Holes in my brain

I miss me. (and my size 8 jeans)

2012-01-16T14:48:00.000-05:00

"You don't seem like your normal happy self."

Well, no shit.

Actually, I don't usually think of myself as either normal or happy, let alone both. But I guess the difference is that I haven't been wearing that mask of normalcy very well or consistently recently. It's just so damn exhausting. And unless you have to put on mental and emotional preparations everyday much like the average person gets dressed or does their hair and make-up, then you probably don't understand the energy that that preparation requires.

Good for you. Really.

But on the days that I can't even be bothered by showering let alone getting dressed or doing my hair, what makes you think I have the energy to mentally redress myself?

I actually rather miss myself.

I don't even know, anymore, if I miss the real me or simply miss the ease at which I could wear my mask of normalcy, but either way - I miss it. I miss being snarky and witty and irreverent and intellectual and even occasionally charming. I miss me. This moody and depressed and insecure and pissed-off person really doesn't sit well on my psyche. Like most of my clothes these days - it just doesn't fit.

(but please don't get me started on the clothes not fitting thing - I can't even get my mind around the shear circumference of my body right now)

I find myself in a constant push and pull as I try to figure out where I stand - with myself, mostly, but others as well. Medication changes are always hard too. You can't have as many meds flowing through you as I do and change them without expecting to have some moments of readjustment and loss of equilibrium. Some days I think things are improving. Some days I feel very disconnected. And some days I am just worried and scared that I'll never be able to find the right combination to keep me stable.

I meant to write this as some sort of update to the last entry but I really don't have an update to offer. Like I said, some times I think things are better, some days I don't. So I guess I'm just still existing.... and waiting to see where that goes.

Interestingly though, to me anyway, I gained a bit of reflective insight recently. (Not that it has managed to effect any change but it was still an interesting insight.) I was talking to a student recently about cutting. I've never been a cutter myself though there was a time in ninth grade when I thought it would be a good idea to scrape a large area of skin off my arm with a house key.

(Cause yeah, that made sense.)

Cutting doesn't make sense. Not to the cutter or the people around them, but the behavior persists. You see, sometimes the noise and the agitation gets so great - inside your head - that you can't silence or calm the chaos. In an attempt to focus the noise - to scream louder than the screaming in your head - you take that energy and turn it on yourself.

That? I do understand. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I tend towards self-destruction. I'm not suicidal - and most cutters are not either, in case you were curious - but I do tend towards self-destruction. I want to blow things up. I want to scream louder than the screaming in my head. But that rarely manifests in clear cut (pun unintended) self harm. Instead, I over eat. I binge eat, even. I drink too much - not even for the buzz, so much, cause that's hard to come by most days - but mostly because of the volume.

Yeah, I don't really understand it either.

I mean, I do understand it, but it doesn't make sense. It's not any healthier than cutting. But the mechanism is surprisingly similar. In addition, there's the "benefit" of the weight gain. (sidenote: some psychologist somewhere at some point decided that fat people are fat because they find some sort of benefit in being fat - otherwise they'd be thin. Not so much; I'd like to argue that sometimes the benefit is in the action, not the outcome.) Anyway, there is a part of me though - and likely always will be - that doesn't believe that I deserve to be thin. So maybe there is benefit in there somewhere.

It supports my warped self-conceptions and my need to live down to my expectations of never being good enough.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." ~Marianne Williamson

I'm not afraid that I'm inadequate. Part of me will always believe myself to be inadequate. I'm afraid that that part of me is wrong. And how do I reconcile that with the screaming?

I am such a hypocrite.

2011-12-27T19:21:00.000-05:00

I owe many apologies to many people. If I owe you an email, phone call, or some sort of otherwise consistent communication, and I've been completely lax in follow through on those - I'm sorry. If I've sent you texts or emails in a somewhat altered state and/or just pestered you out of a need to not have to listen solely to the voices in my own head - I'm sorry. I think I tend towards extremes. I either can't connect with people when I need to or I over compensate by reaching out to those who don't want/need my witty pesterings. (please note: in my mind, everyone needs my witty pesterings. (this is part of my problem.)) If I owe you anything else, including but not limited to, framing, design advice, a lunch/dinner date, and/or anything else that requires even the smallest output of energy - I'm sorry. Chances are, that shit ain't getting done.

Anyway, I went to see my neurologist the other day and a simple "so, how have you been doing" turned into a steady 20 minute litany on how NOT-well I've been doing and ended with her sending me out of her office with a bag of drug samples and an order to see my doctor for a medication check ASAP. That visit took place three days later and my antidepressant dosage was upped by 50% on a daily basis. We're currently in the "wait and see" stage of this process to see if the increase helps at all.

Helps with what, you may ask? For starters, feeling completely overwhelmed by nothing more than everyday life. For example, getting up and showering. Making dinner. Doing my shot. Paying my bills. Putting gas in my car. Doing laundry. You know, the hard stuff. Way too crazy to tackle.

I'm also waiting to see if the fog lifts. The fog that makes me feel like everything and everyone in my life is somewhat disconnected from myself. Like I am simply a spectator watching the spectacle of my life unfold in all it's banal glory through a pane of smudged and smokey glass. Hard to care what's going on when you can't even see the details clearly, right?

I'm waiting to see if some of the aches and pains subside. You know those commercials where they talk about the "pain" of depression? That shit's for real. Okay, maybe not the little black cartoon cloud that follows people around, but the pain is real. I'm just achey. It's nondescript but completely draining. And it sucks. Sure, I guess it could be MS. But maybe it's depression. And maybe it will go away.

Bah.

But, the hypocritical part comes in that I talk to students every day who are on similar medications. Students who may be new to these meds or old pros and I tell them all the same thing - be aware of how you're feeling. If something doesn't feel right, find a way to give voice to that disquiet and fix it. Don't settle for feeling sad or alone or helpless - because there are other options and other things that can be tried if your current meds aren't working. And the only person who can assess how well those meds are working, is you.

Um, duh, dumbass. So why did it take so many months to finally, inadvertently, blurt out that you're falling apart?

*sigh*

I don't know.

I guess I'm tired of the bitching too. Tired of feeling like shit and tired of having to give voice to that fact. Most days? I feel like shit. That's my norm now. AND I'M TIRED OF IT. I'm tired of living in the grips of some disease. I'm tired of not just living my life. And mostly, recently, I am very very jealous of those who can get up, get showered, pay their bills, do laundry, don't have to take meds, and don't feel constant aches and pains.

Then, after that small pity party for myself, I feel like a complete tool - because I know there are people who have it way worse than me too. So then I beat myself up for a bit for forgetting that fact.

*sigh* (again)

It's kind of endless like that. Some days are better than others, but most are like that. And it takes a lot of energy to get up, get showered, pay the bills, do laundry, go to work, etc etc, without just curling up all fetal-position-esque and asking in the loudest scream possible to be left alone. Because if I do that? That's when I get the 30 day vacation in the quiet white room with padded walls. And that would be bad.

Well, maybe not all bad. I hear they have the good drugs in there.

"It's too hard to be your friend."

2011-11-14T16:50:00.001-05:00

I sometimes wonder if our friendship could have lasted if were it not for the MS. But, at the same time, I wonder if our friendship would have been what it was without the MS. You met me at a very odd time in my life. It's too hard to extricate my thoughts and memories of you from the turmoil that I was, at that time. Because of that, for better or for worse, you will always hold a unique place in my past.

I live in the past a lot more than I like to these days. Although, on a positive note, I've started spending more time solidly in the present as well. I've given up looking towards the future; putting off doing something until some other objective has been met, worrying about what might be.... I've realized the future is a myth. But, when you are spending so much time solidly in the "now"? You have more time to look back. Especially, you know, when you're ignoring the future.

I'm waxing way more philosophically than you'd have liked - sorry. You always preferred my snark and quick wit to anything too serious. Frankly, I prefer that too; don't feel bad. But that face takes a lot of energy to maintain. And truly? I don't know that this letter is even being written to "you" anymore, as much as it is to the cluster of friends who have decided (in ways both large and small) that my friendship isn't worth maintaining. Though, you were the only one, ever, to put it in such black and white terms; "it's too hard to be your friend."

That was a hard pill to swallow. Mostly because, it's true, sometimes. I'm a huge hot mess. I was a different mess before MS, but the MS-ed version of my messhood is messier than most, I know.

The irony of the situation (if by "irony" you understand that I mean "shit that really pisses me off") is that I am actually an excellent friend. Or, at least, I always thought I was. Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe what I am is an excellent counselor. Which, I know I am. I guess maybe the issue is that I don't see the blurry line between the two? Too many of my friendships have been one-sided for so long.

What I mean is, long before I was a counselor, I was a counselor. I was always the one to turn to, for advice, for help, for a shoulder to cry on, for favors large and small. I never resented being that person; I'm good at being that person.

But, I never learned how to be the one who needed help. And when I did need help, I turned to people who didn't know how to give it. It's not your fault that our friendship wasn't built on an even foundation; I'm just as much to blame. I guess I was just so used to compensating for that imbalance that when I finally couldn't hold the pose any longer - I fell.

Hard.

And you weren't there to help me back up.

I don't know who's to blame for that.

Something wicked this way comes.

2011-11-02T17:27:00.002-04:00

I hate days like this. Especially when they line up, string themselves together, and don’t give me a moments rest. It’s not the uneasy agitation that I mind so much - though, it is ridiculously tiring - but it’s that those feelings usually signal the start of worse times to come. I can’t even blame it on the hormones - I’m not on the evil red pills right now anyway, but I am due for another cycle. I’m certainly not starting that cycle until this mood passes. I cannot imagine the apocalypse that would follow if I took them now. I also hate blaming all my mental and emotional swings on my meds when the truth is this: I blame MS.

In that first year, even before the official diagnosis, I had a lot of dark days. A lot. I even went for about 6 weeks without sleeping more than 3 hours a night. (That was bad. Really bad.) I didn’t want to acknowledge, at that time, that my issues may be MS related. I knew that’s what that year’s worth of testing was about; they were trying to determine my diagnosis. I knew it was likely going to be MS. But it was so much more convenient to ignore the fact that a very scary brain MRI had turned up unexpectedly in the first place. All those tests and bloodwork and doctor’s visits that year? what? didn’t everyone have that? Psh…. whatever, I was choosing ignorance and I was sticking with it.

March 13th 2009 changed that. I finally went to my one-year-later follow up visit (only two months later than I should have) and my neurologist looked at me very matter of factly and said, “well, you have Multiple Sclerosis.” Not-so-blissful ignorance: shattered. End scene.

I spent the next year falling prey to massive meltdowns that came, seemingly, out of nowhere. Eventually, I learned to listen to my body better and when the hallmark precursors would make their presence known, I would take it easy. Sometimes I could even avoid some of the more serious physical meltdowns. Not always, but sometimes. And that felt like progress.

The shit of it is, I don’t really know how to stave off the emotional meltdowns. I am aware of the precursors though. This simmering unrest? It’s my MS equivalent of a Kansas tornado warning system. You hear that siren go off and you better head for cover. It usually boils over into anger or crying fits or totally irrational unstableness.

Yeah, it’s super fun.

In these times of unrest, I find myself very torn. I don’t want to be around people. I don’t want to talk to people. I don’t have the energy to invest. But, at the same time, part of me hopes the right person will reach out and lead me out of that darkness. Trouble is, I don’t know who that person is. I don’t know if I’d let them get close enough to try. And yet, I am vaguely bitter at everyone for not trying.

(no offense intended; trust me, you’re better off not trying.)

((no, really.))

I actually hate people for living their lives without these feelings. Without having to worry about the tornado warning. And that’s *totally* ridiculous because I know everyone is dealing with their own shit too - different shit than my shit and sometimes shit that’s far worse than my shit - but I still harbor bitterness. Which, I then feel badly about. And then again, I totally don’t.

Maybe “torn” isn’t the right word. I’m clearly a head case.

I wish this storm would pass already.

This post makes it clear I have read too much SK in my time.

2011-10-27T21:19:00.000-04:00

You know how, with some people, it's said that they have a "wall" up? Something that keeps people out? Puts a barrier between themselves and others?

Yeah. I don't have a wall. Or even walls, plural. I have a tower. A tower wrapped in barbed wire, lead, kryptonite, and old rusty razor blades.... wait, no.... I mean, is Superman trying to get in this tower? Hardly. And that's just too much shit. It's simpler than that.

Plastic.

It's wrapped in plastic.

You know, that really hard impenetrable plastic that they conform around all children's toys and electronics that you have to practically cut away with a buzz saw and almost always end up cutting yourself on? That shit. *That's* around my tower, muthafucka.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Tower.

(must focus)

At the core of my being, there lies a dark, quiet, well-reinforced, tower. It's huge, really, in this area that is expansive beyond expanse. It rises beyond eyesight and sits central to my soul. It is within and without at the same time. It defies physics and reality but it's real.

And it's dangerous.

I don't address the tower often. It sits there quietly, doing what towers do: keeping things in that need to be kept in; keeping things out that need to be kept out - for their own good, really. But every once in awhile, quite unfortunately (because it never ends well), someone stumbles across the tower. Sometimes people go looking for it. Sometimes they just get lost and end up there.

And yeah, it usually sucks to be them.

Regardless, there have been a few people who have reached the tower, reached the epicenter - my epicenter - found an unguarded (sometimes unknown) door, and foolishly pulled it open. All the mess that comes spilling out? Invariably leaves them sorry that they ever wondered what this tower nonsense was all about. Always.

They leave - sorry they ever came - and the tower reinforces itself more securely. Sealing up any known doors and hoping there aren't any others that have been overlooked. The reminder of the hurt that the open door caused? Gets sealed up in there too.

(Not to be all dark and overly melodramatic, but sometimes I can't help myself.)

It may seem odd to many - I live my life in a very open and exposed way. I share too much, I care too easily. I'm okay with that - because I choose what I share. There was a time when that wasn't an option and wasn't my choice; it was demanded of me. I think the tower started then - for the little inside dreams and fears and scars that I simply wanted to keep to myself. But it grew, over the years, and came to contain some pretty serious and ugly stuff. Stuff I choose not to share. Stuff that tears at me and defines me, at the same time.

It actually provides a pretty fucked up core of stability, strange as it seems.

If it were to fall, it would surely mean the end of me. It keeps the craziness from the manageable and allows me to function. But the urge to self-destruct will always be strong; stronger than I like. (as a side note: I find it endlessly fascinating and confusing that some people never feel that urge.... it's almost unimaginable to me.) But I think it's that urge that, unfortunately, still draws some people to the tower. Something in me wants them to find it, see it, understand the ick within, and pull me from the darkness - or, just keep me company there for a little while.

And yeah, that never ends well.

I am the least "adult" adult that I know.

2011-10-24T21:33:00.000-04:00

I turned 34 this month. I am in no way fooling myself into believing that this makes me an adult. In fact, I am even more convinced that this whole aging thing is a hoax. Aging certainly isn't linear and it seems every bit of me is aging at a different rate.

For example, a friend of mine likes to tell me that I'm eternally 22 at heart. I think he chose 22 just so my inner self wouldn't be subject to eternal harassment by the po-po for being drunk all the time, but the truth is, I don't even feel 22 most days. Some days I don't think I ever outgrew my teens. Other days I'm ready for social security. (in that, some days I am borderline senile, subject to falling asleep before primetime television, and I have two different days-of-the-week pill cases.)

My body? Ugh. I am as fit as an overweight 60-something. Although, that might be offensive to 60-somethings. MS definitely makes me feel older than I am, physically; from the twitches, to the stumbling, to the aches, to the injection scars, I am much more beat up than my 34 years would imply. And with a rack this size? And gravity?? You don't need to understand physics to understand the issue there. To be fair though, I have not a single grey hair and the smattering of pimples that my skin constantly produces would suggest someone much more youthful than 34. (I use the term "youthful" very loosely here.)

Financially? Ha. Just, ha. I still don't have a savings account and I think nothing of charging something that I don't really need but really must have despite already carrying a balance on my credit card. My debt to income ratio is for shit. Seriously. Adult? Psh. As if. Today though, I made my second financial step towards adulthood: I started a 403B. To be fair, the lady had to explain to me what a 403B was and I randomly selected an amount to invest each month without figuring out how it would impact our ability to pay our bills every month in our living-paycheck-to-paycheck existence, but yeah: 403B. Yay me.

(my first financially responsible "adult" move? (in case you're wondering) Getting half a mil worth of life insurance on both me and my husband when we had Callie. Because with an unstable mother and a father who rides a motorcycle? We owe her at least that much. Probably more.)

I just don't feel 34. I feel simultaneously older and younger than that everyday. Older when the pain hits or I happen to, I don't know, look in the mirror or try to button my jeans, and yet much (much) younger when I blow out the second set of speakers in my old as hell and poorly maintained car while rocking out to LMFAO or Kanye West. Granted, I feel slightly older when it's Aerosmith or Journey, but it's just as loud.

Also? As a final nail in the I-don't-know-how-old-I-am-but-I'm-sure-as-hell-not-grown-up coffin? I just made spaghetti for dinner. Kick-ass homemade sauce (so adult) with chicken nuggets covered in mozzarella cheese because I'm too lazy to make chicken parm (so not). I mean, I have college friends who wouldn't even stoop to that.

And, oh, yeah, I almost forgot to mention: I have college friends. Meaning friends currently in college. Which, of course, confuses the hell out of my friends who are actually adults. Because what could I have in common with people who aren't even old enough to drink legally? Other than a need to drink, bad skin, rash decision making, and a lack of a moral compass?

Well, frankly, that's enough for me.

Reflections from an outpatient surgical suite.

2011-09-27T12:29:00.000-04:00

I cannot pee on command. How are you supposed to pee when you aren't allowed to have anything to drink all morning? This completely baffles me. And my bladder. I am a camel.

Generally speaking, doctors don't seem to get my sense of humor. Nurses? They do. But doctors? Not so much. Maybe at some point in all those years of med school their sense of humor gets shoved aside in order to make room for knowledge on how the limbic system works. I don't even know what the limbic system is, so maybe that's why I'm so funny. Or maybe I'm just the only one who finds me funny. Either option seems equally possible to me.

I've decided that, overall? my health really isn't all that bad. Do you know how many questions I had to answer "no" to today? High blood pressure? No. High cholesterol? No. Asthma, breathing issues, chronic bronchitis? No, no, and no. Irregular heartbeat? No. Allergies? No. History of cancer? No. History of stroke or aneurysm? No. (there were more, but I really don't remember them all.) Then, when the next doctor came through, she lead with the question of "how's your overall health?" and I had to answer honestly: "it's okay." She flipped through my chart and asked the next most obvious question, "but you have MS...?" Yep. Yep, I do. But considering all the other shit that I apparently *could* be dealing with? I'm sort of feeling okay about it. It's just MS, after all.

Half a liter of IV fluids later, and it's back to the bathroom for me. Seriously, people: CAMEL. I managed to squeeze out a few sad little drops. I felt like a urinary failure. My bladder was shamed. But it was enough to confirm that my uterus was not harboring any fugitives. My uterus appreciated my bladder's efforts, at least, and the nurse was amused.

I am convinced though, now more than ever: my body basically shrugs off any and all attempts at sedation. ("I don't take drugs; I am drugs." maybe Dali had it right.) Nothing phases me anymore. I find this fact neither comforting nor troublesome; I find it fascinating. Am I feeling at all woozy? Um, no, should I? Did you even administer the drugs yet? Oh.... you did.... hmm. Interesting. I was hoping for a nice little moment or two of floating lithium-like happiness. Instead, I got a morning without caffeine and big ass needles in my spine. This was not on the brochure people. I'll take a shot of whatever the incoherent lady in the stall next to me had, please and thank you.

To round out the morning, the lovely recovery nurses offered me juice and a snack. Much like the protocol of the vampires at the Red Cross blood drives, actually. I think the real purpose of this is practice is to, on a subconscious level, induce fond childhood feelings of snack time in kindergarten. I mean, unless your kindergarten experience was traumatic. In which case, those nurses better watch who they give those crackers to. But the last time I had a snack of graham crackers and apple juice, it was probably followed by a nap on a mat with 20 other kids.

And really? A nap wouldn't be so bad, right about now....

If you believe in this kind of stuff. (which I do.)

2011-09-25T22:53:00.002-04:00

So, the other day - September 24th, to be exact - I was all, "yay! it's time for the Libra birthdays!" as I was under the impression that I had so many more Libra Facebook friends than any other zodiac sign.

(because, as we both know, there's the real world and then there's the FB real world.)

((and we both know which one is more important.))

24 hours later (because apparently these are the things that weigh on my mind) I decided to actually check the numbers. Here's what I found:

Aries (March 21 - April 20): 29 friends
Taurus (April 21 - May 21): 31 friends
Gemini (May 22 - June 21): 30 friends
Cancer (June 22 - July 22): 29 friends
Leo (July 23 -August 21): 31 friends
Virgo (August 22 - September 23): 28 friends
Libra (September 24 - October 23): 29 friends
Scorpio (October 24 - November 22): 26 friends
Sagittarius (November 23 - December 22): 34 friends
Capricorn (December 23 - January 20): 35 friends
Aquarius (January 21 - February 19): 21 friends
Pisces (February 20- March 20): 26 friends

(please note: apparently 40+ of my FB friends exist outside of the zodiac.... whoa.)

Wait a minute..... where did all these Capricorns come from?? Capricorns??!

Okay, so, that being said, I went back and looked at the people on that list. Not that all my almost-400 FB friends aren't equally important to me.... but yeah, they're not. So, I went back and counted - out of those people - people that I would consider to be a close friend, someone I have/had a significant connection with, and/or someone that I just really genuinely like.

(not that I don't like the rest of them....)

((wow, I am just not going to dig myself out of this one.... moving. right. along.))

This is what I found:

Aries (March 21 - April 20): 5 friends
Taurus (April 21 - May 21): 7 friends
Gemini (May 22 - June 21): 4 friends
Cancer (June 22 - July 22): 7 friends
Leo (July 23 -August 21): 11 friends
Virgo (August 22 - September 23): 11 friends
Libra (September 24 - October 23): 16 friends
Scorpio (October 24 - November 22): 10 friends
Sagittarius (November 23 - December 22): 9 friends
Capricorn (December 23 - January 20): 6 friends
Aquarius (January 21 - February 19): 4 friends
Pisces (February 20- March 20): 6 friends

Now that's more like it.

I know I have a lot of important Libras in my life. I equally know that I am seriously drawn to Leos and Virgos - always have been. I never actually gave much thought to the Scorpios although maybe I should have. Interesting. There's definitely this bell curve type distribution centering around my own sign.

(ha, bell curve. Shit just got real.)

I'm a Libra myself and I am a Libra. Almost every time I read one of those "Libras are blah, blah, blah...." I am the blah, blah, blah. Care to know more? (I realize the answer is probably no, but too late now, if you've been reading this far, you're kinda pot-committed.)

Traditional Libra Traits:

Diplomatic and urbane (please note: I do not know what "urbane" means.... so hopefully it doesn't mean "knowledgeable about obscure words", cause yeah, that would be wrong.)
Romantic and charming (obviously)
Easygoing and sociable (totally)
Idealistic and peaceable (everyone should be)

But, on the dark side....

Indecisive and changeable (ummmm, maybe....?)
Gullible and easily influenced (what, who, me??)
Flirtatious and self-indulgent (that's a bad thing.....? whatever ;-))

A bit more about Libras:

Librans are among the most civilized of the twelve zodiacal characters and are often good looking. (yeah baby....) They have elegance, charm and good taste, are naturally kind, very gentle, and lovers of beauty, harmony, and the pleasures that these bring. Their characters are on the whole balanced, diplomatic and even tempered. Librans are sensitive to the needs of others and have the gift, sometimes to an almost psychic extent, of understanding the emotional needs of their companions and meeting them with their own innate optimism - they are the kind of people of whom it is said, "They always make you feel better for having been with them." Their cast of mind is artistic rather than intellectual, though they are usually too moderate and well balanced to be avant garde in any artistic endeavor. (which is why I am artistic, but not an "artist") They have good perception and observation and their critical ability, with which they are able to view their own efforts as well as those of others, gives their work integrity. They like the opposite sex to the extent of promiscuity sometimes, and may indulge in romanticism bordering on sentimentality.

The negative Libran character may show frivolity, flirtatiousness, and shallowness. It can be changeable and indecisive, impatient of routine, colorlessly conventional and timid (never!), easygoing to the point of inertia (guilty), seldom angry when circumstances demand a show of annoyance at least; and yet Librans can shock everyone around them with sudden storms of rage. Their love of pleasure may lead them into extravagance; Libran men can degenerate into reckless gamblers, and Libran women extravagant, jealous, and careless about money sometimes squander their wealth and talents in their over enthusiasm for causes which they espouse. (or just wine, apparently.)

Libra governs the lumbar region, lower back and kidneys. Its subjects must beware of weaknesses in the back, and lumbago, and they are susceptible to troubles in the kidneys and bladder, especially gravel and stone. They need to avoid overindulgence in food and especially drink, for the latter can particularly harm the kidneys. (hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!)

I'm not going to list every single sign (you're welcome) but you should totally go check out your sign from the links above. Even if it's not something you believe in, you might be amused to find how your sign description compares with how you view your own personality.

One thing I will note though: My husband is an Aries and my daughter is a Gemini - two of my "least" drawn to signs. Yeah. Our family dynamic should be interesting.

If you believe in this kind of stuff, that is.

Things I learned this week.

2011-09-23T19:49:00.000-04:00

I can be counted on in a crisis. Totally level headed. Just don't ask me to hold a raw egg while sitting at a table and *not* expect it to end up broken.

Even when pressed? I have a really hard time identifying three possessions that are important to me. Equally so? it is hard to pick the three "most" important people to me. (there are far too many.) I am absolutely fine the complete imbalance of those two things.

I am, at the same time, totally crazy and totally amazing. (I have this on good authority.)

There is always someone who has it better than you. And worse than you, too. Don't compare war wounds. We all go to battle sometime.

I can't spell. Seriously. Thank god for those red squiggly lines and autocorrect. (they make me look smarter than I deserve.)

Some days, my iPod is out to get me. I am convinced of it.

Truth happens. Most frequently, when I am drinking.

Sometimes, I completely lose my mind. Fortunately, it has always come back. (kind of like an old cat that wanders away for three days in a storm and just when you're certain she's probably gone for good, she shows up on the deck all, "what? was I missing? meh, whatever....")

Jeans make everything more palatable. Including three days of discussing mental health, addiction, and suicide.

On a totally related note: I cannot handle three days of discussing mental health, addiction, and suicide. True, that wasn't the sum total of the conversations, but I get enough of that already. I'll happily write some college recommendation letters now. Please and thank you.

Some people actually had genuinely happy and well-adjusted childhoods. This concept is wholly unimaginable to me. And, frankly, concerns me. It should, in theory, fill me with hope for my own students, but the plain and simple truth is this: I don't know how to relate to well-adjusted people. I'm still not even totally sold on their existence. (well-adjusted people and aliens: we may never know for certain.)

I am 100% sure that I will irreparably damage my child(ren). Despite any hopes/intentions to the contrary.

"I'll never stop loving you. You exist in a place where time stands still, where the conversation never ends, I carry you in my heart always." (seriously, this was said to me.... texted to me, actually.) ((and it just might be the nicest thing ever texted to me.))

I still love this song.

I have a lot of time to think on my way into the city. (maybe too much time.)

2011-09-18T21:42:00.000-04:00

I hated that place because I never really fit in there. I never felt comfortable. I was too garish too loud and not ever going to be one of them. But I didn't want to be perfectly polished. I didn't want the fancy car or the manicured nails. I didn't want to be quiet. I was happy for an excuse to leave. Now everytime I pass through I'm painfully reminded how I spent those years trying to pass. Or, at the very least, not call too much attention to myself. The loud un-filtered language always gave me away. Fuck them.

The city is different and I'm beginning to see how easy it is to blend and be alone while being surrounded by masses of people. No one looks twice, really, for either good or bad reasons; they're all consumed in the same busy comings and goings as everyone else. It's a weird dichotomy but more comfortable than the snide scrutiny of the main line.

The thing that fascinates me is that I don't change in that roughly two hour commute. The person who walks into HUP at 9:45 is the same person who left my home at 7:30, but it's like crossing a river of prada-wearing, Lexus driving, piranha in order to reach my destination. I go from my place of comfort to a place of comfortable indifference but in transit I have to pass through the valley of judgement.

Hate.

And really? I think I'm out of metaphors. I don't know how I lasted there for two years. My only comfort? I was lasting on an island, in the middle of that river. An island of misfit toys... existing comfortably among the other misfits.

(huh, guess I had one more metaphor left after all.)

There's never an easy way to explain.

2011-09-13T19:36:00.000-04:00

I want to tell them: I understand.

I want to yell it. I want to hug them and whisper it. I want to write it in the sky and on a note that I slip into their bag when they're not looking. I just want them to get it: I understand.

I know the pain. I know the exhaustion. I know what the emptiness is. I recognize the look in their eyes because I've seen it in my own mirror.

Don't do it.

Don't give up.

Don't let the bitterness win!

Don't lose yourself.

Rage.

Rage against the dying of the light.

(someone way more poetic and important than me said that, but, the first time I read it, I knew he understood too, so I don't think he'd mind my obvious borrowing of the sentiment.)

Its so hard sometimes.... to not only know that pain, but to see it reflected in others. It's so exhausting wearing that mask everyday. That "I'm okay" mask that you have to wear so people won't worry and won't ask questions that you don't have good answers to anyway.

"How are you?"

"I'm good." (I'm a liar)

"How are things going?"

"They're okay, thanks." (No, they're not, they're a big festering pile of not-okay-ed-ness, actually. But fuck off, cause I can't explain what's wrong anyway.)

"Well you look fantastic...."

"Thanks!" *insert smile that stops short of touching my eyes* (Now you're the liar, cause I look exhausted and I look like I've gained a lot of weight - because both are true. Oh, and occasionally I am convinced I am dead inside - completely sapped of any useful life-force, but totally, sure.... I. look. great.)

Social interaction has a way of wearing on me at times that is at once as ironically funny as it is painful. It's what I do for a living. Which really, wouldn't be such a bad thing if that were all because you can change a career but it's also kind of what. I. do.

A coworker of mine once compared teenagers to psychic vampires: they are needy at times and when they are needy they suck the life-force from you until you're completely spent. And while I get the analogy, for me, it's not quite accurate.

I *want* them to feed on me.

Wait, no... that doesn't sound right... that kind of makes me sound like an accidental-pedophile. I'm not good with that.

(and why do so many of my thoughts come back to vampires?? oh Joss Whedon...)
I guess what I'm saying is that I'd gladly give up whatever psychic life-force it is that I have if it meant it would help heal their wounds, even if for only a short time. And I do. Over and over again. I can't help it. It's what I do. It's who I am.

Because I'm broken too. And I've been broken for so long that I don't remember what it means to be whole.

Just.... don't give up, okay? Because I'm still here. And I haven't given up. And whatever I have? You can have it, if it will help you.

You can have it all.

10 years later.

2011-09-09T14:29:00.000-04:00

Like many others, I will never forget the morning of September 11th, 2001. It’s an oddly communal feeling to know that I am one among millions for which that is the case. That, for a brief horrifying moment, the world we knew stood still - we collectively paused and each experienced our own unique WTF moment, together - and when the world resumed its forward motion, it was truly never the same.

I remember a lot of moments from throughout that day, actually. And the fact that my life couldn’t be more different now than it was 10 years ago doesn’t make it any more or less surreal. It just, was. And that will always be part of the horror to me. It should be surreal. It should be unimaginable. But once it happened, it could never unhappen. And it would never again be unimaginable.

No, I didn’t know anyone in NYC, DC, or on any of the ill-fated planes that morning. I didn’t know anyone personally who was a first responder or worked on the almost never ending clean-up. But I didn’t have to.

I was in the hallway bathroom of my townhouse in Perkiomenville that morning blow drying my hair. It was the bathroom that had become “my” bathroom; my husband and I had been living in separate bedrooms for over a year at that time and he had the master bath to himself. He came out of the master bedroom (also his) and said “a plane just flew into the World Trade Center.” I turned off the hair dryer thinking for sure that I had heard him wrong. I walked into the bedroom, staring at the smoking tower on the tv screen, asking if it was small private aircraft, and just then the second plane flew into the second tower.

We were both briefly silent then I whispered what I would probably say 1000 more times that day and in the days to follow, “oh my god….” The sight of that plane. Knowing it was a passenger airliner and yet scarcely able to comprehend the size and scale of something that size crashing into a building…. and the people…. my mind wasn’t even ready to begin trying to fit that into my understanding of what I was seeing.

Eventually I drug myself away from the tv and drove into work. Which, at that time, was the framing business I shared with my mom. It was such a gorgeous fall day - crystal blue skies and white fluffy clouds. But every glance to the skies made the morning’s events even more absurd. The soundtrack for my 15 minute drive was a rush of information and speculation being delivered by equally shocked and confused radio station hosts. When I arrived at work, my mom was already there and she was simply standing in front of the tv in shock.

Two things I remember from that abbreviated work day: the woman from the Chinese restaurant next door came over to watch the tv reports with us. Her English was almost nonexistent and the shock of the morning wasn’t helping; she kept shaking her head and clucking, occasionally saying “so bad”. At one point, two men entered the store. They were the only people we saw that day and they were salesmen for Verizon or AT&T or some such thing and as they launched into their overly cheery salesman schpeal, I remember looking at them like they were from another planet. My mom then told them about the tragedy of what had occurred, assuming that they were unaware, to which they simply waved it off, implying they didn’t think it was something to be concerned about - likely pilot error. I don’t remember how we told them to leave, but I know they left.

The first tower collapsed and we closed for the day. I watched tv off and on throughout that day and in the days that followed, still trying to digest what had happened. My husband and I hung an American flag outside our front door. I remember, oddly, explaining to my Dalmatian that it was an important thing to do, as I stroked her fur and thought of my long deceased grandfather. Within a month, I had made the decision to move out of what had been our marital home and thus began the long process of our divorce.

In the span of the 10 years that have passed since that Tuesday morning, my divorce was finalized, our business closed, relationships were built and destroyed. I went back to school, fought with the depression that had been threatening my life for so many years, fell further into debt, fell in love, married, and had a beautiful daughter that came into this world without planning. I found out I was sick and fought more than a simple depression - I fought myself. I began a new career, began a new life, began new relationships and ended others. I’ve loved and lost and questioned my sanity and grown older and stronger and weaker, all at the same time.

I was 23 on September 11, 2001. Even if pressed to come up with the most unlikely life I could imagine for myself in 10 years from that moment, I wouldn’t have come up with anything close to where I am now. I don’t know how I feel about that. But I don’t think we’re really supposed to understand everything about life. It happens. It continues. And I think sometimes that’s all we can know for sure.

The students I work with now would have been just slightly older than my daughter on that day; my daughter who wasn’t even a thought in the back of my unhappily married 23 year old mind. To them, the memories of 9-11 may be vague. For my daughter, it will simply be a lesson in a history textbook someday. Maybe someday she will ask where I was the morning of September 11, 2001. I will have a hard time explaining who that woman was to my daughter. Some days I feel like I don’t remember her well at all. But I will always remember that morning.

The changes that have taken place in my personal world since that day 10 years ago had nothing to do with the actual events of that day. Still, the comparison is stark. However, the changes that have taken place in the world since that day have been vastly impacted by the events of that morning. The world my daughter will grow up in - the only world she will ever know - will always be shaped by the events that I stood and bore witness to on a small tv screen, feeling like what I was watching was bigger than life itself.

The world may or may not be more dangerous now than it was 10 years ago, but for me personally, the stakes are now higher. And I understand what those stakes are in a way that ignorance will never again cover. I have a child; she is my connection to a future that I may never see. I have former students serving in the various branches of the military; I never want to hear their names spoken in a past tense. I want, more than anything, for them to be safe in a world that is very clearly not a safe place.

I joke about a lot of things. I bitch and complain and laugh at inappropriate times. I have to; it's how I cope. I see and experience a lot of pain; not just my own, but the pain of others as well. The world is an imperfect and cruel and completely unfair place. And yet I know with certainty, that to be a part of it is a beautiful and worthwhile thing. I just wish it wasn’t such an imperfect and cruel and completely unfair place. I wish it wasn’t so damn fragile.

This isn't the muthfuckin' Matrix, people.

2011-09-06T20:16:00.002-04:00

Long story short? You might want to just leave me alone until early to mid October. Unless you like being verbally assaulted and/or potentially stabbed. That being said, you can read on if you'd like, but you've really already got the most important part: shit is going down; you won't want to be around for it.

Welcome to the world of the red pills.

Once every 90 days, I have to take two progestin pills, every day for two weeks, to offset the shit ton of estriol I'm taking as a part of this MS study. Theory is, it will lessen my chances of developing breast and/or uterine cancer from the estriol. Thing is? I'd almost rather take my chances with the cancer. Not to be making light of cancer - cause I'm not - but seriously, the side effects suck.

SUCK.

(oh, no worries, I will elaborate.)

During this time, it is basically even money that I will be ridiculously exhausted, cry, yell for no reason, want to die, cry some more, try to crawl out of my skin, send nasty texts and/or emails to anyone who even remotely made me angry in the last 2 years, bleed profusely, cramp spontaneously, cry again, yell even louder, and eventually slip into a sullen hateful black mood where everyone within arm's reach is in imminent danger.

I actually feel ~~a little~~ ~~kind of~~ very sorry for those who have to deal with me on a daily basis. Unfortunately that empathy is usually expressed via mean venomous words barely articulated through clenched teeth or loud yelling that would make a taxi driver stfu and run for cover.

It gets ugly.

It's actually kind of all the worst emotional effects of MS, all rolled into one whirlwind month.

But wait! One month, you say? "I thought you only took the pills for two weeks!"

THAT'S THE BEST PART!! I take the pills for two weeks and then the side-effects take a solid 2-3 weeks after that to flush the fuck out of my system. Canna geta A-MEN??

(you better not be "amen-ing" me right now, muthafucka.)

((shit. I think it's already started.))

I don't give a shit about your goddamn rabbit hole, Morpheus.

(Don't do it Neo. Trust me. Those robo-cop guys will be the least of your concerns.)

"You do not have the right to quit trying. (The universe wobbles when you do.) "

2011-09-02T21:59:00.000-04:00

It's been a long time, but there's a reason for it as well. That reason? Simple; I had shit to do. But, shit's done, and I'm back. I'll explain in a moment. First: within the last three days, the congruence of three disparate things made me feel the need to spew forth with some blogging.

To start, a friend posted a link on Facebook to a WSJ article that revisited Steve Jobs' commencement speech at Stanford from 2005. I'd actually never read it before and if you haven't, you should as well. The next day, I had a great conversation with one of my students about how lost he was feeling in figuring out what to pursue after high school. It was one of those conversations that was only so great because he was in a place where he was really open to listening as well as talking. Sometimes with teenagers, they won't give you both. Go figure.

Lastly, and most profoundly for me, I had an awesome "talk" with a friend that took place in the form of a series of FB messages. A talk that was meant to help him, but really resonated with me. He was feeling at a loss for direction and motivation in his life and wanted advice - although he never really asked a question. I began with the idea that had sort of been at the crux of my conversation with my student, which, not so coincidentally, arose from the WSJ article - in thinking of the future, there are two things I think everyone should consider: What am I good at? And, more importantly, what makes me happy? Because here's why: somewhere, somehow, those two things intersect. What you're good at meets up with what makes you happy, and that? Somewhere in there? That's where your future lies. There's a career there, there's a destination, and there's purpose. It's not always easy to find but it exists.

For me, I chose a path through college based on what I thought I was good at. And, with a few minor tweaks along the way, I followed that path right through college and on to a career that I enjoyed. I don't regret that path and I learned a lot about myself - both during that career and in hindsight. However, I can see now that, though I was very good at what I did, I was never truly great. And while I enjoyed it immensely, I never really loved it in a way that was personally rewarding. As a counselor? I am great. Something in me shines and keeps me going, even through bad days and missteps and disappointments. It's personally rewarding. What makes me happy is dynamic personal relationships. Where that intersected with what I'm good at? I found counseling.

And I love what I do - as much as I may bitch about it at times.

This summer, I had to complete 36 credits of post-grad professional development courses. Before you get all impressed, please know - they were 36 credits of busy work and bullshit. But finishing them or not finishing them meant the difference between making more money and being reimbursed the $3000 I spent for the classes, or losing the $3000 and not getting a raise for the next year. Crazy thing was, the money wasn't a motivator for me to get them done - money, while necessary, has never been a great motivator for me. Hell, I wouldn't be working in education if it was that important to me. So, I had to find different motivation.

I decided to shut down my Facebook account (and not blog) until I took care of what needed to get done. I took a lot of shit for this. First, in the form of, "are you so addicted to FB that you can't pull yourself away to do your work??" (answer: um, no.) Then, in the form of, "I feel like I don't know what's going on your life now..." (hmm, fuck you for your mockage then, how about that?) I took away FB because it took away something that was important to me - my connection to the *people* who are important to me. I'm motivated by the relationships and people in my life.

(and just so we're clear? I took those courses and kicked their collective ass.)

And now, I'm back.

(see how that came full circle?)

But seriously, do yourself a favor. Figure out where your talent intersects with your joy. Figure out how far you are from that intersection. And if need be? Find a path to get there. If that intersection shifts? Don't be afraid to change your course. Don't ever feel stuck or bound to one path - forge a whole new one if you must. It's never too late. And go back to read the Steve Jobs article. (It doesn't seem fair that someone so otherwise talented and successful would also get to be so articulate, but cancer isn't fair either, so I'll make allowances.)

I've missed you though. And I promise to try harder with this relationship. Because it's important to me.

My friends are totally funnier than me. (unless I am imagining them) ((in that case? I am fucking hysterical))

2011-05-13T21:49:00.000-04:00

This is the uneditted text conversation between myself and my girlfriend who somehow knows exactly what it's like to live in my head.

Awesome Girlfriend: I have an idea....

Yes.....? :Me

AGF: u guys should start a weekend poker and/or blackjack gaming night... and then ur dream of bartending can come to fruition.

AGF: OR: you could just serve up drinks when I drive by + know ur in there drinking... I should be allowed to quick pull my car in-leave it running if I'm pretending to be at CVS + do a quick shot, served by Jamie-Jack-Daniels, my neighborly barmaid... and then roll out...

Here? Cause right now this place is more romper-room meets hoarders than a bar - but I'm a fan of the concept. I'm feeling like complete shit so I'm about to mix myself a drink and pop a Xanax/benedryll combo and hope for the best. :Me

AGF: and, yes-these are TRULY the things I think of.

Then I like the way you think. It's just a quick left on gerloff instead of a right. And btw? "heroics" is apparently auto text for gerloff. Who knew? :Me

AGF: Bahaha-that made me snort out loud...romper room meets hoarders...I won't judge u:) why don't u feel good?

I don't know. My sinuses are going nuts all of a sudden so I'm either getting sick or have an allergy to rain. Plus? I have the lovely sensation of my skin itching/crawling, which is usually an MS thing but maybe it's allergic to my sinuses. Either way, I am trying to kill it with Xanax and rum. Seems logical, right? :Me

*scratch scratch scratch* :Me

AGF: Actually that happens to me quite often from my allergies--it even feels like its UNDER my skin. It makes me scratch like a fiend coming off heroin. Not fun. Oh well, the xanax + rum is sure to kill something... sensations, itchiness, hearts, liver, so - any way u look at it: win/win.

Totally my thinking. It's like you're in my head. :Me

AGF: That's what they all say;)

Hahaha. Devil woman. ;-) :Me

AGF: Oh-i forgot to mention that in my fantasy-land of alcohol + gambling--its all done in pj's. Its a prerequisite for entry.

YESSSSSSS..... this is good, very very good. :Me

AGF: Do u want actual "allergy medicine" for tomorrow? I have allegra-d + also regular allegra?

I have allergy stuffs too but I'm going to wait to see if I can do without. For all the meds I take? For sine reason I hate all the allergy/sinus stuff. Go figure. :Me

AGF: I'm actually leaving here now to get my moms dog-i'll drop it off

AGF: Oh-wait--u meant pj's!!hahahah--ok-so-u don't need allegra?

Yes, pjs good. Meds unnecessary. I have a pharmacy here. lol :Me

My phone is apparently on a delay or something. lmao :Me

AGF: Pharmacy just makes the bar an even better idea.

And btw? I am totally going to plan a poker/pj party. I have you and Kevin RSVPed as "attending" so I'll let you know when it is. You'll need to clear your social calendar. By "social calendar" I obviously mean "shit-ass mom duties". And by "pjs" I mean "comfy sit-my-ass-around-my-house-and-wonder-where-the-stain-on-my-shirt-came-from pjs".... not the cutesy "aren't-I-sexy-in-this-wanna-be-Victorias-Secret-get-up" shit because no one actually wears that. No one. :Me

AGF: We'll keep it a classy joint though-pills can only be swallowed-no crushing+snorting-thats just trashy. Especially when we're all in our pjs.

Amen. I'll have that hand painted on a little sign that hangs over the pile of kids toys.... um, I mean, the bar. :Me

AGF: And a crate large enuf to house all our kids-with a water bottle attached to the side-u know,like bunnies have-but filled w/benadryl for them.

PERFECT..... :Me

AGF: Love it! Count us in! And ps-anyone who wears pjs like THAT can come-but better be prepared to be the focal point of every joke that comes out of our mouths.

I just read this whole conversation to chris. All he did was shake his head. I'm going to take that as affirmation that the pj/poker night rocks. (not that he's just amazed/worried at how similar our collective genius is.) :Me

I'll plan it for early June then. Excuse me as I go get a tissue for the snot that just ran down my face. Seriously. But only from the left nostril. I hate my nose right now. :Me

AGF: I swear to god-i was just writing that its not fair for us (you) to expect him to be able to comprehend the magnitude of "genius" that we possess.

Lol I am so posting this conversation on FB. The world needs to know how awesome we are. Charlie Sheen has nothing on us. :Me

AGF: Its intimidating to most. No wonder I have, like, one friend.

I have two. I think. One could be imaginary. I take a lot of meds. Are we really having this conversation?? Or am I texting myself? I really wouldn't know. For real. :Me

AGF: Its cool. Its just another sign of the genius within.

Duh. I should have known that. Beautiful Mind and all. :Me

AGF: No-its real. After all-if we can't put our inner-superhuman-intelligence to work? Then, we are just average laymen sitting at home drinking and popping meds,no?

Right. And that can't be the case. I mean, look at how fabulous we are. Clearly we are superhuman. :Me

Btw? I need a refill. And I totally mixed my drink in a disposable coffee cup and drank it through two stirrers. It kept the ice from melting, there's no clean up, and it might be my solution to hating my mornings, quite frankly. :Me

AGF: I was beginning to think u died from ur cocktail combo.

No. Apparently my phone us just on delay. You're like, a mile from my house, but the message has to bounce from 17 satellites to reach you. Technology rocks. We should totally tie two soup cans together with string. Although I don't know how well that would transmit texts.... :Me

Lest I get lost in the bitterness.

2011-05-10T16:49:00.000-04:00

I can't lose focus of the good. And, there was good. There is good.

(And in the end, isn't that all that will remain anyway?)

((Yes))

If that *good* had a soundtrack, this would be it.

Metric: Black Sheep
Vargo: The Moment
Bass Hunter: All I Ever Wanted
Bass Hunter: Now You’re Gone
A Fine Frenzy: Near to You
A Fine Frenzy: Almost Lover

Heather Nova: Gloomy Sunday
Eurythmics: Sweet Dreams
Lisa Miskovsky: Still Alive
Lily Allen: Smile
Lily Allen: Fuck You

Christina Perri: Jar of Hearts
Christina Perri: Tragedy
Christina Perri: Bang Bang Bang
Lily Allen: Friday Night
Snow Patrol: Set Fire to the Third Bar
Hilltop Hoods: The Nosebleed Section
Nancy Sinatra: Bang Bang
Sara Bareilles: Gravity
Lily Allen: Never Gonna Happen
Bat for Lashes: What’s a Girl to Do?
Adele: Set Fire to the Rain

Tiesto: Just Be
Weezer: Island in the Sun
The Cardigans: Lovefool
Yael Naïm: New Soul
The Clash: Straight to Hell
KT Tunstall: Suddenly I See
Sara Bareilles: Love Song
Regina Spektor: Folding Chair
Kate Nash: Merry Happy

Lenka: The Show
Jem: It’s Amazing
Maria Taylor: One for the Shareholder
Frou Frou: Let Go
Lily Allen: Everything’s Just Wonderful
Bitter:Sweet: Trouble
Nelly Furtado: All Good Things (Come to an End)
Imogen Heap: Headlock
The Ting Tings: Shut Up and Let Me Go
The Ting Tings: That’s Not My Name
Ingrid Michaelson: Be OK

(Just so you know - I love you, just the way you are, for the person you are. Always will.)

I can't grow anything but weeds.

2011-03-27T22:09:00.003-04:00

(But I did grow a pretty good bean.)

I promise this is the last time I'll use it.

2011-03-26T22:15:00.011-04:00

It's so damn versatile! But I do love this quote. Mostly cause I am in the gutter all the time. You know, in one way or another. (take that whatever way you want.... you're probably correct on some level anyway.)

And, it reminds me of a song.

(go figure)

For all the things you said I'd never do
For all the things you said that were untrue
For all the times you made me feel alone
Said I'd never make it on my own

Things are lookin' up for me now
It seems like Karma's makin' its rounds
It's my turn now, won't be held down, no
Karma's gonna visit you too
You gotta pay for the things you put me through
I hope you do, I hope you do, yeah, yeah

I hope your Hell is filled with magazines
And on every page you see a big picture of me
And under every picture a caption should read
Not bad for a girl from the gutter like me

For all the times you said, "I got your back"
For all the times you stabbed me
For all the times you tried to hurt my pride
For all the pain I held down deep inside

Things are lookin' up for me now
It seems like Karma's makin' its rounds
It's my turn now, won't be held down, no
Karma's gonna visit you too
You gotta pay for the things you put me through
I hope you do, I hope you do, I hope you do

I hope your Hell is filled with magazines
And on every page you see a big picture of me
And under every picture a caption should read
Not bad for a girl from the gutter like me

Needed to make me weak to help you feel stronger
I know y'all bitches think I'm somewhere dyin' inside
Oh yeah, poor Kina, she went home
She couldn't take it no longer
But I'm right here
I'm right here
I'm right here

I hope your Hell is filled with magazines
And on every page you see a big picture of me
And under every picture a caption should read
Not bad for a girl from the gutter like me

Annnnnnd, another song.

2011-03-25T22:14:00.002-04:00

(yes, with the same pic)

;-)

More Neil Gaiman.

2011-03-24T22:11:00.003-04:00

(I heart him.)

Lighthouse.

2011-03-23T22:10:00.012-04:00

This is really a profound truth for me. I feel like a beacon some days. And I don't mind being the beacon - in my head, I liken it to being the "light" for someone who may otherwise be in the darkness, and that makes me feel good. I like being the light.

But other days? I just feel like the porch light that a million and one bugs are swarming and mindlessly bashing themselves into.

I never did build a ship. I wouldn't even know where to start.

Honestly, I don't think it ever occurred to me that I could.

Bring them to meeeeeeee.......

*sigh*

(maybe I am just lazy)

It's just not the same.

2011-03-22T22:10:00.001-04:00

Yes, another song.

2011-03-21T22:09:00.006-04:00

I can't help it. Some of the best, most profound, most poetic, most meaningful pieces of writing aren't literature at all. They're songs. And when I listen to music, I am mostly listening to the words. I realize that's kinda not the entire point, but it's just how I hear it.

Don't apologize either.

2011-03-20T21:58:00.004-04:00

Love.

That's all I can say: LOVE.

Fading.

2011-03-19T22:04:00.004-04:00

I'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song.

2011-03-18T22:03:00.002-04:00

The beauty of true friendship.

2011-03-16T22:02:00.009-04:00

Sometimes there's that one person who says just the right thing at just the right time and it changes your entire outlook.

sigh

2011-03-15T22:01:00.003-04:00

It's like that pointing fingers quote... but, you know, different.

2011-03-14T22:00:00.005-04:00

I really believe that part of understanding people is understanding that we all share commonalities. And if we look hard enough for common ground, it can be found. In working with people, I do this so easily it has become second nature.

Of course, there's also that thing about the stuff that we hate in others are the same things we hate about ourselves.

Life is confusing.

I don't just burn bridges. I blow them the fuck up.

2011-03-13T21:59:00.006-04:00

Sometimes you just have to make a choice.

You *have* to.

I'm in love with Neil Gaiman. Because he's just so right.

2011-03-12T21:57:00.008-05:00

The funny thing is - funny as in, ironic, not really "haha" - is that I've never read any of his books. I came across a quote of his that resonated with me such that I began to cyber stalk other bits of his snark and wisdom and I was instantly hooked. I'm actually kinda scared to read his novels and have them be a let down from the initial joy of that one quote. It's like, one FANTASTIC piece of chocolate that melts in your mouth just right and *makes* your whole day. But, were you to eat a whole bag of said chocolate, you'd be sick and never want to see it again.

Kinda like that.

Oh, and that one first piece of chocolate?

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

Secrets.

2011-03-11T21:56:00.021-05:00

So I found this picture and I was immediately taken by the female figure that's on the bathroom wall, which, if we set aside the completely odd nature of it, is actually quite cool. I was all "wow, that's so cool, I like the abandoned nature of the whole..... whaaa...? Wait. What the fuck is that??!?"

Yeah. Little old creepy thing in the center. Person? Doll??? Dear god, I am totally creeped out.

(but I still love the pic.)

Relationships are like glass....

2011-03-10T21:55:00.014-05:00

....than to hurt yourself trying to put it back together.

Fat is the new black.

2011-03-09T21:59:00.000-05:00

Today as I was getting dressed, I convinced myself that dressing entirely in shades of black and grey - in multiple layers - would somehow slim and, at the same time, camouflage, the obscene amount of weight that I have gained recently. Black tank top, dark grey (baggy) low cut shirt, lighter grey long sweater (long sweaters are my fashion fix-all (which don't fix a damn thing, btw)), and black pants. That barely buttoned.

Yeah.

On a lighter note though, it was a good hair day and, paired with some bold lipstick, I was doing my damnedest to draw attention away from my body and up to my face.

The high point of my day actually - a day that was spent unconsciously fidgeting with clothes that were too tight in all the wrong places - was when one of my tenth grade girls told me - mid conversation - that I don't look at all like I'm 33. I can only assume she meant that I look younger than that because otherwise, well, that would be rude and she's a sweet girl. Also, I am assuming that the extra fat is simply plumping up my wrinkles and the pimples are causing some confusion. Yay bad skin?

But it is beginning to wear on me. (You know, the fact that I can't wear most of my clothes, that is.) I know part of it is the meds I'm taking. Mega doses or hormones will do that. Period. But also? Work is stressing me out. I might be losing my job to budget cuts. Late nights at work are sapping my time and energy for exercise. And frankly? I just love to eat. Too much. (that's nothing new though.)

So I suppose my choices now involve any combination of learning to purge after binging, making time to exercise, buying bigger clothes, or just continuing to bitch about it. Yep. One of those.....

Although, I will say: the hormones? Still worth it. The fact that I am handling this much stress, at a new job, with a fair amount of instability in my future, without having emotional breakdowns the likes of which would rival any diva and/or my three-year-old daughter when she doesn't get her way? Epically amazing. In fact, the poise and equanimity with which I am facing every day is a little shocking. Sure, some days I am especially bitchy or snarky or even exhausted. But, I am not. losing. my. shit.

And? I totally used the word equanimity correctly.

(even though I didn't spell it right.)

((I'm still giving myself bonus non-brain-fog points.))

Let. Me. Out.

2011-03-08T21:56:00.001-05:00

(I find this concept very comforting and very concerning.... all at the same time.)

Because my daytime crazy isn't enough.

2011-03-07T21:42:00.006-05:00

....and I find comfort in that insanity.

(good night.)

Wine never lets me down.

2011-03-06T18:57:00.000-05:00

The line is from a song. A song I love and used to not be able to listen to without sobbing hysterically. I can not sob now, but apparently I'm not really ready to talk about it either.

Thank god for wine.

Reading is good for you. (unfortunately, it's just one more thing I don't get to do often enough.)

2011-03-05T17:31:00.023-05:00

I literally - no, really, I just went and counted - have 10 books on my bookcase right now, waiting to be read. Another 5 or 6 on my shelf at work, 6 more for classes I am taking (*yawn*), and a dozen or so in my Amazon wish list.

I love to read.

I am a huge dork like that and I own it for all it's worth. I've actually read every single book Stephen King has ever written - own them all, in fact - and have read many of them many times. I think I could develop a quasi-religious thesis based on the Dark Tower series. Although I'm sure someone already has, so I would probably be wasting my time. It's a fantastic epic tale.

This summer? I am dedicating some serious time to reading. Reading stuff I need to read, stuff I have to read, and stuff I simply want to read. Because it is medicine for the soul.

(but also? it's just a really convenient escape from reality.)

((and who doesn't need that?))

There's a pretty big difference.

2011-03-04T20:00:00.000-05:00

I once confused Helen Keller and Anne Frank. True story.

You met me at a very strange time in my life.

2011-03-03T18:44:00.001-05:00

...you're not how much money you've got in the bank. You're not your job. You're not your family, and you're not who you tell yourself.... You're not your name.... You're not your problems.... You're not your age.... You are not your hopes.

(I keep waiting to meet my Tyler.)

Yes, I do, in fact, want a cookie.

2011-03-02T21:21:00.004-05:00

I have literally been "on a diet" since I was 12. That's more than 20 years of feeling guilty about what I was or wasn't eating at any given point.

Let me be clear about this: I did not need to diet at 12.

I thought I was "fat".

I was not.

Now that I have had to legitimately struggle with my weight for many years, I can see the difference. From my highest weight (which was 245 - seriously y'all. It's not like I'm 6'9". Or even 5'9" for that matter.) to my lowest (which was still 20lbs heavier than my "teenage" weight but gloriously wonderfully thin - for me - and a weight I stayed at for all of 30 minutes before creeping my way back up the scale) I have constantly struggled.

And it's bullshit. Not the struggle - that's a given. I will always have to work against the medical conditions that want to make me F-A-T... because that also makes me W-E-A-K.... and they prefer me that way. So, I struggle. Against genetics, my health, and myself.

What's bullshit is the guilt. I want to get rid of that part. Guilt is such a wasted and useless emotion. I've spent too much time feeling guilty.

What I want is cookies.

(With milk.)

((Not guilt.))

Photos I didn't take. Paired with words I didn't write.

2011-03-01T22:28:00.001-05:00

So all over facebook, people are doing this 30-day-photo-challenge-thing. And, frankly, while I like the idea... I'm not such a fan of my own photos.

(Even less a fan of photos of me.)

Also, I kinda prefer words.

Even when my words don't seem to be very forthcoming. Which, right now, they are not. They are hard fought and stuck. My brain is, at the moment, the La Brea tar pit of eloquent speech and snarky repertoire. Many a great thought, feeling, and idea will be found millions of years from now - fossilized and contextually insignificant.

(I am probably humoring myself by calling them potentially "great". I am aware.)

So, for the next 30 days, I bring you: Photos I didn't take. Paired with words I didn't write.

(But somehow? The combination seems to kinda sorta fit what's sinking slowly in the tar pit.)

Is this how Dorothy felt? There better be some fucking munchkins somewhere. And a wizard. And some really fabulous shoes.

2011-02-26T23:52:00.000-05:00

I fucking hate MS. I mean, I haven’t had an MS rant on here in a long while, so it’s only fair, but really? Really MS?? Are we just going to do this dance where you taunt and tease and fuck with me? Cause honestly? I’d rather pass.

The last many days I’ve just felt…. off. Not right. Partly like I could crawl right up out of my own skin and partly like I could rip someone out of theirs. Partly like I’m getting a cold and partly like every bone and muscle in my body is just aching for a revolt.

If it’s going to come? Then just fucking come already. Hit me with whatever you’ve got MS. Body pains, crying fits, brain fog that leaves me a barely functional adult, fatigue that cripples - whatever. Take your pick. Dealer’s choice. Let’s just have at it already!

This bullshit of it hanging over my head though? Thoroughly exhausting. I had one really good clear day in the last week. One. And while I really enjoyed that day? It just stands in stark contrast to every other day recently. Not a full on MS attack but not right either. I’m just…. off.

And I’m tired of it.

I’m tired of waiting for the storm to come. I’m tired of noting every little tick and twitch and ache and pain and wondering if it’s just a passing flit of whatever or if it’s the harbinger of MS doom. And that’s the thing with MS. When the attacks hit? It’s easy to look back and see all the signs that the storm was coming. The gray and foreboding horizon. The clouds rolling in. The thunder in the distance. How could I have *not* seen it?

There’s a storm on the horizon… something wicked this way comes… and whatever other catchy sayings apply. I just wish it would hurry the fuck up and get here. Or, you know, detour right on by me all together. Cause I am tired of feeling so off balance.

I’m just so tired.

I blame Buffy Summers.

2011-02-25T18:18:00.000-05:00

During my New Year’s weekend marathon viewing of Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes (as if I had anything better to be doing for three days straight), I came to the startling realization that Buffy is not only to blame for my distinct need to kick ass all hot-ninja-slayer-style but, apparently, I’m pretty sure I can now blame her for my career choice.

Did anyone else completely blank on the fact that in the season seven Buffy was hired as a high school guidance counselor??

(for real, people.)

((and yes, I am speaking as if you’ve all seen every episode of every season as I have. Because if you haven’t? you have better things to be doing than reading this blog.))

Now, I can put aside the fact that in the world of slayers, hell-mouths, demons, and hot sexy vampires, you apparently don’t even need a college education to be a counselor. Let’s also put aside the fact that Buffy does so little as a counselor that she, at one point, is sitting at her desk trying to balance a mug full of pencils on her head for fun. (really Joss Whedon? Really??? for shame.)

But, in one particular episode, a love-spell cursed varsity letter jacket makes Buffy (as well as her sister and other girls) fall in love with the high school quarterback. (because this *totally* happens all the time) Clearly, awesomeness ensues. Including, but not limited to, Buffy getting down with said hottie in the letter jacket in her office and an empty classroom. (and that *totally* happens all the time too)

Wait.

No, it doesn’t. Ever.

Never, in fact.

What. the. fuck.

I’m all over here dealing with the kids and their parents and the teachers and the drama and never once did I find myself atop a hot (obviously over 18 cause otherwise that would be creepy) young stud on an empty lab desk.

Again I say….

What. the. fuck??!?!!

I was clearly sold a bogus bill of sale. Being a guidance counselor isn’t a damn thing like Buffy made it out to be.

(to be fair, I don't make it look as good as she did.)

((and I'm still not a hot pole-dancing ninja either.))

I am so disillusioned.

Sometimes having boobs is overrated. (not often, but occassionally.)

2011-02-14T18:57:00.003-05:00

First, let me just get this out of the way: yes, I haven’t blogged in forever. Not that there haven’t been things to say (there has) and it’s not just because there hasn’t been much time for it (there hasn’t) but simply because sometimes the words don’t come. Sometimes, all the shit that’s in my head? gets trapped there. And my ability to articulate? is basically swallowed whole and all that comes out is equivalent to caveman grunts. Tree pretty. Fire bad.

(Buffy reference right there... cool points to anyone who caught it.)

This week at school, the committee for the Relay for Life is raising awareness (and money, because what good is awareness without fundage) by having the students wear a different color each day for the different cancers out there. Faculty is allowed to wear jeans (jeans!!! Will we pay money to wear jeans?? That is a resounding “hell yes we will!” cause work is somehow more bearable if I am bearing it in denim) if we make a $5 donation and follow the color/cancer of the day.

Today is breast cancer awareness and, having forked over my $5 for the week, I had to actually purchase something pink to wear. Because really? I don’t like pink. I know, pull my girl-card, but I don’t. Still, a quick purchase of a pink tank top – added to the cost of the $5 donation – still worth it to wear jeans.

(It clearly doesn’t take a whole hell of a lot to make teachers happy. Just sayin. The bar is pretty low people.)

So our school nurse, being the social-conscience-awareness-raising type person she is (wow, most awkward sentence EVER and this is why sometimes I go for months without writing and I am leaving it to make a point) sends out an email about the risks and warning signs of breast cancer. Being a person with boobs, I have been well aware of the warning signs of breast cancer for many years. Along with the yearly uncomfortable down-under poking and prodding that we endure, there’s always the awkward feel-your-boobs-for-lumps part of the exam.

Being a girl is super fun.

Part of the drug study I have allowed myself to be guinea-pigged for is to assess if the 8mg dosage of Estriol shows an increased risk of cancer - breast and uterine cancer, specifically. Now, as there are many types of cancer in my extended family, but no breast or uterine cancer, I felt like this was an acceptable risk to take. If I’m not genetically predisposed to breast cancer, that’s got to be better for my chances with the increased estrogen, right?

Oh school nurse, you dash my ill-informed hopes.

Things that can increase your risk of breast cancer include:

Being female. Women are much more likely than men are to develop breast cancer. (Um, okay, guess I’m not gonna escape that one.)

Increasing age. Your risk of breast cancer increases as you age. Women older than 60 have a greater risk than do younger women. (while I’m clearly not over 60, obviously my age is going to increase. I mean, the alternative? really not any better.)

A personal history of breast cancer. If you've had breast cancer in one breast, you have an increased risk of developing cancer in the other breast. (yay! not me!)

A family history of breast cancer. If you have a mother, sister or daughter with breast cancer, you have a greater chance of being diagnosed with breast cancer. Still, the majority of people diagnosed with breast cancer have no family history of the disease. (okay, so I was feeling good with that first part and then? then?? “the majority of people diagnosed with breast cancer have no family history of the disease” fuuuuck.)

Inherited genes that increase cancer risk. Certain gene mutations that increase the risk of breast cancer can be passed from parents to children. The most common gene mutations are referred to as BRCA1 and BRCA2. These genes can greatly increase your risk of breast cancer and other cancers, but they don't make cancer inevitable.

Radiation exposure. If you received radiation treatments to your chest as a child or young adult, you're more likely to develop breast cancer later in life. (I don’t think this applies to me. I mean, I don’t glow in the dark. Pretty sure I’m okay.)

Obesity. Being overweight or obese increases your risk of breast cancer. (fuck.)

Beginning your period at a younger age. Beginning your period before age 12 increases your risk of breast cancer. (fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!)

Beginning menopause at an older age. If you began menopause after age 55, you're more likely to develop breast cancer.

Having your first child at an older age. Women who give birth to their first child after age 35 may have an increased risk of breast cancer. (okay, I wasn’t quite that old…. but I was about 15 years past being an unfortunate teenage mother.)

Postmenopausal hormone therapy. Women who take hormone therapy medications that combine estrogen and progesterone to treat the signs and symptoms of menopause have an increased risk of breast cancer. (Um, yeah….. okay school nurse, I think I’ve had about enough now….)

Drinking alcohol. Drinking alcohol may increase the risk of breast cancer. (STOP. RIGHT. THERE.)

No, seriously, stop. They might as well cut my boobs off right now because truly? I am way screwed here. The estrogen, oddly enough, does help the MS….. the MS is going to be a life long thing.... (as will the drinking)….. maybe I just need to take a pre-emptive boob strike - as in, chop them off. We can rebuild them. Make them better. We have the technology. (because really, they do.)

I hate to see what the rest of the week will bring as we “honor” and educate ourselves about other cancers. I have a feeling the hypochondriac in me is going to be suffering from a lot more than MS by Friday. If I am worried about my prostate by the end of the week, someone should be worried about me. Just sayin.

I love loud music.

2010-12-28T02:57:00.001-05:00

I love loud music. I don't even care what it is. It blocks out the thoughts.

The doubts.
The voices.
The hurt.

It blocks out it all.... with it's steady stream of bass and lyrics and distraction. It's beauty in it's simplest form.

Mind altering.
Thought blocking.
Quiet.
In it's pounding rhythm.

But then it stops.
The ringing begins.

The ringing doesn't block out the thought.
The hurt.
The heartache.
The what-ifs and what-the-fucks.

It's free reign. Open season. Every damn thing I didn't want to hear.

Didn't want to think.
Thunders in the ringing silence.

I love loud music. I just can't live there.

Although I would try. If I could.

FINE. I wrote my damn paper.

2010-12-16T17:25:00.000-05:00

I really wasn't feeling writing a 3-4 page paper on the connection and utilization of exercise to mood modification. In fact, I managed to write many many more pages than that in pointless blog posts before I got around to writing my paper. But, I finally managed to do it.

What gave me that push I needed?

I decided to write my paper as if it were a blog.

World of academia? Meet blogging. While I am sure you have more than a passing acquaintanceship, please understand: this seems to be the only style of writing I can manage any more.

Plus? It's slightly less boring.

I can't, however, be held accountable for the boring nature of the topic. Sorry.

(I do what I can.)

Below is what I actually submitted. I'm curious to see how this works out.

Right now, I am sitting at my desk. It’s Thursday on what feels like day 11 of a 10 day work week. One hour left to go of the working day, one more day until the weekend, but five more days until the winter break. I have yoga tonight but it means finding something productive to do after work while waiting for yoga to begin. It also means not getting home until after 8:00. When, if I just left work on time, I could be at home - glass of wine in hand and on my couch in my pjs - by 4:00.

I’m tired, it’s been a long week, and I would like nothing more than to collapse in a heap on my couch. And, to be fair, I may still decide to do so. However, I know if I stuck it out and made myself go to yoga? I’d be feeling better by the time I made it home. Even if it is 4 hours later than I would have liked. I’ll have more energy, less tension, and generally be in a better frame of mind. Not to mention the calories it will save me from not drinking wine for those four additional hours as well. Overall? Huge win for me. Should be a no brainer, right?

It’s just never that easy it seems. Clearly, if it were, the world at large (pun totally intended) would be thinner, less stressed, and healthier all the way around. We would all make the healthier choice and all live better lives for it. But most of us don’t. Because, often times, the healthier choice is not the easier choice. And it’s not that the harder option is just too hard, but more so that we lack the energy to undertake the harder option. Even if the end result is going to be an increased level of energy. It’s a hell of a catch-22, really.

And honestly, the whole idea of using exercise as a mode to achieve a better mood - if we are defining mood by an absence or decrease of the tense-tired state - is fraught with catch-22s. If I am already tired, I am certainly less likely to undertake any physical activity. Even the thought of prolonged physical activity tires me on an already too-tired day. And tension? Nothing says “let’s get physical” like a tension headache. Although I know, in the logical part of my brain that isn’t impacted by the length of my work week or the fatigue my body is feeling, that exercise is exactly the thing that will work to relieve both ailments.

I’ve always used exercise as a tool for weight loss. Period. Unfortunately, I have always had weight to lose and, therefore, have undertaken any number and variety of exercise programs. Walking. Jogging. (which was a very short lived attempt.) Lifting. Aerobics. Step-aerobics. Tae-Bo. Pilates. Truly, the list goes on and on. And, since I have always used exercise as a means of weight loss, I have always felt it necessary to push myself to the point of near exhaustion in order to feel like I was giving it my best effort. This even, at one time, resulted in a daily exercise regimen that was almost two hours in length. Obviously with the demands of real life, that was not a regimen I could maintain; when it fell apart, it fell entirely apart. It was always all or nothing for me.

Trying to reframe my preconceived notions about exercise is difficult. Truly, it has been harder than I would have expected. Although, I suppose, on many levels, anything that challenges our understanding and perceptions is uncomfortable, at the very least. For me, it goes something like this: “Ughhhh, I’m so tired. Tired and stressed - because, really, when am I not? All I want is down time, comfort food, and a beverage or two. But…. *insert new uncomfortable way of thinking here*…. I know that even 30 minutes of yoga or a brisk walk would make me feel better. And be better for me. And I need things that are better for me. My clothes have been fitting a bit too tightly recently anyway - even the clothes that are not meant to be tight. Well, then, if I’m going to commit to doing 30 minutes, I should at least commit to 60 minutes. There’s not much caloric-burning gain in only 30 minutes. Okay, an even hour it will be. I can do this. I will do this. I will feel better for having done it.”

(by the end of the work day)

“Ughhhhh, I really don’t have the energy to do 60 minutes of anything. Where’s the couch?”

When really? 30 minutes would definitely be adequate for the mood improving benefits to be felt. But instead, I get in my head that I have to put forth more than what is necessary; and I therefore end up opting out of doing it all together. It’s clearly a fault in my logic, but it’s also how my brain is wired to process the concept of exercise.

(Too many years - nay, decades - of dieting, clearly.)

What I need to do is reframe my ideas about exercise and its uses. I know the benefit to mood enhancement that I feel - that’s not something that I struggle to understand. And really, I experience that post-exercise glow more so from doing less strenuous forms of activity, so a simple walk or a few moments of yoga is more than adequate - it’s ideal. Moving forward, I would like to incorporate a daily ritual of movement - not necessarily exercise. Exercise can be done in addition - and should be, if we are to be mindful of the too-tight clothing - but I need to separate the concepts of daily activity for appropriate stress reduction and exercise for weight loss. If I can incorporate both in appropriate use and measure - and yes, make the harder but healthier choice - then surely my overall health would improve in more than one way.

For the record? It’s 4:45 already. An hour and 45 minutes past when I could have left work, but only another 45 minutes until I can head to yoga. I’ll just have a smaller glass of wine when I get home at 8:00 and find my couch still waiting for me.

All things in moderation, after all.

Where's my gay knight in shining gold lamé?

2010-12-15T23:05:00.000-05:00

This past week I saw a repeat of the Glee “Madonna” episode.

Wait, let me back up, as I feel this needs clarification: I am not a Gleek. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the show - its fun and I do enjoy it. But, I’m not super into it. I’m not terribly aware of all the current issues with each character and who is with whom or wants to be with someone else. Basically, if it’s on and I come across it, I watch it. I try to figure out when it is in the timeline of the show based on if the blond cheer leader is pregnant, who the teacher guy is with, and/or if the brunette “hot music geek” is currently crushing on, with, or broken up with the male “hot music geek/quarterback”.

Okay, back to the rest of my story….

The Madonna episode?

Awesome.

Amazing.

And really? I am now in love with Kurt. LOVE. It’s serious people. Like, I want him to be my (totally fictional pretend) gay bff. Because I love him. And really? I’ve never had a gay bff and that is a damn tragedy. I? Should have a gbff.

He’s snarky. He’s catty. But he’s also kind. He falls into completely impossible love. (and speaks so eloquently about it, it makes my heart ache.) ((yes, I am aware he’s a fictional character and the writers are the eloquent ones, but just suspend reality a bit with me, won’t you??)) And he would so honestly tell me if my butt looks too big in any given outfit and how much sparkle is too much sparkle. Plus, he sings. I dig that. In my head? I can *totally* sing. And since this gbff relationship will only exist in my head, it’s a perfect match.

(it’s the little look right around 2:53 that sold me, just so you know….)

Don’t get me wrong - I have gay friends. I am a big big fan of the gays. I’ve just never had a gay bff. I fear there is something inherent in me that makes me not suitable hag material and that breaks my gay-loving heart. I have friends that are hags and I am so jealous. Super jealous. I want to steal their gbffs away and go trash talking over some martinis.

I do believe I have figured out the issue though - I like guys. In fact, I prefer them to women - I mean, in the obvious way, but also as friends. I love my guy friends and a lot of my friends are guys. But they are straight and they dig me too - because I am the girl friend that is “just one of the guys”. I’ve got a lot of tomboy in me. I want to play poker. I want to watch football. I talk shit. I drink and eat like a guy. Basically, short of peeing standing up and the fact that I have all those nice soft curvy parts - oh, and the smelling nice thing - I’m kind of a dude.

I am thinking that most gay men don’t dig on tomboys… even those that are also fabulous snarky bitches. Because that? I clearly am.

Okay, so actually? listening to that is *kinda* like listening to myself. Maybe instead of being a tomboy I actually have a gayboy inside me? Which, would then explain all the obvious reasons that I like boys too.

Hmmm…. this is getting confusing.

I’m pretty sure if I had a gbff though? He could totally make sense of this.

(which really? brings this post full circle.)

“I think you’re 14 and you’re an idiot. You took a roofie from a priest. Look at your life. Look at your choices.”

(it’s like he was listening in my office or something.)

((for real.))

I suck at making Christmas lists. (and 9 other things you may or may not know about me.)

2010-12-14T16:03:00.000-05:00

1. I suck at making Christmas lists. That’s not to say that there’s not stuff that I wouldn’t like or even want at any given moment but when put on the spot with the heavily loaded “what do you want for Christmas this year?” (I’m sorry, you’re not dressed like a fat man in a red suit and I am not on your lap) I always come up short for answers.

The problem is, I’m just not a fan of “stuff”. Stuff clutters up my house. Stuff is the, well, stuff, that I am tripping over and trying to find a place for it to collect dust for a fair amount of time. I don’t like stuff. I don’t want dvds. I don’t want cds. I don’t want games. I just won’t use them and while the thought is nice, I have enough dust collectors, thank you very much.

I do like books, but I rarely know what I want until I want it. I like jewelry, but I like to buy pieces that I want. I like clothes, but really? Clothes are tough. Half the stuff rarely fits me and usually makes me look large and in charge. (Which, I am, however, I prefer reality-defying clothes. Find me some of them and you can buy as much as you’d like.)

What do I want for Christmas? More time for myself. A vacation. Money to pay down some of my debt. A new tattoo… or two… or three.

(Hard to wrap that kind of stuff, I know.)

So, I guess lacking any other ideas, go with the old standby: liquor and wine.

2. I really am not a fan of phone calls. I prefer email conversations. Hell, even a text message will do if it needs to be a constant back and forth. But a phone call? *ugh* How incredibly arcane. I don’t know why that is or when it got to be that point - I literally used to live with the phone glued to my ear as a teenager - just ask my mom, she’d love to tell you all about it, I have no doubt. But now? Again, *ugh*.

I think, in part, I owe this disdain to my ADD tendencies. I can multi-task through an email or text conversation. Phone conversation? You’re going to expect me to actually devote that entire time to just you. I mean, really? That’s asking for a lot. Including, but not limited to, having to turn down my too-loud music in the car and not sing along at the top of my lungs. Whatever you need to say? Can’t really be that important, right? Drop me a text.

(If I’m making time to talk to you on the phone? You’re welcome. And, you must be pretty awesome.)

3. I have ADD.

(Yes, my last entry just mentioned that - I don’t have short term memory problems.)

((Well, I do, but not *that* short.))

I was never diagnosed with ADD - and it’s certainly not ADHD because there’s not a damn thing about me that’s even remotely high energy - but I have managed to learn to live in my world of organized-chaos and I only survive by “multi-tasking”…. which is what I affectionately call my inability to focus on any one thing longer than a few moments without being distracted by something else.

(I have literally checked my email 3 times and my phone twice in the time I have been typing this - as well as taking a few moments to completely zone out to some Drowning Pool.)

((I am scared to think of what I could accomplish with some Adderall in my system.))

(((Seriously, just checked my phone, FB, and email again… what was I saying?)))

4. Whenever I walk down an empty hallway? I walk in the middle. And I have the insane urge to turn cartwheels and flips the entire length of the hall. I probably can’t do cartwheels any longer and I wasn’t ever able to do flips, yet, in my head? I’m freaking Mary Lou Retton. (or Keri Strug, take your pick.) Either way? cartwheel, flip, flip, double flip, stick the landing. 10.0 10.0 10.0 10.0 and 9.2 (the German judges are a bunch of haters.)

Fortunately (for myself and whatever unfortunate person would find my crumbled form in the middle of the hallway), I have fought this urge.

5. I have a love/hate relationship with food. I love it. I hate that I love it. I am powerless in its grips.

For real, you guys. It’s a sickness.

I love to eat. I fight the urge to eat almost constantly. Because, if I didn’t? I could be a hair under 600 pounds within the year.

For real.

One medical condition that makes my metabolism slow as shit running uphill and another that saps my energy on a daily basis…. you add an obscene influx of food to that combination?

Six. Hundred. Pounds.

(Someday they will remove me from my house on a forklift and none of you will be surprised as you’ve now been forewarned.)

((clearly I won’t be doing any cartwheels at that point.))

6. I like the idea of horoscopes. Not so much the “Today you will be surprised by a voice from the past. Beware of drafts, your health is at risk.” type of stuff, but more so the descriptions of the various signs. I fit many of the typical “Libra” traits and characteristics. A disproportionate number of my friends are Libras and Virgos. I have had some crazy chemistry with Leos. I just believe there is *something* to it. Although, who knows, maybe it’s just me trying to make sense out of a senseless world. Nothing wrong with that.

I will admit though - when I want to understand someone better or I am curious about them in general? I check out their sign. It can be very enlightening. Seriously.

7. Speaking of making sense out of a senseless world, I don’t buy in to organized religion. I don’t have any problem with people who do…. as long as they’re not selling their particular brand of religion my way. I’m not buying it. In fact, I’m not even in the market. Hell, I’m not even window shopping, so stop with the hard sell.

I’m not a Christian. Sorry, if that’s a problem, but it’s not for me. I dig JC. I’m sure he was a really good person with the most excellent intentions and love for his fellow man. However, I don’t follow him. Doesn’t make me a bad person - just as I don’t believe others who do follow him are inherently “good” - but it is part of who I am. I’m sure there will be, could be, likely should be, some sort of lengthy discourse on this - because believe me, I’ve come up against some interesting questions when I’ve had conversations with people about my beliefs, but…. that’s a blog post all it’s own.

8. I do, however, believe in reincarnation. So, yes, I also believe in an afterlife… it’s just not the Judeo-Christian version of it.

But, again, a blog for another time.

9. I love David Boreanez.

And Paul Rudd.

And Ed Robertson.

*swoon*

The absolutely most ironic/funny/perplexing thing to me is that I have - all my life - fallen for the blue-eyed blonds and redheads. Always. My husband? As Irish looking and freckled as they come.

Crazy, right?

*shrug*

10. I love what I do. But I don’t see myself doing it forever. Which, given the massive amount of student loans I racked up in reaching this point, might seem a little ill-advised. But, I just don’t. I don’t actually ever see myself doing any one thing for very long. I am a bit of a nomad - if not in actual domicile, then certainly in spirit. And I think if it were a viable option, I’d actually be a bit of a nomad in every way.

(Oh, or maybe more of a gypsy. Gypsies are all mystical and cast curses and stuff, right? Yeah, then I want to be a gypsy.)

((No mere nomad for this girl!))

I’ll do this for awhile though. Max out my post-grad education as quickly as possible, pay off my loans as I can, then pursue my PhD.

(yeah, you read that right: the foul-mouthed, inappropriate, gypsy-misfit is going to be a PhD, what of it?)

In my wildest dreams? Like, my when-I-hit-the-lottery dreams? I’d finish my PhD and open a therapeutic retreat for people with MS and their families. Make it all about holistic and spiritual health. On the beach, of course, because that’s my therapy right there.

(I know. My wildest, when-I-hit-the-lottery, dreams could use some work. I mean, really, how lame am I??)

So, how's the new job going?

2010-12-10T20:33:00.003-05:00

I have yet to come up with a satisfactory answer to this question - though, it's certainly a question I have come up against an impossible number of times in the last few months. I'm sure the reply most people are hoping for is "It's great! Thanks for asking. How are you?" because that's how a normal person would adhere to standard social conventions. Even a less socially adept person could at least manage a "Eh, it's okay. So what's new with you?" Because that's how conversation works. The back and forth, non-meaningful exchange of social pleasantries.

Apparently, that's not how I work.

(go figure, right?)

So no. I launch into this whole diatribe about how it's good and it's bad and most days it's just okay and how, in some respects, I am happier now than I was at VF and in other respects I am much less fulfilled but at least I am home more and I am definitely having less personal stress and mini-breakdowns.

Which really? Is probably not what they were bargaining for in asking.

The short answer really is: "It's okay." Because it is. I am kind of neutral about it most of the time. Some days I am happy about it. Some days I am less than thrilled, but overall? it's okay.

There are a lot of differences between a private boarding school and a public school. However, some things about VF and Not-VF are very similar.

For example, students still feel like it's somehow acceptable to spit in the stairwells.

Stairwells are not the outdoors, people.

And FYI? Even outside? it’s gross. Grosser still inside. And stairwells don't even look like outside, so I'm not really sure where the confusion is coming from. However, even though the student population of NVF is 4 times that of VF, half that population is girls. And not that girls *don't* spit, but most of them probably don't do it in stairwells. And of the remaining half of the population - that of the Y-chromosome persuasion - most of them are probably at least somewhat concerned with impressing the non-Y-chromosome part of the population, and, therefore, are not going to spit in the stairwells.

The result? Far less spitting than the VF population which, while much smaller, is all Y-chromosomed and testosteroned to the max and have no one to worry about impressing.

Spit. Everywhere. (but especially the stairwells, which, is again, odd.)

Advantage: NVF

Another comfortable similarity? My car is still the ugliest car in the faculty parking lot. Seriously. Does no one drive beaters anymore? Or can everyone just afford to buy a new car every 3-5 years? I'd say I'm in the wrong profession, but we're basically all in the same profession. That's why we're all here every morning. So what's the issue?

At VF though, my scratched, dented, and war-torn beater was drastically dwarfed by having to park within eyeshot of the likes of bmw, mercedes, and lexus. (all of those should be plural btw, but I don’t have the first clue how your pluralize “mercedes” - that’s how *not* often I need to speak of multiple mercedes-es.) At NVF it's mostly just nicer and newer versions of other American made cars and everyday foreign makes and models.

(slight) Advantage: NVF

Huge drastic difference between VF and NVF? There are girls here. And, not only are there girls here, but there are ninth grade girls here.

In case there was any confusion? There is nothing more "tragic" and "urgent" and "stop-everything-you're-doing-right-now-my-world-is-ending" than ninth grade girl drama.

Oh. Em. Gee.

Yeah.

Advantage: VF

(without a doubt.)

((give me a few hundred teenage boys any day.))

Another huge difference? NVF pays for furthering education classes. I am now enrolled in 15 credits of post-grad coursework - at no cost to me.

Advantage: NVF

(However, I now have to complete said 15 credits of post-grad course work.)

NVF is closer to my home and I hit zero traffic in my half-as-long commute.

The work day at NVF is an hour shorter than VF.

I have off in the summers at NVF. Oh, except for the extra summer hours I have to put in. Which are occasional AND paid for.

Advantage: NVF

Advantage: NVF

Advantage: NVF

But......

My cadets are at VF.

Cadets who are funny and needy and caring and kind and messed up and shady and sneaky and snarky and confused and wonderful and awesome and.... no longer “my” cadets.

(they really are awesome though.)

((and they really are missed.))

(huge and winning and final) Advantage: VF

10 years later.

2010-11-28T21:18:00.002-05:00

(I wrote this post on July 1st of this year and never published it.... I think it's just time to let it out.... and let it go.)

"Damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive."
~Josephine Hart

There are always a handful of moments in life that you will never forget... even if you'd rather that you could. One of those such moments happened for me on July 1st, 2000.

Anytime I think of that day, I stumble into the open hole of a wound that, somehow, hasn't healed entirely. Even in 10 years time, it amazes me that there is still a fresh bloom of blood to be found... sometimes just a trickle... other times, a full gush.

How can words, spoken not in hate or anger but simply in ignorance, be so damaging?

I've actually spoken about this day with very few people over the years. It's always been on a need-to-know basis... as in, "you want to know why I'm so scarred? flawed? insecure? easily-hurt? Okay, here..." Of course, it’s just a piece of the story.... my story.... and the thing is, it's not a tragic story nor is this the biggest chapter. I wasn't physically harmed. I wasn't even maliciously accosted. Some may read this and not understand the big deal... but... I'm not writing for those people. I guess I’m not writing this for anyone really.... but maybe someone needs to hear it.

(or read it, as it were.)

((or maybe I just need to write it.))

July 1, 2000 was the day I realized that I wouldn't be able to remain married to my first husband. I knew it with 100% certainty. We had only been married a little over a year earlier. We married young. We loved each other, but something wasn't right - we were both deeply unhappy... and neither of us knew why.

We were in our bedroom and packing to go to New York for the wedding of a friend of his from high school. As I was gathering clothes and such together, I was relating a story about one of my high school friends, to whom I had just spoken the previous night.

The story was centered around his experiences in online dating - a rather novel concept at that time. He had met a girl online and had spoken to her on a daily basis over a few weeks - emails, phone calls, etc. He had gotten to know her well, really liked her, and the feeling was mutual; they decided to meet.

However, when he met her, he said knew immediately that he couldn't date her: she was overweight. Not cut-you-from-your-bedroom-and-remove-you-via-forklift big.... just, overweight. Maybe kinda big. He liked skinny girls, waif-ish even, he explained. And he was really disappointed because he really liked her.

(um, as a sidebar, I just feel it necessary to point out that he was not waif-ish himself.)

((at. all.))

I was baffled by this. I didn't understand why he would throw away a potential relationship, when there was such a good personal connection, simply based on a physical first impression. I was disappointed for him, but also kind of disappointed in him. I wouldn't have thought this friend to be shallow like that... or judgmental.

My husband, not at all understanding what he was about to do, interjected, "Well, I mean, I can understand that. If I saw you just walking down the street, I probably wouldn't even notice you. I wouldn't be attracted to you."

(yes, I remember it verbatim.)

I also remember, quite clearly, that I walked over to my closet - my back to him - trying to process what he had just said to me.

This, from the man that had, four years earlier, sought out my number from a mutual friend after seeing me walk through a grocery store, just once.

(I was smaller then.)

This, from the man who had promised to love me above all others, for better or for worse.

(how was the “worse” a simple matter of weight??)

......

I don't remember much else in the moments immediately following that comment.

I remember crying - tears silently streaming - as I "searched" for something in the closet - until he left the room.

I remember sitting right down in that closet and crying a little more until I could get myself together.

I remember a very very silent car ride to NY.

I remember a very long and not at all enjoyable weekend.

I remember wondering how many of these strangers at this wedding were looking at me…. and if any of them were actually seeing me…. or if I was simply invisible.

(I remember "Hope Floats" being on HBO as we were getting ready to leave the hotel the next morning and having a crying, physical breakdown like nothing I had ever experienced before.)

((yeah, "Hope Floats"...))

I did talk to him about it.... eventually. My trying to explain to him why the comment hurt me was the hardest.... because I didn't really understand why it cut me so deeply. I knew I had gained weight since he and I met. I had health problems and I was trying to lose weight - working my ass off, actually - but it was slow in coming, as it always is. But I wasn't going to, in the meantime, let myself go to hell. I always did my hair, always wore make-up, always dressed nicely.... but it seemed he didn't see me anymore.

I think, looking back on it now - and having 10 years to still wonder why this hurts me to this day - he hit upon an insecurity that I didn't even know I had.... and given the ones that I was aware of, I didn't expect that there would be more hiding like that.

I want people to see me.... to see the real me.... and I sometimes worry that no one does. I think that's part of the reason I put myself out there so bluntly. "Here I am world! Take me or leave me!"

(but really? I want them to take me.)

((don't we all?))

I thought, given that he married me, that he did see me.... and therefore, even in less than perfect times, I saw myself in him.... even if I didn't love me, he loved me.

And who was I if he didn't see me anymore?

And, to be fair, he didn't make the comment to say that he didn't love me.... he meant that he loved me despite how I looked.... which I guess was a good and honest thing to say.... but not what I was needing to hear. And not how I heard it.

"There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."
~Harry Crews

Some days, I’m still waiting for this to scar over.

Other days, I am really am okay if the world just wants to leave me.

Fuck them.

"You used to be so audacious. People would stop to watch you come down the street. You think you've lost that. I can still see it."

Dream a little dream....

2010-11-25T10:26:00.000-05:00

Had the strangest dream last night. Not bad-strange, but nice-strange..... and a bit melancholy.

I'm at the shore, watching a pick up baseball game, sitting off to the side and just past third base, next to a car that is too nice to actually be mine, but is, and squinting in the warm sun. Suddenly a foul ball whizzes by my head.... and I'm not worried, just amused. But then other balls start being lobbed at me by a guy standing up by the dugout and I realize it's an old friend of mine. Laughing, I catch some, dodge others, and taunt him to come get me.

Next thing I know, I'm back in a beach house, going from room to room - aware of hearing him in other rooms, and knowing he's coming to get me. We're playing some childish game that's a combination of hide 'n seek and pulling pranks on one another. While he's in a room, I try to tape the door shut with duct tape (because what can't you do with duct tape??), but he hears the telltale rip of it coming off the roll and comes at the door before I get any more than the top sealed.

I squeal and laugh and take off up a flight of stairs, throwing myself into the first closet I see - climbing over a vacuum and a box to hide in the back, just peeking out of the crack of the slightly open door.

As I am in there, heart pounding with the excitement of potentially being discovered, I hear him laughing, running up the stairs. In that moment of pure joyful intoxication, I suddenly realize: this friend died years ago. In my dream, I flash to what are, apparently, dream-life memories - flowers on a headstone.... flowers laid in the dirt next to third base.... a baseball hat....

I walk out of the closet to an empty and silent room, turn and descend a different set of steps to a kitchen, where I hop up and sit on a granite counter top, waiting.

Pete walks in, laughing and talking with two other men I don't know. I smile, looking at a face that is older than the teenager I knew, and yet, every bit as youthful and exuberant. He smiles back and the three of them stop talking. He's holding a baseball glove and a hat in his hands, his hair longish, his face tan, but with the traces of wrinkles and smile lines around his mouth and eyes. I am comforted and happy, but I don't get off the counter - just smile back.

He tells me something that I don't remember. Perhaps it's small talk? I just keep watching his eyes and I don't talk. Then he tells me that he left me a message - two messages actually - but I won't get them until after thanksgiving, which I think is odd and sad because it's summer and thanksgiving is so far away and I am anxious to know what he wanted me to know.

Then I wake up.

It's the first time Pete has visited me since the year after he died - which was many years ago.... plus the more than 10 years before his death that had passed since I last saw him in person. It was nice to see him again.

Do I actually believe the spirit of my dead friend came to me in my dream? Yes. Is it wildly ego-centric of me to think that he'd take time out of his busy afterlife just to seek out his high school girlfriend to play hide 'n seek and lob some baseballs my way? Clearly. But I still feel it. I don't care if that makes me crazy. It may actually be one of the more minor ways I'm crazy anyway.

He looked good. He looked healthy. And he looked happy.

It was good to see him.

I am a squeaky chew toy. Who knew?

2010-11-23T20:53:00.001-05:00

"He and I used to be like that too and that's why people did speculate about us. And of course the rumors were that we were banging, but it was just that we were good friends. Or so I thought, anyway. He truly was very supportive of me.... which is what I try to focus on and not forget. Otherwise, all I am left with is the understanding that I was nothing more than a novel amusement for his ego. Which is likely the most accurate way to portray it, but I can't look at it that way - it cheapens something that did mean a great deal to me. Even if it meant nothing to him."

Apparently I'm all emo today...

2010-11-22T21:02:00.001-05:00

I guess it’s luck, but it’s the same
Hard luck, you’ve been trying to tame
Maybe it’s love, but it’s like you said
“Love is like a role that we play.”

But, I believe in you so much
I could die for the words that you say
But, I believe in you so much
I could die from the words that you say

But, you’re chasin’ the ghost of a good thing
Haunting yourself as the real thing
It’s getting away from you again
While you’re chasin’ ghosts

I guess it’s luck, but it’s the same
Hard luck, you’ve been trying to tame
Maybe it’s love, but it’s like you said
“Love is like a role that we play.”

But, I believe in you so much
I could die for the words that you say
But, I believe in you so much
I could die from the words that you say

But, you’re chasin’ the ghost of a good thing
Haunting yourself as the real thing
It’s getting away from you again
While you’re chasin’ ghosts

Just bend the pieces ‘till they fit
Like they were made for it
But, they weren’t meant for this
No, they weren’t meant for this

Just bend the pieces ‘till they fit
Like they were made for it
But, they weren’t meant for this

Chasin’ the ghost of a good thing
Haunting yourself as the real thing
It’s getting away, away, away, away from you again

Chasin’ the ghost of a good thing
Haunting yourself as the real thing
It’s getting away from you again
While you’re chasin’ ghosts

Anyone have a zippo? A flint?? Come on - even two sticks I can rub together??!

2010-11-16T17:50:00.003-05:00

"In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit." ~Albert Schweitzer

I'm all about self-exploration.

(get your mind out of the gutter.... I didn't mean it that way....)

When you spend as much time living in your own head as I do, it becomes a pretty common way to pass the time. Self-assessment. Self-evaluation. Self-exploration.

(but only when I have a few moments to myself...)

((okay, that time I meant it that way))

I've come to understand something about myself which, while not a huge earth shattering revelation, is something that sincerely holds true and explains a lot about me.

I am a hot mess, people.

Wait, no, that wasn't the revelation.

(although, quite true)

I am a care-giver.... a nurturer.... a source of comfort.... for many people. I realize that sort of flies in the face of my snarky don't-mess-with-me-lest-my-claws-to-come-out attitude, but it is, in fact, the truth. It's in my nature to care for people and offer them care. Despite other impressions to the contrary, I am one of the nicest, kindest, people I know.

Really.

No, seriously.

(oh stop rolling your eyes!!)

((fine, I can also be one of the most evil, manipulative, and destructive people I know - so don't cross me))

But with great power comes great responsibility and all, right? So I choose to use that power for good. I genuinely do care for people. And all that caring? is way draining on my own personal reserves. Reserves of strength and light and resiliency. I give it all away.... because I have to. It may sound corny, but it's what I believe I was built to do. Be the support, the strength, the comfort, the light, the what-ever-you-need-let-me-try-to-ease-your-burden-person.

(and it's exhausting)

The great cosmic irony here is that I don't know how to let other people be a source of comfort for me. And that's the great revelation. I suck at being cared for. In fact, I rather don't like it, because I am super resistant to letting people in. Not because there's something wrong with them or there's something wrong with me or I'm damaged goods or something.

(although I suspect that there is and I am)

((just sayin))

But I just don't know how to. On one hand? I am an open book. Sharing and over-sharing every little bit of me that I feel compelled to put on display. Including everything in this blog, the things which have yet to make it past the editing stage, and the things that have yet to be written. Things that need to be said. Things that need to be shared. Even if it's just sharing to the no one and/or everyone who does and/or does not read this. I just need it out there.

Because really? As a counselor, that's what I ask others to do. I ask them to share. I ask them to open their wounds to me so that I can help heal them. I ask for their dirty laundry so I can help get the stains out. I ask them to do any number of things which would make a good counseling analogy - though I lack any more at the moment.

And I take what they give me. I try to offer comfort in return. That's really all there is to what I do. Figure out what people need. Try to help them get it. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Every once in awhile though, I will meet someone who, unbeknownst to me, bypasses all my layers of inner armor and gets right to the heart of where that comfort-giver dwells.... and gives me comfort. They re-light my inner fire and replenish my spirit. I am stronger and better for having them in my life. Trouble is - I really don't know how or why they were able to bypass that armor. And usually they don't either. And sometimes, they don't really want the responsibility of being my fire-bearer. Because they are not the caregiver. Or the nurturer. Or the comforter.

They are just them.

And I am just me.

And something about them sparks off of something about me.... and, for a moment, that inner fire is rekindled.

But then they leave....

(and they always do)

....because they are rubbed raw by my need to feel that spark.

And this ability? To somehow cut through all my crap and feed some sort of primal need that I don't even know how to access?

Brilliant.

And rare.

That's not to say that the love of my friends and family isn't brilliant and beautiful - because it is. And I value it greatly.

But it doesn't comfort me.... it doesn't nurture me.... it doesn't rekindle my fire.

And that's not their fault.

Something is clearly wrong with my ignitor switch.

Detox.

2010-11-13T11:39:00.002-05:00

I found myself having a conversation the other day with one of my former students about how I have never smoked pot.

(That's right: never.)

I know, given my proclivity for excess and indulgence and *occasional* drunkenness, that this may seem, I don't know, contrary to my very nature. Let me clarify now - I have actually never done a single drug in my life.

(That's right: never.)

This is a conversation I have repeated more times than I can count - with family, friends, and, apparently, former students.

(because I'm responsible like that.)

((or completely irresponsible, whichever way you want to look at it.))

I am considering having it printed on a business card. The very very short version of this conversation?

I have enough addictions, people.

I have no problem with smoking pot, nor with people who do. I have friends and family that do and I don't judge - whatever works and doesn't negatively impact someone's life, doesn't concern me. Are they using it responsibly? Great. Not driving while impaired? Perfect. Self-medicating? Well, clearly I'm on board.

It's just a choice I have made. And I don't feel badly about that.

Here's the thing: I'm afraid I would like drugs. Too much. I have enough things that I like too much. I simply don't have time to maintain any more habits. Period.

However, with MS, I have gone on a number of medications in the last few years for any number of symptoms - brought about by the crazy effects of having my brain eaten away. Pre-MS, I was always very hesitant to take medicine. I just didn't like the idea of it. Now? Sign me up. Where's my prescription card? Because seriously? If I need it, I'll take it. Just please let me feel better.

For the last 10 months or so, I've been taking Xanax on a daily basis. Very low dosage - lowest possible, in fact - and only twice a day, along with my other meds. The Xanax was introduced as a way to keep me from having pointless emotional breakdowns, angry outbursts, and sleepless anxiety-ridden nights. Or, you know, having them less frequently anyway. As a bonus side-effect, it seemed it helped lessen my twitching - which was simply the icing on the medication cake.

But, I am aware of the slippery slope that medications like Xanax represent. It's a double edged sword. On one hand, your body gets used to it and, occasionally, you end up needing it in higher doses to achieve the same effects. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, you feel so "back to normal" that you think you don't need the medication anymore and you simply stop taking it. It's hard to maintain a balance somewhere in the middle.

Right now, I am at the point - for not the first time - where I am wondering if I can go without it. You know, without completely losing my shit. Because I have tried before. And yes, I completely lost my shit. The most recent time, I made it almost a week without taking it.... and spent most of that week twitching and crying over nothing.

(it wasn't pretty.)

Again though, I am wondering....

The hormones I am on do seem to be helping. I haven't had a crying fit in I don't know how long. Most of my days are calm and even occasionally happy. Maybe I don't need the Xanax....?

So, for the last two days, I only took one in the morning and skipped my second dose in the early evening. Today, I thought I would go without it. However, I only made it until about 11:00. Which was, approximately, 20 minutes or so after Chris left to go golfing and I was left with Callie.

Callie, who was playing with her "Lazy Town" radio. While watching "Fresh Beat Band".

Yeah.

You try listening to these two gems. At. The. Same. Time.

It was not a great day. F-you, Fresh Beat Band. Stop mocking me.

On a separate, but not unrelated note? I do believe in the use of medical marijuana.

Just sayin.

I wrote this with one person in mind.... and then realized I could have sent it to more than one person.

2010-11-10T21:00:00.002-05:00

Hey,

I just heard this song on Pandora - never heard it before - but the lyrics made me stop and listen.... they made me think of you....

I know you can't have a friendship with me and still maintain what you need to in your relationships with other people.... and I respect that. It's unfortunate, but it's just life sometimes. Doesn't mean I don't think of you and it will never change how much you meant to me at one time. And obviously I truly wish you well in your life, regardless.

In case you'd wonder or care to know, I'm doing really well. The trial meds I am on are making a world of difference for me. My MS stuff is receding more and more each day.... I feel clear headed for the first time in years. I'm tired, but it's normal tired, not soul crushing fatigue. It's actually an interesting place to be - I feel oddly stronger and more empowered than I ever have before.... something about the idea of my illness putting life into perspective, and yet, having this brief reprieve from actually being crushed by the daily symptoms - it's like I got a call from the governor.... but I suppose it's just a stay, not a exoneration.

I hope you're well.... and I hope you find everything you're still looking for in life....

Take care.

Hear me
Hear me

You gotta be out there
You gotta be somewhere
Wherever you are
I'm waiting
'Cause there are these nights when
I sing myself to sleep
And I'm hopin' my dreams
Bring you close to me

Are you listening?

Hear me
I'm cryin' out
I'm ready now
Turn my world upside down
Find me
I'm lost inside the crowd
It's getting loud
I need you to see
I'm screaming for you to please
Hear me
Hear me

Hear me
Can you hear me?
Hear me

I used to be scared of
Letting someone in
But it gets so lonely
Being on my own
No one to talk to
And no one to hold me
I'm not always strong
Oh, I need you here

Are you listening?

Hear me
I'm cryin' out
I'm ready now
Turn my world upside down
Find me
I'm lost inside the crowd
It's getting loud
I need you to see
I'm screaming for you to please
Hear me

I'm restless and wild
I fall, but I try
I need someone to understand
Can you hear me?
I'm lost in my thoughts
And baby I've fought
For all that I've got
Can you hear me?

Hear me
I'm cryin' out
I'm ready now
Turn my world upside down
Find me
I'm lost inside the crowd
It's getting loud
I need you to see
I'm screaming for you to please
Hear me
Hear me
Hear me
Hear me
Can you hear me?
Hear me
Hear me
Hear me
Can you hear me?
Oh, oh, oh, oh...
Hear me
Hear me
Hear me

Today I am grateful for....

2010-11-05T18:50:00.002-04:00

Fridays
casual Fridays
warm comfy sweaters
~~jeans~~
jeans that fit comfortably without being all tight and cutting at my waist
slippers that look enough like shoes to wear on casual Fridays
caffeine
cookies
good tunes on Pandora
awesome friends
fun plans with awesome friends
having something to look forward to
knowing things will work out ~~for the best~~ how they're meant to
good memories
a quick happy hour beverage
home
my pjs
take out

:-)

If a picture is worth a thousand words...

2010-11-03T15:12:00.000-04:00

....how many words is a picture of pictures worth?

Answer: more than you know.

(because really? sometimes this is all that gets me through the day.)

This isn't an amusing post. But you need to read it anyway.

2010-10-27T22:13:00.003-04:00

Today was a rough day.

Sometimes they all feel like rough days..... but then something comes along that puts all the other PITA stuffs into perspective.

I have students whose parents are alcoholics. Girls who have babies. Girls who have elected to not have their babies. Boys who are pushing themselves to their breaking point physically for athletic dreams. Students with sick parents. Students who are sick themselves. Drugs and alcohol are not uncommon for any and every group.

There is hurt everywhere. And it's so hard to not feel that hurt.

But this week, a boy in a neighboring district reached his breaking point and chose to take his own life rather than continue being bullied. A tenth grade girl in my caseload was in the same vo-tech shop as he was - and she came to me in tears today.

I sat there, watching her heart break.... my heart breaking right along with her. I didn't know this young man.... I barely knew the girl sitting before me.... and yet, I did know him.... and I did know her.

And the next thing I knew, I was crying too.

I was crying for her. I was crying for him. I was crying for his family. I was crying for every person who has ever felt like their only solution was a permanent solution. But I was crying for myself as well. I was crying for that dark place.... that dark place that some don't ever escape.

It's so hard. The darkness. You can't see anything. Not even yourself. And it's silent, that darkness. Silent and oppressive. You don't speak out because you think no one is there in the darkness to hear you - you would hear them if they were, right? But you hear no one in the darkness. You are alone. Utterly and completely alone in the silent darkness. You don't reach out - who would be there to take your hand? You are alone. Drowning in the darkness. Silent in your suffering. Unable to see. Unable to speak. Eventually, unable to feel.

I've been there, in that darkness. It's a sad place, but it's eventually not even a scary place.... because, no matter how sensory deprived.... it becomes.... familiar. But I've also seen the gaping hole that has been left in others' lives when someone has decided that they are unable to escape that darkness. When you're in that darkness? You don't understand the void that your death would mean for others. That, for someone else, you may be taking away their light. Light you couldn't even see yourself.

If you find yourself in that darkness, reach out your hand.... call out for help.... and when others hear your cries, they will reach out as well, from their spot in the dark.... and as we are all reaching out, we will all realize that none of us are ever truly alone in that darkness. No one needs to suffer in silence. No one needs to feel alone.

And no matter what the circumstances? No problem is so permanent that it requires a permanent solution. Problems are temporary. Love is abundant. Help is out there.

You are loved.

You would be missed.

Please reach out your hand.

You are not alone.

Placebo? I think no.

2010-10-24T21:44:00.000-04:00

I thought it about time for an MS update on here. Surprisingly, there has been very little worthwhile MS material to discuss. Although, it's occurred to me now, that that lack of trouble? is worth posting about.

(It shouldn't be all about me bitching all the time, right?)

Roughly three months ago, I began participating in a drug trial through the hospital at the University of Pennsylvania. (you may recall the ridiculous nature of the cognitive tests... yeah, they're still just as fun.) Any time you participate in a drug study, there's no real way to know if you will be given the active meds or a placebo. However, since any drug is accompanied by side effects, it's usually not too hard to figure out which group you fall into.

I am not in the control group.

Meaning, I am about 98.64% certain that I am taking the active meds. The active meds, in this study, are a form of estrogen. I'm also taking my Copaxone, (which is my daily shot - a drug therapy that is meant to slow down the progression of the damage that MS does to the central nervous system) but I have now added 4 little 2mg pills of Estriol to my daily regimen of meds and supplements.

(I mean, what's 4 more pills in a pile of oh so many??)

Obviously, I can't, with 100% certainty, confirm that I am on the active meds, but, I mean... come on now.... they're hormones. The women reading this will understand right away that when your body is adjusting to hormones, there are some obvious signs. The men reading this will simply have to be grateful that I am not going to describe in any sort of detail what those signs are.

(you're welcome.)

But also? I actually feel pretty good.... in that, I feel almost normal most days. Which, though not anything to throw a parade over, after so many months and months of feeling like I was losing my mind.... normal is a welcome reprieve. I haven't had an uncontrollable crying fit since sometime mid summer. (I have cried over known circumstances.... I'm still more emotional than I would like, but not irrationally so.) And a lot of days I can pick my daughter up off the floor without feeling like she weighs three times her actual 36lbs.

Most days, I am tired, but it is normal tired. Not fall-down-and-cry physical exhaustion. Some days, I am irritable - most notably, more so since the introduction of the additional hormones - but not irrationally irritable. I mean, hey, I haven't felt the need to stab someone in who knows how long! And, by comparison, hormonally irritable doesn't seem that bad.

I still have some aches and pains. I recognize that when I hit a certain point and continue to push past it, the aches and pains get worse. The MS is still there, lurking, and waiting for me to slip up and allow it a reason to remind me that it could take me down at a moment's notice. But, for the most part, the hormones seem to keep it on a shorter leash.

Why is that?

I'm so glad you asked. :-)

The only time, in nature, that science has seen MS go into a type of "remission" is when women who have MS are pregnant. Something in the hormones that the body produces in pregnancy - most likely the same hormones that prevent the body's immune system from attacking the developing fetus as a foreign body - stop the immune system from attacking it's own central nervous system. In some cases, MRIs have even revealed that lesions have shrunk in size during the remission - a process that rarely occurs on it's own. (MS can strip myelin faster than a body can repair it - which means once there's scar tissue, it usually lasts.) MS is a degenerative disease, which basically means that it just continues to get worse. Except in pregnant women.

(This also sort of explains why, in men, the disease ravages their CNS so much more quickly - they have so little of the hormones to begin with, you know, being boys and all.)

((Of course, they do have the whole peeing standing up thing going for them.... but, it's hardly a wash, really.))

So what is the study, well, studying? It's a two year long research program that's being conducted on volunteers across the country who have MS. The study is looking to establish two things: concrete evidence that the hormones increase the daily functionality of an MS patient and decrease relapses, perhaps evidence that the hormones can heal or shrink the pre-existing lesions, and - hopefully - show that there is not an increased breast and/or uterine cancer risk with the hormone. (Which, clearly, would somewhat offset the beneficial aspects of the meds. Just sayin.)

But, long story somewhat shorter? I feel *almost* like myself a lot of the time. Which is nice. I had almost forgotten what that person felt like. I definitely forgot what it felt like to feel simple joy at the simple things in life. I'm still not back to what I would have been pre-MS.... and I likely never will be.... I may always feel the need to stab on occasion, it happens.... but, I'm getting there. In some ways, the darkness is subsiding a bit. A little more light is filtering through. And I'm feeling a little more hopeful.... most days, anyway.

"Reason, Season, or Lifetime" (I fucking hate this bit of wisdom...)

2010-10-18T18:37:00.008-04:00

People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime. When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person.

When someone is in your life for a REASON, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty; to provide you with guidance and support; to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like a godsend, and they are. They are there for the reason you need them to be.

Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done. The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.

Some people come into your life for a SEASON, because your turn has come to share, grow or learn. They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh. They may teach you something you have never done. They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy. Believe it. It is real. But only for a season.

LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons; things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation. Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person, and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life.

It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.

I have had to, out of sheer principle, hate this particular bit over-emailed, happy horseshit, ever since it first popped into my inbox. And I still do. Please don't get me wrong. I have no love for anything as sickeningly sweet and over-simplified as this when it comes to considering the ramifications of those who impact our lives.

However....

I've recently found myself in the position of transitioning out of some friendships that have been very important to me. And it's been tough trying to come to terms with why these friendships are ending now. Was it simply that they have outlived their usefulness? Was there some lesson to be learned? Some reason for any of it?

And, in considering these questions, this stupid bit of trite popped into my mind. I thought, maybe it is true that people only come into our lives for some predetermined time or purpose and when that need has been met, they move on to other things... and the friendship simply reaches it's conclusion.

Then I realized: that's bullshit. And I'm not having it.

You see, I am not so good at letting go of someone I have loved. I tend to try to hold on to people with a death grip that occasionally seems to strangle them as they are continuing to pull away. Which, you know, leaves them half dead and without oxygen, so.... yeah.... maybe that's not helping my cause here.

However, I do tend to like Eminem's take on the whole thing better:

Now I know we said things, did things that we didn't mean
And we fall back into the same patterns, same routine
But your temper's just as bad as mine is
You're the same as me
But when it comes to love you're just as blinded
Baby, please come back
It wasn't you, baby it was me
Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems
Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano
All I know is I love you too much to walk away though
Come inside, pick up your bags off the sidewalk
Don't you hear sincerity in my voice when I talk
I told you this is my fault
Look me in the eyeball
Next time I'm pissed, I'll aim my fist at the drywall
Next time. There won't be no next time
I apologize even though I know its lies
I'm tired of the games I just want her back
I know I'm a liar
If she ever tries to fucking leave again
Im'a tie her to the bed and set this house on fire

I have a problem.

2010-10-15T17:14:00.002-04:00

Okay, so here's something you don't know about me. (which, given my penchant for over sharing, there's probably not much you wouldn't know.)

I have a serious addiction. And that addiction has a name: Ed Robertson.

Ed is the guitarist and singer for the band Barenaked Ladies. (Yes, I realize some of you reading this may not even know who that band is.) ((No, I do not care.)) And, while they are my favorite band of ever, really? Ed is just the yummiest thing since.... well, since Paul Rudd.... although he pre-dated my Paul Rudd addiction.... so he's basically the yummiest thing since boys stopped having cooties.

I heart him.

I heart him BAD.

I realize he's not the typical love-muffin stud most women would swoon over. But me?

*swoon*

Yeah. It's bad, people.

How bad? Well, today in a vo-tech meeting, a counselor from another district walked in and I almost stopped breathing.

I shit you not - he looked just like Ed.

So much so, I don't even know what his name was. I know I was introduced, but in my head all I could hear playing was a looped track of every BNL song ever, all overlapping one another, all overlapped by my inner fan-girl squealing with delight.

(Let's just bear in mind that this was not actually Ed, kay? Cause clearly I am sick.)

Turns out, he sat right next to me at the conference table, which, while that might sound good, actually made it very hard to come up with reasons to turn to my right to gaze at him with a lovesick look that I am sure was freaking him out. Not to mention, I was so jazzed at his mere presence (again, NOT ED), that I could have slid off my chair.

Seriously.

It's bad.

So, as I am daydreaming about if he plays the guitar or not and how I am going to whisk him away from his wife (yes, I saw he was wearing a wedding ring... which, since clearly my own ring wasn't stopping my fantasies, why would his? Come on, people. Keep up.) and what our beautiful dark haired, greenish-blueish eyed children are going to look like (my husband looks nothing like this, btw.) ((sorry honey, but you already know what's up.)), I notice something that - again - took my breath away. Just not in a good way.

You guys? He was wearing a W. W. J. D. bracelet.

Seriously.

Yeah. I am pretty sure, should he consider what Jesus would do, that he was not going to let me climb in his lap mid-meeting and make mad use of that fabulous leather swivel chair he was sitting in.

However, despite my disappointment - deep, deep, disappointment - a plan began to hatch in my mind. It involved me getting a job in his school, coming up with pointless questions just so I could go ask him, not really listen to his answers as I stare deep into his eyes, and then - after an appropriate amount of time - jump his ass and convert him to the godless heathen that I am.

I mean, it could totally happen.

*sigh*

Ed.

(or, not-Ed. Whatever.)

I might be dead soon. So you should probably be nice to me while you can.

2010-10-08T20:30:00.002-04:00

You know how they say some animals can predict when people are going to die?

Yeah, well my lab is following me around so closely that I have literally stopped short a few times only to have her halfway up my ass before I even knew what was going on. (as I type, she is laying on my feet.)

This is a dog who, in prior times, could only be roused from her vigorous laying around by the sound of the refrigerator door opening or the smell of take out. Occasionally she could be tempted by her rope, but only if it was accompanied by the words, "wanna play catch?" and a look that told tales of hours worth of fetching a slobber covered rope.

Of course, that was all prior to her losing our other dog and then becoming too old to want to rouse herself for much of anything. For the most part, we'd just be bringing the people foods to her out of sympathy and knowledge that - at 11 plus - her dog-days were numbered anyway, so how bad could some extra pizza crusts be?

However, recently, she has been glued to my side in a borderline obnoxious way. And it's not even just when I go to the kitchen - which I could sort of understand/forgive. No. She follows me to the bathroom, to Callie's room, to basically anywhere I go.

I shower, she waits on the bathmat.

I pee, she lays on the tile.

I get dressed, she lays in front of my bureau.

I type pointless blogs, she keeps my feet warm.

(which would actually be kinda nice except for the fact that every time I have to get up to refill my drink, I have to do this ninja like gravity-defying step over her sprawled out form.)

((which she then gets up from to follow me into the kitchen in time to get in the way of the refrigerator door opening at all.))

I am pretty sure she's trying to tell me something.

Either I'm going soon or she is. And while she is the older of us, I am probably the unhealthier. In fact, I'd take some over/under bets on it being my liver, despite the pre-existing holes in my brain. Not that I know if you can actually make over/under bets on something that isn't technically numerical in value. It's sort of a fuzzy subject for me, as I've been drinking since before I started writing this. (But really, that should skew the odds drastically, no?)

Although, with as close as she has been following me? I could be the first ever recorded death by dog-enima.

Just sayin.

This post is for everyone who thinks my life is all glamour and rainbows. (In other words, there's really no one who should be reading this.)

2010-09-22T17:47:00.002-04:00

I stink.

No, seriously. Not in a "wow, I really suck" kinda way. But in a "wow, I am really offending myself with the stench that is sort of surrounding me a in a cloud of funk" kinda way.

I stayed home sick today. Did all the things you do when you're home sick: laid in bed, watched daytime tv, napped, woke up, watched more daytime tv, got out of bed, looked for food, and planted myself on the couch.

I also did none of the things you wouldn't do when you're home sick: like, shower, brush my hair, brush my teeth, get changed. (btw? there are too many conflicting negatives in that opening sentence. I am confused.)

Another bad MS day, you ask?

NO!

Psh.... MS I can handle. MS is my bitch by now. In fact, MS is played out.

You guys? I have a serious fucking phlegm filled head cold. AND I AM ABOUT FED UP WITH IT.

I have been sick for almost two weeks. It started with laryngitis, which really? Not funny when you talk as much as I do. Then there was the cough. Then the phlegm. Oh for the love of all things holy, the phlegm..... And now it just won't go away.

I haven't slept in days because I can't stop coughing. And I can't stop blowing my nose. And I can't breathe. But really? Why stop there?

Now, the issue has become my nose.... it won't. stop. running. And yet? It's constantly clogged. But now it hurts from all the blowing. So I switched to tissues with "lotion". Which means my nose is slightly less angry-red-looking, but feels like it's slimy all the time. (Okay, slimier than the snot dripping orifice it has become.)

And better yet?? I have this let's-not-jump-right-to-calling-it-OCD thing about washing my hands. It's not a germ thing. It's a my-hands-don't-feel-clean-if-they-feel-like-there's-ick-on-them thing. And tissues - with lotion - that are immediately overwhelmed by phlegm at first blow? Leave my hands with that not-so-fresh-feeling. So now I am going through paper towels almost as fast as tissues and my hands are drier than usual.

So yeah, I burned a sick day for this. A phlegm filled day of not-showering, offending myself, nose-blowing, and hand-washing.

My life is truly a cabaret.

I am exhausted. And on my second drink. And exhausted. (this post likely won't make any sense.)

2010-09-10T20:07:00.008-04:00

It's been two weeks since I left Valley Forge.

(There, I can say it now: Valley. Forge. or VF. or VFMA.)

((I am sure there are many less polite names for it as well.))

For as much as I bitched about it - and believe me, I did way more bitching in real life than I did on here - I managed to never mention the school by name.

(seriously, go back and look. I'll wait.)

((see???))

And now that I can mention it, I can say: I miss it.

I mean, I knew I would. I knew I would miss my guys and my coworkers - you may or may not have gathered that from my last post - but I didn't realize quite how much.

(hint: it's a lot.)

I guess I expected that some of the blow of being separated from my work family would be softened by getting to know my new work family. Problem is, they don't feel much like family. ("they" being the new school.... who will just be refered to as "not Valley Forge".... or NVF, for short.) And even if they were, I am clearly the misfit foster child.

Because seriously? I do *not* fit in.

I always knew I was a little outspoken. Maybe a little too honest. Never really had a filter. Definitely too snarky. And generally a little bit of the rule-breaker, boundry-pusher, I-don't-give-a-shit-what-your-policy-is-if-I-don't-think-it's-in-the-best-interest-of-my-student type of employee. The thing is: that worked out okay at VF.

I had my own little band of misfits who - apparently - understood the misfit in me as well. I didn't have to explain myself. (most of the time.) I didn't have to apologize. (okay, I chose to a few times though.) And I could drop the f-bomb in front of my boss. (who would then drop it in return. (true story.))

Where else do you find that?

(second hint: not at a public school.)

The thing is: I am a damn good counselor. I work hard. I go the extra mile. (or ten or ten thousand - whatever it takes.) I care.

But I am also a snarky, foul-mouthed, rule-breaking bitch.

(I say that in the best way possible.)

I can't help it! I can't be appropriate! I can't be professional! I'm just not effective that way.... think Carrot Top without the props....

Wait.

No.

No one should have to think of Carrot Top.

But really, it's who I am. I know it's unconventional, but unconventional doesn't mean ineffective. For me, it's quite the opposite.

And yet, they have me tucked away in this little cell of an old-school office.

(for real.)

And is that a "motivational" poster hanging on the wall....?

*vomit*

Why yes, yes it is.

*sigh*

(this place needs so much work.)

I'm still feeling pretty out of my element here. Not professionally - I can handle whatever shit they want to throw my way - but I have met very few of my coworkers. I get the feeling with the structure of the day here, I probably won't interact with many of them.

Which kind of sucks.

(Although, who knows, maybe they're all tools anyway.)

((and do they even speak "snark"?? Doubtful. They're too busy being all professional and such.))

My immediate coworkers - meaning the other counselors (because those are the only people I know) - are nice enough, but no one really seems to get me. I'm actually not sure why there were so many people at VF who did.... huh.... weird. But, it does make me miss the relationships I had there even more.

Maybe I am just way too unprofessional for the public system. Which means I have to either put up a better professional front.... or I have to bring the entire system down to my level.

Yeah, clearly I will be going with the latter.

On a lighter note though, I made some uber-girly ghetto curtains:

(and got rid of the motivational poster.... because really? don't insult me with your perky wholesome optimism.)

Plus, I tacked up a shit ton of pictures and clippings and things that generally make me feel a little more at home:

*sigh*

(this place still needs a lot of work.)

((it needs some cadets.... and misfit coworkers....))

But, in the meantime, I did happen to overhear one of the counselors sling a well timed jab at the administrative assistant and she replied with a quick "you dirty whore..."

I collapsed in a fit of giggles. Like the consummate professional I am.

(who knows, maybe there's hope for NVF after all.)

I wish I had something funny to say.

2010-08-25T23:00:00.002-04:00

So, I'm sitting here and I can't stop this wretched leaking from the eyes.

(What the fuck eyes, knock. it. off. You're making the nose get in on the action too and that is just.... well, gross.)

In two days I leave the job I've been at for the last two years. And as much as I thought I wanted to leave? As much as I know I have to leave? As much as I know I am making the right choice? Wow. I never thought it would be so hard.

You know how you like to think that without you things would just fall apart and people would feel your absence like a palpable ache in their chest even though you know that's not going to be the case and in actuality you're the only one who's hurting?

Oh, just me then?

Believe me, I have left jobs that I have worked at for much longer than 2 years. I closed a business that I still have dreams about and awake with pangs of displacement that feel like I left something crucial behind while packing for a permanent vacation. But this place.... these last two years.... to say they have been the most intense of my life might be an overstatement... but not by much.

The unfortunate thing is that all my emotions about this place and these people are mixed up with all the emotions and reality of coming to terms with MS. Never will I be able to think about these last two years without the one being inextricably entwined with the other. And never will I be rid of the MS. It's just a big old pile of good and bad and happy and sad and funny and painful memories.... all balled up together.

Two years ago, I walked into this place without a diagnosis. MS was just a possible cause for some unexpected, and conveniently being ignored, MRI results. No, I was not sick. I was sinking my teeth into my first "real" counseling position and it was a challenge. The boys were needy, the parents were demanding and occasionally irrational, many of my coworkers were just as green as me. I was challenged. I didn't falter. I thrived.

However, I couldn't live in feigned ignorance forever. And the diagnosis came. Followed in swift fashion by the medications. And supplements. And symptoms. And side effects. And emotions. And insanity. And fear.

But the boys were just as needy, the parents just as out of touch with reality, and the coworkers had become friends. In some ways, a needed lifeline. To sanity. To strength. To humor. To perseverance. Because no matter how I was feeling? The days marched on. And I was needed, so I was there. I came to need all of them as much as they needed me. Maybe more. Probably more. I'm the one with the palpable ache, after all.

(seriously eyes, give it a rest! do you have any idea how hard it is to type in the dark and while crying?)

((answer: really hard.))

Now, two years later, I am leaving this place.... a changed person. A stronger person. A weaker person. A better counselor. (Actually, a damn good counselor.) A needier person. A snarkier person. A more real person. A scared and sad person. I am leaving all that forged me into this changed person and trying out the fit at a new place. Without support. Untethered. Unneeded. Afraid.

There are so many goodbyes I need to say. So many things I can't say without coming completely unglued. So little time to say them in, if I could.

So I will say them here, anonymously, and hope they find the people meant to see them.

I will miss you.
I will always love you.
I hope I am wrong.
I am so proud of you. (No, more proud than you realize.)
I will never forget you.
Thank you.
I will miss you.
Thank you.
You are stronger than you know.
I'm sorry.
We had fun, didn't we?
Good luck.
Your hug? made the whole year worthwhile.
Thank you.
I'm sorry we didn't have more time.
You always made me smile.
"What the fuck, Doyle?"
I wish things were different.
This is not the end.
Thank you.
I will miss you.
I will miss you.
I will miss you.

I will miss you.

I guess it's time to see how this new me fits - MS and all - in a new environment. But I will never forget the place and people that helped me figure out what this new MS version of me meant.

(not that I am 100% clear on that yet either... it's an ongoing process I suppose.)

((but it's time anyway.))

Sometimes one morning can be like a metaphor for my whole life.

2010-08-12T17:06:00.004-04:00

hmmmm.... maybe I should wear a dress today. It's nice to look nice every once in a awhile. How are my legs...? Oh, yeah, going to need to shave.

Okay, legs shaved, yay me! Better moisturize.... hairy legs? bad. dry scaly legs? not much better.

Okay, legs moisturized, yay me! Let's go for the black dress. Black is slimming. Slimming is good.

Yay black dress! Let's go check this out in the mirror..... wait a.... wait.... what?

what. the. fuck.

I am not four months pregnant. The last time I wore this dress, I am pretty sure I didn't *look* four months pregnant. Why do I look four months pregnant?!??

(Sidenote, because I feel the need to clarify: This was not a "gee, the way this dress is all empire waisted makes it look like a maternity dress." This was a "the way this dress is clinging to my bloated midsection makes me look FOUR MONTHS PREGNANT!!!")

((Note to self: Invest in some spanx. Soon. Like, now.))

Okay, new outfit..... shit..... what am I going to wear? What doesn't make me look pregnant? Let's start with black pants then. Black is slimming. In theory. Slimming is still good. In theory.

Dammit! These underwear do *not* go with pants....

hmmmm.... okay, cute little black and white top with a black crop sweater...... whoaaaaaa..... too much cleavage. Cute little black and white top *with* a black camisole *and* a black crop sweater..... a black camisole that apparently can double as a sports bra...... ugh. Uni-boob. I might as well have an ass crack coming up out of the top of the schizophrenic camisole.

But.... I do like this sweater....

So, what can I wear with this bla.... wait, what's this thread here...? AAAAGGGHHHH! No! Stop unraveling!!! SHIT!!!! Stop pulling the thread!!!

Okay.... no time to sew the sweater..... or would that be knit the sweater....? darn the sweater....? Fuck it, if I don't know which it is, I don't know how to fix it..... unless.....

Ah yes, there, that staple is holding nicely.... and you can almost not see the silvery glint.... I mean, if you didn't know it was there..... hmmmm..... does this solution make me clever and resourceful....? Or just white trash....? No time to worry about it, I need a new shirt.....

This shirt...? Maybe....? Let me just.... go.... look....

*sigh*

Does this overly blousey midsection make me look pregnant....?

Fuck it. I'm going to work.

(Seriously? It's like I shaved my legs for nothing people.)

I like to feel pretty. Sue me.

2010-08-11T22:12:00.005-04:00

So I am preparing to leave my current place of employment for another, less glamorous, position. Yes, yes, I know... what's so glamorous about a boys-only military school? Um, well, not much really. It perpetually smells like boy funk. And really? There's a fine coating of spit over every single floor, walkway, stairwell, etc. I won't even get started on the penis drawings in the bathroom.

(Wouldn't you think, being boys, they would draw, oh, I don't know.... boobs?)

Um, you'd be wrong. I call this piece "Penis in Water on Sidewalk." It's quite inspired, really. I'm just not sure what the thing above it is.... a turtle maybe? a beetle? Who knows. Maybe I don't want to know.

My point is, a school full of teenage boys = not so glamorous, I know. But.... it made me feel glamorous.

See? here's the thing. In a public school, there are an absurd number of teenage girls to make me feel simultaneously old/fat/wrinkly/incredibly smart. (hey, not everything about getting older is bad. just sayin.) Plus, there is a TON more faculty. The chances of my ranking among the "good-looking" of said faculty goes down the higher numbers I am competing with.

(yes, I said "competing".... this is my post, just let me explain.)

((I swear I have a point.))

At.... my current place of employment.... (I think I have avoided actually using their name anywhere on here previously and I'd like to continue in that vein.) I was pretty!! Or, at least, I was considered so.

How do I know?

Because I had to sit various boys down at different times throughout my first year there and explain what was appropriate, what was not, and that, though I may be nice, I will just as soon claw their eyes out if they didn't learn some respect.

(the talks went something like that anyway.)

By the second year, I only had to have one sit down.... but.... I have to say..... nothing better than using embarrassment as a learning tool. (You want to say what about me to your friends? Okay, say it to my face.) So, I would say my first year of numerous talks paid dividends in the second year.

However, only in a place that is so without female influence would I be considered a hot piece. (along with my few other female coworkers, some of whom I know endured inappropriate comments as well.) You see, in my head, this is what I look like:

In a female deprived environment? it was easier to go along with this delusion.

I will miss this delusion.

You see, in the real world - by comparison to the masses - this is more what I actually look like:

(that's right, you work it Rosie... I do that same thing to make it look like you can kinda-sorta-in-the-right-lighting see my cheekbones. RuPaul would be proud. Or appalled. Actually, I have no idea how he would feel, so never mind.)

So, now I'm heading back into a public school. Back into an environment that just begs to remind me of that awkward insecure teenager I was. Back into an environment where I have to rely solely on my charm, snark, intelligence, personality, talent....

Oh....

Wait....

I'll be fine.

;-)

(but, I will miss feeling pretty.)

MS is fucked up, you guys. Seriously.

2010-07-08T16:51:00.006-04:00

(I am exhausting.)

Okay, so after bursting into tears not once but twice today (at work) over absolutely nothing, (which came shortly after comparing our office to a group of Power Rangers) I felt the need to apologize to our director:

Email: Sorry I am all basketcase-y today. I swear, my mood is swinging so wildly I should be medicated... oh, wait, I am... hmmm...

Know what’s helping though?

Candy.

Yep, someday I will be emotionally stable, but I will weigh 600 lbs.

Yep, that's just the type of thing I should be sending over the work email servers. I figure when they collect enough evidence to fire me, I will sue for predjudice against crazy people and/or grossly obese people. You know, depending on how long this carries on for.

So then, I got home and the fun times just kept rolling.

First, I'm reading this story and thinking, "what. the. fuck. I never find treasures buried anywhere!" Of course, it then occured to me that not only do I not walk around with a metal detector, but I don't even own a metal detector. So I can't really bitch.

However, kudos to the guy who did. Now, not only can legitimately defend himself to his wife, who constantly bitches about his "hobby" to anyone who will listen, (yeah, I know, total leap of faith there that he's even married... but you know if he is, she's bitching... trust me.) but he also turned over his find to archeologists to allow the coins to be excavated in proper fashion.

My ass would have been digging that whole damn thing up and carrying the coins back in every available pocket.

Maybe that's why I don't find stuff. My karma is definitely not worthy of 350 pounds of ancient gold coins. I mean, I rarely even come across change on the sidewalks. And that should tell you something.

(I did step in some gum the other day though. True story.)

Next, I'm reading through some blogs that I follow, and I come to this one.... which is freaking hysterical.... perhaps a little more hysterical because of my retarded dog, but still, funny nonetheless. However, I doubt it is as funny as I was finding it to be.

I could not. stop. laughing.

Next thing I know, I am laughing so hard that I burst into tears.

Tears!

Not like, "whew! that was funny!" tears running from your eyes, but like actual crying!

(I can't even go back and read it again.... because it will happen all over again....)

((but seriously..... so funny..... go read it.... but only after you're done reading this.... because it's so funny you won't want to come back here anymore.))

I had to look at my husband and explain that that is simply what today has been like. A roller coaster that no one in their right mind would ever choose to get on.

(Good thing I'm clearly not in my right mind.)

"Wheeeeeeeeee!!!!!"

I think they're just fucking with me.

2010-06-28T20:31:00.005-04:00

River
Lake
Shore
Rock
Home
Meat
Silence
Concept
Pleasure
Book
Window
Life

MS tests are weird, you guys. I don’t know any better way to put it than that. Apparently though, I am really good with words. Not so good with numbers. Let me set the scene for you.

I was down at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania (HUP from now on, because I will not be typing that more than I need to) for my initial screening to see if I would qualify for a drug trial. (long story short there, I qualify; I have MS. Yay? I dunno, let’s just call it a second opinion and move on.) Part of the initial visits is a battery of cognitive tests. The initial ones are just “practice” so that you are familiar with the format... helps eliminate the “learning curve”, so that the “real” test can be compared with future tests over the next two years.

Fine. Let’s do this.

First test: (I don’t remember any of the names of these, so mine will be the more appropriate descriptive names) “Put the pegs in the holes. Take the pegs out of the holes. Quickly!” So yeah, that was basically all that one was. And I didn’t drop any. Guess I passed.

Second test: “Remember a random list of words and repeat them back.” Dude, I owned this test. Seriously. 12 words, I remembered all but three. Second try? I got them all. You have 6 tries total and even if you get them all right, you keep doing it for six times. So then I was mixing it up for my own amusement... can I put them in a different order? Sure I can!

Home
Meat
Rock
Shore
Book
Window
Life
Pleasure
Silence
Concept
Lake
River

I rock. Bring it baby, I’m ready.

Third test: “Checkerboard mind-fuck.” You look at this grid pattern for 10 seconds. On this grid, are 7 black circles. After studying it for 10 seconds, you then have to duplicate the spacing using checkers and a blank grid.

Bam. All 7, right spots.

Do it 3 more times? Okay!

Done.

Done.

And done.

But then, they show you an alternate checkerboard. You sneaky bastards. Study that one for 10 seconds and do the same thing. A little harder this time, as I was consciously trying to forget what I had just committed to memory to remember something else that was similar enough to be confusing.

(that sentence is confusing.)

Still, got it right, first try and the second try. Next?

Replicate the first pattern, without looking at the original prompt.

Whaaaaaaa...?

Fuck. Way to go sneaky cognitive guys. And not funny, messing with the MS girl like that. I don’t know how many I got right. The examiner didn’t tell me. That must be in the instructions somewhere... “If they do well, offer praise. If they do poorly, just quietly put the test away and move on.”

Fourth test: “Chinese water torture.... but with numbers.” Okay, let me try to explain this. There’s this CD, with this annoyingly calm and monotone guy throwing a single digit number at me every 5 seconds. I’m supposed to listen to the number, add it to the previous number, and state the sum out loud, meanwhile bearing in mind the last number, because I will have to add that to the next number.

Sounds simple enough... right?

ACMG: Five....

ACMG: Three....

Me: Eight.

ACMG: Seven....

Me: Ten.

And so on and so on... for sixty numbers. I did okay for the first 30, but by the last 30 I was apparently misadding things and adding the second number to the sum of the last two numbers and all kinds of other things. It only made my brain hurt to a moderate degree.

Apparently that wasn’t the worst of the hell though.

Next, we were going to do the same thing, but with only a 2 second pause between the numbers.... again, for 60 numbers.

ACMG: Six....

ACMG: Two....

Me: Eight!

ACMG: (talking over me, how rude!) Seven....

Me: ....

ACMG: Five....

Me: Nine! No! Wait that wa...

ACMG: Six....

Me: Shit!

ACMG: Four....

Me: Ten!

ACMG: Two....

Me: .....

ACMG: Nine....

Me: Apricot!

ACMG: Three....

Me: ....

ACMG: Two....

Me: FIVE!!

ACMG: One....

Me: GREEN!

ACMG: Seven....

Me: (hands over ears...)

ACMG: One....

Me: stop talking to me!!!!!

Seriously... that’s almost entirely how it went.... except the desire to yell out random words instead of numbers was just filled by deafening silence on my part because I didn’t want the woman conducting the test to think I had tourrettes as well as MS. But I did put my hands over my ears at one point... I couldn’t help myself... I needed to check for blood because I was sure this specific brand of torture was designed just for me... and it was working....

Fifth test: “Are-you-fucking-kidding-me-with-these-twelve-words-again??!?!?” No repeating this time... just me, remembering what they were....

River
Lake
Shore
Rock
Home
Meat
Pleasure
Silence
Book
Window
Concept
Life

HA!!! Take THAT evil cognitive tests master minds!!

(I am, at this point, beginning to drool and my eye was twitching... I’m pretty sure, anyway...)

Sixth test: “SERIOUSLY-with-the-checkers-again???!?!” Yeah... the first pattern, not the second, no prompts... I got 1 out of 7 right.... and I don’t have the faintest clue which one it was....

Seventh test: “Walk in a straight line as quickly as you can.”

....... ?

(Seems rather anticlimactic, doesn’t it?)

UPDATED: After the second battery of "test" tests, the clinicians keep telling me how well I am doing on these cognitive assessments. However, as I was leaving the hospital today, I made a wrong turn and got hopelessly lost. I think that begs to differ people.

Awkwardly Awesome.

2010-06-22T19:48:00.005-04:00

One might think that, in order to plan and host your 15 year high school reunion, you'd have to fall into one of two categories in order to want to tackle such an undertaking:

1. Formerly mega-popular high school class president/cheerleader/prom queen

2. Formerly not mega-popular high school class president/cheerleader/prom queen, but now ridiculously successful and fabulous.

If so, one would be wrong. Case in point? I planned our 15 year high school reunion.

Yeah, that's right, me.

Who was I in high school? Basically no one... I'm pretty sure the invisible people don't get elected prom queen or class president... and really? I had all the grace of a drunken donkey. No one was making a cheerleader out of me.

Who am I now? Well.... that's actually a good question.

I still have the grace of a drunken donkey.... except I am actually drunk.... quite often anyway.... but now I blame all the tripping on the MS. I have one marriage under my belt and I'm now on my second. (though doing quite better with this one, thank you very much) One failed business under my belt as well - totally on to a second (personally fulfilling but poorly paying) career. I have an extra 40 pounds or so, a shit ton of debt and no assets to speak of, a neurological disease, but, a beautiful daughter....

Mix well, serve over ice...

(I mean, true, you have to add a splash of charm and a bit of snark in there... but that's the basic recipe.)

I was so shy in high school. I wanted to be cool. I wanted to be pretty. I wanted boys to fall all over themselves over me. I wanted to be smart. I wanted to be funny and charming and graceful. I wanted to be talented.

I was, instead, awkward, self-conscious, and completely unaware. I was smart, but not as naturally brilliant as some of my classmates. I was talented, but not like my incredibly naturally gifted friends. I was pretty, but not in the "guys falling all over themselves" kind of way. I was funny, but always afraid that people were laughing at me, not with me. I was as graceful as a drunken donkey. (but we already covered that...)

However, as each former classmate showed up, I found myself to be not at all self-conscious. I wasn't worried about the 40 extra pounds (or the fact that I was sweating like a whore in church (it was hot as hell you guys!)) as I hugged each one and met their spouse or significant other or children. I chatted with everyone I could, as much as I could, and really enjoyed the whole day that I had managed to pull together, with those who had managed to join me.

The thing was, as I sat among these people, so of whom I can't say I even knew in high school, I realized that none of us were who we were in high school... and, in some cases (maybe most? all?), I don't think we ever even were who we thought we were in high school. (confusing much? yes.) And as much as it mattered then? That was how much it didn't matter now.

I was having flashes of The Breakfast Club playing in my head. (because, really, it's a great movie.... and a welcome change from the Dora the Explorer episodes that seem to play there on a regular basis....)

And what did we learn from The Breakfast Club? That's right:

"Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us... In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain... and an athlete... and a basket case... and a princess... and a criminal...

Does that answer your question?... Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club."

And what *else* did we learn from The Breakfast Club? Right again:

The jocks and the bad boys always get the girls. The nerds are just badass writers.... and apparently drink a lot later in life.

Thanks for spending that saturday in detention with me you guys. I look forward to doing it again in 5 years.... or sooner.

I don't know why people even associate with me.

2010-06-16T23:36:00.004-04:00

This is a transcript of an email conversation with a friend of mine, following one of my "I'm-trying-to-plan-a-15-year-class-reunion-will-you-cut-me-a-break-and-send-a-freaking-reply?!?!" emails.

Any identifying details will be protected.... because, really? I need to keep the friends I have. Especially those who let me email with them like this.... though I will never understand why.

Friend who will remain nameless (mostly because I doubt she would want to admit association with me):

You are totally killing me with this... ahhhhh.....

And, really: don't you miss me?

Ugh. I am SO put out right now…

A reunion... perfect place to display my newly acquired case of adult acne. Awesome. Maybe the sun will be shining brightly enough to illuminate my gray... or should I say "silver" hairs... as well as my pasty cellulite... I have to work myself up to even RSVP'ing.

We might be moving across the street from *yeah, like I’m going to out someone else on here* :) On *road which I will not be mentioning* ... keep your fingers crossed!

Me:

OMG I miss you so much!!! Did you delete your FB page???

What. The. Fuck.

Come back.

Okay, *same road that I won’t be mentioning, again*? Awesome, you're actually even closer! I approve. We can meet down by the bridge and drink under it. Because really? Isn't that where winos go? Under bridges? Or is that just trolls...? Meh, either way.

My adult acne will bond with yours. Seriously. Even my back is broken out. Which is lovely. It's like being a teenager again. Except without the fun stuff about being a teenager. Of course, at least now I can drink (legally) until I feel better about it.

AND, I have not only NOT lost any weight, but I apparently found about 5 pounds that someone else must have misplaced.

Yep, sounds like the perfect time for a reunion! ;-)

My dear sympathetic friend:

We (meaning those of us who try to make lightly of the fact that we can't wear tank tops & must keep our hair long enough to cover blemishes on our backs), call that: Bacne.

And, Yes - I have it: I even recruited some sort of a"tool" to try to pop them: doesn't work. Just makes me look like a meth head tweaker who has poison coming out of their pores all over.

Tweakerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Me (I swear to god, I wasn't drinking):

Damn. And I just cut my hair short again. No more tank tops for me. Clearly I do NOT think these things through enough.

In a separate, but somehow related, matter: I completely destroyed my va-jay-jay this morning.

You see, here's how it happened. I got a little over-zealous with the grooming the other day. The result? Crazy, insane, can't-stop-wanting-to-scratch-my-girlie-parts, itching whilst the hair grows back in. My solution? I'm going to try Nair. I mean, really? How much worse could it be?

So. Much. Worse.

Can you say chemical burns? Yeah. So while it left the little bits of hair completely intact, it inflamed everything else surrounding said hair. And still didn't solve the itchy-crotch problem.

So, cut to me in the shower, deciding that I would still shave to rid myself of the hair - again, because clearly I didn't learn the first time, but I seriously can't handle the hair growing back in!

Post shower? Looks like the crater pocked surface of the moon. You know, if the surface of the moon was red and swollen from chemical burns and the craters were filled with blood. BLOOD. Okay, so maybe it looked more like a completely unappetizing strawberry, sans those annoying seeds that always end up getting stuck in your teeth.

Wait, what was I talking about....?

Ugh, it's going to be a long day.

Friend (who is now wondering why she ever replied to me in the first place):

Soooo funny! But… wait; not funny at the same time. I think it's the power plant. Fa real.

Just a heads up: don't even bother trying that infomercial thing that allegedly just "sands" the hair off: it works good for a mustache: but, that's even debatable at this point. Certainly doesn't work on my chin hair: still need to pluck those bitchez.

I am so not hot.

What happened?

And, really: What pants are you wearing today? I am sitting here cracking up (mean, I know) at the thought of the discomfort you must be feeling at work. Hopefully you put a little baby powder ....or Neosporin on the strawberry moon :)

Me (because I take over-sharing to a whole new level):

In all my infinite wisdom? I wore light tan pants. I keep checking for little spots of blood. Which would be bad, clearly, as then I would have to tie my sweater around my waist backwards and try to convince my cadets that it's totally hip. Except I don't think people say "hip" anymore, so they will have no idea what I'm talking about.

Yeah.

I also wore really cute but uncomfortable shoes. Thinking, naturally, that the pain in my feet would distract me from the pain in my panties.

Epic. Fail.

*Post-Script: This email chain was like a month ago. All is well in the nether regions, so you can save your "get well" cards.... though I doubt Hallmark covers these sort of issues. Our class reunion is in two days and I have somehow managed to find another 5 or 7 (okay, fine, 10) pounds. I have a feeling it was hiding in the wine. I am now wondering if I can show up to the party in a burqa without raising too many questions. Hmmm....

Bittersweet.

2010-06-07T21:35:00.012-04:00

"It is indeed ironic that we spend our school days yearning to graduate and our remaining days waxing nostalgic about our school days."

~Isabel Waxman

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

~Attributed to Mark Twain, unconfirmed

"I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read and all the friends I want to see."
~John Burroughs

"Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these."

~Susan B. Anthony

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop to look around once in a while you could miss it."

~From the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off

"You can't live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you."

~John Wooden

"To change one's life: Start immediately. Do it flamboyantly. No exceptions."

~William James

"The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit."

~Nelson Henderson

"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are."
~e.e. cummings

"Do not follow where the path may lead. Go, instead, where there is no path and leave a trail."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember."

~Seneca

"The rung of a ladder was never meant to rest upon, but only to hold a man's foot long enough to enable him to put the other somewhat higher."

~Thomas Henry Huxley

"The language of friendship is not words but meanings."

~Henry David Thoreau

"Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for a while, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same."

~Flavia Weedn

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next."

~Gilda Radner

(good luck, my boys.)

Recently.

2010-05-02T18:11:00.016-04:00

I have been way too busy. Too busy to blog, actually. That's not to say that there hasn't been stuff that's blogworthy. Just a sampling of what's up? Allow me to offer you the Reader's Digest version:

I have an insanely awesome family that I don't see often enough.

There was this killer wedding. On a bridge.

It led to an equally killer night. A night that didn't end until the next morning.

I chopped my hair off. I love it.

I love my cadets. I just hate my job.

There was an MS Walk. It was humid and hot as hell. It rocked.

And in other, less pictorial, news....

I love yoga. Who knew?
I love tattoos even more. One down, a bunch more to go.
I love my friends. I hate false friends. They make me more cynical. Fuck them.
I still need to go on a diet.

(The longer version of the above events follows..... feel free to not read it.... unless you're really lacking in anything else to do on a Sunday night.)

So my cousin got married in Pittsburgh many weekends back and it was epic. The whole evening. First? They closed down the Roberto Clemente bridge to have their ceremony right in the middle at sunset - complete with fireworks as they kissed. It was beautiful. No wedding will ever compare in sheer originality - barring anyone getting married on the edge of a volcano. Complete with a virgin sacrifice, of course. (which clearly will be no one from my side of the family.)

Reception followed - complete with a photobooth. Which, of course, held no interest for me whatsoever until I was good and lit up. Then? No holds barred. And lots of kissy-face photos. Apparently I have cheek bones that way. Who knew they were there? I will now be making crazy kissy-faces in all photos. Ever. I've never been appropriate anyway.

At some point we ended up on the roof which we were not supposed to be on. I totally did not ruin my heels on all the stones that were up there. Since we weren't ever there in the first place. But seriously? Wow. Ruined. And totally worth it. If I was a dude? I would have been peeing off the edge with the others. Although we were never there. So I know nothing of which I speak.

There was a stumbling walk back to the very fancy, upscale, hotel a few blocks away, laden down with the leftover liquor that was remaining. (I mean, hey, can't let that go to waste!) ((anyone have any clue what the fuck to do with a bottle of Vermouth??)) I took my nylons off in the fancy lobby and stuffed them in the cushions of the very impressive looking lobby couches. (my apologies to whoever found them.... if they have been found...) Someone called a cab - I'm guessing the front desk guy who wanted the seven drunks out of his lobby at 4am? - and we were off to Primanti Bros.

Cut to many sandwiches, fries, and an hour+ later, we're yelling at the douche-canoe cabbie who wouldn't let us all pile in one car, and we're hoofing it back to the other end of the city. Or it may have been just a few blocks. Hell if I know. Fortunately another cabbie with a van picked us up and saved us from walking all night. Or morning, as it was now roughly 6am. Fall into bed, asleep by 7am, awake by 9am. Thanks Nate. So glad your alarm on your phone was so super effective. For me. ;-)

My family really does rock. I have so many awesome cousins who are each completely awesome in their own unique way - and yet there is one common thread that binds us all together. That thread? Alcohol. Oh, and food. We are greek after all. I love them all with all my heart. And I can't wait to see them again. They make me feel whole.

In other news, I chopped my hair off. After years of having it midway down my back, it's now hanging out somewhere between my chin and shoulders. And I love it. I've realized that with the right amount of product and time? I have really great hair. The odd thing is, I have received many compliments from my female friends.... and much dislike from my male friends. (well, those who know me well enough to be honest anyway.) So, I am thinking this is one of two things. Either, it looks good and the women know it (because clearly they have better taste than men), OR, it looks horrid, and all my women friends are catty bitches who love that I have bad hair. Really, it could go either way. No matter what, men seem to like long hair better. Duh. It's clearly a caveman thing.

I don't care. I'm keeping it short. For now anyway. It's sort of badass, despite the picture above not conveying all it's 50's bombshell-esque glory.

It's now early May. Which means soon my seniors will graduate and leave to carry on with the beginnings of their "adult" life, and I will miss them all terribly. It has been an awful year and a wonderful year all at the same time - most of the wonderful coming from my boys. I truly love being "cadet-mom" to many dozen teenage boys. How could you not love them? I really don't know how. I will miss them.

They supported me in my MS walk this year. The walk was actually today, so I guess this brings us up to speed. While only a few were able to be there with me, many were with me in spirit, and it was a great day. Add to that my friends, coworkers, and family, and we had over 40 people walking with team "holes in my brain". In bright pink shirts. My cadets picked the color. Yes, seriously. They are, apparently, comfortable in their masculinity and in pepto pink. They never fail to amuse and inspire me. (I will remember this the next time they push me to my breaking point.)

I've also discovered that I really like yoga. No, I think I love it a little. There is definitely a serious crush going on anyway. I didn't think I would like it. I thought I was just doing it to try to improve some of my MS impacted balance issues. I didn't expect it to keep me from being so hateful and stabby all the time. It's probably saved at least one person from getting a bic pen straight into their forehead on a bad day. It is also a weekly reminder that I need a pedicure.

(I do still need a pedicure.)

I did, however, get my first tattoo. It was just a small one, on the outside of my right thigh, just above my knee - the site of my first numb spot.... which was conveniently not numb the day of the inking. But the pain was far less than I was expecting. My daily injections are actually worse, I think. I now plan on getting the one on my back done within the next few weeks. I may have to come back and reread this when that one hurts way worse than my leg did. Still? Totally worth it. I already have ideas for three more after my back. (go big or go home, right?)

Also? I love my friends. My true friends. Those who love and have stood by me - near and far - through good times and MS times and just plain ugly hysterical times. I've recently come to realize that someone who I thought was among those friends, is not. It took me about 20 months to realize that a pattern of disregard for my feelings was not merely an oversight on his part but a callous lack of caring. Which, really, I suppose was not actually his fault if he never really cared for me to begin with - it may have been my misunderstanding right from the start - as I don't usually find myself in a position of having to cynically evaluate someone's intentions.... but.... now that I know better? He can kiss my fat white ass.

The only kind thing I have to say at this point is that people like him? Make me realize the value of people who are not like him. I will not let this effect my innate nature. I will continue to love others openly and without reserve or fear of being hurt or taken for granted. And I will not take my friends for granted. I am blessed. And there is no room for him in my life. My cup runneth over.

And so does my waistband, unfortunately. I really do need to drop some weight and focus on getting my health back on track.

So, with that, I will finish my drink and get to bed.

Goodnight all.

I heart the 80's.

2010-04-03T18:16:00.003-04:00

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real
I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are
All I can feel

Remembering
You standing quiet in the rain
As I ran to your heart to be near
And we kissed as the sky fell in
Holding you close
How I always held close in your fear

Remembering
You running soft through the night
You were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow
And screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage
To let it all go

Remembering
You fallen into my arms
Crying for the death of your heart
You were stone white
So delicate
Lost in the cold
You were always so lost in the dark

Remembering
You how you used to be
Slow drowned
You were angels
So much more than everything
Hold for the last time then slip away quietly
Open my eyes
But I never see anything

If only I'd thought of the right words
I could have held on to your heart
If only I'd thought of the right words
I wouldn't be breaking apart
All my pictures of you

Looking so long at these pictures of you
But I never held on to your heart
Looking so long for the words to be true
But always just breaking apart
My pictures of you

There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you

Once upon a time.

2010-04-02T11:43:00.007-04:00

He looked at me, with a grin that was more of a smirk, and said, "I have a lot of friends.... none of them are quite like you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"I think so."

....................................................

"Ask me if I'm going to miss you," he said, as he cocked his head to the side.

"Are you going to miss me while you're gone?"

"Yes."

Same smirky grin.

....................................................

Sadly, I haven't seen that smirky grin in awhile.

And you can't embrace a friend while keeping them at arm's length.

Goodbye, my friend. I'll miss you.

And I hope, this time, you'll miss me as well.

Xanax and Wine - party of one?

2010-03-31T19:20:00.005-04:00

So many days in a row of feeling bad.... I can't even differentiate between them.

How is it only Wednesday? Surely the breakdown I had this afternoon was worthy of a Friday breakdown..... but no. I made it there in record time.

Of course, I did spend two days all but couch-ridden. (I refuse to be bed-ridden.... bed-ridden seems so much worse.) How did I not see the follow-up emotional tidal wave coming at me? It's like I have selective vision.

And yet, despite my lack of foresight (or maybe because of it?) there I was - caught up in it's undertow, powerless to swim against the current.

(I know, I'm so melodramatic. It's the wine. and Xanax.)

((my apologies.))

The neat and tidy version? I couldn't stop crying.

The whole way home.

I was actually on my way to yoga. But how can one do yoga when one can't catch their breath through the hitching sobs?

Yep. No yoga.

Wine, instead.

Not enough strength for the warrior pose.

Plenty of strength to lift a glass.

(advantage: wine.)

Yesterday.

2010-03-27T08:54:00.003-04:00

(Disclaimer: you likely will not understand this post if you were born anytime after 1980. Just saying.)

Started feeling bad towards the end of the day... was wiped out by the time I got home... stuck on the couch ever since...

Some days I just want to lay down and die...

Remember the movie "The Never Ending Story"? The horse who gave in to the swamps of despair and sunk to his death? Atreyu?

Yeah, I get that horse.

"Atreyuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"

*UPDATED*: Okay, so my jumbled childhood memories may have had this a bit wrong.... whilst food shopping on Sunday (because who doesn't do their best thinking while pushing a cart full of food, listening to muzak and crying children, and dodging other half awake/half irrate shoppers?) it suddenly occurred to me that - I think - the warrior character was Atreyu and his horse was Artax. Possibly.

Shit.

"Artaaaaaaaaaaxxxxxxx!"

Maybe it's the endorphins that make me less murder-y.

2010-03-19T19:47:00.003-04:00

So it's Friday - 7:50 pm - and I managed to make it through another week that was not only personally exhausting but insanely busy at work.

And I didn't murder anyone.

(true story.)

Did I want to? Yes, of course. Did I cry unintentionally and have to hide in my office for fear someone would see me and think "oh, there goes the MS girl gettin all worked up again!"? Um, yes, but only two or three times. Did I drink myself into a coma? Actually, no.

(yeah, go back and reread that, it's not a typo.)

On a seperate, but likely related note, I started yoga last week and have been trying to take more walks. Maybe I have the endorphins to thank for the lack of dead bodies that could have been strewn about? I mean, it certainly wasn't the alcohol. Which is sort of shocking in and of itself.

But, just in case - and not to throw off the balance of the universe - I am going to head out now and get stupid drunk.

Because really? I can't take a chance on these endorphins quite yet.

Cheers.

I am in an abusive relationship. With myself.

2010-03-14T17:04:00.003-04:00

MS is sort of like an abusive spouse.

Which would clearly make me a battered woman.

I woke up today and got out of bed, only to have to climb on the couch 5 minutes later and remain there for the rest of the day. At some point, I started to think "what did I do to bring this on?" And then I realized:

nothing. at. all.

Sometimes it's clear why a symptom flair-up occurs. I've pushed myself too hard - physically, emotionally, whatever... or maybe I just haven't been sleeping well..... or maybe the stress is just getting the better of me...

Sometimes MS hits me because of something I have done.

Sometimes it hits me for no reason whatsoever.

(It's almost like I can hear it muttering "see what you made me do to you....?")

I only wish I could hit MS back. I would so be Jennifer Lopez in that movie "Enough" where she goes all bad ass and kills her abusive/crazy/stalker husband. Except I would clearly have better hair and bigger boobs. But wouldn't that make it a better scene anyway?

That would be so bad ass.

(Okay, I have to get off the computer before MS catches me and throws me down a flight of stairs.)

((Send help. Please.))

I shouldn't be allowed to talk to people. Or email.

2010-03-12T22:59:00.005-05:00

Below is the actual text of an email I sent to a friend of mine:

"So I am now thinking your lack of reply indicates that your meeting today went well and you're just afraid to tell me because that means you'll likely be leaving and you don't know how to break the news to your moderately crazy friend that the one person who consistently tolerates her craziness is leaving.

Fuck.

Oh, I mean... Yay! Yay for you! (Fuck for me.)

Or, perhaps your silence is due to your displeasure at the results of your meeting and you're just too depressed/angry/drunk to want to talk about it.

Fuck.

No, I seriously mean *fuck*.... not even yay for me.... because really? When you're unhappy? No one wins.

I mean, it's clearly not as bad as if I am unhappy. Because when I am unhappy, everyone loses.

**I realize, on the surface, this may look to be the same, but it's not. When you're unhappy and no one wins, there's still the chance of everyone receiving a conciliatory "participant" ribbon. When I'm unhappy and everyone loses, there's a fair chance people are going to be kicked in the crotch. Literally and/or figuratively.**

(You know I'm right.)

And now my head hurts because I don't know which situation is the better outcome and all can think about is kicking people in the crotch.

Great...

Another typical Friday night."

Is it any surprise that people don't reply to my emails? I should not be allowed to maintain friendships.

P.S. I figure it's okay to post the email on here, sans names anyway, mostly because not only does he not reply to my emails, but he sure as hell doesn't read my blog.

P.P.S? Just in case he does - at some future point - read this, I do genuinely hope things went well.

Kind of.

Okay, maybe.

A little bit anyway.

All right, not really.

(Sorry. I'm selfish.)

Stones.

2010-03-09T22:51:00.007-05:00

Yes. This is a plate of stones. Pebbles I picked up today on the beach and stuffed in the pockets of my jeans until I ran out of room. I then threw a few more in my purse, just for good measure.

You see, today was an unusual day for me, for any number of reasons. One, it was early March and beautiful - sunny, mid-sixties, light breeze. Two, I found myself at the Jersey shore on this exceptionally beautiful day. Three, (maybe most importantly) I was not at work.

And lastly? I didn't have a single MS symptom. All. Day. I walked for over two hours, in the sun, sand between my toes, sea breeze blowing, sea gulls crying....

It was so.... well, honestly? I don't have a word for it.

Peaceful?

Life-affirming?

Zen?

Mocking?

Because seriously? I'm pretty damn sure that if I could tap in to that sort of vibe on a regular basis? My MS symptoms would decrease ten-fold. Fuck. Make it a hundred-fold. I need to move to the shore. I'm not even particular on which one really. Sand? check. Surf? check. Okay, I'm there.

(I guess a job and a place to live would help too, but these are just minor details.)

I know the NMSS has means to help people living with MS survive the bills and crazy costs that can come along with this illness, but I don't think I am selling them on a shore house as a preventative to my flare-ups. Maybe a shore house that houses multiple people with MS? Maybe we can all benefit? You know, if we don't kill each other in all our group-craziness?

(that's a form of synergy they never really warn you about in those group workshop things. just fyi.)

But back to my stones. I truly would have been that crazy person, out on the beach, walking along where the waves came in - careful not to get my jeans wet - in a near constant crouch, looking at the sand like it was littered with gold, for hours, had my husband not, after a certain well-advised period of humoring me, drug me back to the boardwalk.

You see, I was walking along today, and this little, perfectly smooth, beautifully well worn, pebble caught my eye. I stopped to pick it up. Marveled at how smooth it felt in my hand. Held it up to the sun to check out the flecks of minerals that had been polished to a shine. I showed it to my husband..... his response? "Yeah, they're all over, so what?"

(okay, that might not have been his exact response... and I'm sure he didn't mean it to sound dismissive... I mean, how could he have known that one pebble was going to mean he had to humor his crazy wife for over an hour as she examined a good half mile worth of beach?)

But here's the "why?": MS, like many things in life.... and even life in general.... strikes without warning. You never know what it's throwing at you.... or which way it might be throwing you. It's easy to get caught up in the waves and be tossed ass-over-tea-kettle before you even realize what's happening. But isn't that the same thing the produced this amazing little beautiful pebble?

You see, the constant tossing of the waves.... the disruption and confusion.... it polished out the rough spots.... smoothed over the flaws.... and produced something more compact, more beautiful, more resilient.

Yes, I realize I may be reading too much in to a few pebbles. But really? They're beautiful. Each in their own way. And as I continue to get tossed in the waves of MS? I want to remember that this constant state of motion.... while it might seem like chaos? While it might seem disruptive and damaging? It's smoothing over my rough spots. Making me more beautiful than I already was. Polishing me.... so that I might sparkle in the light.

(I wish I was here.)

It's MS awareness week. (but clearly that is just another reason for me to spread the craziness.)

2010-03-08T10:22:00.001-05:00

I think I do my fair share to spread MS awareness everyday. I mean, anytime I need to? I blame whatever shit I can on the holes in my brain.

(What? They're there anyway. They might as well serve some purpose, right? Okay then.)

((You know you would too if you had them. Don't judge.))

At the end of last week, I held an assembly for our academy cadets. I actually decided that I would try "dropping the MS bomb" (which is my term for telling people I have MS, because it rarely goes over cleanly and has the potential to blow the whole conversation to hell) to about 200+ generally apathetic teenage boys all at once.

I have to say? It was actually one of the best experiences I've had with breaking the news to people. In fact, I may have to insist, that from now on? I will only disclose my illness to groups of at least a few hundred. With a powerpoint.

I did this, not for MS awareness week - although, had I known? That could have been a whole additional PP slide - but so that the cadets could, perhaps, learn a little something about empathy and compassion. MS is a rather silent disease. No one, just looking at me, would know I am ill. I wanted them to, perhaps, think about what others might be dealing with, unbeknownst to them, when they're interacting with others.

Will it work? Who knows. But I figured it couldn't hurt. And also, now if I fall in the halls? Or have an emotional meltdown? Or stumble over every other word? At least they won't think I'm a drunk.... they can blame it on my holes.

(see how this all comes full circle?)

Oops

2010-02-26T19:42:00.005-05:00

So, the other day, I was thinking about the resolutions I made for 2010. Why? Who knows, I like to torture myself that way. Sorry 2010... I've really been a disappointment so far...

It's almost March, and really? I am no closer to being a pole dancing ninja than I was at the close of 2009. I am not blogging with any sort of consistancy. I am certainly further in debt. (um, $200 a month in meds and supplements? wtf is that about??) And I might have gained a few pounds. Although I am no longer eating potato chips at midnight. That's because I have managed to find a supplement combination that helps me sleep better. And I am still drinking like a champ. All in all? I've had a few wins but far more losses.

Time to rally.

I actually started 2010 with good intentions. (yes, I know, I have paved many a road to hell with those.... it's like I don't even need a gps to get there anymore.) But, like life often does, things took a turn for the crazy and I sort of got off track. (which, in a way, might be good, if said road I was paving was heading where it was.... maybe?)

So anyway, here I am.... with a sort of pointless meandering blog and an update that I am starting a yoga class next week. Stage one of my pole dancing ninja plan - check.

You could say I am back on that road now. Which is fine. I figure all the cool people I know will be there anyway, so I'll be in good company when I make it to my destination.

I am SO flawed.

2010-02-14T21:20:00.000-05:00

(and I'm really okay with that.)

Life is too short. It's also too long. Be careful what you wish for.

2010-02-10T23:14:00.001-05:00

A while back, I was wishing fervently for apathy.

Fuck.

I should have known that would come back to bite me on my fat white ass.

Recently, it seems that my moods swing wildly..... between apathetic and wildly depressed.

Um, yeah, maybe I should have been more clear. The apathy? Was to replace the depression. Not the - few and far between - moments of feeling okay. So if someone could go ahead and fix that? It would be greatly appreciated. Life is too short to continue to feel like this all the time. It's also too long. Basically, it's just unacceptable.

Don't get me wrong.... I know I've actually got a lot going on right now. Maybe this isn't at all related to the MS stuff.... but.... isn't it easier to simply blame it on the MS?

Survey says!

Yes.

(fuck you MS....)

The shit of it is, I have no idea if it's actually just the MS. I have a feeling it's not. You know how you walk in to a room.... and something just smells.... bad? And yet, you can't track the source of the odor? But it's there.... and persistent.... and you never quite get used to smelling it, so you feel compelled to keep looking around? As if somehow a rotten egg or a dead mouse is just going to appear and you can clean it up and spray some lysol and move on with things?

No? Just me? Okay then.

(although I fear now I may have influenced how you think of my housekeeping abilities....)

Life is like that though. Marriage. Job. Friends. Family. Parenthood. Health. Happiness. It's just all jumbled up, intertwined, in one big pile of mess. And somewhere? In that mess? Something might be rotting.... and I don't know what it is. And I have two choices. I can ignore the stink and hope the odor eventually becomes something I'm accustomed to.... or, I can dig through the mess, sort out the entanglement, and find out where it's coming from.

Yeah. Life is messy like that.

You know what I hate? Fucking everything.

2010-02-02T20:30:00.005-05:00

(this is sort of a blog where the title covers it all.)

((no, seriously. that's all I have right now.))

F-A-T is a four letter word.

2010-01-17T13:53:00.001-05:00

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine. We were born to make manifest the glory that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

I've always heard it said that people are fat because there is some sort of payoff in being fat. Most times it's attributed to some sort of protection - like somehow the extra layer of adipose tissue can protect the person from suffering emotional pain. I have no doubt this has been the case for me for many years. And although I have accepted this concept at face value (fat = protection), I never really knew what it was I was "protecting" myself from. I think I now have a better idea....

I like to be noticed. I like to feel attractive. I mean, who doesn't? And although most days I do not feel this way, I am aware that sometimes others find me to be so. And on the days that I would agree with them? Then all the better. I should be able to feel attractive without feeling like I need to apologize for it.

(maybe even fabulous.... every once in awhile.... on a good hair day and with the right pair of shoes...)

But, I also want people to like me for me. The “me” that has nothing to do with how I look. The “me” that writes this blog. The “me” that has crazy dreams (literally and figuratively). The “me” who just wants to be seen.

In my friendships, I tend to gravitate towards men. Not because of any need to have them fulfill some typically "male" role in my life, I just find that my sense of humor often times meshes better with men. I was a tomboy as a child. At heart, I guess I still am. I am just a tomboy who appreciates a cute pair of heels with my jeans.

Regardless, many of my friendships over the years have been with men. I have a few good girlfriends, but I find that many women seem to keep me at arms length until they can figure what to make of me. Am I out to steal their man? Do I think I am better than them? Am I? Women are too complicated. Men are simple.

However, there have been times in my life when these simple men make things difficult. Friends whom I may adore, start to “adore” me for the wrong reasons. And most times I am completely blind to this. Until it blindsides me and someone ends up hurt. Then the friendship falls apart. Maybe I missed the signs. Maybe their intentions were not the same as mine to begin with. But I am not callus enough to constantly question human motivation.

Being fat? Actually eliminates some of these problems. I mean, I can still pursue friendships with men. It’s just that those who choose to befriend me are more likely to be doing so for who I am. Maybe it’s because I can (and will) eat a whole cheese steak in one sitting instead of picking at a salad. Maybe it’s because not only do I like to watch football, but I yell at the TV and curse like a trucker. Or maybe it’s because I can stay up all night playing poker. Whatever it is? It’s not likely to be all about what I look like.

Being fat? Also makes my friendships with women easier. Women are FAR less put off by me the heavier I am. Suddenly I very easily fill the unassuming role of the “charming fat friend”. All of a sudden, they can see my personality. And let me tell you what - that personality? It radiates. But it radiated equally well when I was thin. They just didn’t see it.

(Maybe no one ever sees it.....)

Maybe that is why I tend to gravitate back to being fat time and again. Maybe I am protecting “me” from me. Maybe I am trying to protect myself from being hurt, misunderstood, or alienated. Maybe I am less vulnerable when I am fat.

But the irony is? I am so much more personally isolated the more I weigh. I don’t feel safe and/or loved for who I am. I feel less capable of loving myself. Because I know instead of holding myself up to the level of treatment I should expect for myself, I stuffed my fears and pain right back down with food.

I think I am powerful beyond all measure. I don’t think I should have to shrink (or, in this case, grow) so that others around me will feel more comfortable. I want to be comfortable with who I am - inside and out - without it changing how I have to interact with others.

Maybe they need to look inside and recognize their own power and light.

Or maybe they just need to go eat until they feel better about. Because I don’t want to anymore.

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

2010-01-10T14:58:00.003-05:00

You know how in the movies there's always music playing in the background?

I so deserve my own theme-music.

The other day, I was perusing facebook on my phone while on my way home (not whilst driving, thank you very much) and I clicked on a link posted by a friend of mine. A quality song from the 90's that I had completely forgotten I loved. But, as I was listening to it for the second time, I arrived home and had to get the groceries out of the car. So, instead of stopping said song, I threw my phone in my pocket and left it playing.

The effect? Theme music playing as I was sauntering up our front walk. It was a thing of beauty.

I only wish I could have been doing something cooler. The groceries sort of ruined the effect.

From now on? When I need effect? (and don't have my hands full of groceries?) Theme music.

New Year = New Observations

2010-01-07T21:01:00.003-05:00

So, I went to the gym on Wednesday this week in an effort to work on one of my resolutions. It was either the one about me being fat or needing more exercise, but my being there would potentially serve both I guess, so it was clearly a twofer.

It was a terribly successful endeavor. Got out of work late, so by the time I got there and got changed, I had approximately 25 minutes or so to make the massive bodily-transformation I need. Obviously I went right for the recumbent bike. Because nothing says "bodily-transformation" like a piece of gym equipment that only requires the use of my legs - thus leaving my hands free for my iPhone.

(Priorities people. Get some.)

But before I even made it to the bike of laziness (seriously, the woman next to me was reading a trashy novel and peddling even slower than I was. My guess was her new year's resolution was simply to find some quiet time to read and to get away from her husband and kids, chose the gym. It seems logical to me.) I noticed something else that gave me pause.

What is it with the skinny chicks getting changed in the locker room like they are afraid someone might see their body? Um, hello? skinny chick? Let me tell you something. I am here so I can try to look the way you already look. If I had your body, I would be getting changed at such a leisurely "look at my perky boobs" pace that I wouldn't have had any time for the bike of laziness.

I mean, let me preface this by saying that I am far less self-conscious now than I was when I was younger - which is ironic, because back then I did look good, and had perky boobs, and would have liked to have flaunted it had I realized I had "it", but now? all post-child body that is busted up by MS meds? NOT a pretty sight. Do I care? Nope, stripping right down to get changed. Don't like it? Don't look. We all have the same parts anyway and quite frankly any woman naked is still a thing of beauty compared to a naked man.

(Honestly, admit it ladies: there is nothing inherently attractive about your average naked guy. Weird hair and things all hanging.... ew. A woman's body? Still inherently beautiful in that "every woman is a goddess" kind of way. You know I'm right.)

And there were two things that gave me pause at this juncture. 1. the gym was crazy crowded - it was the first week of the new year, I get it. And 2. most of these newly enthusiastic clients were skinny chicks. What are you doing here skinny chicks? And why, oh why, are you so self-conscious that you feel the need to put your sports bra on over your regular bra before you take off the other bra from underneath all escape artist style?

I don't know whether to go hug these girls and tell them that are beautiful just the way they are or slap them silly for not realizing it. (ah, the ever raging conflict between my inner mom and inner bitch.) But either way? I wish someone would have done that for me when I was their age. Because I missed out on some prime "look at my perky boobs" flaunting time.

I want a do-over.

Why can't I sleep like a normal person?

2010-01-05T01:10:00.002-05:00

So I have to get in to see my chiropractor. I have this pain in my back. Mid-way up my back on the right hand side. Started as a dull ache. Then came twinges of pain. I finally have a nice steady hurt going on. Think it's about time I get checked out.

I figure it's likely a strained muscle. Maybe all the sitting on the couch I have been doing finally got the better of me. Clearly I should be stretching before I don't exert energy all day.

Then it occurred to me: what if it's my kidney? I have no idea why it would be my kidney, but why not? I had no idea I had holes in my brain when I went in for a completely unassuming brain MRI two tears ago. Lo and behold: brain holes. So I tell my husband to prepare himself for the worst - my kidney may be next.

To which, my ever loving and supportive husband says to me, "honey, if anything, I am sure you're killing your liver, not your kidneys."

To which I then replied, "No way. If my father hasn't killed his liver by now, mine has a few good decades left on it."

But then it occurred to me: the man has some sort of super metabolism. He's got a 30 inch waist, zero body fat, and can eat ice cream after any major meal without batting an eye. Me? Not so much. I've got the opposite of a super metabolism. I am a famine survivor. Evolution loves my fat ass.

What if he has a super liver as well? And what if I didn't get that either? And where the fuck is my liver? And what does it feel like when that hurts? Shouldn't I be yellow or something?? Do I look yellow???

But it's too late. My ever loving and supportive husband is already snoring away. Blissfully unaware that his wife now has holes in her brain AND a failing liver.

Probably.

Maybe.

Or at least a defunct kidney.

Okay, or maybe just a muscle strain.

But doesn't it seem more likely that I killed a major organ through some combination of medication and alcohol than straining a muscle through excessive disuse?? I mean seriously people, it's like I barely move. Unless I need to refill my drink.

Fuck. I need to get an appointment. Now.

And maybe a new kidney and/or liver - just in case anyone has extra ones laying around.

(and seriously, there's got to be something I can do about this snoring...)

((clearly I am not getting any sleep tonight... again.))

I spent the new year living 15 years in the past.

2010-01-02T15:25:00.008-05:00

I spent the evening of New Year's eve doing something I had meant to do for some time - sorting through old photos to post on Facebook to embarrass/delight my friends and family. Doing so came with a side order of nostalgia that was a bit unexpected. But apparently I enjoy the bittersweet taste.

While I had found a treasure trove of old photos of my family in random boxes in one of my mom's long neglected cabinets, I had to go searching for old photos of my friends. And seeing as I 1. hate to have my picture taken and 2. never had a camera of my own before the digital age, I wasn't expecting to find much. But I knew where to look.

When I had cleaned out my room in my parents' home - many many years ago - I had thrown all the old photos/notes/mementos from high school that I came across in to a Rubbermaid container. None of it was stuff that I had saved with a purpose, but rather the items which never got thrown away - so it was a collection of randomness at it's best. There were more photos than I expected, but they were almost all from dances and such. (ie. occasions on which I would have purchased a disposable camera to use.)

However, among all the photos, were oodles of folded up pieces of paper. Some written on in pencil and faded almost to the point of being unreadable. Some hastily folded, others folded into complicated shapes. Some which had once been crumbled up, and at least one which had been ripped in thirds.

That's right people. I had uncovered what must now surely be a long lost art form: the hand written note. Written in class, all the while hopeful that the teacher didn't catch you, and passed in the hall between classes, shoved into the little slotted opening in a locker, or, for the terribly brazen, simply handed off to a classmate while the teacher was writing on the blackboard.

(the blank area in the middle was where I was sitting on the floor amid the ~~mess~~ memories.)

If I read one, I read a hundred. Well, it may not have been that many, but felt like it. And while the handwriting was familiar, it was also now all but impossible to read. Like hieroglyphics that I once read with ease, but now was out of practice, and the deciphering took far more effort. But with each note opened, I knew right away whom it was from based on how it was addressed.

Jay.
Jamie.
J-Bear.
Margarita.

Some brought back memories of people, events, and conversations so clear it was as if we had just spoken on the topic days ago instead of years. Others mentioned people for whom I could no longer put a face to the name. Or answered questions that I don't remember posing. Poetry. Gossip. Songs. Pledges of love everlasting. Each a thing of beauty in it's own right - no matter how profound or banal. And each a reminder of who I was - which is a wonderful thing when you start to lose sight of who you are.

And while I spent those hours immersed in a time some 15 years+ in the past, it also made me think of the future. What would I have of this time to remember these moments? Yes, photos, to some extent. All on my computer, or phone, or flashdrive - almost none printed out. But what of correspondence? Emails long since deleted and text messages that are purged even sooner. What of these beautiful "notes"? Will there be anything for me to sort through 15 years from now to remember today's friendships? Or will I simply have to rely on my ever more unreliable memory?

If that is the case, I will have to apologize to you now. Some of you might leave no trace.

2009 Sucked.

2009-12-29T23:02:00.006-05:00

I'm not sure that I made any resolutions last new year's eve. I usually don't, so I am thinking I probably didn't. I wasn't in a very good place last new year's eve. Well, I mean, I was - I was home with my husband, watching the ball drop with the fireplace roaring, and it was a nice evening. But mentally, I was simply at the beginning of what would be a much larger breakdown than I could have imagined.

So, to briefly recap 2009:

My diagnosis of MS was confirmed.

The end.

I mean, I am sure there was more than that. Lots of little good and bad things - but what I will remember about 2009? That friday the 13th in March. And the ensuing fog of days broken up by crying fits, sleepless nights, and twitching.

This year, I figure I will come up with a whole list of resolutions. I mean, what the hell. Last year I didn't have any, and that didn't help.... so having a list couldn't hurt right? I mean, chances are good I won't keep/do most of them anyway. But if I do? Maybe it will give me some good things to remember about 2010.

(shoot for the moon, land ~~among the stars~~ somewhere soft... I hope...)

So, without further ado, and in no particular order:

1. More blogging.

(try to control your excitement)

Writing helps me get it out. Snarky, bitchy, cry-y (??).... whatever, it helps. I don't humor myself in to believing most of it is ever read, but it's not about that. Imagining an audience, even an unknown (ie. imaginary) one, helps me write with a better focus. It's like getting to hear myself talk. Only in my head. Without the crazy feeling. And all I really hear is the keystrokes of my slow ass typing.

2. No more eating potato chips at midnight while blogging.
I think this one is pretty self explanatory. Sorry Frito-Lay. (We had our moment in the sun. I won't forget you.)

3. Lose the 30 pounds I gained in 2009.
First, I think the above resolution will help that. Second, I will not allow MS to have this too. MS can eat up my brain and the meds can scar/bruise/disfigure my arms/legs/stomach/hips - but I will be damned if I let it ruin an entire closet of clothes that no longer fit me. Fuck. That. Shit.

(speaking of my meds....)

4. I will give myself my shot. Every night. Period.
Some nights I don't do it. Sometimes I "don't feel good". And sometimes I morph into this petulant child who somehow feels that not giving myself the shot is a big "fuck you" to MS. But it's not. I know that. I just have to get the fuck over it and do it. Every night.

5. I will stop drinking ~~as much~~ ~~on weekdays~~ when I am damn well finished for the night.
And not a moment sooner.

6. I will take yoga classes.
7. I will take Karate lessons.
8. I will take pole dancing lessons.

(In that order.)

First, I need the yoga to work on my balance and flexibility. I've also heard that it can help center you and make you less likely to want to ~~kill~~ ~~maim~~ slap the shit out of people who desperately need it. Second, I want the karate lessons so I can tone up my body and work on my coordination. Also, when yoga fails and I then need to slap the shit out of those people? I'll be able to do it more efficiently. Lastly, the pole dancing lessons would just kick ass. Who wouldn't want to swing around one of those things? But you have to look good doing that. And the karate would help.

9. I will buy and wear fabulous, funky, high-heeled shoes.
Let's face it: someday MS will (likely) make it difficult (at best) for me to be able to wear those types of shoes. Between the potential loss of coordination and numbness, there will surely come a day when 4 inch heels are even less sensible than they would be now. So while I can? I am going to work those heels for all I can.

10. Rid myself of toxic/unfulfilling/soul-sucking relationships.
I seriously wish they made some infomercial product that could cleanse my system of these people by simply taking some magic potion everyday which induces multiple trips to the bathroom. I would definitely take that over the struggle of actually figuring out how to separate myself from people who drain me.

11. Nurture those relationships which do not fall into the above category.
I am grateful to have people in my life who more than make-up for and outweigh the people who drain me. They deserve my love and support for the love and support they give me. And despite my moments of weakness and neediness, I still have a lot to give as well.

12. Ink.
I have been wanting a tattoo for a long time. And now that I have an idea for one, I have ideas for others. And I want at least one completed on paper, and then on my skin, before the end of 2010. Again, if MS is going to fuck up my body with these injections and such? I might as well pretty up the other areas.

13. Spend more time with my Bean.
I have to work. I don't have an option about that. But the time I have at home? I don't always feel like it's spent in a way that benefits Callie. Some days I am tired. Or crying. Or yelling. Or just too weak to pick her up easily or chase her around the house. So on the days that I feel good? I should be doing more of those things. Because she won't want to do them for forever. And I don't want her to grow up remembering her mom as sick.

14. Exercise more.
I don't know how this fits in with the drained-all-the-time feeling I get. And I also don't know how that fits in with the "more time with Callie" thing, but on the days I am feeling good, I should be using those opportunities to try to maintain my health as well. Even if it's just walking more... or something... anything... I just need to do something.

15. Pay down my debt.
I have no idea where to start with this. I'm thinking the first step would be a job that pays me enough to actually meet our monthly bills. Which, in all honesty, will be tough for me. For as much as I bitch about work, there's a lot I love about my job. However, I have a feeling a bigger paycheck might help ease the pain of leaving. Also, I'm not too proud to take handouts. Just saying.

16. Sleep more.
I really have no idea how to do this. Sleeping issues suck ass through a straw. And it's been so long since I've not had sleeping issues that I don't really remember what it's like to just go to bed at a normal hour and fall asleep. (Seriously, does anyone else know that Star Trek: Next Generation is on at 1am on WGN mid-week? Because if you are in your 30's holding down a 9-5 job and raising a child? You should not.)

17. Make a difference in the world by spreading peace, hope, love, and joy.
Why not, right? I did say I was shooting for the moon.

That's it. I think. For now, seems to be a good start right? I could have included stuff like floss more, see my dentist and eye doctor on a regular basis, keep a neater home, learn to cook.... but really? Who has time for all that mundane stuff. I'm going to be a pole-dancing ninja by the end of 2010.

And I certainly hope I can look back on this new year as the beginning of the end of my breakdown - and not the continuation of an even greater break.

Considering a new career path.

2009-12-27T22:41:00.003-05:00

So, tonight, while wasting time online looking at shoes (what? you think what you do is super exciting all the time?) I came across these beauties and in an instant realized I need a new career.

Seriously? I need to be a stripper. Because really and truly? I *must* have these shoes. They are like kitschy little pieces of beauteous art and must be mine. They were made for the sexy hot stripper that lives inside of all of us - and mine is pining for these mind-bending sparkly lucite wonders.

Let's put aside for a moment that no one would want to see me naked. Let's also put aside the fact that I have all the seductive grace and natural rhythm of a chimp who's been hit with a tranq dart.

These things matter not at all.

It is all about the shoes.

Plus? Having lots of ones on me at any given time makes me feel like I have a bankroll - even if it only amouts to $37 dollars or so.

Email to a friend.

2009-12-21T22:53:00.003-05:00

(why not? It's a decent MS summary.... and, I already typed it all....)

I have to say - I hate just putting the MS stuff out there, but how else to do you go about something like that? There's no real protocol for these things, as far as I'm aware. But it is something I like to share. If only because it does effect me at times and it's easier if people know that something is going on with me. Your response was wonderful - caring, concerned, genuine, and without hesitation. Thank you.

MS effects every person who has it differently. They don't know what causes it (part genetics? part virus? both? they don't know) and it is incurable. It attacks the central nervous system, causing lesions on the brain and spinal cord. Lesions are areas where the myelin (fatty coating on the nerves) has been destroyed, causing a disruption of the signals that the nerves should be conducting. There's no way to heal these lesions once they occur, but, there are drug therapies to slow down the progression of new lesions from forming. There are 4 different therapies that work in different ways, but they are all administered by injection. The one I chose - because it has the least side effects - is injected daily. And I hate needles. So that works out well.

I have a friend with MS (and another who recently passed away who had it), so when I first heard the words "abnormal areas of demyelination" in regards to a brain MRI I had done (for something completely unrelated, btw), my heart sank - I knew what the term likely meant. I had three distinct lesions. Unfortunately, it took a full year to diagnose the issue for sure, since there's no test for MS. Instead, I had to be aware of symptoms and possible symptoms over the year's time, have a mess of tests done to rule other testable things out, continue meeting with my neurologist, and have another MRI done at the end of the year - which was February of this year. March 13th (a friday the 13th, naturally) I got the diagnosis - three more lesions, bringing my total to 6, and various issues/symptoms over time. That's when I started the drug therapy and started trying to deal with the reality of it all. See, for the year prior, I had been content to shove it to the deepest parts of my lesion addled brain and pretend nothing was wrong. Ignoring it didn't make it not real though.

While the presenting symptoms can be different for everyone - physical, emotional, and mental - mine are, at this time, mostly mental and emotional, only partly physical. I have been on anti-depressants for over a year now. When my MD put me on them, I didn't even connect it to the MS, but my neurologist connected the dots for me. MS will often cause changes in the brain chemistry, so, yeah, no surprise there I guess. Getting my diagnosis certainly didn't help me "feel" better about it. I'm also quite emotionally unstable at times. They call it "emotional lability" - I call it "emotional incontinence". In case you didn't read the entry, this one sums it up well. So sometimes I find myself crying over nothing - or everything - at inopportune times. Like at work. With cadets around. That sucks. But I also can't really control it. And that drives me crazy - makes me feel like I am losing my mind. Sometimes I am overly anxious. Sometimes I am overly angry and short-tempered. Oh, and a lot of the time - as in more days than not - I can't sleep. I am exhausted, but not sleepy. That? Doesn't help any of the crying/anxious/angry stuff. I'm like a cranky two year old. I have a feeling you know what that's like.

It's fun stuff.

I also have cognitive problems. Some days I just can't find the right words for things or I have a hard time stringing coherent thoughts together. That's frustrating - given what I do and how many people I interact with on a daily basis. But, at least my fellow counselors know what I am dealing with and when I am having a bad day, I can continue to trip over my words and they understand and laugh along with me - which helps make it a little less frustrating. I also forget things sometimes. Like, one day I was driving home, got to a stop sign, and had no idea where I was or which way I should turn. None at all. I knew I was on my way home, but not where I was. I wasn't panicked, but more curious about how it came to that - like, how could I not know where I was? It cleared after about a minute (which, fortunately, I just sat there and no one came along) and I realized that I was 1/2 a mile from home on the road I have lived on since 1986. Seriously. I also one day forgot which tooth brush was mine. So I used both of them to see which one "felt" right. Stuff like that is weird, but it clears quickly, so I am okay with it as a weird footnote to the MS. I just hope it never develops into something long lasting - and I know that possibility exists.

My physical stuff is minor compared to what others suffer - and, I suppose, what it could become in time. (MS is progressive, so it will only get worse, the meds just try to slow the rate of deterioration.) I am weak sometimes. Like, I will pick Callie up and I feel like I don't have the strength to hold her long. Or my legs are achy just from walking around. Or I am fatigued overall - that is there a lot actually, the fatigue. Sometimes I just feel physically spent although I haven't done much at all. As in, all I did was sit at my desk all day. I also twitch. Like, little involuntary ticks in my arms, legs, torso, head, whatever. It's subtle unless you're watching me closely. And it doesn't happen all the time, but when it does, it can be annoying. I also tremor sometimes, mostly in my hands or legs. But that is minor as well.

It could be worse. Many people with MS have trouble walking, or numbness (which I do get occasionally, but not in any large way), and end up in a wheelchair. Others have vision problems that can range from blurriness and floating spots (both of which I have at times) to outright blindness in one or both eyes. So I realize, while I am at times completely stressed at how I feel, it could be worse. But the fun thing is? Stress makes all the symptoms worse. It causes flare-ups. And I mean, what's more relaxing than knowing your brain has holes in it? (well, not really "holes", but I like the visual of swiss cheese brain) So it's sort of a catch-22. Also? For some weird reason, heat makes MS worse - like the body has a harder time cooling itself, the core temp goes up, and the brain goes haywire. They really don't know why that is either, but it's been shown to be the case for the majority of MS sufferers.

I have no idea if I answered your questions, but I feel like I have rambled on for a crazy amount here - just on the MS. When really? It's just a part of life - like anything else I suppose. It's just something I need to incorporate into my paradigm.... I'm still working on that....

And in response to your other comment: yes, I over think everything. I spend WAY too much time in my own head. I have always been that way, but now, it has taken on a life of it's own in response to the MS stuff. Like, before, I used to simply think a lot - contemplate things in a more philosophical manner. I used to believe that things happened for a reason and if we just let go and follow the flow, there's a pattern and path. I still think that, to a point, but now? Now so much seems so wildly out of my control - including my own emotions - that it is all but impossible to just let go. Instead, I seem to try to apply a death grip to anything and everything that I value - like, my sanity. And that leads to greater anxiety. Because life, by it's very nature, is unpredictable. And I feel like I have had enough of that for now.

And, I imagine, you have had enough of this email by now!! Sorry to be so long winded. But, I appreciate you asking me about it - and I clearly have no trouble talking about it. :-) At length. Wow.

Holes in my brain

I miss me. (and my size 8 jeans)

I am such a hypocrite.

"It's too hard to be your friend."

Something wicked this way comes.

This post makes it clear I have read too much SK in my time.

I am the least "adult" adult that I know.

Reflections from an outpatient surgical suite.

If you believe in this kind of stuff. (which I do.)

Things I learned this week.

I have a lot of time to think on my way into the city. (maybe too much time.)

There's never an easy way to explain.

10 years later.

This isn't the muthfuckin' Matrix, people.

"You do not have the right to quit trying. (The universe wobbles when you do.) "

My friends are totally funnier than me. (unless I am imagining them) ((in that case? I am fucking hysterical))

Lest I get lost in the bitterness.

I can't grow anything but weeds.

I promise this is the last time I'll use it.

Annnnnnd, another song.

More Neil Gaiman.

Lighthouse.

It's just not the same.

Yes, another song.

Don't apologize either.

Fading.

I'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song.

The beauty of true friendship.

*sigh*﻿

It's like that pointing fingers quote... but, you know, different.

I don't just burn bridges. I blow them the fuck up.

I'm in love with Neil Gaiman. Because he's just *so* right.

Secrets.

Relationships are like glass....

Fat is the new black.

Let. Me. Out.

Because my daytime crazy isn't enough.

Wine never lets me down.

Reading is good for you. (unfortunately, it's just one more thing I don't get to do often enough.)

There's a *pretty* big difference.

You met me at a very strange time in my life.

Yes, I do, in fact, want a cookie.

Photos I didn't take. Paired with words I didn't write.

Is this how Dorothy felt? There better be some fucking munchkins somewhere. And a wizard. And some really fabulous shoes.

I blame Buffy Summers.

Sometimes having boobs is overrated. (not often, but occassionally.)

I love loud music.

FINE. I wrote my damn paper.

Where's *my* gay knight in shining gold lamé?

I suck at making Christmas lists. (and 9 other things you may or may not know about me.)

So, how's the new job going?

10 years later.

Dream a little dream....

I am a squeaky chew toy. Who knew?

Apparently I'm all emo today...

Anyone have a zippo? A flint?? Come on - even two sticks I can rub together??!

Detox.

I wrote this with one person in mind.... and then realized I could have sent it to more than one person.

Today I am grateful for....

If a picture is worth a thousand words...

This isn't an amusing post. But you need to read it anyway.

Placebo? I think no.

"Reason, Season, or Lifetime" (I fucking hate this bit of *wisdom*...)

I have a problem.

I might be dead soon. So you should probably be nice to me while you can.

This post is for everyone who thinks my life is all glamour and rainbows. (In other words, there's really no one who should be reading this.)

I am exhausted. And on my second drink. And exhausted. (this post likely won't make any sense.)

I wish I had something funny to say.

Sometimes one morning can be like a metaphor for my whole life.

I like to feel pretty. Sue me.

MS is fucked up, you guys. Seriously.

I think they're just fucking with me.

Awkwardly Awesome.

I don't know why people even associate with me.

Bittersweet.

Recently.

I heart the 80's.

Once upon a time.

Xanax and Wine - party of one?

Yesterday.

sigh

I'm in love with Neil Gaiman. Because he's just so right.

There's a pretty big difference.

Where's my gay knight in shining gold lamé?

"Reason, Season, or Lifetime" (I fucking hate this bit of wisdom...)