Running for cover

Ok, so there weren't any major acts of the almighty during the Red Sox win, the win was enough. Speaking of unlikely people feeling like a champion, I finally did a 5-1-5 today. To define, I ran 5 minutes/1 minute walk/ran 5 minutes. 5 minute warm up walk/5 minute cool down walk. Before I hear any crap from a marathoner who just stumbled over this, listen: this time last year I was 300 pounds. I was always out of breath, even though I walked everywhere. Now I'm roughly 200. 5/1/5 means I'm at the point where I will be running more than I walk. This goal has been with me since I met Scott in 1991. He was about 5'8, 135, and the first marathoner I had ever met. I thought he was a lunatic. Then I saw him eat...And eat...And eat. He consumed, we counted, 10,000 calories a day. That was what convinced me. And yet, through, the years I never found the courage, till now, to try. I saw what the human body could endure through John. Now I look down at my legs and see calf muscles. I can run up Rose St. Hill from High to Maxwell with no stopping. I can climb stairs, I can wear a size I haven't worn in 17 years. I had a 19 yr old tell me I looked 24 the other day to my face, seriously. I feel beautiful and sexy. Getting rid of the rest of it will be the challenge, but I'm up to it. I can see myself doing a marathon. I can see me wearing a size 6 ( my sick goal). These things are close for me. It feel damn good.

Incompetence...I feel so loved.

Today was my first day at work since vacation. I found my office cubby hole totally changed around, and the one duty that I loved, dissertation checking for format, has been taken away. I am now a glorified secretary. Now I'm being told by Dan and other friends that this is a good thing-less stress, less headache. So why do I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach? Did I get off on the stress? It's like, I feel like I am not competent. Just because of my depression, I cannot do what I used to....Or is that the depression talking? I just want to paint for a living, then I could work alone and not deal with the pressures of coworkers and the shit that comes with it. I am trying to get another job at UK though. I think it is time to move on. I don't feel useful there.

Legends go quickly

John Peel
1939-2004

The man who was responsible for promoting most of the best in English rock is gone. John Peel died yesterday at the age of 65. Now, most of America do not know of him unless you are a hard core obscure band buff like I am. This man is single handedly responsible for music from David Bowie, the whole damn Punk movement, and of course the newest hottest music on the scene now. Peel was the longest running DJ at BBC radio, and played demo tapes of nobody bands that exploded later. He was the cutting edge of music. I wish to the Goddess that we had DJS here in America that had the balls to play the obscure bands, the unheard of talent.
He will be missed by all of us true music fans.

LOL he's a freak but I like his style

I just read the Hunter S. Thompson article in Rolling Stone. Fear and Loathing, Campaign 2004, Dr. Thompson pulls no punches, he never did. He calls a spade a spade, or rather, "Bush is a natural-born loser with a filthy-rich daddy who pimped his son out to rich oil-mongers. He hates music, football and sex, in no particular order, and he is no fun at all." Thompson rails against the Bush Machine with all the vitriol he's famous for. This article actually makes me glad he didn't turn his brain to mush in the Sixties after all, though that point can be argued against. This article is furious and funny and too timely..A must read.

http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/story/_/id/6562575?rnd=1098687953734&has-player=true

The beginning of Samhain week..The year in review..

First, I would like to define Samhain for those not of the faith. Samhain (pronounced Sowain) is the beginning of the wheel of the year for those in the pagan and witch communities. Happy new year to us! It is a time where we remember those who have gone on, and what we want to accomplish in the new year. This is considered the most sacred day in the pagan and witch year. Since joy is supposed to be tied in with all our holidays, I think Halloween is a hoot. It is my favorite time of the year. I especially get a kick out of all the people who dress as witches, seeing their faces when I tell them I'm a real one. I revel in all the good scary stuff on TV, especially witch documentaries. Its out one chance to dispel the misinformation about our faith. The cream of the witch crop get out and try their best with the time they have to make people understand we don't eat Christian babies. To Laurie Cabot, Selena Fox, Silver RavenWolf, Starhawk (my girl!!) Phyllis Corot, I salute you sisters...Blessed BE!!!!
Last year at this time I was 100 lbs heavier, in a dead end section of U of KY, and not back in school. I asked for all three to be changed, I got all three done. The Mother blessed me and I am grateful, so grateful. The love life section wasn't the hottest, but hey. I was happy with Dan for a while, till the old patterns resurfaced. So, I must come up with three things I want for next year...hmmmmm.

ONE: To make huge progress in my art. I want to be working on and close to being ready for a gallery show by this time next year with my paintings. I want to be approaching the ability to support myself with my art.

TWO: To get the rest of the weight off. I am between 200 and 228 (which ever doctors office scale you believe), I claim 200. I want to be 130. 70 lbs to go. I want to be training for something larger than a 5k, either a 10k or even a half marathon. I want to be healthy, and damnit, look really hot. I'm craven enough to admit it.

THREE: The third choice is usually something whimsical or simply out of reach in my view. Last year it was getting back to school. This year I am asking for something I consider insane. I want to find and meet jack. I want to find out the truth about what he is exactly. Is he an astral projection of a real person that he looks like, or is he a spirit using an appearance of someone I am insane about to help me without freaking me out. I want to find out once and for all, meeting the real person and seeing if he is aware of all this ( or he will send me to jail or a mental hospital LOL if he's freaked enough).

That is my manifesto for the upcoming year. Let's see if it works.

The difference is already felt.

Ok I've been back on the wellbutrin for 3 days now. Sweet Merciful Goddess, the difference is felt. I have had more stamina in my running. I have had so much energy. Sleep is not there quite yet but it will be. So, the conclusion I have come to is that Wellbutrin, until something better is made, is my permanent friend. I am the best functioning person I can be on it, and if it wears down again, I just go off and on it, again. It is the best I can do. And that annoys me, but hey at this point I'm not proud. I just want to live.

Lyrics alert

Paloma
by Carbon Leaf

Chase the higher ground – where you’d rather be
Where you might be found
Face all aglow, to leave from here
To pack up and go
But it takes some time to get away
And you will have to build from what remains
To run it takes the courage of a lamb
To love, the fierceness of a storm

Paloma you wonder if you’ll miss the thunder
And everyone’s staring, but no one is caring for you now
Just spread your wings, latch on to the breeze
Just take the leap…and you’re free

Chase the higher ground – where you’d rather be
Where you might be found
This move may erase the troubles in your head
Or expose the absence of your soul
And so, it takes some time to get away
And you will have to tear down what remains
And I can’t stand by for goodbyes
So hold on to me, or lead the way
Paloma you wonder if you’ll miss the thunder
And everyone’s staring but no one is caring for you now
Just spread your wings, latch on to the breeze
Just take the leap…and you’re free

Pace yourself when outrunning fear
Take cover when it’s dark
And keep an even keel
In your would you’re only a phone away
But in my world you’re too far to feel
And it may take some time to learn what’s real
And you may have to beg and borrow
And you will surely steal
Remember all those lonely lessons
Turned into yesterday’s lessons
To never forget love. To never forget love

Paloma you wonder if you’ll miss the thunder
And everyone’s staring but no one is caring for you now
Just spread your wings, latch on to the breeze
Just take the leap…and you’re free

Paloma you cry out you beg for connection
The dreams you seek are straight ahead in every direction
Now you’re free
Now that you’re free
Now that you’re free
You’re free

Today I watched the greatest thing of all
A flock of birds, preparing for the Fall

I might know the answer to my problem...

I had a realization just now, not an epiphany exactly, but a possible reason for my problems. During my married life I moved 4 times, big moves. These kind of moves involved selling all our stiff except three bags each and going. This happened approximately every two years. It has now been two years since I moved back here with John. Thus, maybe it is time for a move. The question is first, where? I have lived all over the place just about. There are a few places Id like to try. New Orleans would be wonderful. Taos, New Mexico is another consideration, beautiful and spiritual.
There are criteria for this move. The place has to be spiritual in some way. It has to be big enough for nightlife. It has to have a thriving arts scene. Detroit fills two of the requirements..Spiritual is debatable. Warm it is not either, and that's another consideration. I thought about Key West or Savannah again..That's also an idea. Whether I would be happy there, since I have a history there, is a question. But, they would be different cities now. This will be my big ponderance the next little while.

Hmm...On Love

I was thinking about love tonight...I'm doing a pastel work on love entitled "Let Us Be Lovers". In the middle of being covered in red pastel I started thinking about what it would take for me to love again. I'm not talking about sex and fondness, I'm talking about full blown, all out Love. The kind of love that makes you abandon every fear you have an trust the other. The kind of love that people die over. The great muse of all art. This would be the kind of love I would have a child for. I got very sad and just quit the drawing for the night to think hard, since I was so disturbed by the thought. I wasn't passionately in love with John when we married. In fact, I worried hard for the first two years about whether I loved him enough to continue the marriage. I grew up a lot those first two years. I realized that I had a man who loved me no matter what the hell happened. This guy thought I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And, the most important part of all, I never lost a wink of sleep about him cheating on me, ever. He had lost two marriages to infidelity (they, not him). The next three years of our marriage I was in love, the big L kind of love. When he quit breathing in my arms, I loved him so passionately it was unreal.
Is that the way its supposed to be? Just get married to a guy you are fond of, then hope for the best? I have been head over heels in love, before and after my marriage. The free falling, all or nothing kind that ended up more nothing than all. I have had lovers that made me feel alive in bed who had the personality of a work boot outside the sheets. What I don't get is why it has to be one way or the other? Or, why is it working out that way for me so far? I mean I can't really complain about my life. I like my own company, and enjoy it. My space is mine, and I am very skittish about living with someone EVER again. I can do as I please, when I please, how I please. And yet....Is this my biological clock screaming? I'm 33, and time is not on my side anymore. I have felt this gigantic urge to kick myself in the ass and DO SOMETHING with this life. I want to be an artist, I want to be in love with a man I didn't have to settle for, I want to be famous (LMAO). I want, want, want......I need to figure out what I need to do to live and love exactly on my terms. Will I have to move, quit my job, do something drastic to be what I want to be, and who I want to be with? Will passionate, do-stupid-things Love ever come back my way?
Sigh...I am no closer to finishing my painting. Love is still the BIG MYSTERY, and always will be. And I will never be satisfied.

Speaking of Coincidences

Speaking of strange goings on, I had a few coincidences of my own today. Went window shopping on Woodland today, with my cross stitch ( I thought there was a embroidery store in the Woodland corridor, I don't know why.). On the way up I saw Fred. Fred is a local musician, and former coworker of mine that I drove nuts during my grieving period (poor guy). I waved and walked on-he doesn't talk much with me anymore, for good reason (lol). Then, I headed to Common Grounds, the local coffee kasbah. I found out by going there last weekend for the first time in ages that the hot artsy guys congregate there. Thus, I sat my happy ass down with my Plantation blend cuppa joe and my Witchy pic to finish up. People watched a bit as I sat there, seeing plenty of the sexy deep artistic looking men I'm apt to lust over. Took note I needed to go back on Sunday, and loaded back to the Cave ( my attic apartment, henceforth known as...) in the rain. I saw a flyer for a political get together at Mecca from 6-9pm, so after being counselor for my friend Todd on the phone, I sauntered out, in the rain.
Got to Mecca at 7:00 ish. Who should be working the door but a guy I saw at Grounds earlier. I remembered him because he had the nerve to go to this flimsy looking little blonde thing in front of me, sit down and commence flirting. I was amused and impressed at his audacity. Went though the liberal political carnival, playing such games as Bust the war balloon, find the bullshit darts and putting toy soldiers into a put-put golf Iraq..You get the picture. Left about 8 after winning some nifty anti Bush stuff for the Office. I decided to head down main street to see if the Lexington Arts Center was still open. Since Alfalfa's has gotten there it has had plenty of business. I got there, marveled and ate my heart out at all the paintings there that weren't mine, and talked to Lexie, who I used to be in a Sculpture class with. As I was heading out the door, and getting ready to Jwalk across to Phoenix park, I heard some guy shout HEY. I swung around to see one of the patron's answering his cell, then I glanced behind him. Sure enough, there stood Fred, smoking. Apparently he had a gig at Alfalfa's tonight, he plays there a lot.
So, I head home in a wet and pensive mood. I saw two guys at two different places, one I know well, one was a stranger. Since seeing I Heart Huckabees I've been pondering coincidences. Is it just a quirk that I see Fred twice in one day? He does live half a block away from my house and I rarely see him. That at one places I see a guy and kinds wistfully wished he was coming on to me, then get to talk to him a little longer somewhere else? Does this mean I just crazy, which is entirely possible. The cranky, pessimistic side thinks that the Lexington arts scene is just way too damn small and I am apt to see people over and over. But this is the first time I have ever seen two people twice in one day by accident. Sigh...Am I so desperate for magic that I'm looking for it where its not? Or should I just quit de boning it, take another puff off the happy hay, and trust My Lady Goddess Hecate's will? Hmm choice two looks like a plan.....

Movie night .."I Heart Huckabees" http://www2.foxsearchlight.com/huckabees/main_site/main.html

LOL I thought that What the Bleep would be the end of my mind bending movie experiences. Then, I went out and saw I Heart Hucakbees last night: similar theme, much easier to grasp, and really funny. The premise is this: Albert (Jason Schwartzman) sees this tall black kid in a picture store, once again as the doorman at a building, and in a car going past him. He freaks out about the coincidence of it, and goes to a pair of "Existential Detectives" ( played brilliantly by a very gracefully aging Lilly Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman) to figure it out. Of course chaos when the pair starts delving into his life, every part of it, including watching his every move. This digs up Albert's complicated life: He is the head of a save the green space coalition that has brought in a "friend" ( the kind that makes you appreciate your enemies) Brad ( Jude Law). Brad is an executive for Huckabee's, a Walmart like store chain, and there to supposedly help Albert with fundraising for the coalition. As the movie progresses, Brad comes to the detectives to try to make Albert look bad. Add in Brad's girlfriend Dawn ( Naomi Watts), who gets pulled into the investigation with life problems of her own, and things get uglier. Albert gets teamed up with a life buddy, Tommy ( Mark Wahlburg) a fire fighter who is having a existential crisis. Tommy leads him to the Detectives arch rival, Catherine (Isabelle Huppert), who approach to Albert's predicament is a polar opposite of the Dectectives. The Detectives point it that the world and everything in it is connected, and Albert's problem is tied to Brad. Catherine's approach is that life sucks, nothing is connected and you deal with it ( very Sartre). Meanwhile, everybody's life spins out of control till the end, when Albert realizes that Brad and he are kindred spirits in misery, and that both the Detectives and Catherine were right. This is an ensemble cast, which normally doesn't give any of the starts enough exposure, but I liked the balance of the movie. Mark Wahlberg makes this movie, as a good hearted yet troubled( after the "September Incident" as Lilly Tomlin's character Vivian remarks) fire fighter that turns into the real friend Albert didn't have in Brad. Also, Naomi Watts is hilarious as the model who has appearance issues and regresses to dressing in overalls and a bonnet (think Little House on the prairie) to deal with them, losing her spokesmodel job with Huckabee's.
It's a good thing these kinds of dectectives don't exist in real life, they would be overran with business. I found it hilarious that, as someone suffering through my own existential funk, a movie finally was made to tackle the Why-the-Hell-am-I-Here question in a funny way. I enjoyed it.

I Heart Huckabee's now showing at the Kentucky Theatre.

I told you so.....

Yep, I just saw on Yahoo a few minutes ago...There is set to be a lunar eclipse during game 4 of the World Series. Seeing that Fenway Park hasn't seen a world series game since 1903, my theory of hell freezing over is coming closer. I'm expecting raining frogs tonight, ala "Magnolia". "There is a 50 minute raining Frog delay for the game this evening, thank you for your patience." So should we expect fire and brimstone? Beer to start to turn to blood on game three? How much cosmic chaos could this cause?

The BIG Message

This is the one section of What the Bleep Do We Know that warped my mind...in its entirety.
I Create My Day

"The most often referenced interview in the film is Dr. Joe Dispenza's comments on creating his day. In response to the numerous requests, the following is the transcript of that part of the interview.

'I wake up in the morning, and I consciously create my day the way I want it to happen. Now, sometimes, because my mind is examining all the things that I need to get done, it takes me a little bit to settle down, and get to the point, of where I'm actually intentionally creating my day. But here's the thing. When I create my day, and out of nowhere, little things happen that are so unexplainable, I know that they are the process or the result of my creation. And the more I do that, the more I build a neural net, in my brain, that I accept that that's possible. Gives me the power and the incentive to do it the next day. So, if we're consciously designing our destiny, if we're consciously, from a spiritual standpoint, throwing in what the idea that our thoughts can affect our reality or affect our life, because reality equals life. Then, I have this little pact that I have when I create my day.

"I say, I'm taking this time to create my day, and I'm infecting the Quantum Field. Now, if it is in fact, the observer's watching me the whole time that I'm doing this, and there is a spiritual aspect to myself. Then, show me a sign today, that you paid attention to any one of these things that I created, and bring them in a way that I won't expect. So, I'm as surprised as the- as the- at my ability to be able to experience these things, and make it so that I have no doubt that its come from you. And so, I live my life, in a sense, all day long, thinking about being a genius, or thinking about being the glory and the power of God, or thinking about being Unconditional Love. I'll use living as a genius, for example. And as I do that, during parts of the day, I'll have thoughts that are so amazing, that cause a chill in my physical body, that have come from nowhere. But then, I remember that that thought has an associated energy, that's produced an effect in my physical body. Now, that's a subjective experience, but the truth is is that I don't think that unless I was creating my day to have unlimited thought, that that thought would come.'"


(Dr. Joe Dispenza in “What the #$BLEEP*! Do We Know!?”)

My social calendar for next 2 months..Music wise

These are the places that I will be the next two months on my calendar, come hell or high water (probably both, see earlier post).
--10/29/04 Cross Canadian Ragweed, The Dame Lexington, KY--
http://www.crosscanadianragweed.com/
A good blues country band getting airplay on CMT.

--11/08/04 Clumsy Lovers, The Dame Lexington, KY
http://www.clumsylovers.com/
Are they bluegrass? Celtic?Mutant? Who knows, who cares..They kick ass and are back for their third tour of duty in Lex.

--11/22/04 Gaelic Storm, (at Woodsongs Old Time Radio Hour ) The Kentucky Theatre, Lexington, KY
www.gaelicstorm.com, www.woodsongs.com
A fun Celtic band on a fun show. Woodsongs is broadcast all over the world on public radio. And if you remember the part in third class in Titanic..You know this band.

--12/03/04 The Reverend Horton Heat, The Dame, Lexington, KY
www.reverendhortonheat.com/
WOO HOO...The Good Reverend will be back in town. I missed his last show because of the flu in Feb. Honky Tonk psychobilly shit kicking music with a sense of humor sorely lacking in country music.
All show times subject to change, that's why I gave you websites..All except The Dame http://www.dameky.com/
This is where Ill be rocking out and being in heaven..Check them out.

BRRRRR

I have lived through hurricanes, earthquakes, a few tornadoes. I have seen blue moons, they happen a few times a year. I got to see Haley's comet as a kid. There have been situations where I've seen hell or high water show up. Now I have seen the two final impossibilities left. One: the Boston Red Sox have won the pennant. After 86 years. Miracles never cease. So thus, the last impossibility looms: hell freezing over. And it can't be far, since Boston won. Let's bundle up and wait for the World series.....

Lyrics alert

"LoveYour Way"

I got to keep moving to stay warm 'cause I'm freezing in this room
And if I prove no good here I'll skip to where I should
It's only an imaginary vigil that we keep
You salvage what you need I'll take the love you leave

I love your way
I can't explain
What made me change

I'm wading in deeper ever deeper as I go
I drown the whole idea as I drift away from you
It's only and imaginary vigil that we keep
You salvage what you need I'll take the love you leave

And as the memory gathers dust, buried in its crust
Are the remains of what we've done and the seeds of what we just begun
The tapping of the rain beats a corrugated drum
And the city glow well it pulses on to the city hum
Until the day is done
--Powderfinger--
a very cool aussie band..check them out

Way too uncommon and interesting medical condition LOL

I was talking to my friend Todd last night, and the discussion of an interesting phenomenon came up. It seems that all the white males over 6'2 that are skinny suffer from the same thing...SKINNY WHITE BOY SYNDROME. The main thing that sets these types of men apart is..Well..An inordinately large member. Now the really tall thin guys I've dated have had this condition, all of them (probably why I tend to end up with them even though I'm 5'4). This was all news to Todd, who incidentally is about 6'5, white, and rail thin. And no, I did not ask for proof, didn't have to. So, to see if this was the rule and not the exception, I got online and IMed some of my female friends. Sure enough, all the skinny tall white guys they have dated tend to be packing heat, in a good way. Here is a caveat: just because they are blessed in size does not necessarily mean they know what to do with it...Use the mental image if a battering ram, and you will get the picture.
So, for all you women who see tall skinny white guys as as awkward, geeky, and not appealing..WAIT! The likelyhood of them having a secret surprise is great..Give them a chance! (this in no way was scientifically proven..But if any women out there want to testify to this syndrome..Email me..)

Poetry alert...

Glenda, the poet laurete of lexington, wants all us good (lol) writers to post poetry when she does...OK...

I. Please.
At first sight if I told you
I am sorry,
Somewhere
I know I am wrong.

II. Nearby
The best looking guy
I have seen.
Or is that some
beautiful god.
Walking by again,
SMILE! I thought...
at first sight too
I think
before my dream
walks out of my world.

III. Jack
Black and rhythm are
raw.
Imagine!
He is symbol, mess,
passion and experiment.
Why say be surreal?
Absurd?
He is free,
electric.
Alive eating angels.
Make me deep,
SCREAM,
or drunk
in your world.

Ok now what...

Want to hear a catch 22? My insurance pays only 50% of mental health costs, which would end up being 125$ first visit. The I call Comprehensive Care, a local mental health agency. Because I have insurance, they will not scale the fee and I must pay 162$ before I can see a psychiatrist. Here is the rub: my ordinary doctor insists that I get a psychiatrist, because they have run out of meds to give me. I have quit reacting to my favorite medicine, and she wants me to see a specialist. Makes sense. However, if this were a fucking cardiologist, Id be paying 10 bucks. But NO, this is psych and I have to pay everything. I am stuck. If I don't figure out something soon I'm going to self destruct. Depression is just as dangerous as a heart attack untreated. So what the hell am I supposed to do !!!!!!

The great experiment failed....

Well I had a meltdown at work on Friday, then went to a doctor's appointment. The great experiment has failed for right now. So I have to start retaking the meds. I don't feel guilty though. I think I went about it too quickly. I will continue to study quantum mechanics and cognitive theory, just on the safe side of antidepressants. I am now on an enforced vacation being lazy. I have decided to hit the mind over matter manner in a different direction. I am terrorfied of failure. The best way to deal is to put yourself in the spot that makes you scared. I'm going to paint this week and write, as painful as it may be. Just get it done is all I can do.

Political perversion and pleasure...

I have been passed on the sickest funniest political cartoon of this season:
http://i.euniverse.com/funpages/cms_content/5809/presidential_horror_show.swf
They finally mixed my two favorite things: politics and Rocky Horror Picture show. This is so wrong in so many ways...Delicious..

dropped in mid air

Well it is official. My doctor jerked me from work for 7 days. I am on a mental health vacation. Broke down at work all day. So, I am home until the 26th. Now what? A lot of painting, alot of writing hopefully. The who net week will be a challenge.

Rage

" Solar Plexus Chakra

Also known as: Power Center, Manipura

Location: Solar plexus

Color: Yellow

Parts of the Body: The parts of the body associated with this chakra include the muscular system, the skin as a system, the solar plexus, the large intestine, stomach, liver, and other organs and glands in the region of the solar plexus. Also the eyes, as the organs of sight, and the face, representing figuratively the face one shows the world.

Endocrine Gland: The pancreas

Sense: Eyesight

Consciousness: Parts of the consciousness associated with this chakra include perceptions concerned with power, control, freedom, the ease with which one is able to be themselves - ease of being. Mental activity and the mental body is also associated with this chakra. The solar plexus chakra is also associated with the level of being we call the personality, or ego.

The relationship a person has with fire, or the sun, can be seen to have its parallels in the person’s relationship with the parts of their consciousness that this chakra represents. Someone sensitive about the sun, then, can be seen to have particular sensitivities about power, or control, or freedom.

Element: Fire, the sun. "

--from the website http://www.healer.ch/solarplexuschakra.html --


It feels like a sick churning in the solar plexus, traveling under your stomach through to your back. Like the muscle is actually twisting your guts into macrame. This feeling is also normally accompanied by heart ache, impotence, anxiety, cold dread fear. All rapped up it makes one state of being: RAGE.

"Pronunciation: 'rAj
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Old French, from Late Latin rabia, from Latin rabies rage, madness, from rabere to be mad; akin to Sanskrit rabhas violence
1 a : violent and uncontrolled anger b : a fit of violent wrath c archaic : INSANITY
2 : violent action (as of wind or sea)
3 : an intense feeling : PASSION"

-- Merriam-Webster Online http://www.m-w.com/dictionary.htm --

LOL an intense feeling, to put it sweetly. And at this precise moment I am positively seething with it. Uncontrollable, inexplicable, implacable. I am being held by it like a steel wire corset. It has been building for days. I am so sick of the work I do, even if it does help people and gives me prestige. I am sick that I had to drop my sculpture class because I have no money, but a prissy job. My apartment looks like hell hit it, and I am too immobilized by strong emotion to deal with it. My senses are being bombarded. I am furious that I cannot deal with all these feelings at once because I have been so heavily medicated in the past few years I have lost my conditioning to deal with them properly..If I even had that ability to begin with. So my experiment with forcing my emotions to my will to change my physiology is not going well. I want another life, I am the one solely resposible for making this happen. When I go to make the first step to do this, I look down to see that my feet are bound. What (or for that matter who) the hell do I have to do to accomplish this? It is boiling down to the one thing I have been avoiding: strong magic.
it is the 13th of the month, on the night of a dark moon. It is time to talk with Hecate. I do not like disturbing the Mother unless the need is great..Now its dire. Hecate is stern but kind, exacting but loving. She will at least hear me.

Cool Lyrics alert

bring me to life

how can you see into my eyes like open doors
leading you down into my core
where i've become so numb without a soul my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
until you find it there and lead it back home wake me up inside
wake me up inside
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run
before i come undone
save me from the nothing i've become

now that i know what i'm without
you can't just leave me
breathe into me and make me real
bring me to life

wake me up inside
wake me up inside
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run
before i come undone
save me from the nothing i've become
bring me to life

frozen inside without your touch without your love darling only you are the life among the dead

all this time i can't believe i couldn't see
kept in the dark but you were there in front of me
i've been sleeping a thousand years it seems
got to open my eyes to everything
without a thought without a voice without a soul
don't let me die here
there must be something more
bring me to life

--evanescence--

Forcing my old mind to learn new tricks.

One of the premises of Quantum mechanics and the human mind (from my limited grasp) is that the mind can be reprogrammed to handle emotions differently. The idea is this: the body gets used to feeling certain feelings, and gets addicted to the hormones released when that situation is realized. For example, if one gets used to depression, or aggression, or being a victim, the mind will set up situations so it can feel those emotions and get the high from the hormones released. Now the Quantum theory on this is that you can decide to handle situations differently, to reprogram the body to loose the addiction to the situation, and then replace the negative addiction with the positive. Now this hits some sensitive areas within the mental illness issue. What if the mind is incapable of making that kind of concentrated effort to change its body chemistry? It begs the question: if a person shows signs of mental illness, is it truly an illness or an addiction to the cause/affects of the hormones released? It has taken years to remove the stigma of mental illness from being a personality fault to a legitimate medical condition. Is it reasonable to think someone who is schitzophrenic, or psychotic and actually change their behavior by force of will alone? What if they don't have the capacity to even realize there is anything "wrong" with their behavior? Depression is way different. I know I have been depressed my whole life, and I know that is caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain. Am I actually addicted to the way I feel when I'm depressed? Sweet Goddess, I really don't see how I could be? I feel miserable as hell. I have trouble functioning sometimes. But I find it intriguing that I could possibly change my life by forcing myself to react differently to everyday stimuli that causes me to feel depressed. Like today for example. I was stood up on a date. I normally would have walked home sobbing and feeling like it was my fault, with a dollop of self loathing I-deserved-it emotions on top of it ( the poor me reaction). I decided differently. I was justifiably pissed, but I didn't cry. I didn't kick the crap out of my own self esteem, I merely decided it wasn't meant to be, and went on. Yes I am disappointed, but it is not going to debilitate me the rest of the day. I have been fighting the feeling of depression though, and that's harder. The feeling of on the verge of tears, anxious and worthless. So far this experiment has been mixed. I have always considered myself a work in progress anyway. Maybe after the next week when the no meds mode stabilizes, I will have a better grasp of this theory.

My Saturday night.

Well, so far the whole experiment with no meds, to explore my true psyche in relation to quantum mechanics, has been mixed. I sat most of yesterday in front of the computer trying to decide what to do last night. I am tired of being alone, and yet I have to force myself to be around people. I found my friend Ron online, who said he was DJing at 141 Club, on of the local gay bars. I figured I go out and see him spin and see the people. I started getting ready at 10, even wore the little black dress that looks better and better on me the more I wear it. I got to 141 at 11ish, after walking around the block to get the courage to go in...This is a new thing. Normally I'm not shy about going into a club; I'm assigning this to no meds. I found Ron eventually, and smoked a bowl with him before I went to go see John Doe at the Dame, in my ignorance I though he was a band..He was just another DJ. I did get to see the last 10 minutes of Goose Creek Symphony, the band I should have paid 15 bucks to see the whole show. I stayed at the Dame for almost an hour, not being impressed with John Doe, but liking the white people dancing. Then I went back to 141 to talk to Ron, who had finished their set. I had imbibed on about three Fuzzy Navels and a bowl of homegrown. I was feeling no pain. I was trying to talk to Ron, and he wasn't that responsive, even pulling away from me when I touched his leg accidentally. Oh well. I went home at 1 am. The started talking to Keith online, a guy I was interested in. We set up a date for today, and he stood me up.
Sigh. So for the experiment on making my social life spin..It was a failure.

Thinking Quote alert!!!

All matter originates and exists only by virtue of a force… We must assume behind this force the existence of a conscious and intelligent Mind. This Mind is the matrix of all matter.
~ Max Planck, Nobel Prize-winning Father of Quantum Theory

If I could take all your words away and give you but a sparse few, they would be: ‘I now know, I am absolute, I am complete, I am God, I am.’ If there were no other words but these, you would no longer be limited to this plane.
~ Ramtha

The truth dazzles gradually, or else the world would be blind.
~ Emily Dickinson

Although each of us obviously inhabits a separate physical body, the laboratory data from a hundred years of parapsychology research strongly indicate that there is no separation in consciousness.
~ Russell Targ

Not only does God play dice, but... he sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen.
~ Stephen W. Hawking

Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity...and I'm not sure about the universe.
~ Albert Einstein

When a man undertakes to create something, he establishes a new heaven, as it were, and from it the work that he desires to create flows into him... For such is the immensity of man that he is greater than heaven and earth.
~ Philipus Aureolus Paracelsus

The movie of a lifetime www.whatthebleep.com

First, a definition that needs to be stated:
Epiphany:1) : a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery b : a revealing scene or moment (Merriam-Webster.com).

I haven't had an epiphany in a long time. I consider such a thing as a moment when all cylinders of the mind, soul, and universe fire at once. It is a moment where your whole life is turned upside down, which is where it is supposed to be in the first place. Stagnation melts away; infinite doors open. A new life beckons. I can only truly say this has happened three time in my life. The first was when I was 18 and learned what a witch really was. The second was when my husband took his last breath. The third was tonight. With a move, simple though it sounds. I had hear good reviews of " What the Bleep do We know". A movie about Quantum mechanics and metaphysics probably would not blow the skirt up of many people, but this movie is making waves. It came to the Kentucky Theatre, so I went to check it out. The opening scene stopped my breath. There was Portland Oregon. The Goose Hollow light rail stop, right before the tunnel to the zoo. My old neighborhood. The last normal, happy place in my marriage. There was my dentist office, right beside the little bar we went to. I know that city like the back of my hand. It proceeded to have the following first few scenes in every single place John and I had ever cherished. It was too big a coincidence. This movie had a message for me, with a sledgehammer's delicacy.
The premise is that a photographer, Amanda (Marlee Matlin), going though a existential funk from hell. She caught her husband fucking a chick he was flirting with at their wedding. She was unhappy in her career, and is popping anti ainxiety pills like M&Ms. Then things start to happen. She starts having what most people consider hallucinations. These visions turn her view of her reality upside down. Interspersed with her story, there are talks from several famous scientists and theologians of different faiths. This is part movie, part documentary.
The theory behind her visions is not easy to grasp in whole chunks. The message is that reality is not reality. The human mind in its infiniteness can change the reality around it. The body is affected by the pure power of the mind. Nothing is solid, nothing is finite. The concept of deity cannot be held by mere religion, it transcends it.
Now before you roll your eyes, listen. These people speaking aren't quacks: they are the preeminent scientists and thinkers of our time. At first, Amanda fights the visions. The she realizes that she has to learn, and opens up. A little boy in the movie, Reggie, asks her an important question, "How far down the rabbit hole do you want to go?" I am still falling.
This movie fell into my lap at a critical juncture. I am off my antidepressants, nothing. I am dissatisfied with my life. The message I got from this movie was clear: reality is what you make it, and only you are totally responsible for making reality suit you. I am going to stay off my meds for a while to test this theory. I am asking myself so many questions. Is the reason why I'm not at my potential because I have been medicated too long? Have I been living in fear of how infinite the choices are, and too afraid to open my eyes? My head is spinning from all the possibilities, all the things I could do.
Please, all who read this: GO SEE THIS MOVIE. It will change your life.

Life in S>L>O>W motion.

I feel like I'm moving in 78 rpm instead of 45 rpm (for all those not old enough to know what I'm talking about..Record speeds on a turntable). The Effexor has made its way into my bloodstream and I'm working in two modes..slow and stop. I'm at home today from work since I can barely stand from the fatigue. I call my useless internal medicine doctor and she says stop the Effexor and talk to my psychiatrist. Here is the rub: I can't afford a shrink. University of Kentucky medical insurance does not pay full price for psychiatric, just 50%. This doesn't help me a damn bit, since a shrink costs about 350$ an hour. So, I've been winging it with the antidepressants. My only choice seems to be going off the Effexor and back to the Wellbutrin, hoping a week is long enough to make it work normally. Notice I am not holding my breath.
The apartment is a mess, so I am making myself move to try to shake the lethargy. I washed my dishes, which I consider a major accomplishment. I might add I am no Martha Stewart when it comes to home keeping. I am famous for my clutter. I consider myself a champion breeder of show dust bunnies. The Effexor is working fine if the fatigue wasn't there. Sex is not a problem..Had sex the other night and had an orgasm just fine (actually a really good one but I digress..). I wish science and society would catch up to the reality of mental illness. Does the world think I want to be on meds my whole life to function? It pisses me off that society still has this stigma against something that's just another illness. So I will wander around the apartment today like a freaking zombie trying to figure out what the hell to do.

Who let the rednecks out..www.kidrock.com

A silent message went out amongst the mountains and plains of Kentucky. A great gathering was to be held in Lexington, and all of their kind were to assemble in festivity and beer. Kid Rock was coming to town, the redneck Messiah, and every holler in East Kentucky emptied out to come see him.
Yeah, I was there too. I call it communing with my inner redneck, the same feeling I get when I watch NASCAR and hear Lynard Skynard. I grew up amongst hicks, and even though I don't like to be grouped with them, I still understand them. They are my people. So, I was there last night in my filmy black short dress and sandals, ready to go. I got to the civic center and I was surrounded by biker chick wannabes in faded denim and tank tops. They were checking for weapons at the door, but not cigarettes (Lexington has a smoking ban), and security spent the rest of the show telling people to put the smokes out. Hemigod, a Detroit unit, opened up. They were nothing ground breaking, but they were soundly schooled in old blues rock. They did a cover of "War Pigs" by Black Sabbath that rocked.
Then the Kid came out with the Twisted Brown Trucker band. And for a skinny white boy from Michigan, he delivered the goods. He mixed riffs and sections from old classics, from Lynard Skynard to Alman Brothers, even the Dukes of Hazard theme into his original songs. There were 4 strippers, two on each side of the stage, adding something else for the guys to look at. The show was reminiscent of old 70's and 80's blowouts with lights and fireworks. There was a section where they used flaming gas torches where you could actually feel the flashes of heat.
The best part was where the Kid took turns plating all the instruments, including the turntable. The show was a success: Kid Rock was playing to his kind of crowd, and his disciples loved him.

A strange influence rediscovered.

At the aforementioned gathering, I got to get reacquainted with the biggest influence of my formidable teen years. Ivan was my uncle by marriage, married to my aunt Jeanie for well over 15 years before they divorced. He is only 11 years older than I. When my father decided to bail, and the rest of my mother's family decided to treat me like an emotional kicking post, Ivan and Jeanie were the only ones who tried to shelter and protect me. More so Ivan, he was the great guide. In more ways than one. Ivan had three great passions: sex, drugs, and music. The sexual aspect was not the vanilla kind either. He liked porn, and thought sexuality was to be explored openly with no shame, no matter what you were into. He was also the county connection for pot. He smoked my first joint with me, goddess knows how old I was. As for music, Alice Cooper, David Bowie, Pink Floyd, and Black Sabbath was what he introduced me to. Did he make sexual advances toward me? Sure he did, starting at about 13ish. However, there was no shame implied when he touched me. It was not so much him trying to take advantage. It was more like he understood the curiosity teenage girls felt, and was offering me a safe place to explore it. I never accepted his offers. It felt like I would have ceased to be his special, favorite one if I had. He talked to me about all the things he had done, and answered every possible question I with candor and humor. I never felt any shame with him. He and Jeanie were in an open relationship their whole marriage, so my relationship with him never felt wrong. I was no one's favorite but theirs, in a family where being the favorite was a survival tool.
Years later, in my early 20's, Jeanie decided she wanted a child. He didn't, and told her that if she got pregnant, the marriage was over. She didn't and it was. I saw less and less of him from that point on. It annoyed me that he wanted to be a "father" figure to me, but not to his own flesh and blood. He moved in with another woman as sexually freaky as he was, and they are still together. They had a son of their own. He started down a path of stronger drugs and stranger, cruder sexual tastes. I was trying to be an adult. Ivan never met John to my knowledge, and probably would have been shocked to know I lost my virginity at 24, to the man I married. As a widow and a single woman, the lessons I learned from Ivan about sexual independence and shamelessness have indeed carried me through some tough times relearning how to relate to my own sexuality. I will always be grateful to him for that.
I saw Ivan for the first time in about 5 years at the funeral. He was looking every second of his 44 years. I was getting complements on how I had not aged. I saw him across the room and he started at seeing me. I jumped at seeing him as well. I walked over and he did what he always did: motioned for me to sit on his knee. He looked at his wife and said," I was hoping to see my baby and here she is." For one more time I was the favorite. It soothed so much pain from Angel's death for me to hear him say that. We talked for several hours about what we had done with our lives. He hadn't even known about John's death; I didn't know he had fathered another child. It was an oasis in a stormy time, and I am so grateful.

Angel

The funeral is over finally. I am grateful. Normally I tell you details of my adventures, but this one would hurt to much to share a direct hit with you. It is too soon, too raw. I will say this: I now understand the story of sleeping beauty. Angel looked like the teenage princess she was becoming. Tall, with wild dark brown hair and ice blue eyes that were the very example of what the color should look like. Her grandfather's eyes: neither of her parents eyes were blue. The fact that they were closed forever was the closest thing to a travesty I will probably ever come. You could see the disability still. Her left hand was still bent at an awkward angle. She never could lie straight, so she was placed in her coffin lying on her back with her legs folded to the side. Despite that, she was beautiful. Her parents often worried about that, about how they could protect her. She was helpless in a wheelchair, and yet she was stunning. The fact that she was not alive, never able to achieve all that promise, eats at me even now.
And the aggravation of the service is almost beyond description. The United Baptist service the night before was an insult. How any preacher could sand beside her coffin and preach about sin and hellfire was beyond me. She had never experienced the former, so she would never see the latter. All the preacher did was tell us all we were going to burn if we didn't use her death as a warning. The only warning I got from it was not to snore, horse laugh, and snarl in disgust all at once, and too noticeably. The actual funeral service was much better. Yes, there was the usual Christian propaganda, but it was humanely short. The service actually reflected her personality, who she was. A former teacher of hers shared how Angel was in the first class she ever taught after she graduated from college later in life. And, after teaching her a year, Angel inspired her to specialize in teaching special education for the rest of her career. That was what truly needed to be said, how Angel had influenced us all. I went to her casket to say goodbye, slipped off my pinky garnet ring and placed it in her hand for the journey. And all I could do was walk away.
An aside now. To give credit where it was due, my extended family actually behaved like adults. I was both astounded and relieved. Usually, this bunch use family gatherings to pretty much try to slash each other to emotional (and sometimes physical) ribbons. They may not have talked to one another, but at least they didn't fight. Kudos.

MUST SEE MOVIE ALERT!!! http://www.adirtyshamemovie.com/

I just got back from seeing the latest John Water's flick A Dirty Shame. If you are prudish, please do us all a favor and either see this movie to be cured, or do not read further. The fact that a John Water's flick got a NC17 rating surprised me, until tonight. This is Water's raunchiest, filthiest, funniest movie in years people. It tells the story of Sylvia (Tracy Ullman), a completely frigid housewife in Baltimore (its a Water's flick..Go figure on Baltimore). She gets a head injury from a passing lawn mower handle and her life changes for the horny better. Basically she goes completely horn dog beserk. This movie is no where near subtle, and the concept of innuendo does not exist. The imagery is blantant and obvious, genital trees and all. That said, this movie was hilarious. If you are a fan of movies such as Porky's or Deuce Bigalow: Male Gigolo, this is your movie. John Water's casting is always central to the success of his pictures; sometimes its downright bizarre. Chris Isaak plays Vaughn, Sylvia's long suffering husband. Selma Blair is Caprice, or otherwise known as Ursula Udders ( if you have seen any adds for this movie you will understand), their daughter under house arrest for public indecency. Finally, Johnny Knoxville, of Jackass fame, as Ray Ray, the mechanic/leader of the sex addicts of the neighborhood. The cameos are what Water's is best known for, look for David Hasselhoff, Ricky Lake, and Patricia Hearst. Hearst has been in 5 of Water's films now, and she gets stranger in each additional one. The Baltimore neighborhood of Hartford Road is a real neighborhood, and used for the first time in a Water's flick. John Water's does so much research for his films: all the fetishes the sex addicts have really do exist. My favorite was the Bears (large hairy sub culture for gay men for those who don't know).
What I think made this movie great is not only the over the top sex. John Water's is fearless. For him to make this kind of movie in today's political climate takes balls. The audience was still laughing as the credits rolled. If that doesn't testify to the humor of a movie I don't know what will. It is currently showing at the Kentucky Theatre in Lexington, KY. Get the courage up to go see it..I dare you.

Hopelessly romantic lyrics from an unknown aussie band to lighten the mood....

THE WHITLAMS - BREATHING YOU IN LYRICS
"I'm awake
You sleep on and on
When you wake my head is resting on your shoulder
I'm breathing you in
I'm breathing you in

Don't get up I'm in heaven
Close your eyes it's only half past seven
The day's as small as the window
And I'm an inside-outted pillow

Breathing in my, my sleepy girl
Breathing in my, my sleepy girl

What's that over there?
It's nothing at all
We lie awake and listen to the birds in my aviary
I'm breathing you in
I'm breathing you in

Don't get up I'm in heaven
Close your eyes it's only - eleven
The day's as small as the window
And I'm an inside-outted pillow

I'm breathing you in

Breathing in my, my sleepy girl"

A story with no good ending.

Angel Maynard

INEZ - Angel Maynard, 12. Survived by Dad, Raymond Maynard. Services, 1 pm Sun., chapel of Phelps & Son Funeral Home. Visit, after 5 pm Fri., all day Sat. Until time of services on Sun., funeral home. Visit Legacy.com
Published in the Lexington Herald-Leader on 9/24/2004.


"I've been around the world I've seen it and I've lived it friend
I've been around the world and now it's time for me to rest
I've been around the world I've seen it yes I've lived it
I've been around the world and now it's time for me to go

Do you believe that love is God [or Goddess], or do you feel the reverse
Do you believe a blessing is the absence of a curse
Do you believe you have no choice but let your life play out
Did you cut your own belief just to spite your doubt"
--Andrea Lewis/Chris Jonat--

A family existed once. Tish met Raymond almost 25 years ago. Her sister Carla married Raymond's nephew Ivan. Tish lived a wild, restless life; Raymond had been married and had three grown sons. They naturally fell together, I really can't remember how. When was about 1983 or so. He was at least 20 years older than she. Her overriding want and desire in life was a child. Nothing else would make her happy. In 1990 she had a tubal pregnancy/miscarriage, but it proved she could have children. In 1991, Tish became pregnant again. Trouble started at once, she had placenta previa. This condition is where the placenta detaches and slides between the baby and birth canal. Tish fought it but also didn't take care of herself as she should have: she smoked like a freight train and didn't eat (she never did, she never crossed over 100lbs till she was pregnant). She held it together till December 30, 1991. Tish was flown to Huntington, WV from Prestonsburg hospital. We got there in time to see doctors rush by the waiting room with a extremely small incubator. They kept telling Raymond to pick a name, the baby would not live through the night. She did make it through the night, and Raymond named her Angel Dawn Maynard.
Angel was 1 pound, 12 ounces at birth, and was three months premature. She was born with one kidney. After four months in the hospital Angel came home. And for a year I helped care for her. She had colic, and her one kidney started having problems right away. Tish rose to the occasion of difficult motherhood with a grace and skill we never thought possible. Raymond was a dynamo as well, which was surprising. He had heart problems and had suffered a few heart attacks. They kept medicine times straight, doctors appointments organized, never a misstep. Except...We knew something wasn't right with Angel. She wasn't developing normally. Tish finally took her to a neurologist and found out--cerebral palsy. Tish cried and forged forward anyway. This child was the one she had prayed for and nothing would stop her. Except.....
Tish was never one to take care of herself, as I mentioned before. She smoked at least 2 packs a day since she was about 11. In 1997 it caught up with her, lung cancer. She fought it, took care of Angel and Raymond. In October 1999, the cancer spread to her brain. And she lost the fight. The 20 yr older fragile husband and even more fragile child outlived her. Angel was the only reason Raymond kept living. She continued to grow weaker through the following years. Angel's stomach was eventually almost removed totally, as was her gall bladder. She could talk barely, but never walked. She had broken bones from the osteoporosis caused by the stomach problems. The final straw was her one kidney failed, and because of the cerebral palsy, she was not eligible to be put on a waiting list. Angel endured dialysis. This past month, Raymond was forced into putting her into a nursing home: he had grown overwhelmed. And he had been threatened with having her taken from him by the state. He visited her almost daily. Last weekend, the nursing home called in Hospice. The dialysis was no good, her kidney had failed permanently. Angel was given two weeks to live last weekend. She lasted till yesterday, 4 days.
I was sitting at my desk yesterday morning when my mother called to tell me Angel had passed away. I had helped take care of her off and on for so long. She was the flower girl at my wedding, my sister/matron of honor carried her down the isle. She laughed at everything. She adored my husband John totally and missed him after he died terribly. This child was my cousin, but her mother was raised as my sister and she as my niece. And now I must go to Eastern Kentucky to see her buried beside her mother. And, to see if Raymond survives the funeral. There were two reasons he went on, and the second one has been taken as well.
I wanted to share their story with you, at least a fraction of it. permanently, Raymond, and especially Angel have inspired me, exasperated me and broken my heart. I love them all three.

Have an emotional crisis..Improve your running!

It was inevitable. The meds have quit working. Finis. I have cried off and on all day. Finally got to the doctors to get an Effexor sample month to see if the damn shit even worked. No dice, I have to pay for a prescription, with three bucks to my name till Friday. So a long, exhausting week looms in front of me. I cried, the heaving, sobbing kind of crying, all the way up Rose St. To home. Sat and sobbed and felt my mind race. I decided to call Dan. He took pity I suppose and offered to pay my copay. I was so miserable I accepted. I had to go run. HAD TO. I ran what seemed like Mt. Everest on Saturday (see earlier post), and took two days off. So I got my snivelling ass out the door. Sniffled and shuffled up the street for warm up. Then I had an epiphany: let me see if I can out run the crying, just leave it behind. So at the end of my warm up I tore up Maxwell St. I decided I would see how long I could run in one stretch. As I got around Woodland to High Street I looked down at the watch: two minutes. I walked a minute so I didn't injure, then did it again. By the time I had gotten to 16 minutes, I had ran 4/2 minute circuits...A record. I took pity on my knees and stopped to cool down. I had put all that emotional pain into my body and made it MOVE. Damn I would nuke my 5k personal best if I was a basket case every race. I am now exhausted, but finally calm. This net month is going to be Bedlam as I change over the meds. Trust me you will hear all about it.

Bright memories

I got up 9 years ago today and had flowers waiting for me by the bedside. He had gotten up to fix breakfast. All the food for that night was sitting around the kitchen. We both went out for our normal day: he to work, me to school. We both got back around 4:30, and started packing up the car. Got that done, then got dressed. He was in a white shirt and black jeans, I was in a long black velvet dress, with my hair up. We got to Woodland Park and started setting up the table for the food and gifts. Everyone brought food. We helped Tina, the priestess, set up the altar. We all gathered, about 20 of us, in a circle. He and I joined hands. We pledged that, for a year and a day, we would live as man and wife. We would then gather again and either separate, or pledge our lives together forever. Tina bound our hands together. We ran toward the end of the circle, and leapt over the broom, without unclasping our hands. It was done. We then ate and celebrated, inviting some of the local hippy kids to join our meal (they had stood there to watch). It had been a glorious day, really too warm for my dress. My friend Morgan made a picture album, that she said she would give to us later.
A year and a day later, we were on the beach in Tybee Island, GA. Alone except for seagulls. We pledged forever. And at that moment forever seemed possible.
PS Morgan gave me that album, almost 7 years after the ceremony, the day after he died.

Quote Alert!!!

"Something inside is telling me that
I've got your secret. Are you still listening?
Fear is the lock, and laughter
the key to your heart"
-crosby, stills, nash, and young-

A bad football game and a sore ass don't mix

I went to Richmond, KY for the weekend for some family bonding and the Eastern Kentucky/Western Kentucky football game/bloodbath. Got up Saturday morning to go for a rare morning run, in the country no less. My mom and stepdad live in the wilds of Waco, KY. I was going to run the main road-too many dogs and cars. So I headed to this (I thought) little, safe, backroad. This road ended up kicking my ass; it had a 35% climb in some spots. Thus, my ass muscles are very sore, and it took nothing sexual to get them that way. Later that night, I was at the battle of the Bluegrass, EKU vs WKU. It was no coincidence that EKU's ass was hurting after that game as well. They got it kicked. Badly. 21-8. We left before EKU even got a touchdown in the Fourth Quarter. Lots of sloppy passing, lots of interceptions. Nuff said.
My visits with the parental units are normally range from emotionally traumatic to just exhausting. This one was pleasant, fun, and non threatening. For the first time in many moons, I enjoyed time with the folks.

Gone for the weekend

I've decided to go to the parental unit's house this weekend. There is college football to be watched, and yardsales to search through. I will be back Sunday with all the details .

Bar audience participation

Strokin' {feel free to sign along..or answer the questions}


When I start makin´ love
I don´t just make love...
I be strokin´
That´s what I be doin´, huh
I be strokin´

I stroke it to the east
And I stroke it to the west
And I stroke it to the woman that I love the best
I be strokin´

Let me ask you somethin´...
What time of the day do you like to make love
Have you ever made love just before breakfast
Have you ever made love while you watched the late, late show
Well, let me ask you this
Have you ever made love on a couch
Well, let me ask you this
Have you ever made love on the back seat of a car
I remember one time I made love on the back seat of a car
And the police came and shined his light on me, and I said:
´I´m strokin´, that´s what I´m doin´, I be strokin´´

I stroke it to the east
And I stroke it to the west
And I stroke it to the woman that I love the best
I be strokin´

Let me ask you something...
How long has it been since you made love, huh?
Did you make love yesterday
Did you make love last week
Did you make love last year
Or maybe it might be that you plannin´ on makin´ love tonight
But just remember, when you start making love
You make it hard, long, soft, short
And be strokin´
I be strokin´

I stroke it to the east
And I stroke it to the west
And I stroke it to the woman that I love the best, huh
I be strokin´

Now when I start making love to my woman
I don´t stop until I know she´s sas-ified
And I can always tell when she gets sas-ified
´Cause when she gets sas-fied she start calling my name
She´d say: ´Clarence Carter, Clarence Carter, Clarence Carter
Clarence Carter, ooooh shit, Clarence Carter´
The other night I was strokin´ my woman
And it got so good to her, you know what she told me
Let me tell you what she told me, she said:
´Stroke it Clarence Carter, but don´t stroke so fast
If my stuff ain´t tight enough, you can stick it up my...´ WOO!

I be strokin´ Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
I be strokin´

I stroke it to the east
And I stroke it to the west
And I stroke it to the woman that I love the best, huh
I be strokin´
I be strokin´ Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
I be strokin´, Yeah!
I be strokin´

I stroke it to the north
I stroke it to the south
I stroke it everywhere
I even stroke it with my... WOO!

I be strokin´
I be strokin´ Ha! Ha!
I be strokin´

--Clarence Carter---

Z's adventures in birth control

Now a lot of men will probably not relate to this next section. It is a known fact that all birth control methods are not for everyone. But what happens when NONE of them work for you? I am one such woman.
The problem is this: I have depression related to hormones. My PMS mood swings have made Sybil look well adjusted. Add birth control related hormones on top of that and you have a bezerker. I'm maxed out on Wellbutrin, and I'm still getting mood swings from the hormones. Now, this being said, I decided to try Nuva Ring. It looks like a plastic ring that you insert and leave in for three weeks, then take out. So this is my last shot at hormone based birth control. I slipped it in and didn't feel it...Until the rash developed. Then depression reared its ugly head again. So the past week I have been trying to work, run and get through the anniversary of my husbands death, all the while trying to fight the urge to kill and scratch my crotch at the same time. Ever tried running either with an angry itch, or alternatively, slipping and sliding on itch cream? That made the 5k a unique experience, and a surprise I did so well considering. So, it is Tuesday and the swelling is still there, the depression is worse. So I had to remove the nuva ring......
My friends, this is a procedure I will spare you the details of. Let me give you an illustration: ever watch nature shows where some vet has to cover his whole arm with a sleeve to insert it up to the shoulder in some poor cows birth canal? It is a similar feeling, or at least it seemed so. But the confounded thing is out. Now I get the joy of another period two weeks after the last one, and am once again in the lurch with BC...Not that I'm covered over in offers where birth control would be needed lol. But at least now I can run without having one hand down my running shorts, causing a public (or pubic) disturbance....

Happy Birthday Samantha (baby sis) Sept. 15, 1973

"So you're a little bit older and a lot less bolder
Than you used to be
So you used to shake 'em down
But now you stop and think about your dignity
So now sweet sixteen's turned thirty-one
You get to feelin' weary when the work days done
Well all you got to do is get up and into your kicks
If you're in a fix
Come back baby
Rock and roll never forgets
You better get yourself a partner
Go down to the concert or the local bar
Check the local newspapers
Chances are you won't have to go too far
Yeah the rafters will be ringing cause the beat's so strong
The crowd will be swaying and singing along
And all you got to do is get in into the mix
If you need a fix
Come back baby
Rock and roll never forgets
Oh the bands still playing it loud and lean
Listen to the guitar player making it scream
All you got to do is just make that scene tonight
Heh tonight

Well now sweet sixteen's turned thirty-one
Feel a little tired feeling under the gun
Well all Chuck's children are out there playing his licks
Get into your kicks
Come back baby
Rock 'n Roll never forgets
Said you can come back baby
Rock 'n Roll never forgets"

--Bob Seger ( she sang this to me two years ago with malicious glee..hah my turn)--

Existential Funk

The definition of Existential Funk: the state of being where you wonder why the hell are you even alive, and everything you do feels like a waste of time. I go into these funks about twice a year, usually fall and spring. My skin crawls thinking about how I am working myself to death trying to make something out of my life, and it all feels like a lost cause. Work sucks, relationships suck. I am deep in a hole and cannot dig my way out. These are the times that try my patience. It is during these times that I sit down and do some serious magic work.
I don't know which is worse: the feeling of frustration that I can't make my life go where I want it, or the impotence of trying to make it go and hitting a wall. Today made me realize that I had once again reached this biannual event. I am pouring my heart out into work that does not satisfy me. And yet, this art project I have to do has me questioning that I even have any artistic talent in the first goddamn place. A meaningful relationship? You have got to be kidding. I have men coming onto me and I simply cannot say yes. I want company and sex and love, and yet when at least sex is offered I freeze. I withdraw into my little fantasy world and stay there all weekend. I screw up at work, I come home and my run sucks (first run back since the race). And now I have to face drawing out a sculpture project that I feel is going to look like something made in 2nd grade. I feel like I can't measure up anyway else, much less a decent human being. It had come down to the bare essentials of Why the fuck do I even bother?!!!!.
Now I know on an unemotional, realistic level, that I have accomplished things. I made my husband happy at the end of his life. I am now the closest thing to an athlete I've ever been in my life. My job has prestige and recognition. And yet, an Existential funk is not rational. It is an emotional 4 alarm fire. I did this in December, and it ended up propelling me into running and the good job in the first place. It also resulted in my reuniting with Dan...Two out of three aint bad I guess. Deep down I know I am a good person (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and darn it people like me :P). But at this point I'm not deep down. I'm shallow and wallowing in it.
I usually think this is my Patroness Hecate's way of kicking my ass into action. It sucks.

9/11

I actually missed it all in real time. John had been in remission a year at that point, but had severe nerve damage to his feet and still needed a lot of attention. I was working nights at the Wyndham Reach resort, and came home that morning at 7:30. I cooked breakfast for John, then went to bed at 8:30. Through the day I kept being woken up by John shuffling around the house. He was so restless, which was unlike him. But he didn't call for me, so I went back to sleep. I didn't hear the TV: he had a cord less headset for the TV so I couldn't hear it. Finally, at about 3:30 pm, I had taken all I could of him thumping around the house. I yelled from the loft and asked him what was wrong. His answer I will never forget. It was in a tone of complete matter of fact. He said, "Two airplanes hit the World Trade Center, and they fell down."
I bolted straight up out of bed, and scrambled down the ladder to where he was. John was sitting there, eyes glazed over, deathly pale. I jerked the earphone cord out of the jack, and sat down to see. And I saw the bodies falling, the paper flying all over the site. The planes vaporizing on impact. The Pentagon burning. People on TV asking if anyone had seen their particular member of their family. John grew up in New Haven, CT. He had spent every waking moment he could sneak away from home in New York City. He kept repeating," Where are they going to put all the people who live there, who work there?" He kept repeating this. I ended up calling his doctor to ask what I should do, since he was obviously in shock. Dr. Krathan told me to monitor his vital signs to make sure he didn't get weak, and that was all I could do. Meanwhile, Key West was in chaos. Key West is mostly naval base. We heard jets scrambling above us. I was off that day, but was put on call, since more than a third of our employees either were trapped on the locked down base, or were active members called to duty. I ended up able to stay home with him, a good thing. He was so unstable. I finally got him to eat at 6:30 that night. I turned off the main news channels. I told him to order the silliest movie on pay per view, which turned out to be Flesh Gordon. I then got into the stash of pre-rolled Cuban dope we had to help his nausea, and we smoked two of them. We got so goofy that we were giggling shadows on the wall by late that night. And he was able to sleep.
This is the real reason I remember it so well. At almost that precise day, John had a year to live. It turned out to be a rough year; we moved back to Kentucky to be near both of our families. We knew that the Gleevec keeping him alive would not work forever, so the best thing I knew to do was get him to better medical care. I knew he would need it eventually. And he did. From that March to July, he slowly went out of remission. I was supporting us with two jobs. Our marriage had turned into an affectionate companionship; We had not been lovers for awhile. John's funeral was Sept. 12, 2002. I continue to be haunted by that last year, wondering if I had done all I could do. If I had made his last years worth living. If I had destroyed his faith in me by allowing him to be placed on life support. Had he forgiven me for all the mistakes I had made, real or imagined. I guess I sometimes feel guilty that I keep him a year longer than those families in NYC and DC had a chance to keep their families. Which was better: to have a long goodbye, to see your love die slowly, or to see them die in a flash of fire and crumbling buildings? I will never be able to have an answer to these questions. The only thing I knew was that in a time of trouble I did my best. That could also be said of all the families who faced horrendous loss that year. I feel honored and blessed to be in their company.

The 5k and how I did

I remember the old A-Team character Hannibal, and his favorite saying, "I love it when a plan comes together". That's what I thought at the end of this mornings Race for the Cure. The last 5k didn't go as I had hoped. I bonked 15 minutes into it, and limped the rest of the way, with Dan walking beside me. I rushed, didn't drink enough, and was nervous. Last night I went to bed late, as I usually do on Saturday nights. Woke up at 5:30 am, normal time. I drank a gallon of water last night, and 40 ounces of water. Walked downtown to the race area in a leisurely pace. The only fear I had was my left leg; somehow yesterday at work I sat awkwardly and my whole left leg wanted to cramp. I tried to stretch before I left, and I stretched at the site. My leg would not budge. The sign from the Goddess that it was going to be a good day was massage therapists doing pre race massages. Found one who absolutely gave me the once over. He loosened up the left leg then rubbed the rest of me. The leg was still gimpy but usable at the start.
I started out extremely slow. I was going to treat this like any workout run/walk. At minute 5 I started to run 1 minute, walk 1 minute. I changed this from the last 5 k, when I was running 1.5 minutes and walking 30 seconds. It was too much. For this race, I was surprised that I kept up the 1/1 all the way to the finishline. I wasn't tired, I was thirsty but that was to be expected. I actually passed people instead of them passing me. I finished strong and proud. I was strong enough to come home, shower and go back to farmers market afterwards. Now how I feel later is up for grabs.....
First 5k time...50:42
Second 5k time 46:27

The aftermath

Everyone left me alone with him. I eventually quit crying and just went into shock. I was numb. That wonderful nurse asked me to come to the hallway, saying that nothing would be done to him till I decided it. She then told me what I had to do legally, about signing paperwork and such. And I was getting ready to ask for a pen when she stopped me. She told me to go outside with the family, take time to regroup, and eat something because I would need the strength. Then I could do what was needful. We all went outside to stand in the heat. I looked down and noticed my wedding band. I could no longer wear it. I took it off and gave it to LJ's daughter Nicole, John's granddaughter and told her that was for her when she grew up. I called my grandmother, why I don't know now, on my cellphone. She was crying, and that shocked me. We went in, ate, and I went into the ICU to call a funeral home that was suggested to me. I called work and told them I would not be back for a few days. I walked into the ICU, and began filling out the forms. It didn't take long. I walked to where he was still lying, and touched his face. He was starting to grow cold.
We walked to Markey to gather his things, most importantly something for him to wear. I grabbed his favorite black Hawaiian shirt his mom gave him, a black pair of shorts, his sandals and his old beat up denim hat he had worn his whole illness. The shirt was misbuttoned, he did that a lot, and we decided to insist that was the way it was kept when they dressed him. I was so numb. We all went back to the new apartment, where I had not even unpacked anything. LJ and Charles offered to move boxes to a back room as Billy, Anne, Randy and myself drove to the funeral home.
This turned out to be the worst ordeal. We had no insurance to bury him. Before I could even think, Anne and Randy pulled out the credit card, then started to try to bargain them down. Billy and I were mortified ( pardon the pun). The got it down to 1500$ just to cremate him, put his obit in the paper and have a service. Getting that done, we went down to see him dressed before he was cremated. I understood then about shells, how people always talked about the body was a shell. That was not my husband on that table, it was his holding case. I touched him, he was icy and I freaked and went outside.
The net few days were a blur. I came home to a apartment totally unpacked. Billy and Randy proceeded to repair the whole place in the ensuing days. He died on a Monday, and the funeral was on a Wednesday. I found 5 joints of south florida's finest that we had stashed away, and we smoked it. Food poured in, cards poured in. We were sorting though pictures. It was just a blur. The funeral came. We played classical music. I had Patrick, the Asatru priest who had married us, do a Norse prayer of crossing over. LJ stood up and spoke. I was still numb. I gathered the box he was in and gave it to Billy to take to Connecticutt, to scatter later. It was done.

Day five and finally six..

That Sunday I agreed to go to mass with John's brother, sister and brother-in-law. The Newman center didn't fall down and I thought that was a good sign. We went back to the hospital for more bad news. John's heart had been permanently damaged by the infection. They were using all the meds they had to even keep him stable. He was in pain and heavily sedated; he barely was able to even acknowledge us as being there. I got all that were there together to tell them what the doctors had told me: if he didn't show improvement that night, taking him off life support and letting nature take its course was our only option. It was a sobering thought. We had turned on the TV in his ICU cubicle so he could be distracted from the pain by football at least. We sat around the waiting room talking about the what ifs, driving ourselves nuts. So we all went out to Billy's barbecue for dinner. That dinner turned out to be magical. We drank beer, ate like wolves, and I laughed so hard my sides ached. We talked about John, shared memories and dreams he had. It was a glorious meal. John had been a chef, so if there was any more fitting wake I couldn't think of one. We were still a little tipsy when we got back to the waiting room, to find out his heart had started worsening. John's sons slept in the waiting room, and I went in to talk to John. He was laying there bloated, bruised from needles. This was not the man I had married. I didn't even recognize him. There was so much to say, so I said it all and cried. I told him I was sorry for letting them put him on life support. I could say only that this was all up to him now to make the decisions. Then I walked out to go up to his room at Markey to sleep, where he had entered 2 months earlier never to leave.
The next morning I got up early to head down to the waiting room, and they took me straight back to the ICU. The nurse who had taken care of him the whole time was there to tell me the truth. His heart was beyond repair, all his organs were shutting down. It was time. The doctors got us all together for a meeting, told us there were no more options, and what had to be done. We went outside to regroup, then we all went back to the ICU. Most of the people he love were there: Anne and Randy, Billy, and his children LJ, Charles and Jocelyn. They left it up to me to tell him. The doctors had lightened up on the pain meds temporarily so he could hear us. I asked him if he wanted off the machines: he nodded yes strongly. I asked if he understood what that would do: once again he nodded his head. So it was time and he knew he was going to die. The nurse and doctors started the paper work. Anne wanted a priest to give him last rites, even though he hadn't practiced Catholicism since he was a child. To keep the peace I said yes. They upped his pain meds, unhooked the dialysis machine, and took out the respirator. The priest got there and tried to give him communion, and John fought him, twisting his head away to keep from eating the wafer. It took several minutes of struggle before I finally whispered in his ear that this was not for him but for Anne, so quit being stubborn. The last grin I ever saw from him: he relented and opened his mouth. Then, after the priest left, John started wheezing. It was close. I told the family I was doing a witchcraft death ceremony, no discussion. They didn't say a word. I started the ceremony, and gave him to Hecate. The ceremony ended, and he was going. It is a hard thing to watch someone die. He would stop breathing for several seconds, then gasp for air. It was maddening. I just wanted to scream at him for being stubborn to the very end. I wanted to put a pillow over his head to smother him. I took off my pentacle and pressed it into his heart. I kept it there till I realized that he was no longer breathing, and I couldn't feel his heart beating. Then I wailed. I didn't know what that was till that minute. I just wailed, a loud screaming sob.

me a baby 

me very heavy 

QUOTE ALERT!!!

"No one respects the flame
quite like the fool who's badly burned."
Pete Townshend

Day two three four...

The next day we found out what was wrong. An opportunistic infection had getting into his bloodstream from his own body. The same bacteria that causes urinary tract infections, Kleibsella. A common bug. The fact was, his immune system was gone. The infection had spread to his lungs. He had pneumonia. And his body could not fight it. There was fight in his mind, no question. He could barely talk, but tried anyway. His blood pressure was so unstable, the doctors put the heart catheter in his leg to his aorta. The choice was gone it had to be done. I sat with him about a half hour. He knew that he may never come out of the operating room. So it was then that we made plans: he wanted cremated, and taken to Charles Island in Long Island Sound to be scattered. There was fear in his eyes, but not panic. It was the fear of the unknown. So I kissed him and they took him back. He lived throughout the procedure.
The family started to gather. His sons were already there, since they lived in Lexington. His brother Billy was there in a few hours after the call. His wife stayed with their mother. John didn't want anyone there, at all. He was angry when they started arriving to see him. Especially his daughter, who had to scramble to get the money to come down. It was in this time that the diplomat in me had to emerge. John's ex wife Helen was there, the mother of two of his sons. There was a shitload of bad blood between her and John's family. I didn't care. I just wanted peace. So I began to juggle to accommodate everyone's wishes.
Later in the second day, after the catheter was inserted, his kidneys started to fail. They asked permission to put him on dialysis. We had agreed that he didn't want on life support. We were assured by the Hemoncologists that he just needed support to get the infection under control. The Pulmonary specialist was telling us he was in grave danger and we had to be prepared. So I went with optimism and said yes to the dialysis. It started and he started to become worse. He started talking to me in crazy sentences. He started to not recognize his sons. Another complication: he was suffering from carbon dioxide psychosis. He simply wasn't getting enough oxygen to survive. The big decision loomed: he needed the respirator. Once again we were told two different things: leukemia specialists told us it was temporary, pulmonary specialist who were in the trenches told me it was getting worse, prepare for it. John left the decision to me, and I made the optimistic decision. I allowed the respirator to be inserted. He would never be able to speak to me again after this. Right before they inserted the tube in his lungs, I was trying to kiss I'm on the forehead. He said ouch. I tried his cheek; he said ouch. So I got exasperated and whispered in his ear if I could kiss his pecker. He smiled and said "maybe later". We both laughed; well I laughed, he wheezed. And I never heard him speak again.
ICU day three loomed, it was Saturday. The family that was going to be there had arrived. John was livid too. He was still conscience, nodding his head and full facial expressions. His mom wanted to come down, and wanted me to ask him if she could. John almost chewed through is throat tube. He did not want her to see him like this. I told her, and she stayed at home. He started having heart trouble. The blood pressure would not stabilize, and his heart was starting to fail. The ICU doctors got me alone with John and asked the toughest question, about resuscitation. He couldn't talk anymore, and was in a lot of pain from the infection, the dialysis, the respirator. I told them what I thought was the right thing; that they should use drugs but not heart compression. When the drugs quit working, that was it. John looked at me and I could tell it was what he wanted.
Now outside the ICU was just as much fun. Family tensions were all there. I was trying to include them in all the decisions. His brother Billy was the strength in this. Billy supported me with every decision. We went out to eat every meal, and they never let me pay. I slept in the waiting room with everyone else waiting for family in ICU.
His family's attitude towards me was disturbing. When John married me, I was a trophy. Now I was Mother Teresa. It made me squirm. I didn't think I had done anything special except take my wedding vows seriously. I loved him; I took care of him. There was no other way to be in my mind. I wasn't doing anything special in my mind. Saturday ended by his heart going into arthymia, and the doctors pumping the drugs trying to stablize him.

She's waiting

She's waiting for another love
She's waiting for another love

She's been waiting for another love,
Someone that she can show into her heart.
And when she finally finds a stronger love,
Your whole world's gonna fall apart.

Chorus

You've been abusing her for far too long;
Think you're a king and she's your pawn.
Get ready now, 'cause pretty soon
She'll be gone and you'll be on your own.

Chorus

I see the hunger burning in her eye;
Any fool could see there's something wrong.
You keep pretending not to care,
But I will hear you sing a different song.

Chorus

Waiting for another lover,
Hoping for the time that she'll find another....

---Eric Clapton and Peter Robinson---

Day one.

I had left the Markey Cancer center, just for one night. We had just rented a new apartment a block away so that we would have enough room for his sister to live with us-Mary was going to help us after the bone marrow transplant. He was not doing well. The Gleevec had only worked for a year, and he went out of remission in July 2002. The first round of chemo did not get him into remission again, a very bad sign. He had went through the nausea, the hair loss for nothing. So, in August he started another round of chemo. He was surprisingly upbeat, even after another bone marrow asperation ( a needle that looks like a finishing nail is hammered into the hipbone with no anesthesia, look it up it is horrible). So when the first of September rolled in I was optimistic but not hopeful. I had packed up the other apartment by myself, and had put all our worldly goods in the corner of the living room to be unpacked. He was unhappy about this, he always had so much guilt about me having to bear his burdens, which were nonesuch to me. So that Tuesday I went to the new apartment to start unpacking and go to the Dr.s the next morning. I talked to him the next morning, he felt icky but ok. So I went to the doctors, and was starting to his room at about noonish when the nurse called. His temperature had spiked to 104 in 2 hours and he was coughing badly. I ran from KY clinic to Markey and in his room were two of his doctors. There was no time to even ask questions, they began to roll him to ICU right as I got there. There I was once again helping him to ICU, with a doctor at each corner of the bed pushing. He was delirious, being combative, and I had to yell at him to be calm so he wouldn't rip out his Hickman catheter ( a catheter put into the aorta for injections). We got there, they made me wait outside. All I could think about was a tree limb almost falling on me that previous Sunday on the way home from a night shift at work. I was in a stupor an it almost hit me. Then I noticed the crows, a dozen of them, flying near me as I walked home. Death omens, both of them. It was to prepare me, I should have been prepared. Nothing could have done that.
The doctors got him set up. They came to ask me if they had permission to use life support. I told them I could not make that decision because he was conscience. His blood pressure was dipping, they were afraid they could not stabilize him. The doctors wanted to put a line into his leg to his heart to have an accurate blood pressure, but it could kill him. There was time to wait, they said, while they tried to find out what was wrong. So I said wait as long as they could hold out. I went into kiss him and he just looked at me and smiled. Smiled, after all the shit and pain and humiliation. I sat there with him and talked before he went to sleep. I walked out and started all the calls: to his sons in town, his daughter in Connecticut. Calls went to Florida to his sister and more calls to Connecticut to his other brother and sisters. Before I left to call he told me not to have anyone come down to see him. I just smirked, I knew better. His bunch were as stubborn as he was. I made the calls, and the plane tickets were bought the net hour. His brother Billy was on his way from new haven, his sister Ann and her husband from west palm beach. So I sat with his sons in the waiting room for the first night of sleep there waiting for news ok what was wrong and could it really be fixed.

Dying like you live...www.indianlarry.com

I was checking up on my biker news yesterday at work when I learned of the death of Indian Larry. Larry Desmedt was a stuntman, wildman, chopper artisan, and blessed fool till August 30. He was doing his most famous stunt, standing on a moving cycle at speeds up to 65 mph, with no helmet. He had done this stunt thousands of times. The thousand and first he wrecked, sustaining massive Head injuries. He was with his friends filming a segment of "Great Biker Build-Off" for Discovery Channel, at The Liquid Steel Classic and Custom Bike Series in Charlotte, NC. He died of his injuries later that day. He was 55.
Now most people would roll their eyes when hearing of an accident like this. It could be said that he tempted fate, or that he was asking for it. He was. Indian Larry lived life not in nibbles, but in as much as he could bite off and chew. He was fierce and noble and free. He also was foolhardy and reckless. He lived every second of his life to the absolute fullest. How many others do? How many of us can actually say we have lived our lives with as much gusto as we can? I often think we have to live full throttle, next to death always, to really be able to feel alive. Could you actually imagine living such a full, rich life, then dying the same way? Dying doing the one thing you love the most?
In this week it will be the second anniversary of my husbands death. He would have been the same age as Indian Larry, and Larry reminded me a lot of John. My husband lived such a life. Not by tempting death, but by squeezing every once he could out of life. Even though he was not blessed (or cursed?) with a sudden death, he faced it without fear. Fear, the great destroyer, the one thing that sucks the life out of most of us. I include myself in this. Since John's death, fear has been a constant companion: fear of not being able to support myself, fear of not feeling love. Fear of failure. I am tired of fear. Fear has kept me with a man for the last several months that has robbed me of actually living my life to the fullest. NO MORE.
I swear, on this anniversary week of John's death, to live my life to the absolute fullest. I swear to push past the fear and do and experience as much life as I can choke on. I invite all who read this to join me in living life to the max, and to call me on it if I don't. I don't want to die with any regrets, and want to thank Larry for reminding me of that by not dying with any of his own.

Wiring Problems

I never thought I would paraphrase him, but here it goes:
Women and men are wired like cars.
The problem is,
women are wired like English sports cars,
men are wired like Ford Broncos.
Adam Corolla

I think my wiring is coming loose. The least thing throws me out of kilter these days. The hard cold truth has arrived: I need to change my depression meds, and this SUCKS. I am shaky and unsteady on my feet. I'm ready to cry at the slightest sweet toilet paper commercial on TV. Patience? Please, it was gone weeks ago. Now here comes the general wiring question: is all this turmoil coming from just fighting my personal mental illness, or is it just the way women are? Women seem to get tossed of kilter so much easier than men, starting in childhood. You pull the wrong wire loose, and we are screwy for life. Men don't seem to be this way. They get kicked and gouged by life, and just go on without a scratch. Is it a blessing of testosterone, on ambivilance?
Are they emotionally wired to do this, or culturally brought up not to care?
I feel like I might be stereotyping a bit: women are (supposedly) fragile, and men are (supposedly) tough. Yet men seem to go through childhood traumas without lasting damage. Women tend to be basket cases, and I am speaking from personal experience and observation here. Could women learn this emotional survival instinct? Or does it all break down to the old argument of nature versus nurture? I have seen men repeat patterns from childhood, but it doesn't seem to cause the life chaos that it does for women.
Or does it boil down to this: should we be taking better maintenance on the British sports cars, or encourage sophisticated wiring in the Ford Broncos?