’t believe in God anymore. I believe in energy. I believe in positive and negative energy. I believe they have to be in balance. I believe we are all connected. I believe we all have an impact on each other, and I believe we are all responsible for each other. I believe we make choices every day, that can make life better or worse for ourselves and those around us. And the consequences or rewards for those choices are the outcomes of those choices. I also believe when we die, our energy doesn’t disappear, it just takes a new form. I believe those whose bodies expired are still with us, either in another body, or in energy around us. And I believe I am stuck in the situation I am in until I learn the lesson I need to learn. That’s my “God”. I suppose it would be easier to believe that someone else is orchestrating all of this for some ultimate purpose, but I would then have to believe they are a sadist. I prefer not to believe that someone/something would allow suffering, pain and sorrow for no other reason that because they want to punish millions of people for a bad choice made by some supposed first woman.

Gelastic – think it means gel? Elastic? Nope, means pertaining to laughter.

Gibbet – part of turkey or chicken? A bib? Nope, gallows.

Glossoid – glossy? Nope, like a tongue.

And that’s the letter g.


facula. floricide. fabulous!

It’s been a rough day. Week. Hell, decade. I’m tired and I want to crawl in a hole and sleep for days. Alas, that’s not an option. But I was talking to one of my mom’s today, and I was doing that life coaching thing I do so well for everyone but me and I told her the same thing I tell everyone about feeling good about yourself. Make a list. Write down your fabulousity. Read that list, add to it, and remember every day how amazing you are. I don’t do that shit often enough. And I know some of you reading this don’t do it either. At all. So get your paper and pen, or crayon, or use blood, it’s your list. No, seriously. Go get it. I’ll wait. I mean you can use the computer if you want, word, or open office or whatever. Do they still make Microsoft works? Are you ready? All of you? Because I am going to help you make your list. It’s an interactive blog today! We will make a list together. Ready?

#1. You are beautiful.   Yes, you. (applicable to all genders) Every day, someone looks at you and loves you more than you can imagine. Yes, you. Okay, it might not be the person of your dreams, or secret crush, but to someone, you are undeniably beautiful. Inside and out. And every day you deny that to yourself, you hurt that person who believes in you. So stop it now, and accept you are beautiful. Let it shine. And here’s a secret: that person, is probably persons. Multiple people see the beautiful you.

#2. You are uniquely talented. It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe it. You give good hugs. Or your sarcastic wit is the highlight of the day for someone who might never speak to you. Or you play an instrument or write poetry or make bracelets out of rubberbands. Or eat crayons. You are unique. Even if you look like everyone else.Even if you don’t believe in yourself. Someone does. I do. I know every person reading this has some talent that I am envious of. Something I can’t do. Like make brownies, or pancakes. Or keep a clean house. You might think it’s the boringest thing in the world, or common, but someone is in awe of what you take for ordinary.

#3. You are a good friend. Maybe not mine, but someone’s. Someone would have a huge hole in their life if you weren’t there anymore. You may not even know it, or know how much you mean to someone, but they do. And it may have been the smallest kindness ever, but in some moment you made a difference, and you changed a life. Feels pretty awesome, doesn’t it?

#4.You’re strong. I know it doesn’t always feel like it. In fact, if you are like the rest of us, some days you feel like the weakest human alive and beat yourself up for not being as strong and resilient as person x. But somewhere, someone has looked at you and saw you as strong as inspiring. It’s true. Just because no one made a movie about you doesn’t mean you aren’t a hero. So keep up the good work!

#5. You are intelligent. Yes, it’s true. You’re reading my blog, so clearly you have exquisite taste, a fine eye for brilliant writing and the good sense to read this. All markers of an extraordinary mind. So congratulations, you are extraordinary.

See how easy that was? I could continue, but just like when you are learning to ride a bike, eventually the training wheels have to come off. So little birds, I’ll get you started on the next one….

#6. I am….

It’s really quite simple. You will struggle getting started (at least I did) but once you get going, you’ll find great things about yourself everywhere.

And now, I find myself reading hit the hay. Like I said, it’s been a rough day. And it’s heading towards tomorrow. Which will be a challenge as well. I know you are anxiously awaiting my challenge posts daily and I am behind, but my lappy is in rehab, getting a new video chip,( if that’s really what’s wrong) and I am lost without her. She is due to return next week. She was almost home yesterday, but then had a relapse, or a misdiagnosis. So for now, you’ll just have to hang in there with me, and hope it’s curable.

Fairest and fortuitous dreams my friends, and keep working on that list.

And here’s your f words to look up:

Fatuous, firkin, forswink, fulgour


dreamers, dreams, desires

I’m saving the new words for later.

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As part of the this challenge, I’ve been reading other blogs participating in the challenge, and I realize so many people dream of being a writer, or a poet, or some other creative. There are over two thousand different blogs participating. They vary widely – some I read and follow, some are too busy, with things all over their page to keep my attention long enough to read the content, some I read and just don’t find anything that speaks to me. There are all kinds of writing styles – all kinds of skills. All kinds of dreams.

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This challenge leads to some great words – desideratum – something that is yearned for, greatly desired. It made me think about the crazy dreams I had when I was young, like owning every album every made, reading every book in the library – then the ones that I had as I got older – surfing, backpacking across Europe – and the ones I have now – having enough money to get oil and keep the electric on, hoping that one day I’ll be able to actually leave money in my savings account and the big one, my little stone cottage with an ocean view and a stone fence with a garden and corgi, and just enough money to live a simple life, swing on my yard swing, read books, and have friends come by to enjoy the view. I tried to write a bucket list the other day, and you know, it wasn’t very long. It’s not that I don’t have things I’d like to do before I die, it’s just not that there are any things I feel I will be cheated out of if I don’t do them. Weirdly enough, none of this makes me sad. But it is the only time I feel a yearning when I think of the cold, harsh Pacific Ocean. Unless you count those weird days when the breeze is perfect and sky is bright in a certain haunting way and you ache for something you cannot name, but are sure is missing. There is a word for that, and that word for that starts with S. That’s a mess of letters later on in this challenge, we’ll see if we get there. But for now, we’ll just go with desideratum.

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and in other curious words that begin with d…decrepitate, diablerie, dririmancy and today’s word for this photo!

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dasyure

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 Tasmanian-Devil-iamgescarn_roo

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until I return later, to dazzle you with the power of the letter e.


bromatology, babysnatching, Buffy, buteonine

two days, two entries.

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I think I’m going to at least make it to p so I can discuss pangolins.

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Today’s blog is brought to you by the letter b (and in honor of that, a poem I wrote with b words is here)

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and the number nine. But no one cares about numbers. Poor numbers. They should just go off and die.

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Today I will discuss baby-snatching and Buffy. What do baby-snatchers like me, and Buffy, slayer of vampires have in common? Well for one, we can both be considered protectors of good, defenders of innocents. Buffy slew the undead, and baby snatchers sometimes slay the people and things that nightmares are made of (of course, the Slayer had stakes and in later episodes, stockpiles of cool medieval looking weapons, and a snatcher’s toolkit is her (or his) intelligence, wisdom, and probably a court order.

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Then there’s the whole crisis of conscience thing. Buffy struggled with love and need to protect her loved ones, like her sister, when she discovered Dawn was the Key, and again, during the times of Dark Willow. We snatchers struggle with many ethical dilemmas, like having to sometimes remove a tearful child from their home because it isn’t safe. We sometimes have to make decisions that don’t always make us feel good, but are the right decision, like when Buffy leapt to her death as a blood sacrifice instead of dawn.

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You are probably thinking…wow, I never realized these striking similarities between Buffy and the business of being a baby-snatcher. That’s right, because I am making this up as I go along, and indeed, surprising myself with these revelations! But wait, there’s more…

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Buffy, as you know, lived over a hell-mouth. Going to the office feels like we are IN a hell-mouth some days. Buffy had to patrol all the time. Unfortunately, once you become a snatcher, you are, either consciously or unconsciously, always on patrol. I offer as proof the fact that for a few months, I could barely leave my house without locating a child in need of my intervention. (and like Buffy, my work is never done, you save one, and five minutes later, there’s another one needing saving).

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Still aren’t convinced of the parallels? Okay. Well, I can give you another. Or five.

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Buffy had a great, dry, sense of humor. An appreciation of the ironic. A tight group of trusted comrades. Me too. Especially the trusted comrades. For as hard as our job is, I have a mighty fine group of coworkers who have my back, and who can be counted on to bring laughter into the mix to take the edge off the unpleasant task of snatching.

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You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world… is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me.
―Buffy, Season Finale, Season 5 “The Gift”

 

 

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Buffy was not always fond of being the Slayer. Some days, I too, am not fond of being a snatcher, but like the Slayer, it is my duty. At least for now. And unlike the Slayer, I’m not required to do it until I die. And Buffy spent a lot of time in cemeteries. As do I ( this is a very personal comparison, it is my belief that many snatchers do not value the beauty of cemeteries as much as I do, although, I highly recommend them for their soothing silence)

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I suppose this makes little or no sense to you if you were not an avid fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the series, not the movie – I’m not a fan of the movie, but I do own the boxed collector set of all seven seasons of Slayer) so if you have never enjoyed the Slayer’s antics, I suggest you start now. Watch it once and take it at face value, and then watch it all several more times to catch the commentary on family, relationships, morality, ethics, and social commentary. Many a college paper I have written on themes in Buffy. It’s masterful and fun at the same time.

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And here’s some more b words, for your googling pleasure…

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brobdingnagian, bantling, bdellism (you will really like the last one)

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and with that my buddies, I bid you buenos noches and bye-bye.


100

This is the 100th entry on my blog. Before we get into the magnificent writing, I am known for, a little self promotion. To mark this auspicious occasion, I’d like to get to 100 blog subscribers, or followers, you know, people who click “follow” on my blog. I’m at 80, so getting 20 shouldn’t be ridiculously hard. So before I begin spewing today’s brilliant thoughts, I will shamelessly petition you, my kind and incredibly intelligent readers, to promote this humble blog to your friends, and ask them to click that “follow” button. Thank you for your cooperation in fulfilling my little wish here.

I thought long, and sort hard, about what I should write about in my 100th blog entry. What amazing insight I could share, what witticisms, what profound philosophical ponderings…. should I use alliteration? Metaphor? Allegory? Deus Ex Machina?

Nah.

Just a list. A list of why I write and who inspires me and what brings me joy. Honoring what brings me to today:

andy * friends * family * dad * rain * fire * spring * oceans * sylviaplath * eecummings * thunderstorms * poetry * laughter * children * indianfood * sarcasm * satire * alliteration * litote * buddhism * cancer * cemeteries * lemurs * roadtrips * blogging * photography * writing * coloredpens * ipod * futureplans * death * survival * sleep * madness * cut grass * storms * bridges * failures * sleep * owth * obstacles * successes * dreams * tears * giggling * thaifood * am! * thickwarmblankets * fireworks * technology * komododragons * flyingmonkeys * joydivision * joys * gratitude * death* longdays * goodmovies * philosophy * poverty * birth * happybabies * silence * toast * jessicadorman * plato * charliekupher * earthquakes * coffee * newexperiences *memories * time * longtalks * surprises * oldmovies * storytelling * woodchucks * art * jesusandmarychain * fastcars * loudmusic * goodhealthcare * greatvocabulary * depression * journals * miltkids * hugs * personalspace * greatcoworkers * senseofhumor * wonder * magic * destiny * icecream * kindness * nightmares * despair * loneliness * intelligence * peace  

I probably have 100 more. What I’ve found is that what I don’t write is sometimes as cathartic as what I do. And I like it. I write what I write, and it’s both defining and liberating and it’s kept me from the edge more than once. Thanks for traveling with me.

I hope I write 100 more – there will be at least two because don’t forget, it’s almost time for the A-Z challenge. You won’t be sorry.

5e25fff94bd6588096341935594983f1It’s not its – get it right ecards.


I Suppose This Means We’re Breaking Up

 

I am so sorry for the giant image of my face in your feed. I corrected it.

 

I didn’t want it to end this way. I would change if I could. But alas, you came into this hoping for one thing, and now you have to deal with this. It’s probably because I am feeling all snug in my blankie, belly full of the yummy chicken tacos my son made, and feeling, for a moment, one with the word. or world. I meant world.

Or I may just be suffering from a psychotic break.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know I plan to do another of these blogging challenges. We all know how committed I get to these things, I mean, look at how well I completed the last one. I did one before? you ask. Yes, and clearly I was so successful at it, you had no clue. So I understand if you think I am succumbing to peer pressure (I’m not) or limiting myself (not really) or even, gasp, going to be boring! (never). I just thought the idea of blogging once a day with a theme of a specific letter harkened back to my failed poetry series that started with B, and ended just one poem later, with D. If you feel the need to point out that the alphabet does not begin with B and that B is not followed by D, but by C, you don’t know me well or you would know I reject your oppressive alphabet paradigm. However, I will embrace the common alphabet for this challenge. I will write consecutive blogs using the letters of the alphabet in the order they were drilled into your little malleable toddler brains, when you could not voice your opposition to standardized learning. Yes, I will conform.

You still have time to flee, if you must. It doesn’t start until April 1st. I would encourage you to stick around, because I like words. And stories. So maybe stick around for A, and B even. If we make it to K, well, let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.

Goodnight my little friends. I look forward to your approbation. (A word, HAH!)


239 Miles of Thinking (and Some Loud and Terrible Singing)

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It has been an emotionally draining week. It ended with my monthly road trip to Philadelphia and back, which is usually highlighted by the trip to the Asian food bar at Wegman’s. But even a box full of curried lamb and pot stickers have done little to lift the weight of world that’s settled onto my shoulders.

However, armed with my new trusty ipod shuffle loaded with several of my favorite bands (heavy on the OWTH, AM!, Fur, The Go Set and Pennywise but completely devoid of any Elliott Smith songs because it’s spring and Elliott Smith should only be listened to on cold rainy November days or if someone kills your puppy and eats it) and plenty of time spent driving in circles because all though it is alleged that Benjamin Franklin laid out the streets of Philadelphia in a neat grid form (LIES, ALL OF IT LIES) I was able to be alone with my thoughts for most of the day. (and again, thanks Jim Tanner, for giving me the wonderful shuffle to let me have music back in my life).

So there I was, sunroof opened, hopelessly turned about in North Philly, my phone GPS always two steps behind my current locations (aka being completely useless, as were my mapquest maps). Annoying those around me with my glorious alto voice, I kept returning to the events of the past few days that have left me feeling defeated, and basically like a desiccated corpse. It’s been a really rough week. So I tried thinking happy thoughts, because the job frowns on my driving around with a water bottle full of vodka and cocoa, at least on work time. I feel it is very important to share many of these valuable and fascinating thoughts with you, gentle reader:

  1. Dead skunks are the only true sign of spring. The poor fellows awaken, wander onto roads everywhere, and die. Their death is the sacrifice that brings on spring. Not robins. Not geese. Not onion snow. Skunks. You read it here first.
  2. There are too many drivers on the road that do not understand the purpose of marking lines on the road. The speed limit is a suggestion; lane lines are a rule. Stay in your own lane. If you can’t drive a large vehicle and keep it in your very ample lane, buy a fiat. And reenact the commercial.
  3. There must be a subliminal message in reality tv. Like ice cream, or irish soda bread, it gets in your blood and some how you can’t look away. Unless it has to do with duck calls or Kardashians. Then you must avert your eyes. Or you will turn to a pillar of artificial sweetener.
  4. Kid hugs can cure a lot of bad things. I’ve hugged as many little people this week that would allow it and not make me look like some sort of creeper. However the innocence of little children should be distilled and sold in tablet form. It kills a lot of the bad mojo that grownups cast off around me.
  5. A kid climbing a lingering snow bank on their way to school in the morning will always make me smile.
  6. I feel like there are far too many drivers from Quebec on the roads. Is there no fence being built to keep these Canadians out? (not all Canadians, just those who drive, from Quebec).
  7. If you have a car that is designed for driving fast, either drive it the way it was built to be driven or follow the instructions in number two, but buy a ford escort. No sense in wasting a fine italian car. And when I blow by you, don’t get all offended. You’re the slowpoke. I have things to do.
  8. This has been bothering me for days. If you open a Tattoo shop and you call it “Good Vibrations” and have a Jamaican theme, I have several issues. First, I would expect you to be from Jamaica. Second, if you are from Jamaica, and you have a tattoo shop, I would suspect that you probably enjoy the ganja. If you are from Jamaica, and enjoying the ganja, you are probably not going to be very successful with the whole tattooing thing, because while your creativity would be enhanced, there’s always a fear that your mind is going go from pretty unicorn with flower to cheeseburger and gravy fries, and I would hate to end up with a unicorn that’s made from french fries on my arm or leg.

Okay, all that thinking made me tired, but before I go, I finally came up with an idea for my 2 year cancer free tattoo (which was supposed to be my one year, but I couldn’t settle on a design that would incorporate all the ideas for honoring everything that pulled me through that dark time). Really the only reason I’m getting another tattoo is because everyone in the oncology department always asks if I have new ink, and perhaps a new tattoo will make them forget to stab and scrape at me next time. Of course, it will likely end up being a 5 year anniversary tattoo, because we all know how good I am at doing things a timely manner. Speaking of which, I guess I should take the Christmas tree down sometime before Easter.

Bon soir, mes amis, I have much to do when I wake up at noon tomorrow. Maybe even take down the tree. Or at least, take off some ornaments.1620960_10152080010107739_104095422_n

PS. You know those stories about how people see feather or dimes on the street as a sign from a dead loved one. Well, a few months ago, I was musing in the car, and I thought, probably out loud, that if my dear dead friend Joey really could send me a sign, he should send a cardinal or maybe an owl. I forgot about it for a while. Cardinals are not uncommon here, but you don’t often see them near the highway, owls usually aren’t out during the day. Anyway, I’m speeding along today, and swoosh! Here comes a crazy kamikaze cardinal headed for the grille of the car! I don’t know how it lived, but I laughed out loud, because that was clearly a sign. I am just glad it didn’t hit the car because I drove around with the last dead bird in my grille for days until Andy got it out. So JC, I know you’re out there, so the next sign I need is a small stack of hundreds, k? And don’t throw them at the car, just set them on the seat.

Now I bid you a fond adieu! Time to fall asleep watching Dexter! or read. I probably should read.


And the Answer Is…

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No Malignancy found. Just inflammation, blood and fluid. See you in June, for your 4 mo. check up.

She lives!

Thanks for all the good thoughts.


Hooker on the Bus

Yep, I know you only clicked on this entry because who doesn’t want to read about the hooker on the bus. And you are now only sentences away from reading this delightful vignette, but first my bloglings, how are YOU? Thing been going well? Happy it’s February? File your taxes yet? Tired of the snow? Read any good books?

 

Well now that pleasantries are out the way, let’s talk about me.

 

Since contracting the plague, it’s been a rough go of things. It is likely that most of my workmates and I all contracted the dreaded H1N1, commonly known as the swine flu, and not the black death or Ebola virus. Kinda took the glamour away from being ill, but at least I know I won’t bleed out of every orifice. And except for continued wheezing that often makes me think there are people talking in another room and the sporadic nausea that appears out of nowhere, I believe I will live. Which, considering the events of the last week or so, at times seemed like a mixed blessing.

 

Speaking of living, I found this amusing. Took a lot of pressure off for the next 50 years. Now, now, this all leads up to the hooker on the bus story, relax. It’s not that far off.

http://www.alternet.org/100-things-you-honestly-dont-have-do-you-die?page=0%2C2

 

Anyway, Andy managed to swerve to avoid an accident two weeks ago tomorrow. Resulting in his own little accident, that took out a tire and drove the wheel of the car back into the wheel well. Of course, rather than driving the car home in its crippled condition, he drove to a friend’s house in the opposite direction, leaving the car there. Which probably should not have been driven, because of all the grinding and popping and wobbling the wheel was doing. Which according to the tow truck driver was actually, undriveable, except of course for Andy. For days. A week even. This effectively made us carless once again. Between plague, weather and other sundry hurdles that I needed to surmount in order to get a rental, we were carless for a week. So being confined to my sickroom and unable to go to work actually worked in my favor for once. Car’s now in the shop, and will only cost about $500 to fix, which while a hefty sum, is far less than I feared it would. But needless to say, the stress of no car added to my suffering, because had I had Ebola, I would not have been able to drive to the ER to die there. All I could think of was “please don’t let me die in Pennsylvania. In the winter. Without having swum with trapped, tortured dolphins who are forced to interact with humans.” But as with all of the trials and tribulations in my life, it also opened the door to those other great moments in my life, like…

Hooker on the bus.

The day started out as any day in which you have no car and need to get to work early and can’t get a ride that early should. I decided to take the bus. Now, you might think of busses as a reliable means of travel, which they typically are in metropolitan areas. I don’t live in a metropolitan area. I live in Schuylkill County, the unspellable, unpronounceable named county where busses are only for the senior citizen set, because they can ride them free to and from the sad empty shopping malls that are one of the featured attractions of the area. All busses travel through the county to the beautiful multi million dollar bus terminal in Pottsville Pa that is supposed to be “THE transportation hub” of the county. It has a beautiful fountain. Nice chairs and benches. But don’t think you can buy a bus ticket or pass there. Or get change. What kind of bus station do you think this is? A practical one? Fools. That kind of bus station exists only in dreams.

 

So, unaccustomed as I am to having to take the bus, I review the schedule, and plan to take the 7:15 bus, which is the first available, and the only one that could get me to work before 9:30. Busses run on some arbitrary schedule here, and only run between 7am and 6pm and never on a Sunday. I should consider myself lucky that there is actually a bus that can accommodate my needs this morning. So I prepare for trip. I venture out into the winter – I even dry my hair because, well, aside from it being only 2 degrees, I won’t be able to use the car heater hair drying system I typically use in the morning. I make sure I have the two dollars it will cost me because I am not old enough to ride for free. And I scurry off to the designated bus waiting spot. And wait, because the bus is running late. You know, because you would expect the first bus of the day to be late.

 

I patiently endure the freezing cold, grateful to have no shelter to protect me from the wind, and thrilled to have arrived early so as not to miss the late bus. Finally, the bus arrives. I allow the suspicious senior citizens to board ahead of me, and deposit the fare. I sit close to the front, forgetting that on this bus, paying passengers are expected to sit in the back. Screw it. How many senior citizens need to go to the mall at 7:15 anyway? I suffer the stern looks from the elderly morning mall crew who wonder who this usurper is on their bus. I bump along on the bus, wishing I had my earbuds for my ipod but they are on my desk at work. We pull into the next town. One stop, two stops and then…

 

The magic happens.

 

I look to the curb at stop number 3. At first, I only see what appears to be a professional woman with a fur coat  waiting to board the bus. Of course, I’m not paying close attention, I’m just slightly amused with what appears to be another customer who ACTUALLY has to pay a fare, someone like me. Someone who has to take the bus to work today. How wrong I was.

 

The woman, who appears to be around my age, steps aboard. I don’t really pay much attention at first, but since she seems to be struggling and holding up the bus’s departure from this stop, (this has drawn the ire of the old woman with the pink blush stripes across her cheeks and drawn-on eyebrows who is now staring her down with fire-eyes because she might not get to Arby’s for breakfast as expected and have to sit with her back to the door because her other old hen friends got there first) I look over. That’s when it all comes into focus. First I noticed the beautiful fur coat, made of the finest red rabbits. That’s right, I said RED rabbits. It’s mighty warm, that coat. Sort of matches her red hair, but that’s more carrot like. And a wig. A wig that’s a bit askew. She deposits her change and steps toward the mostly unoccupied seats. That’s when I spot the shoes. Now, I’m not one to get caught up in fashion, but I know that when I see a pair of silver and clear acrylic six-inch heels that they do not fall into the category of business casual. I’ve seen those shoes in catalogs and I don’t mean Neiman Marcus catalogs. Those are working shoes. For dancers. Professional women.

 

Yes, the shoes caught my eyes first. Then the sun hit her. And like Catholics picture the rock rolling away from the tomb and Jesus emerging resurrected, Ms. Professional Woman exploded into a dazzling aurora of sparkle. When the sun hit her silver lurex leggings and the silvery sequins on her tunic style top, it was like a brook trout leapt out of the breeding pool and did a somersault in the noonday sun. Or like a glitter explosion at a preschool for kids with ADHD. It was like the planets aligned so that this woman’s walk of shame was on the catwalk at the what-not-to-wear fashion week. Only a blind person would not have noticed that she was not dressed for office work. I flashed back to the times I made that walk home after a wild night, shoes in hand and hoping no one that would tell my mom would see me. Unfortunately for this woman, everyone on the bus was now enlightened to her line of employ. I bit back my smile and hoped for her sake she didn’t topple into the aisle from her perch upon her heels when the bus lurched forward. This was better than the lady who wears the color coordinated prom ensembles. Not better than having someone board the bus in a panda costume, but still entertaining.

 

The bus ride continued without any more excitement. I arrived at my destination and pulled the cord to disembark. I thanked the driver and continued on my way. I waited patiently to cross the street to the office. Except people were staring at me. It was starting to piss me off. Finally, I dashed across the street, swiped my access card and opened the door. That’s when I realized that the professional woman had exited the bus behind me, and was standing on the corner all lit up in the bright winter sun like a cubic-zirconia encrusted peacock. And for a minute, I realized that however much suck my day ahead had in it, I had a brush with joy that morning.

 

So my friends, that’s the story. I hope you found it to be as enjoyable as I did. It took a boring bus ride to the next level. As I predicted, my compulsion to write has diminished, and I’ve been ridiculously tired since the attack of the plague. And I am angry at Phil and his six weeks of winter prediction. Here’s where he lives in case you want to go and, um, help him get his predictions right next year.

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Sleep well my pretties, I am off to dreamland. XO

 

PS. A friend of mine lost one of her sons today. Hug your loved ones tight. And say I love you. Even when it’s hard. You can’t say it enough.


A Night on Bald Mountain

Okay, so I feel compelled to write this evening, and not for my usual prattling on about cancer, but because I’m a bit reflective and well, anyone who dances in hamster costume finds a special place in my heart.

See, I was lamenting how TV sucks tonight. Not that I ever really focus on it, it’s usually just on in the background unless it’s a new season of Sons of Anarchy. Then I am compelled to sit perfectly still in front of the brain sucker, tuning out the world until the credits roll. Okay, so maybe I pay a little attention to Dance Moms, but TV isn’t my focus here, or not exactly. I decided to watch “So You Think You Can Dance” – typically I dislike these shows immensely, because really, I don’t really think like “America” does, so I don’t watch “Idol” or things like the “X Factor” or “America’s Got Talent”. So anyway, I put this on, and I’ve been drawn to it to stop and watch it uninterrupted for a few minutes. It’s moved me a few times, and probably not in the ways you would think. Part of it was the commercial for the Dove self-esteem programs – how 6 of 10 girls stop doing what they love because of self-esteem issues. I was one of those pudgy little dancers. And I remember how knowing I was quite a bit chunkier than the other girls I had to dance with, including my quite tiny little sister made me so ridiculously self-conscious at the ages of 5 and 6 that it made me want to not dance. That fear of being judged for being larger and wanting to dance has stuck with me for a very long time. I dance in the house, I actually love to dance, but I don’t in public. I used to…back in the days when I felt “thin enough” but since Andy was born, I think I’ve danced once or twice in public. Part of it is that I need to feel moved by the music, and as you may have noticed from the C-Monster playlist, what moves me is radically different than what you would hear in most places that have dancing.

The dancing thing was only part of it…I marvel at male ballet dancers (and figure skaters)…I am jealous of the precision and strength of their moves. I admire their beauty. There’s a fierceness in male dancers that is not often present in women, perhaps because women are encouraged to be graceful and delicate, and not strong and aggressive. Be the white swan, not the black one. I would have always been the black swan.

I guess part of what prompted this entry was that today I was walking down the street, rocking the bald head. (So okay, maybe this is C-Monster related.) I’ve been feeling both confident and terrified by not covering the bald head. I know it’s not necessarily attractive, or even cute to most people. But every time I walk out into public with my bald head, it’s an exercise in overcoming fear. It’s me telling myself to stop being afraid to be judged, to be exposed, to be okay in my own skin. It’s a personal challenge. It may look brave, but inside I am arguing myself to wear a bandana or a hat…to hide the bald head so that people will only notice how fat I am, and not that I am fat and bald. I pause here to ask you to please not feel compelled to tell me beauty is on the inside and all that stuff, I know it, and I tell myself it all the time, and I am really not looking for affirmation that I am a good person. What I am trying to do is exorcise the memory from my head of being a little oompa-loompa in my ballet tutu, to stop the voice of the older boy in the neighborhood who used to call me fatty all the time and tease me because I couldn’t beat him racing up the hill. And all the names I’ve been called because I was a bit chubbier than other girls. And the ridiculous thing I did to lose weight to look like everyone else, when I’ve never wanted to be like anyone else, So today, when I was walking down the street and two women (who were not really in a position to judge anyone) started laughing and commenting on my naked head while sitting in their car at the light, it made me 5 years old again. This does not mean that I will cover the head , or not go outside – I see all these people looking at me and trying to process the head, but it does remind me that I still have work to do on feeling okay about who I am, and what I look like. It also reminds me that I need to let that childhood shit go.

People have been telling much how they admire my strength and humor and positivity throughout this adventure with the C-Monster. That makes me feel good – no one really knows that the only reason that I do what I do just to make sure I can get up and leave the house and keep going forward, because I know only too well how easy it would be to stay in bed and eat cookies and ice cream (when I can eat, that it). There’s been more than one time when I’ve been driving to or from Hershey that I’ve thought…why am I even doing this? What’s the point? It would be so much easier to just floor this car into a tree (DISCLAIMER: I am not now, nor will I be suicidal – but I also believe that people lie when they say that they have never even considered what it would be like to not wake up some days when everything seems so hard…I am not going to be one of those people…I think about it, but I would never have the strength it would take to do something like that…that’s right I said strength. Most people say people who kill themselves are cowards or weak. I don’t, but as usual that’s another entry.)All that said, I usually find something that turns it around for me. It’s not easy, but I spend a lot of time trying. It is really special to know that I make other people feel better about things, but it really is a selfish journey…I do it because I HAVE TO DO IT. I know I’m not done doing whatever it is that I’m in this life for…I’ve still got lessons to learn. I’ll know when it happens, but it hasn’t happened yet.

Back in the day when I had to go sit with a therapist once in a while to get my happy pills, I used to tell her that my head is like a closet full of shoeboxes. They all have stuff in them. Some are there forever and will never be opened. Ever. NEVER. Some are waiting for the right time, and others have been empty, analyzed and put back for storage…nothing gets tossed because it’s all important to who I am. When a shoebox is ready for me to look inside, it will let me know. This was a shoebox. I’ve picked through it now. I’m still gonna rock the bald head. It’s very comfortable not having hair.

As I finish this, I ran through my head all the things that other people have to deal with that are much more difficult than my cancer. People with family members sick and dying, people who are all alone in the world, people who have to deal with hate from their own families because of who they love, people who are bullied and tormented daily to make some other person feel better about themselves (but does it really?). One of my little clients asked me why I wasn’t going to cover my head after I saw them. I told her no – and she asked me if I wasn’t afraid that people were going to say hey you’re bald… I told her I didn’t care what other people think, that I was okay with my bald head, and that anyone who wasn’t comfortable with it, well that was their problem. I like to think I left her a little stronger and more confident in herself; unfortunately today taught me all too well that no matter how strong and confident you might feel most of the time, no one feels that way all the time. When you expose the real you to the world, you find that there will still be insensitive people who find pleasure at your expense, but you don’t learn to get back up if you’ve never been knocked to the ground. So bring it on.

Now my lovelies, I must away to my farming duties. The life of a farmer is hard; I have to plant and harvest more rainbows. Tomorrow is Friday hoo ray hoo ray. The beautiful and lovely Lina is coming to visit this weekend, and I have three days to rest and relax before another work weeks hops in front of me. Buenos Noches.

PS. I’m still only at 32 email subscribers, and still no trip to Disneyland or Car from Ellen.

PPS. Turn up the volume and watch this…