Shaking the Tree

I'm so glad SOMEONE gets this.

2011-10-28T17:00:00.001-04:00

And so very sorry at the same time.

But trying to use willpower to overcome the apathetic sort of sadness that accompanies depression is like a person with no arms trying to punch themselves until their hands grow back. A fundamental component of the plan is missing and it isn't going to work.

And that, dear readers, is why I love baseball.

2011-10-28T09:03:00.005-04:00

I went to sleep when it was still 7-4 Rangers and I'm excited about what happened last night. Greenie's description made it for me: (paraphrased)"Bottom of the 9th, two on, two out...there were the Rangers, one strike away from a World Series championship, when David "Error in the 4th allowing a run to score" Freese knocks in a triple to tie the game (the Rangers were up by two before that). All the Rangers let go of the railing, deflated, and get ready to play more baseball."

To the 10th, where my favorite player of the series, Josh Hamilton (recovering addict and guy in the wrong place at the most horrible of times who threw a ball in the stands to a kid whose father reached too far over the railing to catch it and died of injuries therefrom) hit a two-run homer to put the Rangers ahead. The Cards get one back, but once more, they are down to their last strike. As the Rangers get ready to rush the field, Berkman bats in the tying run.

Enough excitement for you? There is no clock in this game; no prevent defense; no taking a knee. You have to execute every play to force every out. David Freese, with a walk-off homer in the 11th, bought his team 27 more. There is more baseball tonight, and I don't have to get up for work tomorrow.

Just another double entendre in the workplace...

2011-10-27T14:20:00.004-04:00

Probably shouldn't post while I can still feel the heat of my embarassment, but it's also part anger, and dammit, I shouldn't have to feel this way in any situation, let alone in a meeting at work.

We have team members in another city, and we have weekly meetings with video enabled so everyone can "be in the same room". Which gives us all the opportunity to see ourselves on TV. Today I was noting how far out my highlights have grown and made the comment that the only person who cared about the top of my head was my boyfriend, who is almost a foot taller than I am.

But a couple of the guys in the room stopped hearing me after "...my boyfriend" because they were laughing hysterically, obviously envisioning a sexual scenario in which my boyfriend would be seeing the top of my head. Their laughter was contagious, and I was horrified.

The thing is, there was a day when I would have had a come-back for that and I wouldn't have cared that we were in a team meeting, or that our boss was there with us. But as I learn more about rape culture and the patriarchy, I'm seeing that "harmless" jokes like that A) aren't appropriate in most situations and B) immediately objectify the woman being joked about.

Or am I just embarassed that I didn't think of a come-back quickly enough to use it - to take the power away from them? We joke around in our team meetings all the time. Is it just because I have a sexual assault involving fellatio in my past, or is it the bigger issue of sexual jokes at the expense of a woman? And would it be okay if I wasn't embarassed by it? Is it okay for our sexuality to be hinted at at work? In the company of only certain people? I don't consider sex "dirty" and am comfortable with the fact that I live in an animal body, but does that mean it's always okay to make jokes about it?

Child abuse/neglect in the US

2011-10-18T14:33:00.002-04:00

Over the past 10 years, more than 20,000 American children are believed to have been killed in their own homes by family members. That is nearly four times the number of US soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Every five hours, a child dies from abuse or neglect in the US.

...

I can't find words to follow those statistics. I had no idea it was that bad.

I love reading US news in other countries' media. This article is from the BBC; it asks some tough questions about how children are likely to fare being related to the state in which they're born. Texas and Vermont are contrasted - Texas is a low tax, low service state; Vermont is high tax/high service. According to the BBC, children in Texas are"... four times more likely to be incarcerated, and nearly twice as likely to die from abuse and neglect" as children in Vermont.

Of course, it's impossible to tease apart all of the factors at play in determining the likely fate of each American child. However, this article notes that, unlike the US, "...other rich nations have social policies that provide child care, universal health insurance, pre-school, parental leave and visiting nurses to virtually all in need."

At this point, I'd love to be able to present statistics on abortion rights in each state and proclaim that Texas is only interested in children before they are born. But it's not that simple. A summary of abortion regulations by state shows Texas to have less restrictive policies than most. I could try to use the Republican control of the Texas legislature as proof that the state's ultimate goal is to outlaw abortion altogether.

But, honestly? Who benefits from pointing fingers and assigning blame? Not the kids who are living with the abuse and neglect. The fact remains that we, as a nation, are failing our children, and at an alarming rate. When will we divert the funds necessary to fight that war?

Has Steve Jobs changed your life?

2011-10-07T11:35:00.005-04:00

I just had a somewhat heated conversation with some coworkers that started with the death of Steve Jobs. I work in IT, so it wasn't completely off the wall when one person admitted she'd teared up when she heard the news, but then she added, "He changed the way we live our lives!"

"He changed the way rich people live their lives, maybe," I responded. She asked, "Do you have an MP3 player?"

"Nope."

Our other coworker chimed in: "Are you saying I'm rich because I have an MP3 player?" Yes, I answered, and offered to show her where her yearly salary falls on the continuum of yearly salaries drawn by the planet's population. Anyone concerned with how to store their music collection is rich, I stated.

"I consider my iPod a mental health device," she laughed.

"Anyone who has the leisure time to worry about their mental health is rich," I countered. Am I being too extreme asking privileged people to recognize their privilege? How can anyone be a citizen of the world - forget the world; just this country, in the middle of this economic free-fall, and not understand just how rich we are? To be sitting on my butt in a climate-controlled building (horrific fluorescent lights and all), working on a computer, looking forward to driving my car to my home where I have food and furniture and clothing...sure, I wish I had more space for more stuff and there are plenty of big-ticket things I hope someday to be able to afford (including an iPad), but I am not confused about how wealthy I already am. I am grateful every day for what I have.

Steve Jobs did make personal computers ubiquitous in our culture, no matter what OS they happen to run, so yes, he did change my life. But I am a rich person. There are billions of people who will never touch a device Steve Jobs helped to create, and their lives are no less valuable than mine.

Oops...I Did It Again

2011-10-06T11:23:00.003-04:00

After swearing I would never refinance, I'm refinancing. The woman was straightforward in answering all the questions that I had (at the what must have been excruciating for her pace of one per day) - Are there upfront costs? Closing costs? Penalty for early payoff? Can I see an amortization of the proposed loan next to my current one? This is a fixed rate, right? Why is my current balance so different from the starting balance on the proposed loan? Ad nauseum.

All of the answers were the right ones - I get a slightly lower monthly bill, I pay less interest over the life of the loan, and my house will be paid off more quickly. Plus equity will accrue more quickly, which makes my renovation dreams slightly more likely to come true.

There's got to be a catch here somewhere. I hope I can afford whatever it turns out to be.

A post about grief and love and abiding

2011-10-04T16:21:00.002-04:00

On August 23rd, one of my dearest friends lost her best friend - her brother - to suicide. Trav was many things - a son, a father, a lacrosse player...and an addict. He struggled with demons from the time he was a teenager and never could completely make his peace with them. I stood close to his family and my friend and just let them ache...because it was the only thing I could do.

Then I started reading about Katie Granju's son who died after a severe beating and a drug overdose. Henry was a son, a brother, an artist, and an addict. I've read Katie's blog documenting her grief and followed it down the rabbit hole to the blogs of other parents who have lost children. And I've tried to comprehend the pain that these parents have to live with for the rest of their lives.

There are many reasons I don't have children and I know that no matter how much I love the children in my life, I can't know the love their parents feel. I can't know what it is to have part of you taken away forever and still have to breathe afterward. The raw emotion is profound and humbling. I am not a parent, but I am someone's baby, even at 42 years old.

This post I linked in the title of this one is about families grieving for their lost members and remembering, and about how to go one living in the world, and about being compassionate with each other. Every single person you meet was a baby once, and that baby was vulnerable. That baby needed care and attention and love.

And still does.

May I learn to be willing to extend it.

Glad Kanelbullens Dag!

2011-10-04T11:59:00.005-04:00

Sayeth Wikipedia: In Sweden, the country of its presumed origin, the cinnamon roll takes the name of kanelbulle (literally: "cinnamon bun") and on October 4, "Kanelbullens Dag" (Cinnamon Bun Day) is celebrated in Sweden.

I can't celebrate this holiday enough.

162 games later...

2011-10-03T16:31:00.002-04:00

The Nats were only half a game under .500 and the Os didn't lose 100, so all in all, I guess it could have been worse.

Also...the weather?

2011-10-03T11:11:00.001-04:00

Still sucks.

What kind of fan am I?

2011-10-03T11:08:00.001-04:00

This totally wasn't me...until the last line.

THE BITTER BOYCOTTER
Team didn't make the playoffs. Perhaps it vaporized on the season's final day (Boston, Atlanta), or was mathematically eliminated last January (Houston, Seattle). Made loud proclamation to not watch a single minute of postseason action. This boycott lasts approximately 45 minutes.

Watching every game, still claiming to hate it. Writing angry message board comments about Tim McCarver. Remains obsessed with Jeffrey Maier.

I don't get me

2011-09-16T13:01:00.002-04:00

I've been reading Mamapundit for a few days now. I found her blog through Babble Voices, which I found through Amalah, who I've been reading since Snarkywood, which I can't link because it doesn't exist anymore.

Anyway.

I've been reading Katie Granju's blogs about her life, including the assault & overdose, hospitalization, and death of her son Henry, and her fight to bring the people responsible for the assault and for providing the drugs that helped kill him to justice. (There are lots of places to read Henry's story; google his name or search his mama's blog.) It's an incredibly wrenching story...not being a parent, I can't even imagine what it must be to have one of your children die. And to have people make unfeeling, ignorant assumptions about the worth of the life of a drug addict...I'm absolutely stymied by Katie's strength.

Yet it's the plight of this poor seal that makes me want to sob. Seriously. Really, me?

I am NOT ready for this weather

2011-09-16T08:55:00.003-04:00

I am no fan of cold weather to begin with, but I figured out yesterday that what I really dislike is changeable weather. I like Maryland summers; they can be relied upon to be hot in the morning, really hot during the day, and still pretty darn warm at night. Despite the fact that we are past Labor Day, I have four technical days of summer left, and am not ready for what greeted me as I left work yesterday.

Cold. Rain. Uck. (Is that the siren of the wahmbulance I hear?) I was goosebumpy walking to my car - I had no idea the temperature was going to drop ten degrees (and why is is that the ten degrees between 70 and 60 seem so much more extreme than the ten between 80 and 90? And let's not even talk about the ten between 60 and 50) or that the wind was picking up or that it was going to rain.

Wow. If this is my biggest problem this week, I am in great shape. This is why I can never work myself up into a really good whiny rant in print. My typing takes so long that I'm able to reflect on what I've written and give myself the "Really? That's what you're so unhappy over?" bit until I shame myself back into gratitude.

Now, Boehner's insistence that we give tax cuts and deregulation a try, since obviously Obama's ideas aren't fixing the economy? Oh, that I can get riled up behind. What do you think screwed the economy so badly to begin with, Einstein? You think those poverty numbers happened in two years? At least I'm pretty sure Boehner knows he's full of **it. Some of those Tea Party members really believe what they say, and that is really scary.

Got the Time

2011-08-29T14:24:00.002-04:00

I just realized that, not only are three of the clocks I look at most every day set to the wrong time, they're all set to different wrong times.

My bedside clock is about half an hour fast, my microwave clock (the one I use to know when to get out the door) is two minutes fast, and my car clock is about four minutes fast. It's a wonder I ever know what time it is.

Let it be known that...

2011-08-11T11:17:00.001-04:00

...nothing available for purchase in a retail establishment in my lifetime counts as "vintage".

Five Movies I Drop Everything To Watch

2011-07-28T13:25:00.006-04:00

I forget that when I don't have anything pressing to write about - and even when I do - there are always reliable go-tos. Specifically, other people's blogs. I believe I've already ~~ripped off~~ borrowed from a couple. Today's post idea comes courtesy of The Pioneer Woman, whom I've just started reading, so congratulations, me, on making it to 2008, Internet Time.

What was my point? Oh yeah - five movies I drop everything to watch.

1. The Philadelphia Story

Let's just ignore that whole misogynistic gender-role nonsense and get on with the good stuff, okay? "CK Dexter Haven! OH! CK DEXTER HAAAAAAVEN!" Greatest scene ever featuring both Cary Grant and James Stewart. Did you know the burp and response was ad-libbed? Perfection. And the lines: "The right time to make up your mind about people is never;" "Doggone it CK Dexter Haven! Either I'm gonna sock you or you're gonna sock me;" "We all go haywire at times and if we don't, maybe we ought to." Love.

2. Little Women

I'm cheating a little here, since I'll accept the Katharine Hepburn as Jo version, but prefer the Elizabeth Taylor as Amy one. Sidebar: How did I not know that was Janet Leigh? Oh yeah - I've never actually seen Psycho. Anyway, I re-read the book every few years and will always watch the movie. Mom gave me a copy of the when I was young and didn't understand why a person might wear one glove and carry the other - I'm still working on that one, truthfully. And I still have the book.

3. Gone With the Wind

Carol Burnett was my introduction to the green-velvet-curtains-as-dress scene, but I learned quickly to appreciate the original. (Burnett introduced me to Mildred Pierce, too; I really need to see her version again now that I'm more familiar with the movie.) The length of GWTW is a bonus - no matter where you come in, there's at least another hour to watch. The scene with the horse-drawn wagon under the bridge always gets me, not to mention the idea of eating before one goes to a barbecue. As God is my witness, I'll think about that tomorrow.

4. Moonstruck

"Rich as Roosevelt" has made a home in my regular speech, as has "you have such a head for knowing." I love this movie down to the shade of lipstick Loretta wears to the opera. Olympia Dukakis is brilliant as Rose, and for once, Nicolas Cage's overacting actually works for his character. I just wish more people knew what I was talking about when I yell for Chrissy to bring me the big knife.

5. Casablanca

It took me years to understand why Ilsa leaving with Victor was the right ending and I'm still not sure I completely agree. This movie's got it all - a great cast, great cinematography, great dialogue, and a great story. Even though you've heard the most famous lines thousands of times, they still work, and the expression on Rick's face while he stands on the train, looking for Ilsa and holding the rain-smeared letter, is a heart-wrencher.

On a different day, my top five might include Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, 12 Monkeys (I'm still trying to figure it all out, not to mention my favorite Brad Pitt role), or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Basically, sit me down in front of Turner Classic Movies and I'm probably content.

What is feminism?

2011-07-22T16:09:00.005-04:00

"Ignoring male rape not only neglects men, it also harms women by reinforcing a viewpoint that equates 'female' with 'victim', thus hampering our ability to see women as strong and empowered. In the same way, silence about male victims reinforces unhealthy expectations about men and their supposed invulnerability."

According to Sars, "feminism" is what it says it is in the dictionary: n (1895) 1 : the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes. I'm sure that includes the knowing that women are deserving of the same respect, as humans, that men are.

What about the knowing that people come in many and varied flavors and those don't fall down easily drawn lines of distinction? The knowing that who you love and how you love are between you and your lovers, because that you love is where God works? Because it isn't true that we're all the same underneath. The point is that we are all different and deserve to be treated with respect anyway. We all come from the same creator, whatever you believe that creator to be. Love makes us all precious.

An illustration of our national debt

2011-07-22T15:52:00.001-04:00

Our national debt, in convenient graphic format. That "enough for a great vacation" and "approximately one year of work for the average human on earth" describe the same amount of money is the ultimate WTF.

Flashback: Help Ferndale Early Education!

2011-07-21T11:43:00.001-04:00

I got a message from the teacher who proposed this project - it was completed! Yay! Thanks to all who helped - no donation's too small (well, I don't know if they process charges under $1, but you get my point) and every child helped is a victory.

One Cat. Cheap.

2011-07-21T11:22:00.002-04:00

It is not a good week over here Treeville. My aging cat, who has both thyroid and kidney issues, has decided that there shall be no sleeping while he is awake. I try to cut him slack, knowing it was me who decided to give him his medicine crushed up in baby food to avoid shoving it down his throat. However, it was never my intention to do it at four in the morning, which is when he's decided he's ready for his treat.

I also have to give him leeway as far as his living conditions go - he is not a cat who likes change, you see, and things have changed dramatically in his house. There's another person living in it. The cat loves this other person, but shows it by making a nuisance of himself ALL. THE. TIME. Especially when we, the humans, are trying to sleep.

I could just close the bedroom door - I'd have to rehang it first - but A) he's already vocal and B) did I mention his kidneys? He pees occasionally in places that are not litterboxes. It doesn't have to happen a lot for the memory to linger, if you know what I mean, and we've already got one room that's off-limits until the carpet is ripped out. I fear his retribution, is what I'm saying.

He's a terrorist, basically. Skilled in chemical warfare. He wins.

And I'm exhausted. I actually took a couple of hours off work yesterday to go home and take a nap before yoga. A nap. Before yoga. Which was a good thing, since we did downward dog into plank into upward dog back to downward dog at least 10 times. I don't think I would have made it without collapsing if not for that nap.

Tonight I'm saving strength for a conversation I'm not only not looking forward to, but have to drive 40 miles each way to have. Then there's the organizing and purging of stuff to allow for the aforementioned carpet removal this weekend - this weekend that I was supposed to be at the beach. That's my second beach trip this summer denied, if you're counting. And it's supposed to be over 100 degrees all weekend. Picture a face with two eyes and a straight line for a mouth right here.

I mean, I was looking forward to being away and being at the beach and spending time with my friend's family, but mostly? Three blessed nights of sleeping without the cat. I may go spend a night at Mom's just to get some rest.

We drink their milkshake

2011-07-13T15:44:00.002-04:00

Later, when the America wanted to snake the UNOCAL pipeline out of Turkmenistan, through Afghanistan to Pakistan, millions of dollars were given to the Taliban to let the America build the biggest sipping straw ever.

Henry Rollins might just be the sexiest, scariest man on Earth.

Henry Rollins: I am angry and curious. These two things propel me forward. I come from the minimum-wage working world. I have no illusions as to where I should have ended up. I have really nothing to lose, and so I go.

Yep.

From The AV Club

2011-07-12T16:08:00.000-04:00

I’ve always thought that cynicism is a disease of the young, contrary to what other people seem to think. I think when you’re young, it seems clever to be cynical, but once you get to about 40 or something, you start to realize that actually, things are even worse than you ever expected, so if you’re going to make it through this life, you actually have to be more positive.

Set List: Joe Jackson

I should have been there!

2011-07-11T13:49:00.003-04:00

I come from the same generation as Heavy Metal Parking Lot, the much-bootlegged documentary on drunk and stoned metal fans tailgating before a 1986 Judas Priest/Dokken show in Maryland.

I was on my way there. The guy that drove us didn't know where he was going and I wasn't paying attention 'til I saw the Woodrow Wilson Memorial Bridge. We got there in the middle of Dokken's set.

I am still bitter.

But. One of the best pictures of me ever taken was taken that night, before we left. (I don't have it on this 'puter, but will post it when I can get to it.)

The warm-up post before the wedding post (No, not MY wedding)

2011-07-11T11:09:00.003-04:00

Prince Wills looks way too much like my friend B. I'm going to be surprised one day when I see B with his actual wife, as I sort of imagine B as next to next in line for the British throne and vacationing on the left side of the pond.

Oh, Orrin...

2011-07-07T14:52:00.002-04:00

"I hear how they're so caring for the poor and so forth," Hatch said in remarks on the Senate floor Wednesday, in reference to Democrats. "The poor need jobs! And they also need to share some of the responsibility."

Really, Senator Hatch? Really? Does the phrase "you can't get blood from a stone" mean anything to you?

You know what, Senator? I understand your position. You were the first in your family to go to college and you worked your way up the occupational ladder until you got to the Senate. You've worked hard for what you have; why should you be asked to give more back?

And these poor people who won't get jobs - such laziness! I mean, everyone should be willing to work for less than a living wage, no matter how many children they have. Work two jobs if you have to!

I'm sure the fact that you are white and male didn't hurt you as you applied to college and for each job you've held. Not to mention that you were smart enough to avoid criminal charges in your youth. To avoid being diagnosed - or worse, actually afflicted - with a disease or disability.

You weren't born to old money, sir? So you were born on second base, then, and got batted in? Because make no mistake, Senator Hatch. Not everyone is born with the privilege from which you've benefited. What privilege? The privilege of being white and male.

Maybe poker is more your game. It was this analogy that really made me understand privilege, so perhaps it will work for you. Jack and John are playing poker. Jack doesn't know it, but the rules for John are different than the rules for Jack. It's very subtle and very hard to pick out, but over time, Jack has amassed a pile of money while John has much less. It's not that John is a bad player. The rules are different for John, and it's much harder for John to keep up. So hard, in fact, that John starts to wonder if the rules are holding him back.

After hours of playing this way, the dealer finally says "Hey! This isn't fair! You guys can't really compete with each other unless you're playing by the same rules." Jack, being a fair-minded man, says fine. Let's play by the same rules. Now we have a level playing field." John, also fair-minded, says "No, we don't. If you agree that the rules robbed me of the chance to keep pace with you, you must also agree that it's only fair to share what you've won so far with me."

Jack leans back in his chair. "But this is mine! I won it. We'll start playing by fair rules now, but it's not my fault the rules worked in my favor before. Why should I be penalized?"

You aren't being penalized, Mr. Hatch. You have more than you could ever possibly need. Neither you nor your children nor their children will ever have to worry about being one paycheck away from homelessness. They will never have to wear used clothing. They will never have to take showers at the Y. They will never know what it means to literally not know where their next meal is coming from.

But that's what happens to people who don't have your privilege. Whether it's the color of their skin, their gender, their background, or their physical ability, many people can't just get jobs. (I don't know whether you've noticed, but there aren't a hell of a lot of jobs out there. Trickle-down economics hasn't.) They can't keep up.

But you can, can't you? And it isn't your fault that the rules favored you. You just happened to be born in the right skin. Congratulations.

Wouldn't it be nice if you shared some of your good fortune?

There be Dragons here!

2011-07-07T13:39:00.002-04:00

Finally! A Dance with Dragons is here! Now all I have to do is wait for it to come out in paperback.

Help Ferndale Early Education!

2011-07-06T10:21:00.003-04:00

This is a project to which I donated back in April...there are three days and $123 left before the project expires. Every dollar helps!

Speaking of Clarence Clemons

2011-07-01T14:13:00.003-04:00

There's a reason that whenever I'm asked to fill in my location for an online profile, I enter "Baltimore, Jack". (Apparently I didn't do it on my profile here, which is obviously the exception that proves the rule [where's the eye-rolling smilie when you need it?].)

(It's been a weird week. Unanticipated explosions of temper and a shake-up amongst some of the people I treasure most in the world have left me a little post-stressy. We're all better without whatever ramblings I may have forced out of myself this week.)

Can anyone explain why...

2011-06-24T14:43:00.002-04:00

...when Bruce Springsteen sings "You ain't a beauty but hey, you're alright, and that's alright with me", I swoon, but when Sinatra sings "Your looks are laughable, unphotographable", I roll my eyes and skip to the next song?

(Yes, I'm doing my posthumous-Big Man review of my Springsteen catalogue. I can't imagine how Springsteen is going to handle the sax parts when he tours again. I don't see him going all-acoustic forever.)

Fuck you very much, Gretchen Rossi

2011-06-21T11:44:00.004-04:00

I do it to myself, I know. No one comes to my house and turns on The Real Housewives of Anywhere - I'm the one who was looking for something to have playing as noise to fall asleep by. And it was Lost Footage! Wherein Gretchen confesses to having had a bulemia problem in high school/college. Cut to the reunion show couches and Andy asking follow-ups, including the $64 Billion question: What was your highest weight?

Gretchen "ummm"s for a second and then tries to buffer the blow with "I know this may not be high to a lot of people" and I'm expecting to hear 170 maybe, which is five pounds under what I weighed in January when I started my South Beach/calorie-counting campaign. No, not a lot for some people. Then she says "140", and my eyeballs start to bleed. 140 is ten pounds fewer than I weigh now after carrying on said campaign for five fucking months.

Alexis jumps to her defense - "And you're how tall? Five three?" and I don't even remember what the answer was. I just remember it not being sufficiently different from my height to justify thinking that 140 would look significantly larger on her frame.

It's not Gretchen's fault, really, that she thinks 140 is so disgustingly huge that she had to force herself to purge whatever she'd just eaten. Little girls and grown women are bombarded by messages telling us how we're supposed to look and what we need to change to achieve that look hundreds of times every day. It's my fault for expecting any kind of sane message from that source.

And if I choose to believe Andy Cohen asked that question to underscore how incredibly out-of-touch these people are, that's between me and me.

Brave Girls' Club

2011-06-17T16:12:00.003-04:00

I don't want to come across as superior or dismissive, but...(and we all know what everything after that is) after reading things like A Thousand Splendid Suns and A Thousand Sisters (I didn't notice the "thousand" theme until just this minute), it's hard to think of deleting Facebook from one's smartphone as brave.

And yet, we all have our own stories, and no one deserves to suffer in any degree. My strapping a band of sharpened wire to my thigh doesn't help any women who are risking rape when they collect water for their children; at the same time, I can live without a phone with a data plan and sponsor one of those same Congolese women.

It's impossible to compare pain; we all only have the frame of reference we've achieved. I guess I just wish there was a little more perspective, maybe? Awareness of one's privilege? Let's be real - any problem that can be solved with collages and affirmations is still a "first world" problem. It would be nice if Afghan women could "Secret" themselves into empowerment.

I understand being the change I want to see...the trick is finding out what that change looks like. Yes, be compassionate. Yes, be kind. But when it comes to the disparity of opportunity between my world and the worlds of the developing nations...don't Western people have a right to their feelings? Trapped is trapped, no matter what materials the prison walls are built from. Am I except from pain because I have indoor running water and electricity?

Maybe some acknowledgement of the privilege is what I want to see. The wannabe brave girls have enough money for the course and the materials...that right there would feed a lot of hungry kids.

Maybe it's just the excessive navel-gazing. They keep telling me that the way to stop feeling sorry for myself is to help someone else. Maybe that's what's missing - giving it back. Yes, feel joyful and fulfilled in your skin, but then help someone else feel good in theirs. The hero's quest isn't just about the destination, but about coming home to show others how to survive their own quests. At least, that's what I remember. Time to reread Joseph Campbell.

Thank the Maker for the Internets.

In his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell writes about "The Adventure of the Hero:"
"The whole sense of the ubiquitous myth of the hero's passage is that it shall serve as a general pattern for men and women, wherever they may stand along the scale. Therefore it is formulated in the broadest terms. The individual has only to discover his own position with reference to this general human formula, and let it then assist him past his restricting walls. Who and where are his ogres? Those are the reflections of the unsolved enigmas of his own humanity. What are his ideals? Those are the symptoms of his grasp of life." -- (Campbell, 121)

- Maricopa Center for Learning and Instruction

Their summary of the hero's quest has 17 steps, the 15th of which is "The Crossing of the Return Threshold: The trick in returning is to retain the wisdom gained on the quest, to integrate that wisdom into a human life, and then maybe figure out how to share the wisdom with the rest of the world. This is usually extremely difficult."

Well, this has wandered away from what I thought was my point, and maybe for the good. If figuring it all out was easy, somebody would've done it by now.

The world according to Charles Barkley

2011-06-14T14:17:00.002-04:00

“There are only five real jobs in the world: teacher, fireman, policeman, doctor, and someone working in the service. Everybody else should just chill out and enjoy life.”

So it is written.

I've let this lay unattended for far too long.

2011-06-10T15:06:00.002-04:00

I had a great idea for a post a few days ago but completely failed to log in and post it, so I'm stuck with a question I stole from The AV Club: What is (are) your most re-read book(s)?

My first thougth is to be all, "Well, I've read Anna Karenina twice," which is true, but my memory is so bad that I doubt I could give you an outline of the important plot points. But I know I love reading it, and I wrote a paper on it in grad school that got a good grade, so.

My second thought is that it has to be Little Women, although I may be getting confused between how many times I've read it and how many times I've watched different versions of the movie. Despite never completely buying the way Laurie could just "Psych! I really love your little sister" like that; despite not understanding why a person would wear one glove and carry the other...time with the Marches is always warm and well spent.

Once I'd scanned the whole AV article (there were far too many words to read each one), yeah, that's pretty much gotta be it. The olde Hitchhiker's Guide. It never fails to make me laugh out loud, especially when I read the quotes I still use on a regular basis ("To summarize the summary of the summary, people are a problem").

I don't even remember why I first read THGTTG - I was never a science fiction kid despite a mom who watched Star Trek (TOS) compulsively. (Star Trek just got on my nerves: they left paradise three times? Whatever with them.) I know I was familiar with it when I was a freshman in high school (because of things that were happening in my life at the same time) but have no idea how it originally introduced itself to my consciousness. I only know that I'm SO grateful it did: not only did it give me credibility with my geekish techy friends, it gave me a witty comeback when people ask why I don't drink. "What's so horrible about being drunk? Have you ever asked a glass of water?"

14

2010-01-29T17:05:00.002-05:00

I just read this - wow. I don't remember feeling that way but I know it was true. I suspect that for most of late '08 through maybe summer '09 I was undermedicated; for one thing, I was having WAY out of proportion responses to a guy who it turned out just wasn't that into me. His mixed messages didn't help, but I was so close to a breakdown every day that I'm amazed I made it to the other side clean.

But I did, and last Monday chaired another anniversary meeting. It was on the 1st step so much more topic-related than just riffing on my own recovery, but in case anyone is following along, I am in a much better space this year than I was last. Which is good, because the same guy is once again trying to switch up the messages.

I've started acupuncture, I've been more consistent with exercise, and I've cut way back on sugar now that the holidays are over. I'm still unsatisfied with my performance at work and I'm still not meeting any potential date partners; the good news is that by myself is not such a bad place to hang out.

The surreal thing that happened Monday.

2009-08-21T16:07:00.000-04:00

Scene: Tal has had no good sleep Sunday night, having gotten an extremely confusing, terse, and cold couple of text messages from the guy. She dragged herself to work on Monday, but went home a couple of hours early to get some sleep. She sleeps a little too long, waking up just in time to put her hair in a ponytail, throw clothes on, and get to her meeting.

I'm sitting and waiting for the meeting to start, still a little groggy. Someone pulls my ponytail - it's V, with whom interactions have been a little strained lately, but I'm too bleary to go there now. I stand up to hug her, she says hi, and then sort of stops. "Paul Y. is dead."

I blink. "Paul? Paulie?" Which is what I call him, thank you, Sopranos. "How? When? What happened?" She isn't sure - over the weekend, some kind of sudden aneurysm, very fast, boom, gone. She's going to the funeral home after the chairperson, who is celebrating her second anniversary, shares.

I nod and she goes to say hi to other people. I feel my eyes start to well up - Paul and I weren't that close, but I'd known him since I got clean and we were baseball antagonists (he a Yankees fan). A couple of people asked if I was okay and I said I'd just heard about Paul. One guy asked for more details and said he'd come with us. While this was going on my cell rang - it was the guy. I told him what was up and tried to have a conversation with him while talking to someone else...confusion, frustration, wondering if it was too soon to joke about one less Yankee fan. I go in, sit down, and start that thing where you think you see someone you know can't be there out of the corner of your eye.

So once the celebrant is finished sharing, the four of us stand up (along with a few others going to smoke or get more coffee), go out to the parking lot, and caravan to the funeral home. V. thinks she knows where she's going. We get there, find parking on the streets of the neighborhood, and go inside.

I look towards the front of the room, and I see Paul. Talking to someone. No, it's not just someone who looks like him - it's the person I expected to never see again. I look at V. and try to speak. "Bu- Paul's righ- what?"

V. looks at me strangely. "Paul's father died."

I just stood there. "I thought you said Paul died."

"What are you - high?" And in that moment I felt like I was. I wasn't quite making contact with anything; neurons were firing but not aimed anywhere in particular. I stood there, dazed, as Paul worked his way back to us. I hugged him in turn and tried to fade into the wallpaper. Oh, god. How many people did I tell that Paul was dead? Oh, god.

V. made the rounds and came back. She looked at me and put her arm around me. "Poor Tal. I can't imagine what that must've felt like. You know I'd've been way more upset if it had been Paulie." Well, no, V., you aren't the most demonstrative person when it comes to your emotions, but I certainly wasn't feeling like I had any firm ground to stand on. I was embarrassed, I was relieved, I was confused.

So I stayed for an acceptable length of time - the guy who'd followed us had left as soon as he found out that Paul was, in fact, alive - and then walked out to my car, alone. There was a text message on my phone. The guy, saying how truly sorry he was for my loss. "Funny story..." I texted him back, knowing it would be funny eventually.

Celebrities - just like us

2009-03-12T16:44:00.000-04:00

I find that I'm responding to the death of David Foster Wallace (who hung himself last September) much as I did to that of Kurt Cobain. I wasn't more than superficially familiar with either man or the work thereof before his death - my reaction has been much more of my mind than my gut. Cobain showed me that a person could be living his (my) dream - making a living doing the thing he loved to do, receiving critical and popular acclaim for doing so, maintaining a home in a beautiful city, and creating a family with a woman he loved - and it still might not be enough to quiet the hateful voices in his head. Limitless alcohol and heroin might not be enough. For him, the only way to silence the voices was to extinguish himself.

Kurt Cobain taught me that living the dream did not mean you'd have peace of mind; that having it all was not the same thing as having enough. When Cobain died, I was well into active addiction and I didn't really put it all together until after I got clean. I just knew his death commanded my attention.

In David Foster Wallace I see the me that has fought the good fight - gone through year after year of treatment for the depression that required multiple trials with various pharmaceutical cocktails before achieving some relief. My illness has been called "medically resistant" and ever since reading Undercurrents I have wondered if I should ask about the ECT Wallace submitted himself to. He lived my back-up dream - writer, college professor, spouse - and survived well into middle-age before whatever it is inside us became too much to beat back.

I'm not sure what I'll ultimately take away from Wallace's life and death. My audience is certainly not as demanding as his; my life is the result of not making promises I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep. I'm not a high-energy person to begin with and I deliberately conserve strength to fight my disease(s) - is that the best I'll ever be able to do?

This, I Believe

2009-03-05T16:58:00.001-05:00

“The difference between us is that I have a basis for condemning evil in its Christian guise. You have no basis for confronting evil in its atheist guise, or in its Christian guise, either. When you say that a certain practice is evil, you have to be prepared to tell us why it is evil. And this brings us to the last point—you make the first glimmer of an attempt to provide a basis for ethics. You say in passing that ethical imperatives are “derived from innate human solidarity.” A host of difficult questions immediately arise, which is perhaps why atheists are generally so coy about trying to answer this question. Derived by whom? Is this derivation authoritative? Do the rest of us ever get to vote on which derivations represent true, innate human solidarity? Do we ever get to vote on the authorized derivers? On what basis is innate human solidarity authoritative? If someone rejects innate human solidarity, are they being evil, or are they just a mutation in the inevitable changes that the evolutionary process requires? What is the precise nature of human solidarity? What is easier to read, the book of Romans or innate human solidarity? Are there different denominations that read the book of innate human solidarity differently? Which one is right? Who says? And last, does innate human solidarity believe in God?”

“There are three insurmountable problems for you here. The first is that innate is not a synonym for authoritative. Why does anyone have to obey any particular prompting from within? And which internal prompting is in charge of sorting out all the other competing promptings? Why? Second, the tangled skein of innate and conflicting moralities found within the billions of humans alive today also has to be sorted out and systematized. Why do you get to do it and then come around and tell us how we must behave? Who died and left you king? And third, according to you, this innate morality of ours is found in a creature (mankind) that is a distant blood cousin of various bacteria, aquatic mammals, and colorful birds in the jungle. Your entire worldview has evolution as a key foundation stone, and evolution means nothing if not change. You believe that virtually every species has morphed out of another one. And when we change, as we must, all our innate morality changes with us, right? We have distant cousins where the mothers ate their young. Was that innate for them? Did they evolve out of it because it was evil for them to be doing that?”

- theologian Douglas Wilson, from a debate with Christopher Hitchens.

I agree with him, and yet don’t end up the same place Douglas Wilson does (unless of course we’re speaking of Doug Wilson from Weeds and went back in time 15 years [at which point there was no Weeds] in which case I’d always be the same place as Doug Wilson; that is, stoned out of my mind).

/tangent

I understand that I have no justifiable basis for my ethics. I do not believe in an independent standard against which my actions are measured. I don’t believe in a place of agreement we would all get to if we just sat still long enough, despite my recent immersion in Buddhist literature.

This is the great abyss of existentialism. This is the “fear unto death”. This is what keeps me awake on those nights when the fact of my own mortality bears down on me like a semi.

There is no magnetic north with which I can align when constructing my moral compass. I choose compassion and kindness (I don’t always live either one) knowing full well that I will be run over by those that don’t. The only reward I hope for for doing so is peace of mind, without which nothing else (in my experience) matters.

I guess the assumption I start with is that your existence is as important to you as mine is to me. I make judgments about who is capable of comprehending their own limited nature and act in ways I hope reduce suffering for all.

Everyone’s motivations and beliefs are based on certain assumptions. The source of all the conflict is that we don’t all start from the same ones.

Random confession

2009-02-02T14:11:00.000-05:00

Here is a thing about which I am ashamed although I'm not sure I need to be. At the very least, it is a thing that makes me unhappy.

I have been perpetually deferred from donating blood. Fifteen years ago I was in a sexual relationship with someone who, before I met him, used IV drugs. I imagine that one or two partners I've had since getting clean also have IV drug use in their past. Despite all parties involved testing negative for HIV, disclosure of this fact renders me unsuitable to donate.

I understand the necessity of maintaining a clean blood supply; I understand that actions have consequences. This is one of those things that makes me feel "less than" - somehow unclean; unwelcome to contribute. I am especially saddened since I am O+, which is compatible with any positive blood type.

Monday

2009-01-30T13:25:00.001-05:00

Monday night I’m chairing the meeting celebrating my thirteenth year of sobriety. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I feel like I’ve never been as close to the edge of insanity/paralysis/the abyss as I am now. So what do I say? Do I stand up and say “Look, newcomers still trying to detox! Stay clean for 13 years and all this can be yours!”? ‘Cause for real, I’d look at me and think it wasn’t fucking worth it.

I can’t wait to see what’s going to come out of my mouth.

A day late...

2009-01-07T14:27:00.000-05:00

…but I think I just had an epiphany. Check me: if my conscious goal is to satisfy/please/make content my Ego (the me-ness of me) but it is the nature of the Ego to never be satisfied/pleased/content, by definition my goal is unattainable.

I need a different goal - or to lose the idea of goal-oriented-ness. But how do I thank my Ego for sharing and send it on its way?

The clouds are breaking, finally

2008-12-16T13:51:00.003-05:00

This has been a spectacularly bad season. I wonder if I've always been like this. Yes, autumn is lovely with the leaves and the gourds and the children in cute costumes plus it has football and the Renaissance Festival, yet it drives me right 'round the bend. I used to think it was all about knowing winter was coming, but I'm almost never as low in the winter as I am in the fall. Even though I hate the cold and can't wear cute shoes. My out-of-sync Seasonal Affect Disorder is just another of my weird symptoms.

I used to think it was the cold but maybe it's the light. Seriously - if I can get my holiday shopping/obligations taken care of before my birthday, I pretty much breeze through the holidays and start taking giddy pictures of the days getting longer.

Whatever my particular story is, several friends have reassured me that late September into late November is always a bad time for me. This year it just hit me especially hard, maybe. Then there's the whole "ended my three-year relationship in June" thing. And the "turning an age which shall remain unacknowledged" thing. Throw in a couple of spectacularly bad decisions I'd rather not discuss (no long-term bad consequences besides feeling like an ass, thank the Maker)...it was a spectacularly bad season. One where I dragged myself through each week doing the bare minimum possible to keep my home from falling into complete disarray to get to the weekend, when I moved from the bed to the couch and watched (and napped in front of) every baseball playoff and then football game to believe I was engaged in something. The diet went halfway to hell (I'd keep making South Beach-compliant food to take to work, then eat a huge piece of pound cake with chocolate frosting every night), exercise dwindled to one or two yoga classes a week, and meetings dropped to one, maybe two a week. Did I mention I started smoking? (My standard pack-a-week.) Then there was the anxiety about preparations for the holidays and the socializing that comes therewith, which I fight through almost every time I go out these days but seemed so overwhelming in that space.

This past weekend was my first hyper-planned one and I not only survived, but caught up with some household doings as well. Maybe that Newton guy was onto something. Not only did I attend two parties (bringing food and ornament-making supplies to one; food and gift-wrapping supplies to the other), but I put my Halloween decorations back in the shed, got out the Christmas decorations, put up storm windows in the kitchen and bathroom, did two loads of laundry, made my food for the week, put up my tree, and got lights on it. I don't think I even broke down sobbing once!

I'm still not exercising and I'm not really trying to tighten up on the diet again until January, but I haven't gotten a new pack of cigarettes and I have almost all of my shopping done. Yes, autumn is lovely, but this year I am thrilled to see it go.

Self-awareness

2008-12-13T09:55:00.001-05:00

I don’t have time to flesh it out fully now, but it has just occurred to me that I have different levels of self-awareness. (Forgive me is this is stunningly obvious to everyone else.)

Today is taken up by a coven party that will require me to leave home by about 11:30 and I have no idea when I’ll be back. Various foods and crafts are required and have been planned and prepared; this sort of thing stresses me out disproportionately and I have no idea why.

Further preparation is required before participating in circle; as a result, my time is not really my own after about 10. The preparation of food and self and the 45-minute travel are part of every ritual day.

I have noticed as I prepare that I am almost always incredibly irritable in the few hours before I have to start - this has always struck me as incredibly inappropriate at worse; at best, ill-timed. WTF, self?

The phone rang a few minutes ago and I let it go to voice mail since I was eating a bowl of cereal (a time-sensitive occupation). I did check to see who it was and it’s someone I’m going to see later today so I have to believe there’s a good reason for the call but MAN am I annoyed. And I think I’ve figured it out.

I know I need my down-time every day; especially I hate having each moment after waking be scheduled and I will stay up far too late to have a period of free time before I go to sleep. This I know and I’ve even articulated it to some degree at various times, but I just finally put it all together with the ritual-day crankiness. This is the small bit of unplanned time I have before I have (chosen) to be accountable to others; before I become the social me that I try to keep as authentic as possible but can’t help but mitigate to facilitate the comfort of those I care about. This is my time to “waste” however I want to and it is - I don’t know if it’s absolutely necessary but it seems to be extremely helpful in maintaining my sanity.

This is also the time when I wonder if I could ever possibly parent if being disturbed at the wrong time makes me such a grouch. But I know that when I’m around kids my agenda becomes theirs and my natural rhythm adjusts to accommodate theirs better. I suppose I’d just carve out my pieces of time differently.

Okay, well! More words than I’d planned, but there it is, FWIW.

(I'll explain the prolonged absence when I have more time.)

The Tomato Nation Fall Contest 2008

2008-10-05T16:15:00.000-04:00

I met Sars at Television Without Pity and followed her to Tomato Nation, where in 2007 I helped raise an amount of money so impressive they wrote about it in Fortune. Watching the dollar totals go higher and higher throughout the month was amazing; being part of it made me proud.

Several months later a huge envelope showed up in my mailbox. The kids whose project I funded wrote letters and sent some examples of what they'd done with the materials I helped to provide. They were a Spanish class learning about Día de los Muertos, a Mexican holiday of remembrance and celebration of the lives of people who've died. Even knowing the students were probably made to write the letters by their teacher, I was touched. I sat on my couch with their letters and their creations and read every single word.

Because I'm fortunate enough to make more money than I need I've started a giving program of my own. Every time I splurge on something for myself, I donate the same amount of money to a charity or non-profit organization. This year's beneficiaries include the MD SPCA, MD Food Bank, Frisky's Wildlife and Primate Sanctuary, and now Donors Choose.

I chose a class making large-scale sculptures in MD (where I live) and another learning about the Holocaust in Washington (Best wishes for a happy and peaceful new year). You can choose projects by location, subject, materials needed, income level, grade, or whether the proposal is about to hit its deadline without being fully funded.

I'll probably go back and give some money to the yoga class in DC. It's impossible to go through the project lists without being excited by something and wanting to help. At least it is for me.

What is love, anyway?

2008-09-16T10:55:00.003-04:00

In the wake of another break-up, I have been thinking deep thoughts about the nature of love. I am indeed one of those women who believed oh-so strongly that I could help fix your inability to love if you’d just let me. Wrong, several times.

What I’m finally figuring out is that my loving you is about me, not you. So often I would use “I love you” as some sort of persuasive argument, as if my feelings about you should effect (affect? This is the one that messes with me) some reaction on your part. “I love you” was supposed to convince you that you should see it my way.

Other times, “I love you” was a call waiting for its response. Your cue to say you love me too. What I’m starting to understand is that saying “I love you” is more like saying “I love this song.” I am reporting my state of being in reference to a particular object. You may be moved to follow up with “I love it too” or “Really? I can’t stand it” but it’s possible you may not have any reaction beyond acknowledging that a statement was made.

My love for you is about me. It’s about what I want for you, what I’m willing to do for you, and how I plan to treat you. One thing it can never be about is control. I can not make you respond to me the way I want you to no matter how hard I love you. I have to let you be you because I love you, not in spite of it.

I know far too well that the love others have felt for me did not change me. Sometimes I have been motivated to be a better me because someone loved me, but only if I happened to love them back. I know there have been men in my life who felt that they could love me enough for both of us and I know I walked away from all of them. Why would it be any different just because I’m the one doing the loving?

There is still a part of me that feels like “I love you” is some sort of trump card I can play if and when necessary. I’m trying to reprogram myself to recognize that it’s really just me playing the dummy bridge partner and laying down my hand.

First thing in the morning is right out

2008-09-09T14:21:00.000-04:00

It's amazing the difference a couple of hours can make.

I opened my email this morning (personal, of course, even though I was at work) and found five emails from one group of people about three things I needed to respond to and OMG. What the HELL, people? Angry me really doesn't even care about this and exhausted me is completely overwhelmed and somewhere from the back of my head sane me pipes up and suggests that I back away slowly from the email.

I spend the next few hours catching up on my web surfing, my caffeine, and my actual job for which they pay me to be here. I shopped a little, added my most recent paycheck to my checkbook balance, blah blah finances.

Interestingly enough, the next time I checked my email, there were a few almost reasonable requests, some of which I wouldn't even have to go ridiculously far out of my way to accommodate. I replied to each, even rambling on with some additional ideas of my own in one response.

I know that I am not a morning person. When I worked at the airport (pre-therapy, meds, and recovery), any attempt to speak to me before 10 AM was answered with a growl. This made the first 90 minutes of my coworkers' days oh so pleasant, I'm sure. These days (in addition to not having to be at work until 9:30 if it's really that bad) I can generally manage pleasantries and smiles (however painted on) first thing.

Sometimes, on the weekends or days when I don't have to go anywhere? I wake up and get out of bed BEFORE 8.

And yet, there are some things that are better suited to certain times of day than others. Clearly, my taking-stock-of-the-world-and-my-responsibilities-in-it time is not the morning.

Crazy person, know thyself. It is for the greater good of all of us.

Stressed in Maryland

2008-08-29T09:05:00.004-04:00

The past month has been incredibly stressful. I started buying cigarettes again stressful. Some of it is work-related - assuming full responsibility for a management application that has always been a giant fustercluck; some of it isn't and I'm not ready to talk about that stuff yet (don't worry - it's not health related).

I've slacked off in my housekeeping and my exercise routine but I've managed to keep my diet mostly on track (wiping out a half gallon of Breyer's chocolate and vanilla in three nights isn't that bad in the grand scheme of things, right?) and have shown up for most of my obligations (with the occasional missed home group and hour or two taken off work). I'm practicing the spiritual priniciples of patience and acceptance; unfortunately I'm much better at patience when it's sung by Axl Rose and acceptance of my way as the way things should be.

Those of you who believe in such things should feel free to aim prayers, good thoughts, and energy my way. It's a trying time but it won't kill me and I already know that I am blessed with friends and family for support.

I think I know what it is.

2008-08-06T11:21:00.001-04:00

I’m in a “Sit still and WAIT” period. Either I’m suppressing whatever I might have to say or I’m deliberately not looking too closely at each passing day - the unexamined time will pass more quickly? When in reality the opposite is true - the busier I am, the more engaged, the faster time will fly. How and to what shall I turn my attention when the only thing it wants to stick to says “wait”?

"The gravitational pull of downward mobility"

2008-06-21T22:04:00.001-04:00

I'm listening to an episode of This American Life about a man who goes to Florida for four months to take care of his mother and brother. I probably blogged about it before - this is the second time I've heard it and...it's just...

The narrator's parents divorced when he was young. He and one brother were raised with their father; his mother remarried and had another son who grew up with her. The father worked for NASA and occasionally lunched with Nobel Laureates; the mother's second husband was a drug-smuggling gangster who was killed by his associates. One of the narrator's brothers went away to study classical violin; the other went to court for multiple DUIs. Josh, the narrator, spends his time trying to restore his mother and brother's lives to manageability and figuring out how it got so out of control in the first place.

What's so stunning to me, besides how easy it is to get keep getting sucked deeper and deeper into the downward spiral, is how foreign Josh finds his family's life in Florida. Was his childhood air truly so rarefied that he didn't know people live like that? Maybe he assumed that those things happen to other people. I think that's what stands out the most to me - how blown away Josh is that his mother just continues to acclimate to living conditions that continue to degrade - when to me it all seems so easy to understand. Too easy.

To be fair, Josh does say over and over that he wished he'd been told when things started to get so out of hand so he could have helped out - he doesn't sound like a stupid or snobby kid. Just a remarkably charmed one, I guess.

Maybe what makes me so tired all the time is straining against the downward pull. I've seen how damned easy it would be for me to let myself slide down the slippery slope. What could I do with all the energy I spend not giving in to the negativity I do manage to push away? With all the energy I use pushing past the urge to drink? I remember hearing someone describe recovery as walking in the ocean against the current. How much further could I go if I could just get out of the water?

Who am I anyway?

2008-06-20T15:22:00.002-04:00

One of those things I've always tried to determine is who I really am, at my core. There are a lot of things I'd like to believe about myself (intelligent, compassionate), a lot of things I've come to accept about myself (procrastinator, pack-rat), and a lot of things I think are true but wonder if maybe I could be doing more to combat (depression, low energy).

For example, at my most authentic self - am I night person? I think I am, but on weekends I love getting an early start on the day. Do I believe that rich people should pay higher taxes? Well, yeah, because they can afford it, but they worked to make all that money (or were lucky enough to be born into it) so why shouldn't they keep it? Do I want to be a parent or do I just want to keep my options open? Am I sucker who fell for the lie of financial security and the need for health insurance that's too afraid to follow my bliss? Do I believe in a higher power or not? Do I really like reality television but hate myself for it?

My best answer is that today, my beliefs/preferences are A, B, and C, but tomorrow they may be X, Y, and Z, and I'll have to deal with that then. I've never been able to pin myself down - all I can do is look at my patterns. But isn't integrity about being true to yourself and your ideals? I don't even know what mine are!

Yesterday I read this article about a man's experience on a meditation retreat wherein he battled self-loathing so intense it changed his life. The part that struck me follows:

A second aspect of the practice, though, was even more important, and that was seeing the self-hatred for what it really is, not what it is conventionally thought of as being. At first, I interpreted the feelings I was having according to the conventional geology of the self. This is what I felt "deep down." This is was what I "really" believed, despite all the rationale I'd proffered to myself and to others. But that entire geology is a fiction -- deep down inside what? All that was actually present in my experience were different beliefs. One belief (gay is bad) had the character -- the "feeling tone" in Buddhist language -- of being long-held. Another belief (gay is good) didn't, even though I knew it made more sense, and had led me to more happiness and more spiritual capacity. But the former belief wasn't really "deeper" or truer. It was merely its character -- its feeling -- that was being interpreted as "deep."

This was such a critical turning point for me. Of course the guilt felt "deeper" -- it's had thirty years of constant reinforcement, as compared with just a few years of acceptance and understanding. But the "self" in which it felt "deeper" within is itself just a label for a million conditioned phenomena, woven together by consciousness. The self is like a bundle of sticks taken from elsewhere -- "we" are neither any individual stick, nor the string that ties them together. And what you discover in meditation is: there is never any time at which the bundle as a whole does anything. It's always one stick or another. A desire. A fear. A thought. Some will feel deep, some will feel shallow -- but those are just sensations, nothing more.

Have I been digging for phantoms this whole time? Trying to find the core stick in a bundle with no center? Maybe I've been Buddhist all along and just didn't know it!

My struggle with Buddhism involves my firmly entrenched attachment to the "I" that loves John Taylor, Winnie-the-Pooh, and yellow cake with chocolate icing. I like having a couple of boxes of souvenirs of my past to remind me of things I've seen and done and been. I like my overloaded bookshelves. I can't imagine what it would be like to detach from all that makes me me even though I understand that my wanting is the source of my pain. Isn't it also the source of my pleasure?

These are my most recent deep thoughts. I'm now in the throes of Excedrin and Friday afternoon; don't expect anything too weighty anytime soon.

Waking up in now

2008-06-09T13:01:00.000-04:00

I dreamed (dreamt?) about an ex last night. Not a big surprise - I took a journal with me over the weekend and after writing in it, turned back some pages and read. About him. And how I showed up so he could break my heart a second time. Seven years ago.

Seven years ago I was working at the Enterprise Foundation, a non-profit organization founded in part by the man who built Columbia, MD (and Ed Norton's step-grandfather or some such thing). I was discovering Fark and the 4um, which introduced me to some of the best friends I've ever had. I was disentangling myself (so I thought) from the most intense relationship of my adult life (to that point) with a man who was more soul-twin than soul-mate. I had tried dating some new guys but when the old one presented himself, it was hard to resist.

I don't know if it's like this for everyone, but dream emotions stay with me into the following day, clinging like the threads caterpillars stretch across paths through the woods or webs spiders spin between the car and my deck railing. And just as hard to shake off. I remember telling Pete that I'd had a dream wherein I was pissed off at him and asked him to forgive me if I tried to pick a fight.

When I read my old journals, they seem like the rantings of a teenager - everything is SO big and SO not like anything I've ever felt and SO...whatever. I was 32 seven years ago - old enough to have earned a little perspective. I hadn't felt anything like panic in the week since the end of my long-term relationship but started to get a little anxious after reading my journal. Nothing in my life seemed to last very long - social circles, jobs, relationships, etc. OMG! Alone again! What am I going to do? My life read like a series of choppy episodes rather than a coherent narrative and now here I am again - except where am I?

I am in the same job where I've for six years, in the same house where I've been for five, with the same cat I've had for - yikes, almost eight years? We're no longer dating but Pete and I still have a relationship, as evidenced by my urge to call him as soon as I heard Kyle Busch had been knocked out of the Cup race early only to find he'd already texted me about somebody finally winning the Nationwide race (somebody other than Busch). I've been going to meetings for 12 years and will keep doing so; I've been participating with my coven for four years; I've been taking hatha yoga and exploring a more Yoga (all eight limbs)-centric spiritual path for a year and a half.

I don't have to anticipate my whole world spinning out of orbit - I don't have to allow it to. Yes, this is an ending and thus a beginning, but not necessarily of everything I know. There's no need to go running back to my past in search of something that feels familiar. There's no need to panic. Everything is okay here and now and will continue to be so as long as I keep doing the next right thing.

And today the next right thing is to leave the sticky feelings from past in the past rather than allow them to get all over now. And maybe make myself feel better about me by re-reading some of this LJ, where backspace and delete make things look much less chaotic.

Sadness

2008-06-05T11:28:00.002-04:00

Because I know some family reads this and because it is my life...my boyfriend and I broke up last weekend.

It's not that we don't love each other because we do very much. It's about me not being happy in a long-distance relationship and not seeing a way around our current long-distance situation. He can't move; I don't want to live in Toledo; there's no compromise.

It's hard for me to stay emotionally available to someone when it hurts so much to watch him drive away; we're only seeing each other once a month now and it's only going to get more expensive. There's other stuff too, but I don't want to get into the gory details.

The bottom line is that I've been thinking about this for a while and needed to share it with him. There's never a good time - the phone sucks as does the fact that doing it in person means someone has to drive home mulling it over. I can't dwell on it too much because I'm very weepy. I'm sad. We both are.

I actually wrote this on Monday, I think, and as of this hour I'm mostly okay. Still sad, not as weepy, and he and I have communicated without animosity several times. This weekend I'm off to the Himalayan Institute for a meditation workshop and it couldn't be more timely.

Latest rant: On working

2008-05-28T15:00:00.002-04:00

On a board I frequent, we often share annoying, amusing, idiotic, soul-crushing, and hopeful stories about our assorted work lives. In response to someone's post, one member asked the following:

Are we ever going to get over the need to enslave ourselves for an occasional periodic day of leisure?

And yes, we're doing it ourselves. Who else can we blame? Bush? Hitler?

And I'm sure I'll be sorry for wandering into the lion's den here...

I responded thusly:

I'll bite.

I, for one, would love to do something I enjoy all day long, but I can't seem to find someone willing to pay me to do anything I enjoy for long enough to maintain my lifestyle, to which I have become accustomed. I like being able to get out of bed and engage with life, which I find I am unable to do without medication. (Rail against insurance companies, the medical industry, and pharmaceutical solutions all you want; this is my reality.) Being employed provides me the means by which I can reliably obtain the means I need to reach the ends I desire.

You and I have it easy - we've chosen not to reproduce. People with kids don't have nearly the luxurious options we do. Sure, I could scrape by on some occasional temp work if I gave up my cable, cell phone, car, first-hand clothing and furniture, pet, home ownership, etc. I'd feel some responsibility to kids I'd chosen to raise, though, which would probably require me to find some reliable income so I could feed, clothe, and educate them.

There are experiences I'd like to have that money facilitates - seeing other cities and countries is possible without enslavement but again, I've grown fond of avoiding certain level of crime, filth, and discomfort. I like clean sheets, hotel roofs that don't leak, and not having to hide from assorted law enforcement organizations.

Here's the real deal: it may be a personal quirk of mine, but the idea of financial uncertainty makes me anxious. I'm willing to trade some bohemian ideals to enjoy a heart rate that doesn't spiral ever upwards and airways that don't constrict. Perhaps it is a deal with the devil, but the devil has a flattering hair style and throws great parties.

We've all made the deals that enable us to achieve what matters to us. I don't see why making those choices means we shouldn't share our frustrations with the results thereof.

And, for the record, I ask myself almost daily if my deal is worth it. I'm thinking about teaching and trying to decide if I could live on a teacher's salary. That's "if I could live" and I'm the only one who can answer that.

Home again

2008-05-20T15:40:00.000-04:00

My body is back in Maryland, but my mind is still floating in the pool I had to myself yesterday - warmed blue water under a bright, bluer sky with the insistent Florida sun slipping into and out of the occasional cloud...hot pink and light purple azaleas grown twisted along the fence and palm frond beyond...dragonflies and pairs of low-flying blacks birds with greenish blue back feathers when the sun caught them just so...

My cousin Holly is married and so happy; her wedding was a joy. The chuppah blowing over before the ceremony gave us an excuse to include the rest of our cousins - I would have liked to have seen them carrying it out, but was waiting my turn to proceed down the aisle. The officiant was a personal friend of the bride; her readings were heartfelt and her voice caught as she turned and spoke to my cousin, "Holly-bell..."

All of my cousins on that side were there with their wives and children - we had family members from 10 months to 92 years old. It's scary to see how the older kids have changed in the two years since I saw them last and so much fun to watch the little girls who are so tickled with each other. My mother showed off her new figure in clothes more stylish and flattering than anything she's worn for years dancing with her sister, her great nieces, and once even the (mighty cute) brother of the groom. I talked with my hero, Lily (my grandparents oldest friend), and made sure we got at least one cousins-only picture (it is no easy feat to get all six of us together).

And I sobbed at my grandparents' grave as my uncle cried in my aunt's (his ex-wife) embrace. My cousins were right there to hold me up. At the end, I finally gave in and hugged my older cousin who had been speaking to me all weekend as if nothing had happened.

I hope other people took good pictures and will share them because I tried to just let myself be in the moment. I did take this one to send to Biz while he worked.

(There are a few more at Flickr.)

Not a bad day's work.

2008-05-10T19:08:00.002-04:00

Striated pink petunias
Originally uploaded by talix18

I didn't intend to plant 16 petunias today...

(See more at my Flickr page.)

On taking an Internet break

2008-04-24T13:43:00.001-04:00

It's interesting to go from being online all day, every work day to five straight days without. I have a computer at home and tell myself that I tend to stay off of it for more than a few minutes at a time because A) I'm on it all day at work and B) I can't see the TV from the computer chair but the real truth is C) my cat gives me hell every time I turn it on. Seriously, Bo. Who's got the opposable thumbs?

Opposable thumbs does not = in charge

Anyway, five days without having to fill time surfing. Because when I'm not busy at work, that's basically what I'm doing all day. Oh, the places you'll go when you are trying to kill time on the Internet.

But where did I go when I wasn't? Yahoo was deliberate logging on; I preferred keeping people up-to-date on the medical doings via email instead of having the same conversation twenty times. In the five minutes at a time I ventured onto the web (no, I don't know why I capitalize "Internet" and not "web") I checked for new emails and got caught up on the interesting threads on the bulletin board where I chat with my long-term web-buds.

I tended not to read LJ because I want to give posts more time than I had, but boy did I miss it! I've gotten hooked on 's world, Shayara and missed her twice weekly reminders to check for new context. I'm crazy for 's incense stories set in Kherishdar. And while I have friends who've established presences in two or three different places on the 'Net, some of you I only interact with here and I missed you!

I have to confess I did go to VH-1's site because I can't get there from here; because I love Rich, who writes for their blog; and because I had to watch a dozen or so clips of unseen material to get in the mood for the Rock of Love reunion (judge me all you want).

And I kept up with the AL East standings because despite all rhyme and reason, the Orioles are still ahead of the Yankees.

Things I didn't miss, or seek out in those few minutes online: Gawker, though damn if I don't have a tab open there now. The two or three personal blogs I read that are mostly about fashion or name-dropping or being seen. I like to splurge on high-end things every once in a while (well, they're high-end in terms of what I can afford) and I admire people who are consciously turned out but have no delusions of ever caring about it enough to be one of them.

In short, anything having to do with celebrities (except Bret), people who want to be celebrities (except Heather), or people who care about people who want to be celebrities (except Rich) was off my radar. I looked at my bookmarks today and could easily delete three quarters of them.

But I'm sure I'd only build them back up again in the four months between me and my next planned five-day break.

God and the shovel

2008-04-16T15:57:00.001-04:00

So I'm at my home-group Monday night and I admit, I wasn't paying the speaker my completest attention. I had the treasury on my lap and was trying to calculate and count to finish my report in time for the post-meeting group conscience. Once I figured out where the extra $50 came from, I tuned in and heard the speaker talking about her finances. She sat down and figured out her bills and how much she typically makes (I believe she said she waits tables) and discovered that she's about $300 short every month.

Her solution? Just keep going; God will provide. God has always met me at the level of my needs; there's no reason to believe He'll stop now.

Okay. I have no trouble with people who believe that God's in charge. I understand that lots of people believe everything happens for a reason and that it's all part of God's plan - I don't agree with them, but I understand where they're coming from. However, people who think that whatever happens in their lives is God's will? That seems awfully convenient to me.

A few years ago, a mutual friend of V's and mine was pregnant with her third child. With her third "baby daddy". I was so frustrated and ranting, knowing how hard it is to be a single mom (her relationship with the baby's father wasn't the best) and knowing damn well that our friend could have been more careful about this. "Don't you think the baby has a Higher Power that will take care of it?" V asked me. "Are you saying that all those people killed in the tsunami didn't?" I came back. See? I just don't think it's fair to give God the praise for the good stuff that happens without a better explanation for the bad stuff than "He works in mysterious ways".

Anyway, the speaker went on to say something about her brother moving in with his absurd number of cats. He didn't adopt all of them - two of his cats had litters. One of the last things she said was something about not knowing how she was going to afford dog food next month since her dog is pregnant too.

Here is where I have a problem with the whole "God will meet me at the level of my needs" attitude. They know what causes pregnancy in animals, you know, and for the price of a couple of months' worth of dog food, you can take your animals to these special doctors - just for animals! - who will wave a magic scalpel and make it so your pet will reproduce no more. You will never have to wonder where all the new mouths to feed came from.

The first part of the saying is "God will move mountains"; the second part is "but I have to bring the shovel." Bring it, get dirty and sweaty using it, and generally do some of the damn work myself. God will meet me at the level of my needs - guess what. No one needs 15 cats that they can't afford to maintain. As much as I love animals, they're pretty far down the list of things I truly need when my budget is tight. (And no, I'm not someone who thinks it's okay to give up the pets you brought into your new house that you can't afford now that your rate has adjusted, but that's another post.)

Even I say the the Universe gave me my house. I wasn't ready to look for a place of my own; I certainly didn't have a down-payment saved. But when an affordable house became available in a great neighborhood and my friend's mom the realtor told me about it, I could buy it. Because I have a good job and my car was almost paid off and I had stock I could sell to pay back what someone loaned me for the deposit. The Universe knocked on the door and said "Hey! Here's a house." I'm the one that was in the position to walk through it.

I was trying to think of a way to raise the topic of personal accountability once she'd finished sharing, but checked my motives and kept my mouth shut. That's why I have a journal, right? To rant, and only look like an ass in front of people I don't have to show my face in front of every week. I know you guys are all over the place in terms of belief. What are your thoughts on accountability? I'm trying to think of a good metaphor, like if life is a river and you're in a boat, is God the captain? The boat dealer? The gas (or wind, if you'd prefer to sail)? The surface tension that keeps you afloat?

Getting on my own nerves

2008-04-14T13:00:00.001-04:00

I just got an email from the mom of the dog I took care of over...what was it, President's Day weekend? Whatever. She and her husband (along with some unnamed others) are going to Spain and Italy for 17 days in July and wanted to know if I could help take care of Mel while they are gone.

The jealousy. It burns.

But first I had to wonder who they're going with and if it's people I'm also friends with, then I'm really hatefully jealous, because...why? Am I jealous of their disposable cash? Their vacation time? Certainly, as far as freedom from responsibility goes, I am one of the least-encumbered people I know. But I'm not much of a solo adventurer (says the girl who took herself to Seattle last year, where she rented a car and drove up to Arlington and back) and blah blah feeling-sorry-for-myself-cakes.

A friend stopped by to visit while I was in the middle of typing this and took all the wind out of my sails. Suffice it to say that I REALLY hate when I react with jealousy rather than congratulatory happiness at the good fortunes of others. Dammit, they work hard. Let them enjoy their lives without making it all about you.

In other news, Ambre? Really, Bret? Can't wait to watch the VH-1 extras online.

GETTING. THINGS. DONE.

2008-04-10T14:13:00.002-04:00

Having blood drawn tomorrow; seeing regular doctor on Monday for anesthesia clearance; laparoscopy scheduled for Friday (18th) AM first thing.

My crazy. Let me show you it.

2008-04-09T15:06:00.003-04:00

I've lost my whole perspective on this "health event". The doctor's appointment yesterday...well, first there was the 45 minute wait. When I got there I asked the girl sitting at the counter if I could pay my balance and she said "we'll take care of that when we check you in." Thirty minutes - and no "check in" - later, I asked again if I could pay while I was waiting. I paid. Then there was more waiting.

Once the doctor finally sat down with us (my mother was there to be an extra set of ears), I was so flustered and frustrated that I could barely form sentences. That wasn't mitigated when she told me that either I wasn't on the calendar yet or that the office manager would have to call me with the information. She asked if there was a date that was better for me and I said a Thursday or Friday would give me the weekend. We generally do them on Thursdays; usually later in the day. Oh - okay, I can get in half a day of work. Less leave to use. My mother says something about fasting before the procedure. Really? Oh yes - no food or drinks for the eight hours before the procedure. Hey! There's a new piece of information! Perhaps that half day of work is a bad idea.

So - next week works for me. Oh, well it won't be that soon - you have to go through some other procedures first. Oh yeah? Like what? Well, an H&P and blood tests, but she'll give you all that information when she calls... I cut her off. What's an H&P? It's a "history & physical", but she'll - but won't I have to make an appointment with my GP for that? Why can't I be getting that done now while I'm waiting an unfathomable amount of time for this office manager to make a phone call about scheduling my procedure? It's only been a WEEK since you called me with the results of the blood tests that were done a MONTH ago. What else do I have to do? Blood tests, but we'll give you all that... Again, my brain is screaming, what's wrong with telling me now??!!

Then we're back to "are there any days that are bad for you?" My mother pipes up - yes, she's an attendant in a wedding in Florida on May 18th. Oh, it'll be done way before that. It'll be done this month. I hate to break it to ya, lady, but there's only one Thursday in April after the 17th.

At this point all the questions I have written down are a lost cause. I skip through them half-heartedly and find out that she's not planning on removing the cyst but might drain it. They will extract something that they'll run tests on. I ask how long it will be before I know whether they found anything to be concerned about. Well, the tests take about a week... But when will you tell me if you saw anything? Well, anything I tell you after the procedure you won't remember because of the anesthesia... My mother pipes up "I'll be there" before I can spit out "no shit, Sherlock." Yes, you can tell my mother what you saw. Oh.My.God.

Somehow the question comes up of what she'll do if she finds something. She can either open me up then or wake me up, tell me about it, and schedule another procedure. Fuck. This is where I start to freak out. I envision my mother making medical decisions on my behalf and my life being at risk. Fuck. I am not in the ideal frame of mind to make this decision. I stammer something about going ahead and doing it while she's there, picturing myself sobbing over my cat as I say good-bye to him on my way out the door.

This whole thing is pushing my crazy buttons and my addict buttons. I know it's not all about me and I know that while I am panicking inside, it's just another day at the office for the doctor and her staff. I know that no amount of crazy now is going to have any effect on what happens during the procedure. I know there are factors involved that I'm not privy to and I know that the doctor stuff is her job, not mine.

I know I am powerless to make any of this happen any faster and I need to just let go of trying to be in control.

I know that disengaging from life until this is all over is not going to help anything, no matter how much I want to crawl under the covers and stay there. And I certainly can't take a mental health day from work because I have to save my leave (the leave I don't use getting the H&P and the blood tests).

I know all of that - in my head. If someone could get my gut's attention and fill it in, I'd appreciate it.

So far, no good

2008-04-08T17:48:00.001-04:00

That was the biggest fucking waste of time. Still don't know when the procedure is, the doctor tells me I have to have some other things done before the procedure but "she'll give you all of that information when she calls." Um, wouldn't it be helpful if you told me what I need to do sooner rather than later so I could get the appointments scheduled?

I couldn't be more pissed off and the only thing I know now that I didn't know before is that it's my CA 125 that's elevated; it's 41.5 and normal is 30-35.

And I chairing a meeting tonight. I'm feeling really damned spiritual.

Re: the ovarian cyst

2008-04-02T08:57:00.001-04:00

I finally heard from my doctor about the blood tests. (She said she'd been trying to get in touch with me. Has she ever heard of leaving a message?) One of the tumor markers is elevated. She wants to go ahead with the laparoscopy to take a look at what's going on.

In the meantime I'm going in to her office to discuss the procedure and go over any questions I may have. I didn't have many at 8:00 last night when she called but I'm sure you guys will have plenty. I know we talked about endometriosis; I think she said the elevated tumor marking is compatible with it and I know the cyst is as well. I'm going to try really hard to not Google "elevated tumor marking + endometrioma".

The laparoscopy is an out-patient procedure. They say I'll be back to work "in a week or two"; let's hope for one since I don't have two weeks of sick leave!

Prayers, good thoughts, and the like are more than welcome, whichever you may do in situations like these. I know a laparoscopy is not that big a deal, but it's my first experience with something like this and my head comes up with lots of bad thoughts.

What if they threw a baseball season...

2008-03-25T11:27:00.001-04:00

...and nobody noticed.

Seriously - was there any publicity about the season opener was last night? Was it just me that was clueless?

Alrighty then.

The colossus of Julie Anne Rhodes

2008-03-24T12:14:00.002-04:00

It's not always easy for me to tell that I've grown up. I still feel the same as I ever did on the inside - all my life I've had parts of me that were about 3, about 12, about 18, and about 40. Actually being 39 doesn't feel all that unusual. I still love Winnie-the-Pooh, Legos, and Barbie; I still have stuffed animals; I still think way too much about just about everything.

I guess I really notice the difference in my relationships with other people. The first time I really felt grown up was when my boyfriend found out his 16-year-old daughter was pregnant. I was in my early-to-mid-30s and when she decided to have and raise the child, all I could think was how much harder than necessary her life would be. That she had no idea what she was giving up. (Of course, I'm thinking all this from the vantage point of a childless woman, so you have to take my opinion with an entire shaker of salt.)

I could tell I'd matured a lot last night watching the Ultimate Recipe Showdown on the Food network. It was the "Burgers" episode. One of the chefs participating in the poultry burger competition was named Julie Anne Rhodes. "That's funny," I thought to myself. "That was Nick Rhodes' wife's name back in the day." (Those of you who don't know who he is clearly weren't young girls in the mid-80s.) I have one picture of them in my head - both impeccably made-up, dressed in a suit (him) and a fabulous fitted white dress (her) (a wedding picture, maybe), her towering over him. She had gorgeous olive skin, a long face, and Mediterranean features and I, unkindly, referred to her as Juliearf. She had taken Nick off the market! The nerve of her!

Anyway, I'm looking at this chef making this amazing-sounding turkey burger with jasmine rice and she's tall, yes, and olive-skinned, and gorgeously Mediterranean, but built much more like a normal woman (a little heavy maybe even, though she carries it well with her height) than the skinny model I remembered Nick's wife to be. Then she mentions her 15-year modeling career. No. No way. Then I notice her unusually-shaped ears. OMG.

OMG! It's really her, the internet tells me this morning! Right there on her Personal Chefs Network page it talks about how she started cooking as a child and developed an appreciation for many kinds of cuisine traveling the world with the band! OMG! How cool is that?

How cool is that? That a woman can have a 15-year-modeling career and be married to a popular member of a hugely successful band and travel the world and throw glamorous dinner parties for fabulous people, and then after her divorce move back to the US from London and start a whole new career as a personal chef. She started her own company and obviously loves what she does. The bonus is the picture of her with her daughter on her company's site - man, you can see Nick all over Tatjana's face!

I'm a grown-up now, Julie, and I take back all the awful things I said and thought about you back in the day. You were a Duran Duran wife; it was my job to be a jealous fangirl. Now I know a whole lot more about letting people be gorgeous and successful without thinking that makes me less so; about perfect make-up and lighting not equaling a perfect interior life; about how happiness can be damn hard to cultivate and should be celebrated all the time. In fact, Julie, I think you may have become a personal hero!

And congratulations on winning the poultry burger competition! My aunt printed out the recipe - can't wait to try it.

ETA: Found the picture!! Gods bless the Internets!

The Legacy of Bobby Dunbar

2008-03-15T13:06:00.004-04:00

A friend of mine shared that part of his family's history was going to be featured on This American Life - the story of Bobby Dunbar. It's an interesting story of the Dunbar family, whose four-year-old son was lost in a Louisiana swamp on a camping trip in 1912. Several months later a boy was found who, after a trial, was determined to be Bobby Dunbar.

The trial was held because the man who had custody of the found boy, William Walters, claimed he was Bruce Anderson, the son of a woman who'd been temporarily unable to care for him. Both Julia Anderson and Lessie Dunbar were allowed to meet with the young boy and neither were immediately able to positively identify him.

TAL tells the story from the point of view of one of Bobby Dunbar's descendants. She was given a scrapbook of information relating to the kidnapping (as it was called by her family) and did extensive research of her own. Ultimately a DNA test was done on two different lines of the Dunbar family (that of Bobby Dunbar and that of one of his brothers) and it was proven that, in fact, they shared no male ancestor. The found boy grew up as Bobby Dunbar, but had not been born him.

The story reveals a lot about the nature of truth and history. The truth of the matter is extremely different for the three families involved (the Dunbars, the Andersons, and that of William Walters). What really happened - what motivated each person to do what he or she did, the fate of the four-year-old Bobby Dunbar lost in the swamp - cannot be definitively known. That so much uncertainty surrounds one episode in the lives of these few families just underscores the absurdity of accepting any historical fact at face value. Everything we know has been filtered so many times - by the prejudices of the people who wrote the history, by meteorological and geological chance - yet we make decisions every day based on that history. There is so much room for doubt yet so many of us are willing to believe what others say is true.

The Dunbar story also reveals a lot about the nature of family. Most of the members of the affected families don't seem to bear any ill will to anyone with the notable exceptions of the siblings of Bobby Dunbar who resented the outcome of their niece's research. It's easy to speculate as to why they were angry, but impossible to know what I'd feel in the same situation.

When you think of how many of these kinds of situations must've happened throughout history, it seems that much less important whose blood runs where; what truly matters is the time you spend and the affection you share. Rather than drawing divisive boundaries based on blood or history, why not just embrace everyone?

Enough

2008-03-12T11:08:00.004-04:00

I'm still not okay.

I just finished a quick tour of Greek Tragedy, one of The Observer's World's 50 Powerful Blogs (ahhhhh - that's why so many of them are British blogs I've never heard of). Stephanie Klein is an author who had what sounds like a wild-woman single life and is now married, the mother of twins, a published author, and a Lost freak.

After reading that she's got weight issues, I check the next picture I see of her and compare myself to it. Damn. She's winning. In white pants, even. Then I read the entry in which she quotes the description of her "perfect world life" from one of her first entries and realizes she's made most of it manifest.

And despite everything I said to Dr. B. (an old philosophy prof I met with for career/life advice) on Sunday, I'm not there. I'm not living my perfect world life. Am I?

Stephanie Klein's vision included a husband with whom she's "connected in a deep meaningful way", kids, a writing career, an SUV, and a home with land, a sauna, and a pool. As I start to describe my perfect world life I figure out my first problem: nailing it down. Yes, I want to be married - I want a partner to talk about the party to on the drive home, to take swing dance lessons with me, to be loved by deeply and meaningfully. But if I can't have that, I want to be okay on my own. Which I mostly am.

I want a job that pays me to do something I love. However, as has already been established, there is nothing I'm so passionate about that I can't not do it. Do I love anything enough to commit to it the way a career would demand? Could I do it on the job's terms and not mine? Hmmmm. If I can't have that, I want a job that I don't have to take home, that pays me enough to be comfortable, that doesn't demand I show up before 8:30 or 9. Which I have.

My perfect world life never included kids of my own - I love children, but I've never felt that need to have my own. And I don't. My perfect world life always included my own house - and I have one.

I want to be able to travel - I can and do. I want cats - I currently have one who insists on being the only child. I'd love a boat and a hot tub and a backyard with some privacy. But I don't want the hassle of a boat and am not sure I want to spend the money on a hot tub and for now, have a yard that's easy to mow.

The truth is my perfect world life is a moving target. I am constantly in flux. There is no way one reality could possibly satisfy all the things I can imagine wanting. Which leads to me, again, to the same conclusion I always come to when I start down this road of thought. No matter what I continue to want, there's only one thing I really need to live my perfect world life every day.

Enough.

And just like that, I'm okay.

How I spent my five-day weekend

2008-03-06T13:53:00.002-05:00

I've been so busy catching up on the Internets that I've hardly made any contributions of my own. I do have pictures up on Flickr if you're into babies or NASCAR (my username there is my username here with an "18" tacked to the end); the words will come as soon as I sit still long enough to write them. They'll include the pros and cons of moving to NC and how easy it was to go five days without hearing the words "primary" or "delegate".

In the meantime, regarding news I missed...

Jeff Healey? How sad. And is Swayze dying or isn't he? During s(h)avasana last night, I found myself ruminating on the temporariness of it all - how you can be successful and famous and photographed and followed but none of that can be traded for time. Yes, strive and yes, dream and yes, always intend to be more closely aligned with your bliss...but don't put off joy until you get there. Be here now.

Clayton credits shot

2008-02-25T15:08:00.001-05:00

Oh! I forgot to include begging those of you who see Michael Clayton to stay seated throughout the credits. Clooney allows so many emotions to play across his face in the span of that last, long shot - it was my favorite part of his performance.

The artifice of eternity

2008-02-25T12:41:00.002-05:00

Saturday Biz and I sat the "best picture Oscar nominees" gamut, courtesy of AMC (which we learned during the trivia question and answer period stands for American Multi-Cinema). It was a lot less grueling than I expected it to be, even with There Will Be Blood lasting about seventy years! Seriously, Michael Clayton? Juno? Really? The Clooney was excellent and Tom Wilkinson was sublime, but best of the year? The Academy said so and I was in no position to argue, having seen exactly one newly released movie last year (Waitress; cute, hokey ending, don't try to make me dislike Nathan Fillion or I will cut you).

LOVED Atonement - loved it. But I'm a sucker for having my heart-wrenched and I would have gladly dragged Briony across a muddy pit by her hair. My chief complaint with Juno was the main character's reaction to the positive pregnancy test. I've been on the unwelcome plus side of one of those tests - summer after senior year - and trust me - there was no cracking wise in my story. I was hardly in a red licorice whip place afterwards. Maybe she'd already suffered her sturm und drang with the first two tests and had resigned herself finding a solution but that scene was so dishonest to me that the rest of the movie was even cartoonier than was intended. Even so, I love JK Simmons and Alison Janney and would happily watch them dig for oil in vast barren landscapes.

They ended with No Country for Old Men, the title of which I discovered is from a Yeats poem when I happened to read it last night. For the sake of my dreaming later that evening I wish they'd left us with a less compelling character than Chigurh but he certainly deserved his award.

SPOILERS FOLLOW

I'm not a fan of excessive graphic violence so this isn't a film I'd watch over and over again; on the other hand, none of it felt gratuitous. Unfortunately, once I saw a kitty cat onscreen I was watching any dark or ominous scenes through the hand over my eyes and missed a lot of the subtleties.

Specifically - the scene where Sheriff Bell and Chigurh are on opposite sides of the door to room 114. Chigurh (and the audience) sees Bell's reflection in the blown-out lock. That the room appears empty once Bell goes in just messes with me. Am I supposed to assume that reality is suspect from that point forward? Was there a clue that the film was moving in that direction that I missed? An unreliable narrator is one thing; one that is only unreliable for the last 20 minutes or so is another.

So far I've seen theories that the whole movie was Sheriff Bell's dream, that Bell is killed in the motel room, and that Chigurh moved to the other side of the doorway and slipped out behind Bell once he'd entered the room. I have issues with all of those explanations. How did you interpret that scene? (Support your thesis using evidence from the movie as opposed to the book - I think the book version makes a lot more sense but don't see any reason to believe that's how it went down in the film.)

The "c" word

2008-02-22T15:22:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I held a piece of paper in my hand. On it were my name and the word "cancer".

I have a cyst on my left ovary. Because my doctor would rather give it time to go away by itself than rush me into surgery, she ordered a few blood tests to make sure it is in fact as benign as the sonogram tech seems to think it is. The tech has not wavered in her opinion of what she saw and she's seen it twice now. My doctor has not been in a hurry to get back to me with her thoughts on the sonogram results. There is no reason to think the worst.

But isn't that how the stories always start? Somebody goes to the hospital for appendicitis and finds out they have a tumor. Or bone cancer. I've always been a little morbid; I'm the one who goes right to the archives of a blog whose author has been diagnosed with something terminal (more immediately terminal than just being alive, that is) to get the story from the beginning. Am I looking for something? Some clue from the entries that were just everyday life that portends the fatal blow to come?

It isn't just illness; I analyze the blogs of anyone who dies (I draw the line at MySpace pages - too sparkly and loud). How is it possible that there's no warning - no anvil falling from the sky announcing the next plot twist? How can you wake up one day and just not know that it's the last time you will? But time after time, it's the same going from one day to the next with witty observations or thoughtful meditations until BLAM! Brick wall of diagnosis; sudden high fever; no posts following this post.

I was 36 before my first grandparent died; three years later, I've still never lost anyone who is part of my daily routine (this may have more to do with my not letting anyone get that close than any cosmic protective shield around my beloveds). I have groups of friends I've known for ten and twenty years - that's a long time for everyone to walk around charmed.

I don't like to say it out loud very often, but I figured that was a sign that I would be the one to go first. Like I said, I'm morbid. I remember being convinced when I got my braces put on that I wouldn't live to see them come off. I've always been reluctant to project myself too far into the future (is that why I've never seriously considered parenting?).

And now there's a piece of paper with my name and the word "cancer" on it. Just a precaution, but still it makes me feel - unsure, for the few minutes at a time I let myself ruminate on it.

(Just in case you are someone combing through my archives looking for the sign that everything was about to change.)

Kurt Cobain would have turned 41 yesterday.

2008-02-21T16:14:00.002-05:00

I was not a Nirvana fan. I heard Pearl Jam first, went from there to Alice in Chains, and only knew Nirvana’s biggest hits. And I have no idea where I was when I heard Cobain was dead. I know exactly where I was when I heard about Rick Allen’s car accident (New Year’s Eve, back seat of Ken’s car; Ken and Stephanie up front) and I’m pretty sure I remember where I was when I heard about Steve Clark (top of Mom’s basement stairs, on phone with Jayson), but Kurt? No idea.

Yet I have the issues of Rolling Stone and (I think) Time that devote their covers to his death. His death somehow brought it home to me that a person can be living their dream, financially secure, happily married and parenting…a person can have it all and still want to escape. Still want to get out of their own head. Still not be okay alone inside his own skin.

I didn’t know it then, but in the spring of ‘94 I was circling the drain. A year later the flashing lights went on behind me; I got clean (for good, so far) in January of ‘96. I’m living a couple of my less dynamic dreams and I still miss using sometimes but know that ultimately, peace is an inside job. Kurt’s death was the first time I honestly started to believe that.

Accommodation

2008-02-15T11:29:00.002-05:00

Twice in the past 18 hours or so someone has made my life less convenient because their plans were more important than whatever I might have going on. I don't have a good reason to say no to the things being asked but that doesn't stop me from being annoyed by those doing the inconveniencing.

Let me set the scene.

I belong to a spiritual tradition with lots of formal rituals, one of which is scheduled for Sunday late afternoon/evening. It was made clear to us from the beginning that ritual is not an option; all members of our group are expected to attend unless there are extenuating circumstances.

One of our members has decided that, since she had to work Thursday and Friday and couldn't get a sitter for Saturday but could get one for Sunday, she's going to do the "Valentine's Day" thing with her husband instead of coming to ritual. She will still provide the things she volunteered to as long as I am available to pick them up. (Because she and I live close together and she is literally less than a mile from one of the major routes to our ritual space, I have been asked to ferry her contributions on previous occasions.)

This weekend happens to be a particularly full one for me. I am dog-sitting for a couple who live about 25 minutes away from me, which amounts to house-sitting, as it's easier to let the dog out in the morning if I'm already there. I've also agreed to check in on other friends' cats one day this weekend. I am supposed to have dinner with a friend tonight; my aunt and grandmother tomorrow. I have to prepare my contributions to Sunday's ritual, which means a trip to the grocery store among other things. I'd like to spend some time with my own pet, who is admittedly not as needy as a dog (except in his own opinion).

I also, now, have to come to work this weekend. This is a thing that never happens. This is an extremely unusual event and the amount of time I'll have to be here is less than the time it takes me to walk from my parking space to my desk. However, it does have to be done at least once this weekend; possibly twice. The other person on my team who could have performed this task has plans to be away at a B&B this weekend, coincidentally near where I'll be on Sunday. She declared that she would. not. be. available. to. come. in. The end.

There is no good reason for me to say "no" in either of these circumstances. Yes, I am unusually busy and yes, there are other things I'd rather be doing. My cousin is getting married in Vegas on Sunday (evening, my time) and they have a web-cam so we can see the ceremony. This was a last minute thing and I would love to watch but, alas, I have another commitment. The first race of the NASCAR season is Sunday (afternoon, my time) and even though I hate restrictor plate tracks, it would be fun to join my family who are getting together to watch. As they do every year. Alas, I have another commitment.

Once I get over the irritation at having to mindfully arrange my day to accommodate all these tasks I'd rather not have to think about, it's not that big a deal. Is it too much to ask, however, that the two people making themselves unavailable ask me if it's okay (in the first case) and thank me for making myself available (in the second)? I know it is my responsibility to keep my side of the street clean and other people's behavior is not my business. Most of the time, I know that.

But when things like this happen, I continue to be annoyed at the unavailable person. I react the same way every time - pissed off at the situation, then resigned because I'm unwilling to say "no" just to be contrary, yet somewhat resentful of the person passing on the responsibility. What am I actually pissed off about? That other people are content to make selfish choices regardless of how they affect others? I make plenty of selfish choices but I really try to make those that don't inconvenience someone else, and when someone is inconvenienced I try to recognize that. But other people's choices, again, aren't my business.

I can't figure out where I'm getting stuck here, which makes it hard to better navigate these situations in the future. I think I'm capable of saying "no" when I'd really have to go out of my way to pick up someone else's slack. And I can't make a habit of counting on someone else being available to pick up mine (although, gods bless her, my mother has volunteered to look in on my cat if I'm unable to get home during a day). It's stupid to spend my energy on things I can't control.

Yet here I am, forty minutes later, still typing this.

I didn't realize I do that!

2008-02-06T15:43:00.000-05:00

I know that when I see someone who intimidates me in some way - they are impeccably made up or extremely self-confident or wicked smart - I assume they will reject me based on my inability to keep up in whatever I find intimidating. I behave as if I've already been rejected, which, from their perspective, looks like I'm rejecting them. I figured that out some time ago, but the realization doesn't seem to have changed my life very much.

Just now I was - what was I doing? Reading Lostpedia? Catching up on LJ? I don't remember. Anyway, here's what I figured out today: I assume (and perhaps this leaped out at you from that first bit, but it took me a little longer) that people are only interested in people who are like them. Somebody wearing expensive clothes only cares about people who can afford to dress like him. Computer geeks are only interested in other computer geeks. Someone who wears a lot of make-up and always has her hair done looks "past" women who aren't interested in (or don't have the energy for) those things.

Why? Why is that my default? Sure, it's true sometimes, but it's also not true sometimes. I assume that if I'm not like you in some objective way, you will have no interest in me as a person. It just baffles me that my very goal-oriented, driven friends are friends with me, the aimless meanderer. I, myself, have had great love for people of all manners of personal appearance, lifestyle, and ambition - why don't I allow others that same flexibility?

Kevin Aucoin fascinates me - I have no idea why. He was a brilliant self-taught make-up artist and I once told my cousin that the only time I would ever take advantage of her position in the theater/entertainment world (she's in theater management) was if she could somehow get me in his make-up chair. The way he could change faces with make-up was amazing.

I love very stylized, old glamour looks - hair, make-up, and dress. I also love dressing up for Renaissance fairs or like Stevie Nicks - flowing, gauzy, and corseted. Most of you have seen pictures of me and know that I usually present a far different look. I have long, straight hair that hasn't seen a stylist in over a year, my clothes are either wash & wear or left in a pile for years, and most days my make-up (if I take the time to apply it) is mascara and lip gloss. Frankly, I don't have the energy to iron, run to and from the dry-cleaner, or wash my face and re-moisturize every time I go to bed. And I do not have the patience for shoes that hurt, no matter how many times I try to get away with them.

Yet I spend so much effort trying to achieve the "right" look for whatever is the occasion. WHY? What difference does it make? I am still me, whether I've let myself lay in bed until the last possible minute or gotten up early and put on a whole new face. I certainly don't choose my friends based on whatever amount of effort I've put into my own appearance or education or career that day.

Why would I assume that you do?

Bob

2008-02-05T10:38:00.000-05:00

Early recovery is like high school. It's said in the rooms (code for "in meetings" or "in the fellowship") that emotional development stops when excessive drug use starts. In effect, everyone comes into recovery with the emotional maturity of a 13- or 14-year-old. As the drugs wear off, emotions that have been stuffed or numbed are overwhelming and hard to keep in perspective.

Newcomers are told that they only have to change one thing about themselves - everything. They are told that people in recovery will love them until they love themselves, but they need to do some work on themselves. It doesn't take long before every thought is analyzed for "motives" and "disease vs. recovery-oriented thinking". EVERY thought.

Specifically, it's like high school when you've already gone to school with most of these people for three or four years. You go to different meetings (classes) with mostly the same people you've come to know way too much about, either through what they themselves have shared or what you've heard from other people who have already gone to meetings with these same people for several years.

It's suggested in recovery that you get a home group: a place to know people and be known; a meeting you'll attend consistently; a place to contribute your service. You are also encouraged to get a sponsor who has a sponsor. If you're lucky, your home group or your sponsorship family (others sponsored by your sponsor or her sponsor), becomes your "posse" - your clique, your extended family, your peeps.

I got just that lucky when I chose my sponsor and joined her home group. Most of the people there were warm and welcoming, and twisted in all of the right ways. Everyone was committed to recovery, to the group, and to each other, and I truly felt like I was home. I learned about area service, white water rafting, and staying clean with those people.

I learned a lot about love, powerlessness, and surrender, too. It was time for me to surrender when I had two ex-boyfriends and one ex-boss in that home group. For me, that meeting no longer had an atmosphere of recovery. While much of the hurt and anger were the consequences of my behavior, I had to find someplace else to work through all of it.

Bob - the titular Bob - was the ex-boss (one of the ex-boyfriends is also named Bob). Bob was the big brother/father figure of the group. He'd been clean for almost 10 years when I met him. He was extremely intelligent, extremely opinionated, and extremely serious about the program. After our Monday night meetings most of us would adjourn to the local diner and spend the next several hours talking about recovery (until midnight or so - then the conversation became far less spiritual). He smoked way too much, he was relentless in his mission to get all women into sensible footwear (he made orthotics for a living), and he pretty much knew something about everything (and was hardly ever wrong). You either loved Bob or hated him. First I hated him, then I loved him, then I hated him again.

Some people are good at relationships, some people are good at school, some people are good with money, and some people are good at careers. I am the opposite of good at careers. Nothing makes me anxious like having to find a new job; I have always under-achieved work-wise because I neither give myself credit for my abilities nor have the chutzpah to sell myself. When Bob needed a receptionist for his orthotics office, I was thrilled to take the job.

Long story short: there were some work practices with which I was not comfortable. Lying was a necessary part of the job; whether it was justifiable or standard procedure in the business, I felt I couldn't continue to work there without sacrificing my integrity. Which would put my recovery in jeopardy.

I shared in at my home group (I'd pick a different meeting if I had it to do over again) that I had to make a tough decision involving someone I cared about and didn't want to hurt. A few days later Bob came to me and asked if I was getting ready to leave the business. I told him that I wasn't sure, but that I would give him plenty of notice and I'd stay at least through the rest of the year (this was early December). I also shared with him a letter I'd written to him explaining exactly what my concerns were and what steps could be taken to mediate them.

The next Monday I was handed a letter accepting my resignation. I was shocked, hurt, and eventually, angry. I felt completely betrayed. Not only had he used what I shared in a meeting against me (oh, naive me), but he'd acted like he was willing to give me time to make a decision.

It got worse when I filed for unemployment. He fought me, claiming I'd quit. My claim was initially approved and the decision was upheld through the first two rounds of appeals. Bob failed to appear for the third round, calling with the excuse that he had to pick up his daughter at the airport (Bob had no children; it was his girlfriend's daughter). His case was dismissed and finally, it was over.

That last paragraph leaves out the worst of it. I was so completely unprepared for him to behave the way he did. Bob had been one of my confidants - I trusted him implicitly. More than that, I trusted him to live by the principles of the program to which he so fervently adhered. The appeals process dragged on for months and every time I had to show up to defend myself was like walking through hell. I am not confident or strong and I hate confrontation but the bottom line was that I DID NOT QUIT. That was what I held on to every time the Department of Labor, Licensing, and Regulations return address appeared in the mail and my stomach started to churn.

At the same time I was fighting the appeals process, I had to show up at my home group. I had to face all those people I loved who loved him. I would not let Bob chase me out of that room. That was also about my integrity and my recovery. I had done nothing wrong. Naive? Yes. But not wrong.

Bob's celebration of his clean time anniversary was in June. Some people call on specific people to share at their anniversaries - friends, sponsors, family - but Bob never did. After he spoke that year after he'd let let me go, he said he wanted to call on five people. Later I found out everyone was mentally counting his sponsees and closest friends trying to figure out who he was talking about. He called on his girlfriend, her daughter, two people I can't remember, and me. He didn't look at me as he said my name.

I know I introduced myself. I know I said something like "I wasn't sure I was going to come tonight" and "the importance of supporting a home group member" and "if you don't understand why I'm so upset, it's none of your business" because by that time I was sobbing. It wasn't long after that that I got a new home group.

I didn't see Bob for a long time after that. I knew he'd gotten married. I'd heard a couple of years ago that he had cancer but that his treatment was going well and, later, that he was in remission. I saw him after that at a convention - I said hello and gave him the fellowship hug and kept right on going about my business without having too many feelings about it.

Bob died on Sunday. The cancer came back in December. I got a message last week that he was extremely sick and didn't have much time. I'd made my peace with the situation (though I will admit that in my opinion, he owed me amends) and didn't want to intrude on the time he had left with his loved ones. I got all the way to the parking lot of my home group after I got the news from Danny last night (how convenient that I had to meet V. at area service to give her our group's donation) and drove straight out the other side to go to Bob's home group - my old home group.

On the way, I checked my motives. Why did I want to show up now when Bob and I hadn't talked for years? What was that about?

What it was about, I decided, was wanting to be there to offer my support to my friends who are grieving. It was about honoring the place Bob had in my early recovery - recognizing that despite the way it ended, the relationship mattered.

I'm not one of those people that says nice things about a jackass just because they're dead - we've all got an expiration date; death doesn't make you a saint. Bob was definitely an ass to me and it was just as much on him as on me that we never spoke about what happened. I made the one amend that I felt I owed him years ago; we had no unfinished business between us that was so important it couldn't stay unfinished.

Although...I would love to know why he called on me that night. Then again, maybe I wouldn't; maybe he just wanted to put me on the spot to see if I'd apologize to him for filing for unemployment. If I want to believe that it was his way of reaching out - of telling me that I still mattered to him and he was glad I was there - maybe I'm kidding myself.

I'm okay with that.

Anger Management

2008-01-31T12:20:00.001-05:00

I'm upgrading the firmware in several hundred modems ONE. AT. A. TIME. (and wishing I had some leet programming sk1llz) and surfing the 'nets when I realize that I am angry. Likely to snap at someone without provocation, stomping around snarly-faced, jaw-locked angry. As I've learned to do since working steps and trying to recover from the assy self-centeredness that is tangled up with addiction, I review my last several hours. Was I pissy this morning? Not particularly. Have I been given a new assignment or new deadline (both of which create anxiety that I tend to channel into pissiness)? No. Is anything stressful on the horizon? Nothing unusual: dance lesson (dancing with strangers is inherently stressful to me and I said last week I'd stya for the social dance later in the evening but I forgot about...) and new Lost (that!!!! and am afraid I'll look stupid begging off for TV) tonight, free evening tomorrow, Candlemas Saturday (and ritual always annoys me until I'm finished prepping and actually there), and Super Bowl party Sunday; busy, yes, but not unmanageably so. The only thing I can think of is the annoying phone call I received earlier about having to go downstairs and pick up my new work badge.

Really? I'm that disturbed by that? Yes, she was weirdly unprofessional on the phone: mispronouncing my name isn't that unusual but I assume you're someone I don't know if you do so; trying to get information from me without introducing herself got my defenses up. I think the bottom line, though, is that we had to have new pictures taken, and I have to give up my current super-model-looking ID. Seriously - I look tan and young with perfect make-up and a strong chin. It's a great picture. And I've been meaning to scan it, knowing these new badges were coming. She asked if I could come down this afternoon and I lied right to her face (ear) and asked if I could come tomorrow. Giving me tonight to scan it, finally. Because I am so completely wack at almost every available opportunity.

It's exhausting in my crazy brain, I tell you. I'm considering blowing off dancing (even though it will be my first physical exercise of the week) just to avoid more stress. Ah, but I can't, because I'm hoping to retrieve the white sweat jacket I left there last week about which I left TWO voice-mails (and almost one email) - because I fear an imminent white sweat jacket shortage? Exhausting. And crazy. They say knowing is half the battle. I'm not sure I'm up to the other half.

This blog under construction

2008-01-07T11:42:00.001-05:00

No, really. If you're interested in a more stream-of-consciousness flow, visit Tumbling the Tree.

What did I read last year?

2008-01-01T16:27:00.000-05:00

Perhaps this will encourage me to finish some of the books I start.

Finished:
The Bhagavad Gita
Yoga for Dummies
The Zen of Recovery, Mel Ash
Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen (audio/print)
The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell
Kushiel's Scion, Jacqueline Carey
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll
The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge, Carlos Casteneda
The Chesapeake Book of the Dead, Helen Chappell
The Holy Terrors, Jean Cocteau
A Scanner Darkly, Philip K. Dick (audio)
Foucault's Pendulum, Umberto Eco (this is a bit of a cheat; I started it in '06)
Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert (audio)
Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia, Elizabeth Gilbert
One Breath at a Time: Buddhism and the Twelve Steps, Kevin Griffin
Way of the Cat: Nap, Do Nothing and Stretch Your Way to a Blissful Life, Diana Kramer-Rolls
A Game of Thrones, George R. R. Martin
A Clash of Kings, George R. R. Martin
A Storm of Swords, George R. R. Martin
The Zen Path Through Depression, Philip Martin
The Rede of the Wiccae: Adriana Porter, Gwen Thompson, and the Birth of a Tradition of Witchcraft, Robert Mathiesen
David: Five Hundred Years, Antonio Paolucci
The Colour of Magic, Terry Pratchett
The Light Fantastic, Terry Pratchett
Mort, Terry Pratchett
Reaper Man, Terry Pratchett
Soul Music, Terry Pratchett
Equal Rites, Terry Pratchett
Wyrd Sisters, Terry Pratchett
Witches Abroad, Terry Pratchett
The Crystal Cave, Mary Stewart
The Hollow Hills, Mary Stewart
The Last Enchantment, Mary Stewart
The Harder They Fall : Celebrities Tell Their Real-Life Stories of Addiction and Recovery, Gary Stromberg
Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation, Lynne Truss
Ya-Yas in Bloom, Rebecca Wells

6/1 - I'm seeing a pattern in the books I manage to finish...

Started:

The Witching Way of the Hollow Hill, Robin Artisson
Immortal Remains, Stephen Braude
The Gold Leaf Lady and Other Parapsychological Investigations, Stephen Braude
Pronoia is the Antidote to Paranoia, Rob Brezsny
Never Tear Us Apart, Quinn Brockton
The Winter Solstice: The Sacred Traditions of Christmas, John Matthews
The Portable Dorothy Parker, edited by Marion Meade
Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, Shunryu Suzuki
The Spiritual Universe, Fred Alan Wolf

8/8 - Perhaps if I finished a book or two before I started a new one...

1/2/2008: Okay - not quite 50, and the majority I finished aren't the heaviest literary lifting. This year: more information along with the entertainment. Right after I finish A Feast for Crows. ; )

2006-10-13T16:20:00.000-04:00

This post is all about the picture. This is not the post you are looking for.

Death

2004-03-15T10:37:00.000-05:00

I just found out that one of our coworkers died over the weekend. I knew Carol to say "hi" to, but we didn't work in the same branch and never had an extended conversation. Nonetheless, I saw her almost every day in passing.

She died "suddenly" over the weekend according to the email that went out. I checked with a friend who's closer (in proximity) to where she worked; Carole thinks Carol was having gastric bypass surgery and there were complications.

I just walked past Carol's cube - it's decorated for St. Patrick's Day. Did it go through her mind for one second that she might not see St. Patrick's Day? I remember when I get my braces put on that I was afraid I might not live to see them taken off. The hit is that I'm due to get them off in two months and I still might not live that long. Not because anything's wrong, but because you never know. You just don't know. And I am a person who does think about that and I hate it.