16 August 2008
File Under:
I hope ya flip some guy the bird
He cuts you off and youre forced to swerve
In front of the beatles tour bus
A bookmobile and a mack truck
Hauling hazardous biological waste
The light turns red you have no brakes
And hard copy gets it all on tape
So you can see the look on your face
Die die die die die die die
Die die die die die die die
I hope your pinto begins to spin
Takes out a disabled vietnam veteran
Mows down a nobel peace prize winner
And maybe some orphans having christmas dinner
Perhaps even the british royal family
And the rabbi thats clutching the bottle-fed puppy
And we cant forget the newlyweds
And those jerrys kids are as good as dead
I hope this helps to emphasize
I hope this helps to clarify
I hope you die
I hope your cellmate thinks hes god
But c.n.n. refer to him as bowling ball bag bob
Serving time again for abuse of a corpse
Only this time the victims a clydesdale horse
While he masturbates to photos of livestock
He does the silence of the lambs dance to christian rock
Eats feces and quotes from deliverance
And fights with his imaginary playmate vince
Die die die die die die die
Die die die die die die die
I hope he grins like jack nicholson
And forces you to play a game called balls on chin
And whatever happens next is all a blur
But you remember fist can be a verb
And when you finally regain consciousness
Youre bound and gagged in a wedding dress
And the prison guard looks the other way
cause hes the guy ya flipped the bird the other day
I hope this helps to emphasize
I hope this helps to clarify
I hope you die
I hope you die
(ephemeral)
12 August 2008
File Under:
I don’t know why I’m feeling the way I am. I’ve hit a depressive low is the most likely answer. Then again, with the news that I might/probably really, truly have systemic lupus has kind of left me feeling like I’m at the end of my rope. I mean what else can go wrong with me? I’m a fucking invalid – and I don’t just mean that in the sense that I’m sick, both with a mental illness and several physical ones, but that I’m not valid anymore because of these things. I don’t matter. I’m a drain. I’m a burden. I’m worthless.
I wrote something earlier this morning – way earlier. It was a Google Document that I shared with my husband in regard, at least in part, to this sinking feeling that I have. I feel as though it’s affecting him and I. I feel the fire’s gone out. I feel it’s my fault.
I’ve never been one to stay down for long, but this is driving me crazy. I guess it’s time for me to do things – anything, really – to get my mind off of it. Walking up and down stairs is a pain, physically, because my joints all hurt like hell, but I think I’ll work on cleaning up our room, at least somewhat, and start working on the mountain of clothes that need to be put away or something. I’m also going to take care of myself a little, clean up and try to cheer up via that. It sometimes works. I’ve got to reply to Candice about the state job she found. I need to reply to the invitation to bid on a project that someone requested. I should look through the freelancing site and see if I find anything I want to bid on and cross my fingers. I wish the other things there hadn’t fallen through, but whatever. What’s past and done is past and done and over.
I feel like I’m dragging my hubby down. And I can’t and shouldn’t do that. I need to stop it. Somehow.
(ephemeral)
2 August 2008
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el amor de mi vida, mi marido, que llena mi alma, es uno de los más bellos internamente las personas que conozco. Soy tan afortunado de ser su! Sé que soy afortunado. muchas personas no llegar a casarse con su verdadero amor, su mejor amigo, su alma gemela. yo lo hice. i sólo habló con él sobre el teléfono por primera vez desde que dejó de trabajar el día de hoy. su voz, tan bella, me hace derretir. aunque sólo voy a llegar a verlo durante unos minutos antes tengo que ir, esta noche cuando vuelvo, tenemos la casa a nosotros mismos y hacer un uso correcto de él! Yo nunca pensé que sentiría de esta manera a alguien o que yo podía, pero yo lo hago. él es la persona más maravillosa que he conocido. él me ama más de lo que pensaba que nadie podría nunca. él me apoya a través de gruesos y finos. la manera en que yo siempre he querido ser amado, él me ama así. la forma en que siempre he amado, él me ama así. la forma en que yo pensaba el amor debe ser, él me ama así. ¿Qué hice para merecer tal cosa increíble? Cuento mi suerte estrellas y les doy las gracias por él caer de nuevo en mi vida.
(the love of my life, my husband, who fills my soul, is one of the most internally beautiful people I know. I’m so lucky I’m his i know i’m fortunate. not many people get to marry their true love, their best friend, their soul mate. i did. i just spoke to him on the phone for the first time since he left for work today. his voice, so beautiful, makes me melt. though i’ll only get to see him for a few minutes before i have to go, tonight when i return, we have the house to ourselves and will make proper use of it! i never thought i would feel this way for someone or that i could, but i do. he is the most wonderful person i’ve ever met. he loves me more than i thought anyone ever could. he supports me through thick and thin. the way i’ve always wanted to be loved, he loves me like that. the way that i’ve always loved, he loves me like that. the way that i thought love should be, he loves me like that. what did i do to deserve such an amazing thing? i count my lucky stars and thank them for him falling back into my life.)
18 May 2008
File Under:
The equation in the subject line explains pretty much it all, though my dissappointment probably doesn’t come through quite so well. Oh, well. I was looking for a good romp in the sack with my hubby tonight, post the Trinala show on SL, but as he’s currently puking from King Bacardi Select, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Oh, well. God knows I’ve got cigarettes, right? And I can stay up trying to figure out why the code on the Bipolar forum broke when we tried to reapply the chat room module to it. So I guess I have distraction . . . and distraction is always good when you were expecting sex and then find out you’re not going to get it.
About the stitches . . . Last night I tried not to use the running boards on my Explorer to get into it. Bad idea. I ended up hurting the soft tissue on my left ass cheek and on my left deltoid on down a bit and cutting open a half inch deep by half inch wide gap into my knee. Now, I could’ve gone to the hospital and had them stitch it up, but I’m a certified First Responder, which means I know how to at least stitch people up. So I did it myself at home, after we went out for dinner at China Cafe. I didn’t yelp or scream like I thought I might. I whimpered on the first one, but after that I was conversationally keeping my former Army Medic husband informed of my progress in a casual tone. When I was done he said I’d done a great job and that I was truly hardcore.
Right now I don’t feel so damn hardcore. He’s puking and since the toilet backed up – AGAIN - while he was puking, guess who got to clean up the mess? And he’s still puking. He said he’d let me know when he’s done so I can go back to plunging the night away.
And then I think I’ll just stay up and code away my dissappointment and frustration. Why not? I’ve got enough cigarettes to hold me until morning when I can go get more. So . . .
I hear snoring coming from the bathroom. So, he’s definitely done puking and while I’ve tried to get him to drink water, he wouldn’t listen to me on that. So he’ll have a head splitting headache in the morning. And if I leave him in the bathroom, asleep atop the toilet . . . Nah, I can’t do that. I’d better wake his ass up and get him to bed. Even if I can’t sleep, why should I keep him out of bed and let him sleep on top of the porcelain king until he wakes up for himself and stumbles into bed, where I won’t be.
And we were talking about having such fun, too. I really can’t express my dissappointment in all this.
You know, and after something that was said by him about another SL user and how good she gave blow jobs, I feel really low on the totem poll. I’m wondering what my incentive is. For anything.
(ephemeral)
12 May 2008
File Under:
REFUSED TO NOT ONLY PUT HIS HAND ON HIS HEART DURING THE PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE, BUT REFUSED TO SAY THE PLEDGE…..how in the hell can a man like this expect to be our next Commander-in-Chief?! I cannot trust his motives
!
Now. . . .
John McCain . . .
In light of the recent appeals court ruling in California, with respect to the Pledge of Allegiance, the following recollection from Senator John McCain is very appropriate:
‘The Pledge of Allegiance’ – by Senator John McCain
‘As you may know, I spent five and one half years as a prisoner of war during the Vietnam War. In the early years of our imprisonment, the NVA kept us in solitary confinement or two or three to a cell. In 1971 the NVA moved us from these conditions of isolation into large rooms with as many as 30 to 40 men to a room.
This was, as you can imagine, a wonderful change and was a direct result of the efforts of millions of Americans on behalf of a few hundred POWs 10,000 miles from home.
One of the men who moved into my room was a young man named Mike Christian.
Mike came from a small town near Selma , Alabama . He didn’t wear a pair of shoes until he was 13 years old. At 17, he enlisted in the US Navy. He later earned a commission by going to Officer Training School Then he became a Naval Flight Officer and was shot down and captured in 1967. Mike had a keen and deep appreciation of the opportunities this country and our military provide for people who want to work and want to succeed.
As part of the change in treatment, the Vietnamese allowed some prisoners to receive packages from home. In some of these packages were handkerchiefs, scarves and other items of clothing.
Mike got himself a bamboo needle. Over a period of a couple of months, he created an American flag and sewed on the inside of his shirt.
Every afternoon, before we had a bowl of soup, we would hang Mike’s shirt on the wall of the cell and say the Pledge of Allegiance.
I know the Pledge of Allegiance may not seem the most important part of our day now, but I can assure you that in that stark cell it was indeed the most important and meaningful event.
One day the Vietnamese searched our cell, as they did periodically, and discovered Mike’s shirt with the flag sewn inside, and removed it.
That evening they returned, opened the door of the cell, and for the benefit of all of us, beat Mike Christian severely for the next couple of hours. Then, they opened the door of the cell and threw him in. We cleaned him up as well as we could.
The cell in which we lived had a concrete slab in the middle on which we slept Four naked light bulbs hung in each corner of the room.
As I said, we tried to clean up Mike as well as we could. After the excitement died down, I looked in the corner of the room, and sitting there beneath that dim light bulb with a piece of red cloth, another shirt and his bamboo needle, was my friend, Mike Christian. He was sitting there with his eyes almost shut from the beating he had received, making another American flag. He was not making the flag because it made Mike Christian feel better. He was making that flag because he knew how important it was to us to be able to Pledge our allegiance to our flag and country.
So the next time you say the Pledge of Allegiance, you must never forget the sacrifice and courage that thousands of Americans have made to build our nation and promote freedom around the world. You must remember our duty, our honor, and our country.’
‘I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.’
(ephemeral)
10 April 2008
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I’m calling all angels.
Actually, what I’m doing is calling my prayer partners and praying with them before I call back. If this is what is meant to be, then it’ll happen. I’m praying for wisdom and for my Higher Power, for calming and peace. I’m praying that I’m shown where I’m supposed to be, that I be given direction, that this spirit of fear be removed. I’m praying for God’s perfect will, that the Lord will open doors that other men would shut. I’m praying for discernment. I’m praying for being led down the path that my Higher Power would have me.
Mama, Audi, Kevin, Mike in The Valley, Blanca, and Hendrik for praying with me over the phone and taking time out of your day to back me up. Thank you to those I e-mailed because I didn’t have your numbers fr praying for me and with me in regard to this, including, most especially, Eldon, Gary from Western Trails, Laticia, Angela, Terry, Mr. Rosson, Glen, Beryl, Chris, Chase, Reverend Larry, Brian, and everyone else.
Thank you to Hendrik for the business advice that you gave me. It really made a lot of sense and hit home. You’re right. I need to keep it simple, I need to be direct, and I need to be firm. Most of all, I need to not worry about it because if God wants me to have it, then I’ll have it. All I need to do is walk through the process as wisely as I can and let go and let God. We do the work, and God does the rest. It’s not up to me, it’s up to God.
I think I’m going to do a fear inventory over this before I call or e-mail anybody at Alfresco.
(ephemeral)
File Under:
I might be going to work for them although some of the feedback I got well post the second person I spoke to kind of put me in a funk. I know that my J2E skills are lacking and I still rely on tutorials when I have to mess with it when I work on a contract. The thing is that I always manange to get everything to work, the client to be happy, and I learn something to add to my catalog.
My therapist would remind me at this point in time that I’m hard on myself and that I need to losen up and not take the criticism so roughly. For some reason, I just can’t. I guess it’s that when I first was contacted about the position and did the first interview, I was quite excited. I knew WHO was contacting me and WHAT that meant and I was honored, a little blown away that little-ol’-me would be catching their interest, and that they might actually want to really talk to me about working for them.
I’d had therapy between the times I talked to the first person and the second person at Alfresco and realized that I was having a bad Asperger’s day and that my weak point, my verbal skills and social interaction skills, were going to be utilized. It made me nervous. I felt as though I flubbed up some very basic things when talking to the second person at Alfresco. The e-mail I received later confirmed that. I just couldn’t explain things verbally.
I said that I was willing to send code and some of my portfolio of the sites that I’ve worked on, but then I realized that because of Interzone and the projects I worked on there, a number of the NDAs and Binding Arbitration Agreements that were attached to my contracts that I can’t send the overwhelming majority of things I’ve done. Then again, most of them were in what Interzone targeted: the porn industry – and those guys like their privacy. The rest of my catalog is consisted of small sites that don’t all use a CMS behind them. The first site I ever fully developed and implemented was Warehouse23 when I was at Steve Jackson Games and their Retail Sales Manager and Assistant to the President. You can find out all about the Warehouse23 launch, Jackie and I completing it, and everything else by looking through the 1998 archives on the main SJG site.
I think I’m going to contact the first person I spoke to at Alfresco and see what I can do. I’m learning the J2E right now and Rob Landley is going to tutor me hardcore over the next two weekeneds so that I get it all down tight. I’m looking forward to actually, finally getting Java/J2E fully under my belt even if I don’t get the job at Alfresco, so . . .
I think I’ll call now. Maybe it would just be best to get this off my chest.
(ephemeral)
File Under:
My last appointment that I got weighed at was Monday, March seventeenth. I just checked my calendar to make sure of the date. I got weighed yesterday and since that date I’ve lost almost thirty pounds. I’ve been dropping through sizes so fast it’s crazy. And I’m sober, so I know it’s not because of anything crazy messing with my neurochemistry and metabolism. The seventeenth is when they gave me Depo, and while most people gain weight on it, there’s a small population that loses weight on it – apparently I’m in that population.
I don’t think it’s thyroid storm because I’d be sick and that’s nasty, although I’m still – duh – on thyroid medication and taking it daily. But even with it, exercise, and watching what I eat like a hawk during the past three years that I’ve been on thyroid replacement therapy I haven’t lost any weight. If anything, I’ve fought to stay the same or gained weight. So . . .
Really, I’m not complaining about the weight loss. It’s nice to be able to wear clothes I haven’t been able to touch since, oh, three years ago or so. It’s nice to be looking better physically. And if I exercised more, I’d probably be even that much better off for it. I just haven’t had the time.
(ephemeral)
5 April 2008
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What does "love" mean? A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds. The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. Here are some of them:
"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn’t bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That’s love." – Rebecca, eight-years-old
"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth." – Billy, four-years-old
"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other." – Karl, five-years-old
"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs." – Chrissy, six-years-old
"Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired." – Terri, four-years-old
"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK." – Danny, seven-years-old
"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mom my and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss." – Emily, eight-years-old
"Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen." – Bobby, seven-years-old
"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate." – Nikka, six-years-old
"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday." – Noelle, seven-years-old
"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well." – Tommy, six-years-old
"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn’t scared anymore." – Cindy, eight-years-old
"My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don’t see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night." – Clare, six-years-old
"Love is when Mom my gives Daddy the best piece of chicken." – Elaine, five-years-old
"Love is when Mom my sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford." – Chris, seven-years-old
"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day." – Mary Ann, four-years-old
"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones." – Lauren, four-years-old
"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." – Karen, seven-years-old
"Love is when Mom my sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn’t think it’s gross." – Mark, six-years-old
"You really shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget." – Jessica, eight-years-old
Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four-year-old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman’s yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."
The varried answers garnered from both the study and the contest reflect a lot about our society as it stands and where it’s going, what future generations are already learning to value at such a young age, and they both lend a great bit of a view into ethical and moral insight. However, the response by Nikka was both out of the norm and it gave me a glimmer of hope, too. Again, her response was, "If you wat to learn to love better, you should start wth a friend who you hate." Little is she probably aware, but Nikka is wise beyond her six years.
People – or, as I’ve come to prefer to call the majority of society – sheeple have been bleating about how we need to change this and that before IT’S TOO LATE. "It" is never defined. That point of no return is never given a definition or description. Sheeple call for revolution, call for change, scream about global warming, saving the planet, and rising gas prices. Yet don’t go out and vote; install solar panels on their homes (or simply turn lights out in rooms when they’re not in use); use conservation measures around their homes or offices (like basic thermostat "smarts" at home or making sure that paper gets recycled at the office – as most offices do this these days); make an attempt at recycling (much less starting a recycling program in their area!); buy local; start compost heaps; carpool to work, church, school, or whatever; take public transportation (even from park-and-ride lots!); or trip planning and consolidating stops when running errands around town – especially for those sheeple in gas-guzzling SUVs who seem to bitch, whine, and moan the loudest about gas prices when they’re doing nothing to make the situation better. Sadly, this is the society that the next generation, children like Nikka, are coming into. It’s a world of apathy in many ways, a world where we’re not working toward love.
VNV Nation’s lyrics to Testament come to mind right about now: And I’m not the only one who thinks we’re trying to say :: To the heavens and all who hear us: behold all we have made! :: We bring destruction, we bring war without an end :: and we live in hope that tomorrow never comes :: We conquer paradise just to burn it to the ground :: And we build a future to honour pasts we left behind :: We bring destruction, we bring war without an end :: And then we live in hope that tomorrow never comes :: . . . :: When was the last day without war? :: We speak of greatness we have never been.
(ephemeral)
2 April 2008
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My apologies to the folks who were kind enough to let me photograph them and/or their pets at Genuine Joe’s yesterday afternon and. I know that I promised that I would have the pictures up on the site shorty after I got home las night. However, I got home much later than anyone expected and, hence, it didn’t get done . . . yet, but it wil get a free moment and can find the mini-USB to USB cable that I thought was . . .
Oh, well, that’s okay. I’ve got several method I can use and they’re all readily available. One just requires installing some sotware on the Windows machine and then – ready, set, go! No biggie. Actually, it’s something I should’ve done quite some time ago.
However, they shall be up tody. Feel free to leave commens and remember to remind me as to which picture belongs to whom so I don’t send out the wrong picture to you!
(ephemeral)
29 March 2008
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The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewp oints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness. We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom. We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life. We’ve added years to life not life to years. We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We’ve done larger things, but not better things. We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We’ve conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less. These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diap ers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill . It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete… Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever. Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side. Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn’t cost a cent. Remember, to say, "I love you" to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you. Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person WI ll not be there again. Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind. AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away".
Thank you, George Carlin, for that beauty.
(ephemeral)
27 March 2008
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Right now I’m giving you fair and adequate warning. Below may contain some information that may be considered too much information, so if you choose to scroll down and read, you’ve been warned. However, at the same time, there’s some pretty interesting – and amazing (or so it was to me!) – stuff there, too . . . so it’s a toss up and the proverbial ball is in your court.
My husband tonight utterly amazed me. Then again, he does this often, but this was special – and quite spectacular, if I do say so myself.
So, I say, as we’re laying in bed, cuddling and touching, stroking each others’ skin, that I wonder if it’s possible to be brought to orgasm just by touch. Well, he took this as a personal challenge and started seriously sensually stroking my skin, hitting all my erogenous zones, and just going to town with it. I was writhing like mad. He had me so worked up that it was crazy. I felt myself getting wetter and wetter, I was moaning and I could feel myself getting closer and closer and closer to a pretty intense orgasm. Then, when he – and this just drives me absolutely crazy in that way that every woman loves to be driven crazy – bit me at the right spot at the nape of the neck with just the right amount of teeth and pressure. I was gone. I came so hard. It was on after that. I went down on him, which I love doing, and he didn’t stop touching and caressing me, which was driving me even more wild. I was already pretty much soaking, so . . . We played back and forth for a few more minutes, the intensity just building and I kept coming and coming all through this. It was mind blowing. Then, he enters me and we really get to going at it, him still running his hands and fingers all over me, making me burn with passion and have orgasm after orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. We both came together incredibly hard, falling momentarily in a pile on each other, him on top of me, which I love. At that point and – I absolutely swear – for about an hour or so thereafter I keep having what I call "aftershock" orgams, which are orgasms with minimal touch or stimulation of any kind. We cuddle as he falls asleep and as I’m cuddling with him, I’m still having major aftershocks. Giggling proudly, he asked if I was okay. My response, "I’m more than okay. I’m in sheer bliss here."
I couldn’t move except for the aftershock twitches for about an hour.
Saying that my husband is good in bed is an understatement. He’s an absolute, bona-fide god and the only man who’s ever been able to give me an orgasm, much less multiples and then do things like this.
I’m still floaty and blissed out. I’m going to go cuddle some more. :)
(ephemeral)
9 March 2008
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So, as of a few hours ago – around lunchtime, Central Standard Time – I completed twenty-nine reolutions around this bright star of ours known as the sun.
This year has been rather interesting. I got married in this last turn around our celestial star, which I of all people didn’t expect, but at the same time I’m the last person complaining. And, to make it even better, my Dad loves him! My Dad has never liked anyone that I’ve dated, but he’s given this one his full approval, love, acceptance, and respect. He even calls him "son" – which is a major sign of just how much Dad’s come to bring Steve, my husband, into our family – fucked up though it may be.
And Steve’s family has fully accepted me, too. I have more family! It’s strange. They’re great people, too, and I’ve liked every single one of them that I’ve met. I really love his Mom and Dad. They’re so awesome.
I’ve also had a few old, but very close friends randomly appear back into my life. One was my best friend – and the most unexpected of all, Mr. Mason. Another was Miss Nicky. S. John was definitely the coolest by far. Erin was awesome to hear from again. Ken rocked because he’s just so damn awesome and I’ve missed him soooooo very, very much. There were others, but these by far stand out the most. I’m so glad to have you guys – and gals – back in my life again!
During this year with the stellar movements of the sky and earth in balance, there was Misery Journey, of which I am not sure that I have spoken of. Shortly after getting married I got to take a now former friend back home to Tacoma from Austin when she lost her job at Apple – with the promise that her or her parents would give me enough gas money to make it back. Well, her parents did, but she having Borderline Personality Disorder and being a kleptomaniac stole about half the money they gave me to get home on and thus left me in a major bind. I made it to California, because before I’d left I’d already planned to make a side trip there to visit with my ex-roommate and close friend, Jason. He cleaned me up, got some Starbucks in me, took me to the best sushi I’ve ever had in my whole, entire life (and I’ve had A LOT of sushi), and got me good for the road back home. Because of him, I made it back with under twenty bucks to my name. I didn’t eat or stop to rest on the way back, either. He saved my ass, though. And during that twenty-four hour respite, he showed me some beautiful things. California IS beautiful. I must give it that.
In this last year, this past tour in the sunshine, there have been some really bad things that have happened, namely two – and both have been in the past two months, funny enough: Steve and I lost our daughter; I nearly died last week from an accidentally medically-induced medicine overdose that sent me into grand mal seizures for a few days. One day longer, said the neurologist at the hospital to me after reviewing my EEGs, and I probably would’ve been toast.
My sponsor and I decided after much talk that since my last ‘relapse’ was what I thought it was and what she’d spent the last few years trying to convince me that it was – a suicide attempt driven by my ex. I used a lethal dose and it didn’t kill me, so now March first is my pseudo-sobriety birthday and October thirty-first of 2003 is my actual sobriety birthday, meaning that soon – very soon – I’ll be coming up on five years. Hella cool. So in my previous revolution, instead of making just one year, I actually hit my four. This is going to make things interesting come Birthday Night. LOL.
(ephemeral)
File Under:
5 March 2008
File Under:
The deeper you stick it in your vein
The deeper the thoughts, there’s no more pain
I’m in heaven, I’m a god
I’m everywhere, I feel so hot
It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side
I’m not an addict (maybe that’s a lie)
It’s over now, I’m cold, alone
I’m just a person on my own
Nothing means a thing to me
(Nothing means a thing to me)
That’s from K’s Choice’s Not an Addict. I woke up on my alterna-sobriety birthday in the hospital recovering from a medication overdose initated by a well-meaning doctor. That, after two days previous of being totally out of it and very near death, was the first day I was aware – me – again.
Happy pseudo-birthday to me.
(ephemeral)
8 November 2007
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The Sun was born, so it shall die
So only shadows comfort me
I know in darkness I will find you giving up inside like me
Each day shall end as it begins
And though you’re far away from me
I know in darkness I will find you giving up inside like me
VNV Nation – End of Days
I know that’s a funny quote to begin with, given the title of this post. I’ll also warn you now that there’s some trigger-some content that follows, so you might want to skip the next paragraph and then read the rest if you have abuse-related issues.
I refuse to be a fucking victim. I’ve had enough of that in my lifetime already. As a kid I was abused, but I’m not going into detail there. It gets nasty. At fourteen I was raped by a family friend’s child. At sixteen, while at boarding school, I was raped again. During my parent’s divorce, I was used as a pawn by my mom – promised rewards if I got documents against my Dad during visitations, but nothing ever came of those promises. They were merely lies. Notice how ‘Dad’ is capitalized and ‘mom’ is not. Anyhow, my mom used to have contests with me to lose weight, promising a new wardrobe and other such bullshit if I lost more weight than she did. That never materialized, either. And when her systemic lupus erythematosus got bad enough to where she couldn’t take care of herself, the house, the bills, and my little brother and I, guess who’s shoulders all that fell upon? Mine. There was never any thanks, just chastising that I should do better, perform more. That started when I was twelve. I’d get into my evil bitch of a grandmother on my Dad’s side, who viewed my little brother, cousin, and I for being "half breeds" and therefore not good enough for shit . . . or her verbal and physical abuse because of it . . . and the subsequent bullshit she put my brother and I through while my mom was in St. Luke’s Hospital dying when I was sixteen. Nor will I get into my Dad abandoning me in Puerto Rico for the rest of the summer after mom’s funeral because I insulted his bitch of a mother, over which we got into a nasty argument that resulted in my being ditched there and eventually landing my ass in boarding school, after a wonderful – and I mean that in the most sarcastic way – month with some of my mom’s extended family in which I was ridiculed by an alcoholic pastor’s wife. Hey, at least the pastor didn’t . . . and I got get drunk with him. I’m pretty certain he wanted a divorce, but his religious convictions wouldn’t allow it. Meh. Not my problem now.
I refuse to be a fucking victim again. I refuse to be a fucking statistic. What am I talking about? See, about two months ago, my husband got referred to a neurologist when he had an accident that landed him in the emergency room. So we went to this guy’s office, unsuspecting of the bullshit and lies and what else would come of that. At first, I thought the guy was okay as he seemed to be very scientific in his proceedings. Being narcoleptic and epileptic and having also been looking for a neurologist, I figured I’d make an appointment to see this doctor – if he can even be called that – as well. So I went in, he seemed focused on the narcoleptic issue because, well, it’s been getting worse and Provigil isn’t working for me as a stand alone medication anymore. So he set me up to have a polysomnogram – though without an MSLT, which is a standard test for narcolepsy and repeated if the condition worsens. And then it got fun. I got jacked around and lied to by his office and then directly – to my face – by him, all the while my condition was still deteriorating. And, as if that weren’t enough, my husband wasn’t improving. Now he’s at a point where things are to the point where they began. Our patient records – if they can be called that – are full of erroneous details, things we never said, and more. And I’m angry as all fucking hell about it.
I refuse to be a fucking victim – and even moreso – I refuse to let the one I love be a victim, too. This means war. I’ve been trampled on enough just on my own, but what pisses me off more than anything is seeing the mistreatment of my husband. I can live with having to wait another few weeks – maybe – if my thyroid levels are in check – to see another neurologist, who’s been recommended by both my primary care physician and my psychiatrist. But my husband may have to wait until the start of the year because of our fucking insurance until he can get adequate care without it putting us in financial jeopardy. It aggravates me that he’s suffering and that my hands are tied as to doing anything about it, really, without drastic action. But, you know what? I’m READY to take drastic action against this son of a whore. Little does he know who he’s fucking with. Little does he know just how much firepower I’ll bring to the table. Little does he know that the victimization of people, in this instance, is going to fuck his shit up. And that’s NOT a threat. It’s a goddamn promise.
(ephemeral)
25 October 2007
File Under:
This was a triumph.
I’m making a note here: HUGE SUCCESS.
It’s hard to overstate my satisfaction.
Aperture Science
We do what we must
because we can.
For the good of all of us.
Except the ones who are dead.
But there’s no sense crying over every mistake.
You just keep on trying till you run out of cake.
And the Science gets done.
And you make a neat gun.
For the people who are still alive.
I’m not even angry.
I’m being so sincere right now.
Even though you broke my heart.
And killed me.
And tore me to pieces.
And threw every piece into a fire.
As they burned it hurt because I was so happy for you!
Now these points of data make a beautiful line.
And we’re out of beta.
We’re releasing on time.
So I’m GLaD. I got burned.
Think of all the things we learned
for the people who are still alive.
Go ahead and leave me.
I think I prefer to stay inside.
Maybe you’ll find someone else to help you.
Maybe Black Mesa
THAT WAS A JOKE.
HAHA. FAT CHANCE.
Anyway, this cake is great.
It’s so delicious and moist.
Look at me still talking
when there’s Science to do.
When I look out there, it makes me GLaD I’m not you.
I’ve experiments to run.
There is research to be done.
On the people who are still alive.
And believe me I am still alive.
I’m doing Science and I’m still alive.
I feel FANTASTIC and I’m still alive.
While you’re dying I’ll be still alive.
And when you’re dead I will be still alive.
STILL ALIVE
(ephemeral)
20 October 2007
File Under:
dis·hon·est
1. not honest; disposed to lie, cheat, or steal; not worthy of trust or belief
2. proceeding from or exhibiting lack of honesty; fraudulent
3. deceptive or fraudulent; disposed to cheat or defraud or deceive
4. characterized by lack of truth, honesty, or trustworthiness : unfair, deceptive
Don’t fuck with me or lie to my face, especially when: a) I’ve got proof from other sources – hard proof – that shows that you’re lying and b) I’ve got a witness that can prove that you’re either just a sadist and like to make people’s lives as miserable as possible or that you’re just incapable of telling the truth . . . or, in this case, probably both.
When you screw with me like this, to where not only my life is affected but the lives of others . . . to the point where you’re damaging my ability to work; to perform even the most minimal of tasks around the house because I might succumb to narcolepsy while, oh, cooking, and burn down the house; to the point where I’m afraid to drive unless absolutely necessary because I feel like I might pose a threat to others should – God forbid! – anything happen; to the point where I’ve scared the holy living fuck out of my husband a few times because of this . . . and it’s because of your negligence, dishonesty, and irresponsibility, you’d better be ready for what comes next.
To qoute Eminem:
"No more games, I’m a change what you call rage. Tear this mothafuckin’ roof off like two dogs caged. I was playin’ in the beginning, the mood all changed. I been chewed up and spit out and booed off stage. But I kept rhymin’ and stepwritin’ the next cypher. Best believe somebody’s payin’ the pied piper. All the pain inside amplified by the fact that I can’t get by with my nine to five and I can’t provide the right type of life for my family . . . This is my life."
Don’t. Fuck. With. Me.
(ephemeral)
1 October 2007
File Under:
this post is brought to you by small letters because it is not a happy post.
this post bears the "friends" tag. rather it should wear the tag "ex-friends", "betrayal", "backstabbing", or some other such thing as the tag "friends" is in and of itself a lie because this post is about those things . . . about someone who used to be a friend. and while i’m one of the most forgiving people you will ever meet and will give you chance after chance after chance after you’ve fucked me around and hurt me bad, this person gets something very few people have ever gotten from me: the axe.
i guess the era era ended between this person and i a long while before this. no, actually, it did end. but i guess i just found a nice, clean line of demarcation to simply walk away from it, to begin the silence that should have begun a long, long time ago.
so, without further ado, i bring you song lyrics that when and if you play the song itself – which i highly encourage you listen to it as it’s a great song – it embodies the emotions that washed over me when i stepped up to this line of demarcation.
the eels – "guest list"
album: "beautiful freak"
are you one of the beautiful people?
is my name on the list?
wanna be of the beautiful people . . .
wanna feel like i’m missed.
hey – you – with the walkie-talkie,
i know my clothes are not right.
i wish i had my own walkie-talkie
that reached to god every night.
everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.
are you one of the beautiful people?
am i on the wrong track?
sometimes it feels like i’m made of eggshell
and it feels like i’m gonna crack.
everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.
i’m never on your list.
(ephemeral)
17 September 2007
File Under:
So . . . spinal taps aren’t fun.
I’ve been through one before. The techniques have improved, though, as I got to witness today, while watching my baby going through one while I held his hand. That sucked. Let me tell you. I hate watching people go through pain that I can’t take away, but I’m not God or any other diety . . . at least last time I checked or. if I am, I haven’t been notified, so I’ll take it that, nope, I’m not anything of the sort. Nor would I want to be. It’s too much responsibility.
But I digress.
I watched my baby go through a spinal tap. And it sucked. They found a high level of protiens in his cerebrospinal fluid. Not good. Now he’s got to see a neurologist in the next few days to determine what this could mean, but none of it sounds really good right off the bat, at least with the reasearch that we’ve been able to do on our own thus far.
I’m praying for rain. I’m praying for tidal waves.
(ephemeral)
5 September 2007
File Under:
http://organizedchaos.blogsome.com/
(ephemeral)
31 August 2007
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"You know the world is going crazy when the best rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy,the tallest guy in the NBA is Chinese, the Swiss hold the America’s Cup, France is accusing the U.S. of arrogance, Germany doesn’t want to go to war, and the three most powerful men in America are named Bush, Dick, and Colon." – Comedian Chris Rock
(ephemeral)
File Under:
Thank you to my hubby and to my best friend, Kevin, for reminding me that I’m not useless.
As Kevin pointed out, what’s most likely going on with me is that things aren’t happening for me as fast as I’d like or the way that I’d like. There’s me . . . trying to wrest back control when I am powerless. In A. A. you learn a lot of things: personal powerlessness, surrender, humility, acceptance, letting go, boundaries . . . That’s just a small number of the myriad of lessons I’ve learned so far – and sometimes have to revisit.
Like right now while talking to Kevin he pointed out to me the above about things not happening "my way". This means I need to surrender them to my Higher Power and stop trying to meddle. My job is NOT to fix everything, but to do what I can and only that – the next right thing, as it were.
I’m powerless over a lot of things right now and that makes me feel ineffectual.
But I have to realize that it doesn’t mean that I am ineffectual. As Kevin pointed out, if I were ineffectual, things wouldn’t be where they are now. I wouldn’t have made any headway anywhere, or, if anything, I’d have already relapsed.
So, ummm, yeah.
I need to surrender. Again. I keep revisiting this one this year. Heh. And I need to remember where "you" end and "I" begin. And I need to keep in mind what personal powerlessness is and what it does and doesn’t touch in my life.
(ephemeral)
30 August 2007
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Not only do I feel useless, but I feel like I’m pissing someone off without meaning to. Great. Watch me fail all over the fucking place.
True to addiction, huh? Everything gets going good and you find a way to tear it apart. You can’t have nice things.
There goes the committee. Spin, spin, sugar . . .
(ephemeral)
File Under:
Why am I here? I feel fucking useless.
Hooray for being useless, useless me. Gah, maybe I should just give this shit up completely. Why am I even trying?
Why?
(ephemeral)
