Ironic. Sometimes you can't catch a break: sometimes you can but it's not how you intended.

Before I address the post title, I want to tell you all something that I've done. I thought it was utterly selfless and pure. In the end I came to the conclusion that it wasn't. To make a long story short, I did an assload (yes it's a word - look it up) of charitable giving this year. I did my usual check writing then I kept going. I went to several stores and purchased clothing and sundries for Homesafe which is a shelter for women and children. Then I gave to two+ animal shelters/organizations. Every item I gave was picked by my very own little hands. After that, a co-worker/friend's husband just lost his job. She was upset that she'd have to support them and their three children on her wage. She told them there would be no Christmas gifts this year. Yeah. So off I go to secretly buy gifts for all five of them and their three dogs. I put the giant gift wrapped package in her car but never told her what I'd done only requesting that she open it when the family was all together. I have yet to see if she was ok with it or was offended and wants to kill me. After spending quite a bit of money, do you know what I learned? I like doing this. Spending money I thought I didn't have and personally picking the items out (remember, I hate shopping) gave me some sort of connection. They are me, they are you. This year, with my mother's cancer, something happened in my head. Often, I can't connect either because I just can't or I don't want to. This makes me feel personally connected without actually being there. Someone knows that another person cared enough to buy them clothing, to get nightshirts for their kids, quality food for the animals and fluffy towels to curl up on. They don't need to know who, they just need to know that someone cares. I like knowing that I helped give them that feeling. I guess it's the feeling of being wanted. I learned so much this season.

Oh, and I'm in a nationally published magazine. Not by name, but with another person demonstrating use of some tech equipment. Huh. Kinda cool I guess.

Now, now, I'm sure you're wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. I mean, this is simply not the place to come for a regular dose of feel-good posts, right? Ok. So here goes. I go in for some exploratory surgery in January. Basically, today is day # 18 of my period and it looks as if I'll easily make it to day #19 and from there, who knows? Pain. Nausea. And after 18 days, bright red blood. And nausea. Again. Blech. So I get the old D & C (Dusting & Cleaning...), an internal scope up ye olde hoo-hah and then a scope pushed into my abdomen so they can take a look-see and determine if a band of miniature gypsies have taken up residence in my ovaries. Thankfully I'll be out. Hell, I'll even bring my own tourniquet to do the anesthesia induction; and don't be chintzy with the Versed, damn it! What a way to get a week off work. Odd that someone can bleed for 18 days and live. And no, I'm not pregnant. Any jokes about it and I'll show you the level of PMS involved here. I feel like I've had the shit kicked out of me; talk about being totally whooped! I'm sure you can figure that every now and then I panic because of my mom just having cancer. Even so, I'm pretty sure it's not that severe. Most likely a cranky ovary or something relatively benign. Which I truly believe, but it's always somewhere way in the back of my murky little head.

And there you have it. This is the first day I've even felt up to posting. I wouldn't have been surprised if I came back to crickets and dust bunnies. Thanks you all for stopping by, that really means alot. Little by little, I'm getting to your blogs. I feel so lost because I've missed so much but I'll catch up.

So the moral of this post is that if you do nice things for others, you'll eventually bleed to death. Or something like that.

!!! If you really looked up 'assload', I'm going to find a way to smack you. ;)

Ta-Da!

Yep, a full month and that's the best I can come up with for a title. Ha.

First I'll say that mom is well and had her final dose of radiation yesterday. She has yet to glow, which is in a way slightly disappointing. I think she's finally feeling some relief over the whole situation. Closure, perhaps.

I'm getting injections in joints I'd prefer not to and being referred out for further treatment for my back. I should donate my body to medical science now. It would be much more interesting for them. Everything else is still going laughably wrong; which I just say with simple irony. And I mean that with all sincerity. Like I've said: in the crazy stories you hear about your friend's grandmother's cousin's paper boy's aunt... well, I'm her...

Shrew #21 was the last to be seen but with another bout of nasty weather coming, who knows? I have had my car's vent/blower replaced twice in the month because mice find it a cozy place to live. Accidentally turned it on high one day and caught one in the motor. Killed the motor and the mouse. Oops.

My gram has trigger finger on one hand and managed to sustain 2nd degree burns on the other. Poor dear. The burns are healing well and her follow up for the other is on the 4th.

But why can't I tell you anything? Really tell you anything? I spend more time staring off, lost in some odd low-level thought than feeling anymore. Knowing me I'd say that is a huge red alert of some sort. Perhaps it is due to the fact that I barely sleep. And that I am doing so much for so many others that I've forgotten about myself. I'm not sad really. Nor angry. (Big lie - sometimes 'angry' is several planes away...) I'm just not anything, to be honest with you. The only thing I know is that things have to change. And by that I mean that in the way that it is some sort of rule. 'Ok, three steps sideways. Good, good.' 'Alright, now LiVEwiRe, time for your change.... Great!' It's just the way it is going to be.

I'm still convinced I could live underwater. But short of growing gills I'm sure that's not it. Winter is here and I hate it. Hate the fucker with a passion. Most of the time. Sometimes it's cool.

My focus is all but gone which makes for some long, drawn out conversations. I can't remember names and places or the name of what I was talking about. Or I just go away and think of something else. Perhaps it is just better there. My gut tells me it is too little sleep and too much responsibility. The balance is off.

But I'm happy for my mom, and for her, we are going to my holiday party at work. I was stressed thinking I have nothing appropriate to wear (or anything purchased within the last, oh, 8 years) but then I realized that whatever I put on will be a step up from the hospital scrubs I wear on a daily basis. I was so surprised and pleased that she wanted to go that I didn't worry about clothes. It is too cold to go naked so no one there needs to worry 'bout that.

Tomorrow my goal is to stop in and visit. It may be brief, but I hope everyone is doing well. I do miss all you silly gooses when I'm not here. You each have your own way about you that is so unique and I feel fortunate to have crossed paths with each of you.

Brevity in A

Mom is doing well; her cancer didn't spread but in a few weeks she goes for three radiation treatments. I recovered from the pneumonia but managed to get strep throat. Which isn't really strep at all (culture confirmed) but my throat was swollen to the point of making breathing next to impossible. I still have no idea what the cause was. I took off two days and now my boss is cranky. Whatever. I don't sleep between my cat howling, back pain and the shrews. Of which I have evicted 19 thus far. Shrews, not cats. More teeth are falling apart and I've used up this year's allotment of dental insurance. Not to mention personal pain and inconvenience. Great to know I'm busting up my own choppers. I'm looking forward to Halloween. I like not being me sometimes. Like now.

Anyway, I'll try to chime in next week. Be well my little bloglings; hope all is well.

Again, no title

Mom's surgery went well. She did still have a reaction to the anesthetic but they were prepared and it wasn't nearly as bad as she was initially prepared for. She has only five small laparoscopic incisions from her robotic-assist surgery. On Tuesday we go to have her recheck/follow up and get the pathology results. This should indicate whether or not the cancer spread and if chemo/radiation is needed. I made her this crazy gift basket of fun things to do while she recuperates, made her an awesome (if I do say so myself) floral arrangement, and do try to spend time with her every day and bring her little surprises. She was a little pale today but I don't think it's much to be concerned about. She's getting around slowly but is tolerating the movement better than either of us thought.

Thank you all for your kind words and thoughts.

For me, I'm in one of those busy phases where I have like, nine appoints within the next 10 days; either three or four are on Friday alone. Of course all in different towns, too. Had my routine dental cleaning today and it's a good thing that my teeth are nice and healthy and I'm a die-hard flosser (at least THAT is good) because I fractured two other teeth. Mother Effer!!! All because I'm clenching and grinding too hard. The new trick is that you can see severe chisel patterns which indicates it is happening during the day, not at night when the nightguard protects my teeth. They weren't like this six months ago so I can really only blame the stress of the madness at work and the pressures placed on me there. Fuck. From now on, I sedate myself while I'm there. The dollar signs are just dancing in front of my eyes. Crowns. The equivalent of perhaps $1000. This time.

Oh, my new hobby is rodent relocation. See, the cute furry bastards sneak in my house and I, not wanting to smash their heads to bits, place food in humane traps. They go for the food, wake me up when they rattle to escape and I place them back outside. Usually at three in the morning. Six of them from the end of September. But now, there is a renegade rodent. No manners at all: he mocks me. Literally walks into the trap, without setting it off, eats the food then leaves an, erm, calling card, shall we say. I mean really. This is not a deli. I'm trapping you, damn it! You are NOT to eat my food, shit, then run! GAH! I think they are moles or something of the sort. I used to think them adorable. Now I'm just wondering how many I need to make a coat.

And. Not sure if I told you, but I saw a red fox. I was on my way home and unfortunately all the other ones I've seen were hit on the side of the road. I'm so careful now when I drive through the park. It was absolutely beautiful.

I have no title and I'm not going to sit around thinking of one.

My friend/coworker's sister got married, went to Vegas on her honeymoon, then died there in her sleep three days later. The autopsy showed nothing; she was only 49. Another coworker's mother fell ill and within days was in hospice care due to (previously unknown) advanced liver cancer. She's all of a sudden taking a blend of strong painkillers and is going between being awake and in pain or lapsing in and out of consciousness.

I don't like these things looming in my head. Tomorrow is my mother's cancer surgery: I have to get up at 3:30am which is about 4.5 hours away. All of a sudden I'm getting scared. What if she doesn't wake up? Certainly a valid fear especially given the gloom and doom surrounding me lately in the above scenarios. She is strong and really probably way too stubborn to not come out of anesthesia. I am thinking positively and there is no reason for her not to do well.

Of course there was no reason for Mary's sister to just up and die, either.

I just had to get that out. The last 3+ weeks of being logical seems to have somehow balled itself up and slammed into my chest. Perhaps I'm just realizing that the surgery date is finally here and I have absolutely no control.

On the bright side, I do have sedatives...

Waiting

My world is getting smaller. It is as if I have dictated it and so it shall be. Only I don't specifically recall doing so. Somehow, this shrinking feeling quiets me; but only when it is not frightening me.

I've been seeing things, you know. Dark things. Small skittering things. I catch them at the corner of my eye and they are gone before I ever knew what they were. They come more frequently now. Perhaps they are bits of old life, saying goodbye.

There is this saying that comes to mind. Sort of. I'm so bad with them. I mix up their words and meanings like random names in a hat. When I checked into this one, I was on. Funny how every now and then I remember one and in the end, it's one I wish I hadn't. Life is funny like that.

Here are some of the words - here is the song. Match it to my post title when you click. Some might say that this is a sad kind of song, but I don't really. Not happy; resolve maybe. Dallas Green has clever words for my small world.

A coma might feel better than this -
attempting to discover, where to begin.
You are weighed down.
You are full of something
sickness and desertion.
You are weighed down.
You're underneath it all.
So say goodbye to love
and hold your head up high.
There's no need to rush.
We're all just waiting... waiting to die.

(City and Colour ~ Waiting
2007/Bring Me Your Love)

How very 'me' of me...

I'm the one taking care of my mom pre/post surgery. Me. Right? Well, somehow I have managed to play hostess to... pneumonia. I mean, WTF?!?! It just had to way 38 years and some odd months to say, 'ok, now, now is the time'! So far it's been four full days of antibiotics and yet my lungs make Meerkat sounds when I lean back or go fully horizontal. And I'm referring to the erratic clicking sounds, not the sweet little trills. If I hold my breath my lungs still make noise; crackly, raking sounds. Ew. The doc says it's basically just congestion. Right. That's one way to see it. I can't shake the fact that my lungs are a snot sack not to mention a walking petri dish. I'm doing everything I can so that I don't compromise her health during her 'event'.

Her oncology appointment was straightforward but I'm sure she left there feeling more confident in what was about to happen. Oh, and I'll have to find you information, but she's being operated on by R2D2. Cool, eh? Right now the surgery is the big thing. They can't stage it until they've removed the offending pieces parts. To me, that's when it gets scary. And the only thing you can do is wait.

Other than the pneumonia, I've been very short-tempered and lashing out and doing stupid things. Work is not on my good side now but it will pass so it isn't worth going into detail over, ya know? I think my anger is related to the stress with mom. I won't lie - it is scary uncharted territory. Plus, she has no health insurance/savings left at all due to being laid off for so long so I may be paying thousands of dollars in fees.

Then I have my own annual gyn/mammogram appt due next month. Yeah, it's a bit scarier now.

Anyway, the vile pneumonia should give me a day to catch up no matter how badly I want to stay in bed. Here's something interesting. Only two episodes so far but I am interested.

I awoke only to find my lungs empty...

Earlier today I hand wrote the bones of a post while my mom had gone to the doc's. I was scribbling away in the waiting room about how I felt returning from Canada. I loved it but found there can be so much internal conflict over things you never see coming. In my mind there were symbolistic red lines and no change of heart, no matter how badly I wanted there to be. I was coming to the conclusion that I am just me and that's all I can be.

Before I finalized my commentary and supposition the doc called me into his office.

That was when we found out that my mother has cancer.
~

Promises Kept

Do the different 'yous' of days gone by ever haunt you? What about the now 'you'?

There are a multitude of things that can directly, or indirectly, affect the person that looks back at you in the mirror. The person that has the last word when you close your eyes at night. The person that fills your head with thoughts, ideas, words, when you first wake.

I used to think, even when things were out of control, that I still had some sort of control over my life. I suppose that was the foolish idealist in me.

Now I'm coming to learn that there are times when you come to a swift realization, kind of like a film being played in fast forward showing your past as well as where you are headed, when you see that your actions often did not have the consequences you desired. That perhaps you have less of a hand in it than you think. Or do you?

For as long as I can recall, I've been leary of promises. I have every right to be. Seven years ago I made a promise to myself. At the time, it was to protect myself; save myself in a way. Little did I know that it might be my own undoing. Isn't it funny... in an attempt to protect and elevate myself I have effectively walled myself off. The protection stalled out and became a holding cell.

It is kind of like falling down into a well and looking up, wondering if and when it will end. And how. And which is worse.

So much for keeping promises.

Breaking the surface to show I'm still alive. Well, most of me anyway.

Tap, tap... is this thing on? {squeeeeeal}

So yeah, I'm not dead. I did end up having a second, much more involved oral surgery, though. So after all the pain over the past two years that these two teeth (formally known as #19 and #20, I renamed them the Evil Twins) have caused they are hopefully nestled snugly in a medical waste barge on their way to being incinerated. All of my insurance was used trying to save them and now I get to pay for this surgery out of pocket. The irony grips me folks.

Anyway. I now have a dead body in my mouth permanently. I needed bone grafts and unless it is major, they don't put a patient through another procedure simply to harvest bone. They get bone-in-a-can. Seriously. Most places in my body wouldn't really freak me out much but my mouth, ew. I'm certain I've ingested some so now that makes me a cannibal as well. Well aren't I just America's sweetheart?

My new cell ringtone is Living Dead Girl. Dig?

Just getting back into the swing of things and I hope to snoop around blogland this weekend to start catching up. Hope everyone is grand. Now, off to eat something. Hmm, pudding, baby food or yogurt? Decisions, decisions.

Birthday or not, this has been an amazing week.

And by that I mean amazingly shitty. I'm always saying things suck lately but give me a moment to convince you that I reside in the Realm of Suck. It was my birthday; you'd think something could have gone smoothly somewhere along the way.

*static* that would be a negative *static*

The other morning I awoke to see my 14.5 year old cat looking at me with metallic green sparkly curling ribbon hanging out of her mouth. Approximately 8" worth. GAH!!! Emergency! Pulled gently until it found resistance then threw her festive-looking ass in the carrier and got her to the vet. After all was said and done, she is recovering nicely at home with an almost 3" incision in her belly. I had the pleasure of picking up the $800.00 tab.

Remember the oral surgery I had a few weeks ago that seems to be healing nicely? Well, it is. Except I now have another infection in the same area and it hurts worse than before. I'm off to a specialist Thursday but it's just a consultation. There is some sort of mysterious infection under the teeth and the source is undetermined. It could even be the bone, which means pulling the teeth won't really solve anything. Because of the pain I've barely slept in days. I have antibiotics and Percocet (the 7.5mg ones) to help but the pain meds make me highly nauseous and did I mention that I get an allergic reaction/side effect of incredibly intense itching? I'm so tired of this.

I was to watch my cousin's dogs/house this weekend but seeing that I'm sick and drugged, my mom went over to help instead. Where she proceeded to fall in a hole one day then spent the next night chasing one of the dogs around the neighbors farm dodging cows along the way. I just feel bad because I was the one that should have been there, you know?

Perhaps the pain won't kill me but I'm not placing bets. There are alot of people I say I 'hate' in this world but for some reason, I can't think of one that I'd wish this pain on. Not one.

I need to speak with the 'Department of Birthday Do-Overs', dont' you think?

Someone needs to take out the damn trash!

My new neighbors are here. I seriously hope he/she/they aren't the trash that I'm getting the idea they may be. Everyone that has lived there seems to be of a questionable element and truthfully, I don't like putting up with it nor do I like to have my Gram here alone.

I'll cut a few breaks but after that, they will be confronted. I'm sick of these idiot dumbfucks.

Circuitry

Some things come hardwired because that is simply the way they are. Some things become hardwired because that's how we form them over time.

I want changes in my life but I'm scared. Rarely will I admit to being scared (except for maybe spiders, clowns, ventriloquist dummies and things of that nature). The changes I want scare me because if they are good, and I like them, I fear they will be taken away. Perhaps I rationalize that it is better not to even attempt it than to fail and be crushed. That is how I've hardwired myself. If I close myself off I won't be hurt. Granted, it is a flawed plan but I don't think too clearly when I'm terrified, ya know?

Funny thing happened today. Three generations in one car, all three suffering from one form of mental disorder or another. All three have made comments in the recent past about not wanting to live. The two passengers are pissing off the driver, who is the only one who would actually act on those thoughts and comments. Perhaps not the best person to be pissing off. It actually made me laugh when I realized that. My family isn't really different from anyone else's, yet there are differences that would surprise some. This isn't one, I just thought there was a dark humor there.

Ye olde brayne is a tad edgy and I'm thinking a mile a minute. Hoping it is short-lived because I don't have the energy for this now. Work and family have worn me down so I don't have time to deal with a phase. It may work out in a few days - that happens often.

Still, I need to say this and I'm avoiding it. You won't know what I mean but I will and right now I just need to say it, even if in cryptic fashion. The time with Jack was weird today. Either I was way off base before or I am now. Probably now; I'm pretty good with this stuff. But if I'm wrong about that, my brain has taken a jump to a very uncomfortable level. Even worse, I've been planning a way to test it. And it could go horribly wrong. Something wasn't right about it and I feel a need to know what. It could either turn out to be something I can rationalize and set off to the side or... it could go horribly wrong. Did I mention that? Because the family has enough going on. But that was alot after so little. Gah!

Off to hunt down some sedatives, I need rest.

Two things for today. Just two.

Women: if you have giant boobs please refrain from wearing those empire waist shirts with a band that cuts across just under your boobs. Because for you, they hit you mid-boob and you look like an idiot. People (me) will stare then laugh. Try your clothes on before you buy them so you don't look like a total fool. Not all styles are made for every body type. On me, they work but I always pass on the hotpants... not a good look for me. Simple really.

I feel better having said that. Second point is that I think I need a different approach. I've separated from my life and have no recollection of, well, pretty much anything. I can't really explain it at the moment, it's just that I feel like I hung a 'be back in 5 minutes' sign on my forehead and that was in 1996. Part of me separates on purpose, I think. The majority though, I don't know, I'm just absent. It is becoming problematic because nothing sticks in my brain.

Who are you people again?....

It's laughable, really

Alright, not so much laughable as, hmmm, let's see. Yeah, well no nice words are coming to mind but then again, nice words have been few and far between in my vocabulary lately.

>> Graphic, icky descriptions to follow! <<

I did enjoy the comments on the previous post but I've been busy working nutty hours (til 3:30am) and moreso, having dental issues so I was always out of time or steam... Anyway. The tooth abcess I thought I had? Well the antibiotics were doing less than a stellar job at kicking it so I had a procedure scheduled for today. The American Dental Association has termed slicing gum tissue, yanking and peeling it from the bone then using a jackhammer in your jawbone a procedure. Bastards. Scraping jawbone to rid scar tissue is like dragging a metal ruler on concrete, only in your head. Repeatedly. Oh, and don't forget about the chunk of gingival tissue (probably already on a barge full of medical waste to be incinerated) that was removed to resection the remaining healthy tissue and protect the tooth in question.

What a way to start your fucking day. Verdict: I have a sizable hole in my jawbone. Not because I have yuck-mouth; far from it. Seems that there are a couple options but they include scar tissue formed from the irritation of a root canal done ~two years ago. Scar tissue attracts bacteria and boom - infection. Another idea is an actual bone defect. Grand. I follow up next week and am fully aware that it may return. My doc seems optimistic, though.

I've turned down pain meds and have been popping ibuprofen like Pez. For the moment, the pain level is quite low. We'll see what happens. I did love the four slugs of novocaine I got in the office; the 5 hours of total numb 'nothingness' was fabulous. I was actually scared for days before I went in as this is just something that makes me queasy. So far, I'm alright and that is so much more than I'd expected. But who knew... holes in your jawbone? What... do I have oral termites?!

One more thing. Matthew Good is coming to Buffalo at the end of August. Between that bit of news and no current excruciating pain, I'm feeling quite good.

I did something I should be proud of yet I still feel like a steaming pile of excrement

Wednesday 6.11.08 is the Matthew Good concert in London, ON. I've planned. I bought a ticket for myself to go by myself. From my house, it is a 5.5 hour drive (non-stop) one way. Yes, he's amazing but this was also a goal show for me. How can I put this? Remember over the past, I don't know, 8 - 10 months I was ready to will life to end in a fiery blaze? The only way I got myself to move on was to use goals. Buffalo was the first, Cleveland the second and this was to be the third.

Did you notice a sort of change in grammatical tense with that last part? Yeaaaah. I can't go. Well, I could, but the fact that I have developed a troubling and insanely disgusting tooth abcess is putting a damper on the whole thing. I'm worrying about fending off endocarditis but I still can't stop trying to think of a way to go. Yes, I know it would be a stupid choice to go considering all that could go wrong, and let's face it, you've known me long enough to know that with me, they'll go wrong and then some. Meh, old hat.

Even saying that, it kills me. Perhaps because I feel like I not only failed in providing myself with a moment of peace because he really just has a way of making me feel more than any one person should then smooths over all the rough spots, but I feel like I've failed at my goal. Like I'm telling myself that by not going that I don't value my sanity as this is what was keeping me going. It's probably the infection talking..... sure. We know it's me but the idea of an easy out is appealing.

So, I contacted the venue and all but begged for them to release my ticket - for free - I didn't even want the money for it. They won't. Unless the person picking up the ticket has a copy of both the front and back of my credit card. Which will be happening right after I get a Paris Hilton tattoo on my fucking forehead. All I could think to do was contact Matt Good and see if he could use whatever method possible to get it to someone who otherwise couldn't make it to the show. I'm sure he gets emails and such all the time like that.

I'm the one trying to fend off an infection of the heart and somehow that pales in comparisson to how I feel about cancelling my trip, failing to keep my promise to myself and then trying to give away a ticket to someone, no strings, and failing at that. Ok, so I know I can't control their policies, I'm not an idiot. I'm being responsible for my health so why do I feel like it's all wrong? Oh yeah, that's right... I'm not used to taking care of myself!

Alright, I've gotta end this one with a bang {snicker}. If you get disgusted easily, or even moderately so, stop now ->

Ok, this fucking tooth abcess tastes like I'm giving an eternal blow job. Twenty. Four. Muthalovin'. Seven. Now that's just wrong.

My theory

You wreck me baby, yeah you break me in two.

Just a line in a song. Except in the song he's referring to another person. In my case, I'm referring to my own brain. I'm going to tell you briefly how my day went then tell you about my theory. One almost seems like intangible proof of the other although I came up with this theory a while ago. It is not lighthearted; be warned.

I got in an argument today that had me grab my purse, phone, hop in my car and get the fuck out. And I did. And then I realized I had nowhere to go. That is kind of how I play my life, you know? I connect only on the surface but the core is never anchored. I thought about finding a place by the lake and parking my ass there for a couple hours but I couldn't. I had to move; to actively separate myself. It's what I do best. Next thing you know I was on my way to Pittsburgh. First time in a long time. Record high gas prices, already 3:30 in the afternoon and I'm on an almost 6 hour round trip. By the time I started to calm down from the argument, I got to the city and my chest was getting tight. I went up to the Overlook and surveyed the city. Probably should have flung myself off but took a Klonopin instead. I left after five minutes and $70 in gas. I think I went there knowing that it would be bittersweet. It would distract me from the current issue by giving me something else to deal with. It's a bit sick, but it's as if I can't feel better, I want to feel worse...

So about my theory. I though about this a month or two ago and the more I think of it, the more I subscribe to the idea. What 'hell' is, is something that happens in your head. So what if there is some sort of transition that occurs in your brain, your thought processes, your very perception, that makes you suffer. I'm not talking about mental illness, but if you know the true definition of schizophrenia, it might be similar to that; having the logic at times to understand and process, then giving over to fear, threatening perceptions, warped senses and threatening concepts that overtake you. What if THAT is hell? In that case, every person would submit to their own while trying to make sense of it all. This would be a torturous existence indeed if there was nothing you could do. If it skewed every bit of information that you took in so you never knew what was real or what was the haze of your own person hell settling upon you. It makes me think of a fever settling upon you.

Most cultures have their version and vision of hell, and while they may vary, there are some constants, one being that it is a place where you go, either body or spirit. I think I may be challenging that. If hell has such ferocity, why would there be restrictions? Hell would find you.

Perhaps this is why I literally feel torn and always in some sort of battle of the ages in several facets of my life. It is a suffering that is meant for me now. I can't explain why it happens and logically, I would like to consider myself above simply being dramatic. Granted, I can be dramatic but that is usually paired with humor. Or anger. But think of the most intense feelings you've ever had. Witnessing something horrid? Death of someone close to you? Being the victim of a violent crime? Guilt over not saving someone? That is the level that I struggle with more days than not. Even when I'm not in any bipolar phase. Like now. So how is it that one person can be allowed to carry the burden of that level of intensity over routine things and not have a way to control it or to rise above?

As I mentioned, everyone has different beliefs; half the time I don't even know what mine are. But I'd say one thing that we can all agree on is that we're alive, on whatever plane you choose to opt for. I don't think hell wants to wait for us anymore. It's found a way to trickle in and wreak havoc. This is not to say that I think I, or anyone else, is going to hell - this isn't a precursor. This might be as far as it goes. Hell isn't a place, it is a transformation that occurs in your brain. How peculiar that we're all walking around, each possibly in our own living hell.

And no, I'm not drinking.

I know why octopi, but really, why octopi? Gross.

Nope, not dead, just sick. And busy. That is a really lousy combination. At the moment I'm watching a game and wishing that the announcers didn't scream everything. I could do without that.

So, I've had this upper respiratory thing and pre/post URI I've been being worked to death on the job. We just found out that the past several months during this computer system switch were made about 18 times harder than it had to be because they sent us 'the wrong people'. I hate them. I want to do very bad things to them. So we've been fighting a losing uphill battle. Finally there's a glimmer of hope but we all feel angry, used, made fools of... just like our time and efforts were useless, because basically they were.

I think I am taking this personally because I want to have a solid grip on things. When I don't, I take it as a shortcoming on my part. I know this is not my fault but it is habit for me to feel that way so it is hard to override the logic. Very draining. And it has made me think.

Of course I'm questioning where I am (literally, as in my current address) and my job, and there's some health stuff in there. Want to know the funny part? I can't think about it long enough to really come to a conclusion; it's as if I keep forgetting to think about it. Perhaps my meds are working too well and although it is great to be calm for once and just experience regular emotions, I don't function on just regular emotions. I don't know how. Years of bipolarity took care of that. I'm going to back off on my meds slightly just to get my brain going, not enough to bring on a phase of any sort. The only reason I know how to do this is because every now and then I forget a dose or two - I know how far I can take it safely. See, I'm entering the uber-apathy zone and I recall that my last bout with that (taking the last job in Pittsburgh or going back to my former job here in Ohio) was a dangerous place to perch. But I'm learning, I see the signs. If I could only see the answers.

Working overtime, being sick, and watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs has kept me from posting, blog hopping, etc but I'm going to try to fit a little in. I miss seeing what everyone is up to.

Maybe next time I'll tell you about my new theory.

Here's to me, Mrs. Robinson...

For the past few weeks I've been eyeing up these two guys at work. Not that I'd do anything about it (they are something like 24 ever-so-ancient years of age) but I've been kind of intrigued. The one, I had insta-crush on, like, three years ago when he was a mere kid! Ok, it's really not that bad, but it's bad enough. Every time we so much as talk that stupid Mrs. Robinson song goes into heavy rotation in my head. Which was before my time, I'd like to add. Truth be told, I find the one guy interesting and he's really smart, which intrigues me. Anyway, nothing would come of this, I just enjoy it when we talk. For some reason I feel uncomfortable because I know I think he's adorable and then the song gets into my head, and... there you have it.

I'd like to blame this on something, so I'll just blame it on these guys... they're tough hockey players so they can handle it.

The Easter Conference Playoffs just started tonight for the Stanley Cup Finals. Best of seven and my boys won the first game! Go Penguins! Anyway, I'm blaming this all on these lovely 20 and 21 year old (respectively) boys. BOYS! WTF?! I'm telling you, this 'no, I swear I'm old enough to shave' thing is odd. Hell, the one can't even get a drink! ;)

Sidney Crosby

Evgeni Malkin

Ok. Now I feel better. I don't believe it, but I feel better.

Here's to me, Mrs. Robinson....

Do you really need a timer if your brain is going to blow like an egg in a microwave?

There will always be things that people try to forget about. I'm not referring to the really bad ones, just things. Normal, mundane in origin perhaps, yet the kind that make you want to pull up roots, shrivel and head on across the land like tumbleweed: the ones you just want to be away from. To ignore.

And there are those things that you can't. I find it shameful that I need to dole out my thoughts like I'm handing change to a line of paupers simply in order to keep them from overwhelming me. I hate it and I detest feeling so weak over something that is not of much consequence in the scheme of things. Yet apparently it is in my scheme. Somewhere it is huge.

I was to be making certain decisions now but I've conveniently 'forgotten' about the whole plan. Recently reminded, I'm weighing panic against purposeful inaction. Fact is, it can't be both ways. I can't tackle what causes me an utter shift in the ability to think and feel like a regular person. My regular. Which isn't all that regular.

Some would refer to me as a free spirit in the way that I do what captures my fancy at the moment. Most don't realize that that is the only safe way I can exist. Of course, there is a downside and the pitfalls of just such an existence catch up. I need an answer where there isn't one to be had. And this time, I can't artfully manufacture one - it doesn't work for this.

I'm okay now. Mostly out of the mixed episode anyway. What I'm concerned about here is my reaction to something that is basically hardwired in my brain. See, when I panic, my goal is not to get away from the situation, but to get away from me, because I'm the one stuck in it and will take it with me. But if the idea of trying to peel myself out of my skin to get away seems plausible, well, overwhelmed brains will try to accomodate. That is what I fear. Pretty much general stupidity brought on by overwhelming panic. It's almost like running from or reacting to a visual hallucination.

This is nothing new and I've talked about it before. I'll talk about it again soon but it's not so much the topic, as it is fairly generic, but it is how I respond to it. And the concept that I do not see how I will ever rid myself of it. The neural pathways were repeatedly burned to make this thought process and I may very well be a slave to it. Which in that case, there is no hiding.

*boom*

Try and forget all the ways we let ourselves get away

I'm offered to buy-in on some snazzy little trinkets, even a few discounted DVDs, candles for fundraisers, etc. The newspaper ads make a vain attempt to lure me with sale prices on spring fashions. My hospital scrubs and shoes could use an update. And then I see these cuties...

But it doesn't matter. I can't do it. Not until I donate more stuff first. I mean, I DO need footwear.

But...

• There's the woman struggling to feed her two young children while her husband is out working at a job where he doesn't even make $11.00/hour with no insurance. That is their only income and it is far too much to receive public assistance in the way of foodstamps for her kids.


• Recalling the woman who has done everything possible to get a job for over three years after a lay off has finally landed a job at an agricultural nursery. She doesn't mention the searing pain in her feet due to a medical condition that requires surgery to the employer, happy that she has a job, even for four weeks.


• Or the man that cried to me when he was taken to the hospital after being found in the bushes. He had less than seven dollars in his pocket and that was not enough for a taxi ride. He was either homeless or half a step away, indicating that pretty much all of what he had in the world was in a messenger bag slung low on his hip. His remaining option was to walk. With his cane, and a head injury.


• Some stop and ask for directions or general questions when they see me. Often their clothes have many days worth of soil on them, their teeth in various states of decay, hair obviously cut by each other. They debate for what seems to be an eternity at the vending machines when I realize that this one choice must meet the needs of several people. They don't have money for more than a few sips or bites for each.


• The shoes with duct tape are almost as common as those without. Shoes cost money and a pair purchased at a deep discount store will see that duct tape much faster. Patchwork purses with the owner's name written on the outside often accompany a section of PVC pipe modified to be used as a cane.

More often than not I hear snippets of conversations when I'm out and about that are very hard to deal with. On the job, there is more time spent, waiting for the elevators, near patient rooms. People make eye contact, talk to me and I'm always kind in return; that means I hear more than many. At work, I know that if they are at the hospital, somebody is being faced with something not-so-positive. I make every effort to simply see and hear them as I believe that is all anybody ever really wants.

Lately, this is happening closer and closer to home. Two of those examples are members of my family. The others are ones I've seen or heard about. I live in the corroding remains of the rust belt and as each day goes by, I see less and less hope for this area as a whole. Money for basics is gone. My heart breaks to hear someone decline a 60 cent cup of coffee, not because they are frugal, but because they simply don't have it. I can sense it eating at their soul, stomping upon the small amount of pride they had when they walked through the door. It kills me that I can't make it better for them.

Every day I see just how easy it would be to become homeless. Let me tell you, it takes alot less than you might think. I don't know if I avoid spending when unnecessary because I'm conscientious, fearful, or guilt ridden by the things I see all around me.

In summary of self

If you think about it, you know who you are, right? Generally speaking; those things that make you, you. Except when you don't. That not knowing begins to define what you are.

Perhaps it is the sun. Possibly the new meds are taking hold. And maybe, maybe I'm just tired and wanting to give up the fight. But life hasn't been utterly twisted and hateful this past week. Nor have I. And that is huge. I'm still at about 75% of my recent level, but there are those moments where my mind is calm. {Yes, rub your eyes and refocus... I said calm.} Of course I think that is why maybe I've tired myself out and am just giving up. My brain is akin to a playground for Clive Barker* when I'm in these mixed states. It is not something I would wish on anyone. Having been suffering through one for several months now, I'm having difficulty knowing how to conduct myself when it backs off, even a fraction.

There's the tricky part. Not knowing myself, or what to expect from my thoughts, behaviors, actions, and emotions became, and defined, what I was. With that gently fading, I swear I feel lost. I'm treading cautiously but it is safer that way. The brain is one screwy place.

*Is it strange that I always had some sort of crush on both Peloquin and Pinhead?

Babylon

Sometimes when you're circling, a little push is all it takes. Or you can take the plunge and sink right down.

Occasionally life gives you pretty sparklies with one hand and gooses you with the other

Ever notice how when some 'out of nowhere' event happens, it not only takes you by surprise but makes you a bit excited, too? Yeah. Don't let that shit fool you.

Today I ran into a girl (daughter of a previous friend of mine) who noticed me and addressed me immediately telling me how much she missed me. In truth, I miss her too. She was a cool kid and now she's like 16, 17 or something. Anyway. We talked for just a few minutes as she was working. I gave her my number and she said she wants to talk to me ASAP so we can catch up. Then I ask her where she is staying. Haha. Yeah. She says she is staying with her uncle and that the house was across from a local store. Fuck.

Here's the kicker. To me, her uncle is 'the one that got away'. I now have to realize that I will most likely see him or talk to him at some point. I heard that a few years ago he was talking about getting married and I'm just not sure I want to face that. We went our separate ways about a year before I was diagnosed as being bipolar and my life was a living nightmare because of it (bipolar). When I see/talk to him, I'll get to relive what went wrong and why. And I can only blame myself, truthfully.

No matter if he's married, single, whatever; that will only be a part of it. Dealing with remembering one of the best facets of my life crumbling in slow motion will be like dying a thousand little deaths. How do you tell someone that you were pretty much clinically insane at the time? You really can't.

So I sit here and while I am pleased to have run into her, because I do think of her often, I know that I have to keep myself from getting lost in this. No sense in driving past his house in hopes of checking out his car or truck so I can spot him more easily on the road now. Or in parking lots, and set up 'chance' meetings. I can say this now because I'm not manic, nor even hypo manic. I make no deals, though, for when that time comes. Then, I obsess like a champ.

For now, I have some time to brace myself and I suppose that's more than any of us usually get. I know it will be panic-inducing to relive it again - just how awful my life was with undiagnosed and untreated bipolarity. To relive a journey to hell.

But there's a girl. And despite being less than half my age, we have always been friends. She's going through a tough time and I'd like to be there for her. If it means walking on the edge of what I fear the most, just give me a moment to get my shoes.

'The sun is gone, but I have a light...'

Sometimes the most peculiar things can make you the most emotional. Things that you have absolutely no connection with, except, well, maybe you do...

Every year around this time, I get a certain ill feeling that settles upon me. If I think about it too much it's like walking in mud or breathing in the rain; something reasonable but you must be careful to not let it catch you at the wrong angle. Why it seems to have such an effect on me I can't be certain but I have my own theories.

I can't believe that it has been 14 years and I've never committed to any one theory. It just makes my heart heavy. Something, just something about it that I can't seem to shake. One year I was listening to a show about it on the radio and as I was sitting and writing; next thing I'm on the verge of hyperventilating and barely redirect my hand before I plunge the pen into my left hand that was resting on the paper, holding it in place. Yeah, it's that intense. But I carry that level of intensity with me at all times and it comes out when it sees fit. I have no say in the matter.

Granted, I'm a fan but this is more about a connection I'm making between him, the music and molding it to fit my interpretation. In some ways, this has almost made me protective over him, which I find a bit strange. Somehow, I appreciated him more dead; I can't even pretend to get that.

To be sure, much of what I feel is symbolic, reflecting and reminding me of a very important time in my life. Symbolism makes sense; after all, my interest seems to increase every year just about this time. But it's not just that. I suppose it sounds stupid to say, but I think his death got me to look at how he presented himself in life. Somewhere in that haze, the mirror seems a bit too close. Personally, I think he wore it all out there for everyone to see and most took it to be a simple act, not at face value. I think that for as loud as he was made out to be, he was literally suffering in silence. We all have demons, right?

~~ February 1967 - April 1994 ~~

Check out both links (top and bottom). Any theories on his death?

Uh, got milk?

No time to encapsulate, no desire to rehash. Things are wrong all over the place. There are new meds. I hate everything. This weekend I should be able to check in. Until then, I'll leave you with this... a glimpse of the first few moments of a little furry life.

Don't let mom's tongue up the nose trick fool you, she was quietly and steadily lowing the moment she saw us... talk about the evil eye!






We simply came around the corner to check out the cows (I always do at my uncle's) and came face to face (ok, maybe about 20 feet) with a birth that had to have occurred merely a handful of minutes before. I'll spare you to gorey details on how I know that.





Anyway, the open area by the wooden fence was flimsy wire. Although certainly with an electric current, I am not stupid enough to think I could outrun this behemoth, nor am I enough of an idiot to think that said electric fence would deter this mom from protecting her baby.



I'm afraid to call back and ask if this tiny bovine made it. Nature is cruel and I suck at being hopeful. I am still secretly hoping everything is fine in Mooville.

4.6 update: She's doing just fine... ;)

Walk outside, get in the car, stare at the wheel then fall apart

Barring the relentless piles of snow here and there that refuse to succumb to the warming temps, most of it has melted. The lake has almost completely thawed. That is always a high point for me. It takes on a peculiar landscape in the winter when it freezes, partially thaws, then reforms and freezes once again. It's like mini-tectonic plates shifting but their days are numbered. I need to see the water.

In light of the fact that it is March, the buzzards have returned as they do every year on the Ides of March. Apparently they are on holiday up on the lake here for a few days but I enjoy them. Mostly. I keep thinking they are in my line of sight to remind me that they're here to clean up what is left of my life. To dispose of the carcass in an ecologically sound manner, if you will. And I can't argue with them, they've come all this way. They must know something I don't. But I'm catching on.

This mixed episode is still kicking my ass but I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on Saturday, the good disco doc. This is the last chance I've giving him then I find a new doc. For crissake, I told him I was ready to drive off (or into) a bridge and options I'd given myself and he doesn't seem to take it seriously. Interestingly I can't even drink to change the mental vibe anymore. At least not right now. A part of me erroneously believes I'll 'learn' something from this episode so I need to have all senses keen. First, these are chemicals in my brain going haywire so there is nothing to learn, what happens to me isn't a conscious decision to learn from, I'm a bystander. Second, keen, reliable senses during an episode? Puh-lease. Maybe not imbibing is just a bit of restraint as I really have moments when I act on impulse and who is to say that I wouldn't really do something stupid? As if my current involvement with my life is anything to be proud of. Hell, I can't even be a good drunk! In a way it's like having the safety on a gun yet the abundance of explosives goes unnoticed.

There is an event I want to attend in Canada this June. Of course my mother is coming with me. She doesn't give two fucks about what I'm doing but she doesn't trust me to go and come back safely even though I more than likely won't be in any phase at the time. Apparently Canadian bridges are heftier than American ones? I'm 37 and I get a babysitter. Anyway, I've got to order my ticket and make plans this weekend. In some ways, if I have this planned, I know I'll cling to the flimsiest shred of sanity if need be just to attend. It's like life insurance in a way. Given my last post I'll give you three guesses as to what it is.

For now I'm glad that tomorrow is the end of a seven day stretch at work. Not bad at all, I just wish I felt better. I'll be able to snoop around in BlogLand over the weekend, which I'm looking forward to. Anyway, I'm reading a new book on bipolarity and I'll let you know if it's any good. Or if I strangle my disco doc on Saturday. Or the lovely folks at Sprint that have given me three shit-ass replacement phones in the past two weeks. For now, take care and I'll catch up with you all in a few days.

I'm really not dead although the buzzards are trying to convince me otherwise.

Lost in the law of averages

This post will end on a very special note, but first... Today I had a mini breakdown while listening to the song below. No really. I almost pulled my car off the road and called someone. Only I didn't know who so I just sobbed and drove, barely able to see the road. I wanted to not feel; to simply disappear, if only for a second. I cannot even define my own feelings anymore and that is a very, very bad thing. If I cannot define them then I cannot fix them, if I cannot fix them, I have no control, in which case, I'm back at square one.





I'm taking stupid chances again, living my life in a half dream state because I'm trying to separate myself from, well, myself, I suppose. Going about my day I'm here but I'm not. If I let myself feel what I'm feeling, this emotional wreckage with no name, it will be too big for me. What I felt earlier today, it was like fighting an unseen entity which you were certain you'd be consumed by.



Bad wiring makes my reactions utterly inappropriate and hard as I try, I can't seem to remember if you connect the red one before the green one or is it the yellow before the blue? It never seems to be enough. Or right. Or appropriate. And I'm sitting here all by myself trying to deal with it. And I'm failing while trying to appear cognizant and pulled together.

I suppose this is some sort of mixed episode. But knowing what it is doesn't change the fact that it could be devastating. I'm putting everything into not disappearing. Unless it's the other way around. Either way, it is hell.



Ah, you say, the crazy girl... she spoke of the post ending with something on a more special, positive note. Indeed I did. But listen to this song, read the lyrics and I'll be waiting at the end.


Man of Action



Between the night and day
lost in the law of averages
what would you know
unless you'd lived a life of it?

They say the kid sold out,
in love with himself run ragged,
always looked to be a man of action
cause that's what the old man
should have been but
this world it wore him out
this world it wears you out



I dissapeared today
I went under
if only for a second
and I found where the lights drown
if you lie down
you can disappear altogether



I got me a whore head
I got me a day star
I lost me control of myself
and baby I don't want it back
no I don't want to be like that
if this is us in control of ourselves



Between the night and day
and so few eyes left open
your forgiveness ain't a neighborhood
that I'm looking to live in
maybe this world it wore me out
this world it wears you out



I disappeared today
I went under
if only for a second
and I found where the lights drown
if you lie down
you can disappear altogether



I got me a whore head
I got me a day star
I lost me control of myself
and baby I don't want it back
no I don't want to be like that
if this is us in control of ourselves (Matthew Good; Incredible Audio of Being, 2001)

As promised, here I am, in all my bipolar glory; neurotransmitters bouncing off my cranial walls as it would seem. Hmm, I love that song.



So, other than no more fucking snow, what would make me happy? Yes, one thing. Matthew Good. Last night he came to Cleveland. I do believe I'm in love with him. The same way you fall in love with the spring sunshine; it's like that. Better than romantic love. I was center stage second row for 17 amazing songs and some witty banter.

Any words I know just aren't enough.

But then I was speechless. Now that is a rarity.

!

ShouldaCouldaWoulda

But I didn't. And now I never can.

I suppose I could say I was distracted by my adjustment to returning to Ohio. Or that I was battling two new jobs that were each vying to be the end of me in one way or another. Of course, just having had knee surgery less than a month prior would be another plausible reason.

But none of that is good enough. Not one bit of it. The truth of the matter is that it was due to my worsening tendency to separate and break away. Even from the things that matter.

Today I learned that a very close friend of mine passed away. Had I actually made the effort to contact her upon my return, well, then I'd have had the chance to continue being friends with her, even for a while. But I crawled into my anti-social shell.

I've spent quite a while today crying. Although I feel horrible and am shocked and saddened, the tears really aren't for me. The tears are because I wonder if she ever wondered where I went, why I sort of abandoned her? If she ever thought my absence was because of a shortcoming on her part.

I cried because I felt I may have hurt her, let her down. Then because I missed her.


For all that you endured, and the grace with which you did it, I can only believe that you've been granted a second chance. Maybe some time without illness or struggle. A moment to savor the rightness of things. I choose to believe that you know how I feel; a gift of clarity as a parting gift perhaps. SNOO will be permanent for as long as I have any say in the matter. Thank you Sue, for everything. Kiss kiss.
~

Do you feel the way you hate, do you hate the way you feel...

What do you do when you are losing who you are and there is no new you to serve as a replacement? Where is the old you going, anyway? Is it off frolicking on a higher plane or has it retreated, dying off unused?

Is it plausible to think that old part could be reclaimed in order to fill the void and obtain a sense of normalcy again, even if in theory only? Or, once that part of you has gone, does it change shape to ensure that there is no chance of it fitting, even if it could return? What's done is done?

So, now the old you is neither recognizable nor useful. You know what it is, misshapen though it may be. But it all boils down to a twisted memory that sickens you although you can't quite remember why.

And what of the other side? Do you start anew? The old is gone, so what remains? Nothing. So much nothing that you question whether it is potentially invasive or if this black hole was somehow released from your core. Out of those places left vacant by the retired parts of you long gone.

The battle rages on and you fan the flames to hasten the search, the result. A self perpetuating whirlwind has you childishly clinging to the few old parts that have not fled or been cast out. A lesson in futility, isn't that what they say? You are all too aware of that void; the all pervasive presence that is fully the lack thereof.

By now, you should be reconstructing. Molding, morphing, forming new parts. For the soul, for the psyche, for the places in between. But somewhere you were robbed; left with only empty spaces which in and of themselves take up the place where all the new parts of you should have settled.

But now you know it. And you hang your head. The old is gone, the new has been thwarted by literally nothing. Your life has fallen apart while you watched. You find that details are sloughing away but that becomes a way of life, a safety net of sorts.

Always, triggers present. They find you and lay on torment that will wring you with an emotional intensity to rival a clash of titans. Over and over again. There is no hiding.

This is your punishment for not knowing how to put the pieces together.
~

If I promise to be good can winter be over already? Pleeease?!

Like many people in this area, I've managed to make it through two back-to-back winter storms. The first was an ice storm that caused outtages of every utility in direct relation to downed lines. Part two included snow drifts that came half way up the door. My cable, phone and internet were out for five days. Power and heat were out for somewhere around 48 hours, spanning three nights. I'll just say that 48F/8.8C should not be an indoor temperature. Time is limited tonight, I just thought I'd stop in and comment on how sick of winter I am.

Unfortunately I've proven today that once again, I can all too easily be rude and ignore a 'friend' when faced with an expectant look of acknowledgement. It would seem that I am trying, against myself at times, to sever ties with the familiar. If I keep on, I might succeed quite thoroughly in pushing everyone away. I mean really, why is this my reaction and why does it come so easily?

~ post script ~ I wrote some babbling sort of stuff the other day (which I will post) while my internet service was down. For me, that hot pen technique really sets alot free and in connection with today's behavior I am seeing that I am so at odds with myself. I don't know how to make it right. It just doesn't seem like there is even enough time to do so before I die. Even if I live to be 100.

We are the dead ones, we are the lost cause, we are the bend before the break

Who knew that inner sociopath* picture would rise up to take on a life of it's own? I mean really. I have zero filter ability. Zero. If you have a pulse, you will be screamed at although the pulse is not essential. The really scary thing about this is that I don't just yell, the incredibly loud extremely foul language is interspersed with truth. Unfortunately in the heat of it all I lack the ability to maintain full diplomacy and it's all out there. In ya face. Somewhere in there is when the sociopath thing kicks in. I've been told by the very few people that have seen me go off, as in way off, that it's a highly unsettling thing. Sure, I yell and swear, that's to be expected. But it would seem that some sort of change that happens and something about me is downright scary. I eventually made a joke about possession to the one person and they very seriously said, 'Don't joke, there's this look that comes over you and you might not be far off.' When it happens I'm not just flailing words about all girly and hysterical. Oh no. I think it's a look of sheer and unsurpassed contempt paired with the use of intelligent words, not name calling. It's been said that I also glare at people as if I'm contemplating ripping their throat out with my teeth. So part of me is in control, the other, primal.

Now, let me say that I am not posessed by the devil, his cronies, or even a moderately angry spirit. It's me. Just good 'ol me. Sweet me that for years didn't feel her voice counted. Pushing it down for a lifetime only quieted it temporarily; long enough to build up pressure to blow to the heavens when events warrant. And sometimes when they don't. I can't really tell anymore, all I know is that my threshhold has been lowered far enough to stymie the limbo king.

Which leads to this. I lost it with my boss. Seriously, he was wrong and I had done nothing wrong. I mean it... people always say that but it really is true. He's under a vast amount of stress and perhaps that's why he snapped. But he picked the wrong person. In the end, he actually sent me an email apologizing, telling me he felt awful and I could have anything I wanted, etc. That was a big step from a hot-headed guy. I told him I accepted his apology but still held firm to my words. In this instance, we are absolutely fine. But I've gone off on family members, and I can't tell you how many nurses at work. This could prove to be troublesome. I'd like to try to control this but it just jumps out; kind of like a sneeze. Maybe the meds need a boost.

So perhaps my inner sociopath is on the way out. I don't know. To be sure, there is no ego boost or feeling of superiority. Sure, I like saying what's on my mind, but this is out of bounds. If anything, I'm going along day to day just trying to be left alone for now lest I release the beast. My family is telling me I'm hard to be around. I have no idea what happened to exacerbate this behavior, but it's really a pain in the ass. And in the end, I'm afraid I will lose alot more than just my composure if I can't cool down.

*Kitty, thank you for that term. Looking back, that picture might not have been too far away from it all! ;)

Racially tinged post * warning

Why is Barack Obama black? Um, isn't his mother white? So one parent is black, one is white. But he's black. I do not understand.**

I've got a friend that is biracial. She was raised by white, Scottish parents and opts for long braids in her hair. She often refers to herself as black but in many other conversations, she has said she's just as much white. She just 'looks' more black so that's what people expect of her.

Is being biracial like accidentally washing a red sock in with your whites? People are going to notice it so you might as well claim it as what you are, ignoring the rest?

Perhaps I'm just pissed off by hearing about how important the womens vote is now and how incredibly important the black vote is now. Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. Your vote was just as important in all the previous elections but so many chose not to use it. If you need to be prompted by Hillary, or by a black man that I still don't think is black, go ahead. As long as it gets you to vote.

One thing, though. Don't be stupid. Vote for who YOU want to vote for, not who they are telling you that you want to vote for. It's exciting to have a female candidate for nomination as well as a black candidate (although technically...). It is fabulous that this will stimulate some people to think and act. I just hope they don't hop on the Hillary train because just because they're female or the Barack train only because they're black. She could be a hardcore PMSer and take you on that ride every month if elected. You think you want that just because she's a woman? Is it worth it? And he may turn out to ban everything you hold dear because you didn't investigate. You think you want that just because he's black? Is it worth it? The idea of either candidate becoming a nominee is exciting; a first for both. I just think that's all people are focusing on.

So back to the other issue. I really want to know the answer. Is there some unwritten clause that states that the darker skin color wins out for racial declaration? Ok then. So what if you are Asian and Puerto Rican? Honduran and Indian? I'd think that in some circumstances, this would be rather difficult to navigate. Do we really have that much of a desire to label people and toss them into neat little compartments that they can't even acknowledge their heritage?

Then again, has anyone ever heard of capturing the biracial vote? I don't know. I still don't think he's black. (And if he can use that term, so can I.) I just get pissed off when I hear this... "Uh, huh. Oh, you know that's right! My vote gonna get his black ass in THE. WHITE. HOUSE!! 'Bama in the hizouse!" (Don't give me any shit, I witnessed this conversation today.) If he had 'whiter' features, my guess is that he'd get all sorts of shit for trying to 'pass' and have very little popularity no matter what he stood for. People are fickle.

So in the end, we all gripe about inequality of many sorts, including racial. Most often we try to say 'ignore color' and 'were all the same on the inside'. Blahblahblah... But in the next breath we are drawing dividing lines... the female vote... the black vote. In which case, you're black when it suits you if you're the candidate. I mean come on, if he were a regular guy he'd be not black enough for some and not nearly white enough for others. Just ask my friend, she lives it.

I find it confusing to figure out when people want to be compartmentalized and when they want to just be free to be who they are. Do they want to be herded and told where and when they count or do they just want to go about and do what seems right? Is being who you are really that hard? I'm afraid the answer might be 'yes'.

** Look, I'm just really pissy today and I have all these questions and no one to ask them to. If you've been around here long enough you should know that I don't really discriminate... I'm annoyed by ALL people. The questions I'm having are more about the state of what is acceptable and why. We seem to set all these taboos and morees just to knock them down while condemning others for doing the same. When it all comes down to it, either Hillary or Barack will get my vote, barring any bizarre happenings. Terms like 'womens vote' and 'black vote' piss me off. Its as if it discredits voters' ability to select a candidate prior to someone pointing out that there's a woman or a black man to identify with. Then there's still the question of 'how much black makes you black'? How much white is too much to mess it up? Look, I'm being honest in asking, not trying to step on toes. Or perhaps little miss white girl over here is just jealous that she doesn't have a drop of anything remotely interesting in her.