No Excuses--an update

Yes, I haven't posted much this new year. The fibromyalgia has been worse this winter than it has in several years, and we really haven't had a cold winter. I have gained a lot of weight, much to my annoyance. I have tried to do regular pain management things, like sleep more and belly dance, but the pain is still there. Sometimes I like the achy feeling, as sick as that sounds. It reminds me that many fibro patients have it a helluva lot worse; at least I'm not on pain pills.

On the good side, my back room is almost ready. All I need is a relatively sturdy table to set up my sewing area and my painting area. Part of me wants to try to talk Daniel into stealing a low table from one of the closed flea market booths in the area....They are the right length and height. I am working on a embroidery art piece, and even have a piece or two I could try to sell on eBay. Still, I miss the painting. I don't feel like a real artist when I don't paint. But soon, I will be back in the saddle and covered in paint.

There is trouble a brewing in the Lifestyle, mostly boring political bullshit, in our group. We have met so many new people, and I look forward to seeing them all at the next Rockers party (next weekend).
Now my hands are hurting, so I must go, I promise to try to post more.

Howl - Allen Ginsberg

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LYRICS ALERT!!!!!

Closer to Fine--Indigo Girls

I’m trying to tell you something about my life
Maybe give me insight between black and white
And the best thing you’ve ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously
It’s only life after all
YeahWell darkness has a hunger that’s insatiable
And lightness has a call that’s hard to hear
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket
I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it
I’m crawling on your shores
I went to the doctor,
I went to the mountains
I looked to the children,
I drank from the fountains
There’s more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive(the less I seek my source)
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine

And I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a b-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind
Got my paper and I was free
I went to the doctor,
I went to the mountains
I looked to the children,
I drank from the fountains
There’s more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive(the less I seek my source)
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine

I stopped by the bar at 3 a.m.
To seek solace in a bottle or possibly a friend
And I woke up with a headache like my head against a board
Twice as cloudy as I’d been the night before
And I went in seeking clarity.
I went to the doctor,
I went to the mountains
I looked to the children,
I drank from the fountains
Yeah we go to the doctor, we go to the mountains
We look to the children, we drink from the fountains
Yeah we go to the bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival and we stand up for the lookout
There’s more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
The less I seek my source for some definitive(the less I seek my source)
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine
The closer I am to fine

Blonde joke

Sometimes you just have to love a good blonde joke...http://bluefairlane.blogspot.com/2006/01/blonde-joke.html

The Alchera Project for Dec. 2005

The tree leans away from us,
the string ready to tie it to the roof
of the stationwagon.
It knows it will leave its farm home,
and with one fell blow from an axe,
will morph from tree, to garland, to fire.

Broken hearts covered in coal dust.

My father was a coal miner, for most of the 10 years he was actively in my life. We lived in coal areas as diverse as Kentucky, Illinois, Colorado, and West Virginia. Buchanan, WV, specifically, in an little area called Tallmansville. It was a hauntingly beautiful place, a mix of the Appalachian culture I was used to with some markings of New England. My father worked the mines there, but I couldn't tell you if it was the Sago mines. It was almost 25 years ago, the name has changed. It was definitely that area. I remember the church I saw on CNN, the church where the families of 13 trapped miners sat trying to comfort each other as they waited..and waited. Then, inexplicably to me, there was news of 12 Miners alive. It didn't ring true to me. The levels of methane that was measured, I knew from long experience, couldn't support life that long. Three hours ticked by, then the truth that I had felt all along was revealed: only one survived. I watched CNN as the CEO of the coal company told those people that there had been a mistake. I heard the screams from the church on TV. The coal company knew 20 minutes after the first announcement that it was probably wrong. They let those families sit there, in rapture, for three hours thinking they would see their men alive again. They rushed the only survivor to St. Joseph's, a hospital too small to help him (Pikeville Hospital is bigger). My father got his hand stitched up there, after a piece of coal cut the top of his hand.

I felt a special sickness watching all of this. Unlike 9/11, I was part of the culture these people came from. I know that faith is the deepest part of their psyche. Faith keeps miners going into the mines, hoping they come out alive. Faith that if they keep that job, they feed their families. Faith in a Christian god that miracles happen. The CEO of International Coal group, Ben Hatfield, with one sentence, shattered the one deepest part these people use to survive. I am not a Christian, and I don't believe in an absolute Hell. But the obscenity of letting those people have hope for 3 hours, while knowing the truth, deserves punishment enough for 12 lifetimes in Hell. Actually, a special circle of Hell needs made just for them; one that looks like the tunnels of a deep, dark mineshaft, with eternal suffocation. Forever looking at a tarp, covering an opening, that will never protect you from the fumes you know are coming for you. That is the punishment they deserve.

2005...A hopefully painless overview.

I', going to break this down to be as traumaless as possible:

Jan.-March,
Was in the process of being wooed by a very charismatic man, who talked me into doing things
I never would have done. Ended up having a very bad split from this man, internally, to which he still doesn't know the extent and depth of my loathing of him to this day. This man showed me exactly how dark and deep and complicated a mindfuck could delve. I became an escort, to try to augment my small income, and push the boundaries of how far I would let my mind and body go . I met a lot of interesting people along the way, and learned a great deal about the psyche of men (to their detriment LOL). I had a thoroughly extreme cleansing of my heart, opening it up to better love, that I didn't know was so close.

April-June,
I met Daniel. I let him into my world, the beauty and the ugliness and the depravity. He understood. I began to walk a road with him, one that leads us both the same direction. I found out that, for the first time in many years, what it was to feel real love again, with all the fear and giddiness. I got accepted to the school of my dreams, and began to plan a move to Savannah, GA.

July-Sept.
I changed legitimate jobs, to a much less stressful part of UK. Had a very memorable 4th of July, when old illusions crumbled, and dreams died. And yet, new ones emerged at the same time. Daniel and I realized we could no longer go living apart. I all but ended being an escort. The third anniversary of my husband's death came and went uneventfully, for the first time.

Oct.-Dec.
On Oct. 15, for only the third time in my life, a man got on his knees and asked me to marry him. For only the second time, I said Yes. The plan to move Daniel to Lexington crumbled last minute. So, I took a very big psychological plunge, and decided to move to Pikeville and Eastern Kentucky, the area where I began. I changed my life. I became a housewife. I cut most of the ties I had made after John's death. And like a phoenix ( that gained 20 pounds) I rose to meet the new challenges of a new life with a man I'm not really worthy of, but deeply grateful for loving.

Yule 2005

Today is the shortest day of the year, thus the darkest. There has been alot of darkness in this world this year, with nature striking back, and a unjust war raging. Hopefully, tonight the pagans and witches of the world can dispel the darkness of nature and the soul, and pray that the lengthening of the days will bring a new prosperity of goodness and warmth to the world. The Sun's return will hopefully warm the hearts of all mankind. May you and yours have a very Happy Holy Yuletide!

Famous men I think are incredibly hot, Anderson Cooper... the first of an ongoing series.

Anderson Cooper

I was just reading a really fun article at CNN.com, "Talking sex with Mom - Sep 28, 2005" by Anderson Cooper. I hadn't realized before I read it that Gloria Vanderbilt was his mom. That had to be one hellova childhood! I have followed him on CNN for awhile. His reports on Hurricane Katrina, and currently, the Iraqi elections, have been some of the best in TV journalism, a genre that hasn't been the most impressive lately. Here is a man, though raised in the world of wealth and influence, who chose to be a war correspondent, even when he probably could have chosen any employment in the halls of power. He certainly doesn't mind getting his hands dirty to get the story. Smart, brave men turn me on, and this one is on the top of my list. Salute!

Melodic answer to a universal problem

I love Salon.com, for its sane and progressive attitude. Cary Tennis has a "Dear Abby" sort of column there, and this particular article touched me deeply. The question was: how does a woman handle a boyfriend who is freaked out about her sexual past. The woman's boyfriend, from the reader's telling, considered her dirty and "impure" and wanted her to fix her past (?!?). Here, in it's entirety, is the response:

"You are not a product. You do not have an expiration date. You are not sold used or new. Your value does not go down with every sexual experience. You do not have a finite capacity, like a phone card, after which you are used up.

Neither are you a substance that can be pure or impure. You are no less pure now than when you were born. You will never be less pure than you are right now.

Nor are you an object upon which men have left marks that your boyfriend may discover and interpret. You are not a public place were things are written for others to read. You are not an exotic land that men have visited and reminisce about in comfortable chairs.

You are not a collection of experiences like snapshots in an album, subject to perusal and approval by your boyfriend.

Your past is not a term paper for him to grade. Your past is not something that needs to be repaired. You can't get up on top of it with a ladder and fix it like a roof. You can't do anything about it except regard it with awed attention. It is like the sea, far beyond us, far too deep, far too wide, far too powerful.

You are not a product, or a substance, or an object. You are not any of these things. For want of a better term, you are a creature, a spiritual being.

We are creatures of flesh and light and movement. We go through life. Things happen. We do things. We remember things. Things hurt us, things delight us, things frighten us. We go on. We describe the things that have happened to us and look for the light of understanding in someone's eyes. We are creatures who love and hate. We love and hate and are loved and hated and we go on.

Our past is not a map on our skin, visible to the male gaze. Our past is something we tell. Once we tell it, people sometimes turn away. They can't bear it. They're not strong enough. They have to find the strength. We can't give them the strength. They ask us to put the past back in the past, but we can't do that either. Once we tell it, it's with us in the present.

So tell your boyfriend to lay off with all this talk. Tell him to get some wisdom and some understanding. Tell him to get some humility and some awe. Tell him to go sit by the sea and think about it for days on end until his head hurts and he's thirsty and all he wants is you -- however you are, whoever you are, wherever you've been, whatever you've done."

I, who have dealt with a shady past, appreciate this answer, even though my situation is different than the readers. This answer reaffirms, to all women, that who and what we are is sacrosanct, and not to be judged by imperfect people, no matter if you love them or not. I find it inspiring.

Ghosts..

When people start relationships, they often wish the ghosts of relationships past would disappear. Unrealistic of me, but I was one of them. Daniel and I had a tiff last night over something trivial ( I feel now). He wanted to search for something on the internet, I knew another way of searching for it, and I annoyed him. Showing his emotional maturity, he walked out of the room until he cooled off. Now, if I had any emotional maturity, I would have been ok. But instead, that one adult act of him walking out until he controlled his temper sent me on a tail spin. I shook and cried, and it made it all worse. What should have been a situation where we just stuck our tongues out at each other or flipped each other off turned into a big production. Here's where the ghosts come in.

My late husband John had a temper. He was also very emotionally manipulative. He would stomp off at the least provocation, the least jealousy, and then give me the emotional cold shoulder for hours. He would sleep on the couch, and do everything in his power to make me feel small, for whatever offence. There were times in our marriage where we lived thousands of miles away from my family, and I don't make close friends easily, so I rarely had anyone to talk to when he did this. I would sit in empty rooms, feeling mortified and lonely and scared that he would just walk out and leave me in an isolated place so far away from help. The tables turned when he got sick and was dependent on me, and he did apologize for his behavior before he died. Scars on the psyche usually stay on the soul, and "I'm Sorry" normally isn't a strong enough salve to make them go away.

So, when Daniel walked out of the room, and wouldn't immediately return when I called, it sent a shockwave reaction right into the pit of my stomach. It was like a flashback. I instantly went into this "I'm-sorry-I-wont-do-it-again" appeasement-victim mode, sobbing. Daniel held me when I cried, and I tried to explain why I was so upset over something so stupid. He did rightly by assuring me that there was nothing to fear, he wasn't John. And he begged me not to be on eggshells with him, afraid of upsetting him. This is why I am writing this, to work it out so I never treat him that way. I know I am always safe with Daniel. It just triggered emotions I thought I had buried after John's death.

I love you Daniel, you are my rock. Just please be patient with your silly, skittish fiancee. She's afraid of Ghosts.

Going back to where you've been...

I've been thinking deeply about a program I just watched on PBS, The Appalachians. The vast places I have been in the last 16 years doesn't amaze me as much as the fact that I came back. My teenage life in Martin County, KY was pretty hellish. The mountains weren't beautiful to me, they were ugly, grey, strip mined prison walls in winter, and, it always seemed to be winter. We heated with a coal burning stove; I am allergic to smoke. Thus, I was perpetually sick, either with colds or upper respiratory infections. The smell of coal and wood smoke still make me nauseous. We lived 10 miles away from school, and the road to Inez was a curvy mess. So, I got carsick twice a day, to and back from school. The people around me not only didn't care about who I was, they resented who I was. They didn't care about the outside world, and there was nothing that could do or say to convince me what there was to give a damn about there. As soon as I could, I got out.

And I proceeded to almost get a college education ( I am a 1 1/2 year shy of a degree), and, get married to a man from a vastly different region from my experience(Connecticut). Then, I traveled. I was in Savannah, GA, long enough to grow to love, and still long for, the live oaks and and beautiful southern accents ( so much more elegant than my Appalachian guttural, as I heard it.). We moved cross country by train, and I grew to love Portland, OR and its blissful progressiveness. We then moved to Jackson, WY, and I saw how much one could be swallowed by the mere revelation that is the Teton mountain range. Finally we ended up in Key West, where I grew to love the freethinking lifestyle, and the Conch people, who will truly give you the very shirt on their backs in times of trouble. I ended back in Lexington, KY, after my husbands death, and thought it was punishment to be back in my home state. I grew used to Lex, it was a college town with all the arts and amenities I liked. But I also grew stale, and reckless from the stagnation. Then, came Daniel.

Daniel has also lived all over the country, and also married outside his home base. He ended up back home. The day he invited me to move in with him, to Pikeville, I cried. I tried my best to get him to Lexington, but I now know it wasn't meant to be. The Goddess has a plan, and it was Her plan to put me back here. Back amongst the demons I thought were still here. I was so very wrong. Pikeville has blossomed, it isn't the same place I remember from high school trips here. I was scared because I thought that the goblins of my youth were still here. All I had ever felt here before was oppression, impotence, and hopelessness. I have come to realize, tonight, after watching The Appalachians, is:
* I am my own woman, not helpless. I control what I think and feel. I feel empowered now that I am back here living on my own terms. I will make this place into what I chose. I am a witch, an artist, a swinger, and liberal. I will mold this place to fit me, not the other way around.
* This program shocked me into realizing the richness of culture that was here to begin with. The Scot-Irish that settled here, and from which Daniel and I both sprung from, also made their own life here, by their own rules. They either brought, or created anew, their own art. It humbled me that these very brave, independent people sought this area out as a spiritual and cultural haven for them and their offspring. I feel that, in so many ways, I have disgraced that heritage. I can live my life by my principles, as they did, and respect their sacrifice.

So, I have had my eyes opened once again. I intend to concentrate on learning the mountain arts the best I can, to the best of my ability, to do my part to honor my ancestors with the skill I have, that came from them all along.

First Emperor of the World

This is the site of the First Emperor of the World's Yahoo site. Might be the only thing that protects us against Republicans, the extreme Right and militant born again Christians !

http://360.yahoo.com/first_emperor_of_the_world

Will somebody PLEASE sew my mouth shut....

...before I start getting phone calls from Richard Simmons? I feel huge, and ugly. I can't seem to stop eating. I don't know if its where I'm just getting used to being alone a lot, or subtle depression, or what. I hate to look in the mirror. I can't help but thinking back on those happy months where I was a honest to goodness runner, as some of my long suffering readers will remember. I was also on a MUCH higher dose of anti depressants. I've been trying to fight the urge to call Mountain Com. (the local mental health dept. for people with no insurance) to try to see about adjusting my meds. What the fuck is the matter with me?

My sentiments exactly.....

"I don't know how you feel, but I'm pretty sick of church people. You know what they ought to do with churches? Tax them. If holy people are so interested in politics, government, and public policy, let them pay the price of admission like everybody else. The Catholic Church alone could wipe out the national debt if all you did was tax their real estate."
-George Carlin-

Bill Hicks - Quote alert!!!

"This is it, folks. This is the idea which has kept me virtually unknown for the past 16 years. I have watched my crowds dwindle. I am going nowhere, and nowhere quick, but, those of you who have children, I am sorry to tell you this, but they are not special. Wait! I know some of you are going "what, what?" Let me just clarify: I know YOU think they're special ... ha ha ha! I'm aware of that. I'm just here to tell you, that they're NOT! Ha ha ha ha! Sorry. Did you know that every time a guy comes he comes two-hundred million sperm? One out of TWO-HUNDRED MILLION – that load, we're only talking about one load – connected: gee, what are the fucking odds? Do you know what that means?
I've wiped nations off've my chest with a grey gymsock.
ENTIRE CIVILISATIONS HAVE FLAKED AND CRUSTED IN THE HAIR AROUND MY NAVEL! [...]
I've tossed universes in my underpants while napping. Boom! A Milkyway shoots into my jockeyshorts:
"Unngh ... what's for fucking breakfast?!"

I feel pretty? I don't think so...

I actually feel like I look like utter shit. I have become a noodle since I quit working a typical job. I should be out walking, learning my surroundings. I am not. It seems that I have completely caved into my agoraphobia. I simply do not want to leave the house, not even to check the mail ( I check it about every other day). My little inner Crab is delighting in the supreme feeling of safety. I am gaining weight, but can't seem to summon the energy to move. I have caved into the chronic fatigue, because I have no driving reason,that my survival depends on, to make me leave this apartment. My mind, however, is screaming for company. Everyday I wait for IMs, so I can connect with people. I should have this house ready for me to start painting, but I am behind. I feel defeated.

Mummers Dance (Lorena Mckennitt) - Lyric alert!!!!

Oh...
Oh...
When in the springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the askhand oak,
And the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair.
When owls call the breathless moon
In the blue veil of the night
The shadows of the trees appear
Amidst the lantern light.
We've been rambling all the night
And sometime of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay
Who will go down to those shady groves
And summon the shadows there
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
In the springtime of the year
The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
That when the fiddler plays
All their voices can be heard
Long past their woodland days
We've been rambling all the night
And sometime of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay
And so they linked their
Hands and danced
Round in circles and in rows
And so the journey of the night descends
When all the shades are gone
A garland gay we bring you here
And at your door we stand
It is a sprout well budded out
The work of Our {Lady's} hand
We've been rambling all the night
And sometime of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay
We've been rambling all the night
And sometime of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

*{MY EDIT}

The Alchera Project

The Alchera Project (http://www.alcheraproject.com) is a website that makes you think about the stuff you put in your blog/site. Once a month, the blogger chooses from one of several options for writing, then submits it. Since, I feel, my blog has grown stale from all the excitement happening elsewhere, I am going to participate. Here is this month's assignment:

"Free-write/Option No. Three: [ top ]
This month I'm going to be more specific with the free write option. Every now and then something will trigger a memory for me, one that I'd completely forgotten. Sometimes the trigger is a smell, a song or even just overhearing someone talking. Seeing as this happens to me a few times a month, at least, I hope it works like that for everyone else. If not, my apologies. Usually I remember something and then the next day I've completely forgotten about it again. So this month, if an old memory is triggered, try to write it down and then come back to it later, when you have the time, and free-write on it."

My memory happened this evening, after a long-delayed call to my biological father. His voice, after not hearing it for so long (almost a year) sent me spinning back to the 11 years he was in my life. He always moved around from place to place, so I vividly recalled a time where he had decided to just pack up and move from West Virginia to Colorado, on a whim it seemed. My sister and I were young, 9 and 7 years old, and had been forced to throw all of our precious childhood things into plastic bags. We were not allowed to tell anyone from school we were leaving until the very last minute. We had been up very late the night before the move, then got up early to go to school. Then, after the day ended, we were driving on to Colorado. We walked from the playground to the car. I opened the door and ordered my younger sister in, which she said no to. "Get in the car!" "No you get in!" began as grumpy orders and escalated to all out, full shrieking. After what seemed to be several minutes of this, my father jumped out, threw us in the car and drove off before the principle could walk over and see what was wrong. We sobbed hysterically, literally just wailed, for a half hour after we got in. I remember my father saying, "Aww, they are just a little stressed, they will get over it." to my (obvious to me now) pissed off mother. I am astonished now on just how callus he was, not caring about the affects all the moving caused, or the trauma to our psyches. disappeared when I was 11, and I never talked to him again until I was 28. And to this day, he is clueless about this incident, and in fact claims not to remember it at all.

First post from the new life.

I know I have been neglectful of my blogging recently. I have been trying to figure out my new life and get it as organized as possible. I've been trying to change over from singleton to partnered. There are things I never understood clearly, until now.

It is a good thing I like my own company...

My poor Daniel has worked several 16 hour shifts in the past week and a half. During the week, I might see him roughly 4 hours a day if that. For that reason alone I'm glad I'm here. He would work himself into the ground, and not take care of himself. At least with me here he had clean clothes, fresh food, and a warm place to sleep. I still feel guilty that I benefit more from the fruits of his labor than he does. Hopefully, once I get everything organized, it will be better.

Sleep deprivation can be a good thing...

Daniel leaves for work at 2PM, he returns at 4AM on regular nights, barring overtime. In order to spend more time with him, I've been attempting to get on his schedule, with mixed results. It takes me back to the time where I worked 2nd shift, and changed over to a 8am-4:30PM job. The sleep disruption then was horrendous. I was getting 3 hours of sleep a day trying to crowbar my internal clock into submission to the new order. Now, I'm changing back to my much-loved night owl ways, yet it seems just as hard as when I changed it the first time. Who knew getting to sleep in would be so tough?

Getting used to the lay of the land...

I haven't gotten out to explore my new surroundings yet. I've been doing aerobics on Fittv, and haven't ventured into a stroll around the new hood. I seem to be in a nesting phase, where this little Cancer loves being in her shell. Eventually I will go out on foot and explore Pikeville on foot one end to the other. Right now, I am happiest indoors.