This is the kind of day I'm having:  I can't figure out how to get the stupid top on the stupid plastic container I took my cantaloupe in to work this morning.  I hate plastic ware!  I've never ever been able to make it really work.  Sometimes when I put the lids on and I think everything is fine, I come back later to find out that, once again, stuff is leaking out of the container.  You know, I'm supposed to be a really intelligent person.  Go figure.  You'd think anybody could figure out how to make this shit work.

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We need cancer because, by the very fact of its insurability, it makes all other diseases, however virulent, not cancer. ~ Gilbert Adair

It dawned on me this morning that, somewhere in the reptilian part of my brain, I still believe that I'm sick and, therefore, weird looking.  It's hard to get over the feeling when you've spent most of a year looking like you're getting ready to die.  Then there was that 7 weeks when I wasn't allowed to wear a bra because of radiation.  I wore shirts over my tee shirts to try to camouflage the remaining (unsupported) girl. That was really depressing.  I just had to stop looking at myself in order to pretend it didn't matter to me.

In reality, my hair is growing back really quickly.  I was still pretty bald in July when I finished up radiation and now it's probably about an inch long.  It's curly, thicker and much darker than my hair used to be.  The hair on the rest of my body is coming back really slowly, but that's okay with me.

I also now have some color in my face.  During chemo and radiation, I was just white the whole time, with dark circles under my eyes.  My face was completely round because of the steroids they used.  So there you are...a white, moon-faced bald person with dark circles under my eyes.  Wow.  I've never looked so attractive.  I gave up the desire to wear make up or nice clothes.  Partly it was because I just didn't have the energy, but it was also because I just hated the way I looked.  There wasn't really anything that could be done to make me look better, anyway.

I've been wearing makeup for the past couple of weeks and I've even worn some skirts and dresses to work.  I'm not getting much joy out of it, though.  My therapist asked me last week if I was excited about being able to dress up again.  Um, no.  I wish I were, but I'm not.  Throughout the past year of treatment, I always assumed I'd be happy to be able to dress up again.  It's just another one of the many assumptions I've given up.

I just realized yesterday that it's time for my three month checkup.  I think that's part of the reason why I noticed how unattractive I feel.  I try not to think about cancer until I have to.  It makes me so anxious to even think about going to M.D. Anderson.  I feel a little queasy and a lot of dread.  I'm sure everything will be okay, but I'll have to manage my thoughts until I go.  My appointment is scheduled for next Thursday.  

That means I'll be incommunicado for a while next week.   On that note, I need to write a long email to the attorney who lives next door.  I've decided to talk with him about the breast cancer diagnosis.  They had been watching the cancer grow for some period of time.  I did my part...I did monthly self exams and annual mammograms.  Well, I'll save that for another day.

America held hostage day 1672

Bushism of the day:

"Secondly, the tactics of our—as you know, we don't have relationships with Iran. I mean, that's—ever since the late '70s, we have no contacts with them, and we've totally sanctioned them. In other words, there's no sanctions—you can't—we're out of sanctions." - Annandale, Va., Aug. 9, 2004

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"Each of us bears his own Hell." ~ Virgil

For the first time in weeks, the temperature won't reach 100. It rained this morning for the first time in a month or so. I'm always reminded of Gerard Manley Hopkins' poem, "Thou Art Indeed Just Lord" when we go through a drought. (http://www.theotherpages.org/...)

One of my co-workers, J., returned Monday from working in a different state for the past three years.  This has resulted in the imposition of some new rules by the owner of the company.  I ran into J. yesterday morning in the break room and exchanged pleasantries with him.  I came upstairs and spent some time with Stephanie, whose office is close to the owner's office.  He buzzed and asked me to come by when I got a chance.  I just went to put my purse and tote bag in my office and came back for the conversation with S., my boss. 

He asked me to limit my conversations with J.  No chatting.  And when I stop by to talk with Stephanie, I'm supposed to close the door so that J. won't see that we're having a good time and think he can get involved.  My mom thought that was just absolutely hilarious.  As for me, nothing that goes on in my office surprises me anymore.  Well, what could I do?  I said, "Sure.  I can do that."  Then he proceeded to tell me at length about why there isn't to be any unofficial contact with J.  What he said is different from what is true.

S. told me that J. hadn't worked very hard while he was at the other office and he (the owner) thought that might help to get J. focused on producing.  Even though I don't think that's the real reason, I pointed out that that's why I made the choice, years ago, to essentially ignore J.  He likes to take credit for things he hasn't done.  That makes me angry.

The real reason S. wants to ostracize J. is that he's pissed off.  S. became friends with a former colleague who later became our customer in the out of state office.  The customer loathes J.  He's regaled S. with many tales of slackerdom.  And pomposity.  And arrogance.  That created some very unfriendly feelings towards J. in S.'s heart.  So he's been punished ever since.  It started around 5 years ago.  S. can definitely hold onto a grudge.  It's a quality that I share, so I can't really criticize. 

J. had been pleading to come back for a couple of years now because his family has continued to live in this state.  His daughter got married and provided him with a grandson, so there was added impetus to get back.  She's now living in my old hometown, which is about five hours away, but it's closer than 4 states away.  J.'s wife hates him.  She may have forgotten that during his absence, but she'll be remembering any day now.  Let's see...he got here on Saturday, so I'm thinking that by tomorrow, she'll start thinking about taking out a contract on his life.

So this week, J. may think his life has taken a turn for the better.  He'll figure it out soon enough.  Welcome back to hell, J.  Get comfortable, because I don't see any changes in your immediate future.

America held hostage day 1671

Bushism of the day:

"So community colleges are accessible, they're available, they're affordable, and their curriculums don't get stuck. In other words, if there's a need for a certain kind of worker, I presume your curriculums evolved over time." - Niceville, Fla., Aug. 10, 2004

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"The scars of others should teach us caution." ~ St. Jerome

Sometimes I can be so clueless.  In my last post, I was puzzling over why it was critical for me that I never be anyone's second choice.  My father.  It all always comes back to him.  Throughout my life, my mother was my father's second choice, through 3 affairs and 2 marriages.  She hung around--and made me hang around--for them all.  In the end, she ended up with the prize, assuming you could call my dad a prize in any way whatsoever.  But as recently as five years before he killed himself, he went to visit his son from a different marriage and stayed with his son's mother.  My mother was relegated to my aunt's house.  

In a way, I was always second best in his eyes, too.  I could never live up to his expectations and he constantly compared me unfavorably to other girls.  In a way, when he forced me to serve as bait for the 13 year old he eventually married, he was choosing her over me.  He told me that she looked like she was lonely.  I can't remember the other reasons why he told me I should get to know her.  It didn't really matter because when my father wanted something, he was relentless.  I just gave in.  Even though she wasn't in the least bit interesting to me as a friend.  After a while, things became clearer to me when they began a sexual relationship.  He wasn't actually choosing her over me in the way I originally thought about it, but he certainly sacrificed me in order to have her.  Writing about this always gets me in touch with my rage.

As for my competition issues, I think they arose from the fact that my father was always thrilled when he could make himself seem smarter than my mom.  He was competitive with me, too, to some extent.  As I got older, he wasn't able to keep up intellectually, but I continued to let him win in some arenas.  In others, I just didn't let him see exactly how good I was. 

It's so simple to backtrack.  I guess the answers I get from looking back don't make me very happy, so I manage to confuse myself sometimes.  As a matter of fact, my parents have been a source of infinite confusion.  I think that as a child, things were too awful to bear.  Being confused was a critical survival mechanism.  I survived, but there are a lot of scars, both physical and psychological.  Unfortunately, many of my ex-lovers had to pay a heavy price because of them.  I did, too.  I still do. 

America held hostage day 1665

Bushism of the day:

"They've seen me make decisions, they've seen me under trying times, they've seen me weep, they've seen me laugh, they've seen me hug. And they know who I am, and I believe they're comfortable with the fact that they know I'm not going to shift principles or shift positions based upon polls and focus groups." - Interview with USA Today, Aug. 27, 2004

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"We must learn our limits. We are all something, but none of us are everything." ~ Blaise Pascal

Over the weekend I realized that, by ending the first date story when I did, I may have left the wrong impression.  The point of never pining away for someone after my experience with Michael doesn't have anything to do with how attractive I was or how fascinating or anything like that.  At that time in my life, it was impossible for me to form a relationship with someone I believed had loved or desired someone other than me.

It's just another one of those consequences of growing up with my father.  I can't explain exactly what the connection is, but the entire time I was with Michael (which wasn't very long) all I could really focus on was that I believed he would have preferred to be with someone else.  You know, like I was somehow second rate.  I was never able to get over that feeling and I certainly never gave voice to it.  

After that relationship, I never allowed myself to want anyone who indicated in any way that I wasn't their first choice.  It's not that the people I was with had never been in relationships with someone else.  The thing was that they just couldn't talk about the other people with that misty longing people sometimes have for old lovers.  They most assuredly couldn't be drawn to blondes (I have brown hair) or short women...well, the list is endless, really.  The blonde thing was really a sticking point with me because my father preferred blondes.  Unfortunately, I came across several men who had been with blondes before and seemed to have a preference.  It was the absolute kiss of death for our relationship.

I would pull back immediately and become emotionally unavailable.  I might still be sleeping with them, but my heart was well guarded.  Actually, my heart was well guarded, anyway.  I always had two boyfriends before I met my husband.  One boyfriend (who usually lived in a different city) would be the beloved with whom I shared a sexual relationship and the other boyfriend (in the same town) who was really just a way to entertain myself without physical intimacy.

I didn't have the insight (or didn't choose to use it) to see that one of the boyfriends was always occupying second place in my life.  Furthermore, I have been involved with more fair haired men than dark.  My true preference is for men with dark hair and smoldering eyes.  I'm certain you see my point here.  I would not be second choice, but I had no problem with making someone else my second choice.

My relationships with men have always involved competition of one type or another.  I was generally very dismissive of their intellectual abilities.  I now believe that what I was really judging was their intuitive abilities, not their intellectual abilities.  I'm highly intuitive and I was always able to see things they couldn't.  Whatever the basis, my need to be competitive with men was very destructive to them, to me and to our relationship.

Now that we've cleared all that up, I'll get back to the Michael story later this week. 

America held hostage day 1660

Bushism of the day:

"That's why I went to the Congress last September and proposed fundamental—supplem ental funding, which is money for armor and body parts and ammunition and fuel." - Erie, Pa., Sept. 4, 2004

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"Why love if losing hurts so much? We love to know that we are not alone." ~ C.S. Lewis

I didn't start dating until I was 17.  I was pretty geeky and not just a little anxious about the whole "boy" thing.  I'm not sure what exactly prompted the young man to ask me to the prom, but I think it was a matter of one brainy, geeky kid finding another brainy, geeky kid.  He could pretty much count on the fact that no one else had asked me.  The funny thing is that I no longer remember which brainy kid was first.  I think it was a guy named Tom, who was a physics afficionado.  I don't know.  I went to a couple of dances with different guys that I had absolutely no interest in whatsoever.  I was horrified to discover that they actually thought they were going to kiss me at the end of the date.  Wait a minute.  I don't think anyone ever mentioned that before.  Even a hug seemed a little too intense for me then.  But not for long.

I was a major star in the literary magazine group, offering cogent comments about others' works and submitting quite a few of my own, all of which were published.  (I know this means absolutely nothing, so don't think this is self congratulatory.)  It was a small group, not more than 20. Michael was one of them.  I'm not sure why it happened, but one night I decided that I was in love with him.  Until that night, he was just another one of the boys in the group.  I hadn't even seen him that day, but there was going to be a meeting the next day.  I spent the rest of the night dreaming of him.  Michael was very bright, very articulate and he seemed a bit lonely just like me.  I think I believed he was some tortured genius stuck in a home with people who didn't understand him.  Like me, except for the genius part.  He was very good looking in a boy-who-wears-glasses kind of way.  Much better looking than any of my previous prom partners.

I made my interest known to him when I asked him to a dance.  You know, one of those dances where the girls ask the boys.  He lied and said he was going with someone who was completely out of his league.  The rest of the school year, I pined away.  I developed facial tics when he entered a room.  I adored him.  He was a year older than I and after he graduated, I was left adrift.  No one else interested me.

He showed up at a friend's house one day in December.  I'm not sure how he found out I was there, but when I saw him, I distinctly remember wondering why he wanted to take a walk with me.  Not that I would ever have declined the invitation, even though the temperature outside was very brisk.  I had my love to keep me warm, you know.  I don't know what we talked about.  Just the close proximity to him made me a fucking idiot, I think.  I was just so thrilled that he would even consider being with me outside of the usual confines of the literary magazine meetings.  Hell, he wouldn't even sit by me at the meetings.  

After he left, it took me days to get back to normal.  I was deliriously happy.  Shortly after that, I got a call from the previous editor of the magazine, asking if I wished to go with him and Michael to a teacher's house for a visit.  Oh my god.  Yes.  Yes yes yes.  I was alone at the apartment at the time.  My mother was in another city, visiting my asshole father.  (That's a whole other story.)  I tidied up as best I could.  I was reading Dylan Thomas' poetry and Michael commented on it when they arrived.  We hung out at my teachers' house for a while, they brought me home and that was that.  At the time, I wondered why Michael even came along.

Shortly after that, we had the annual literary magazine Christmas party and Michael was there.  I think we said hello, but I was waiting for him to approach me.  He never did, but I noticed that he watched me as I chatted with other people.  I was the editor of the magazine that year and felt comfortable enough to mingle.  (Mingling wasn't then and isn't now one of my best interpersonal skills, although I've learned to fake it when I have to.)  After the party was over, I told my teacher that I saw him watching me.  "Well, he's going to need to do something more than just look," she said.  Hey, I wasn't picky.  Watching was fine with me.

Prior to the end of his Christmas break, he came to my parents' house and asked me to go to my teacher's house with him.  I'm not sure I was ever happier than that moment.  On the way to her house, he pulled into a park where people from my high school tended to hang out.  I was puzzled. He turned off the engine and grabbed me.  We kissed for what seemed like an eternity.  In retrospect, I think I should have insisted that he at least buy me a coke before we made out.  I didn't care.  After that, though, no guy was ever allowed those kinds of liberties.  Hey, I have standards, you know.  They just didn't apply to him.

That was the first date that really counted.  All of the others were practice dates, wasted time.   It was one of the first times that I ever got anything I wanted.  I mean anything.  My home life was never what I wanted.  The loneliness I felt at school never went away.  But that day with Michael gave me hope.  I could see that it was at least possible to have things turn out the way I wished.  It was also the last time any young man even attempted to resist my charms. That date marked the end of who I had been.  But, as we all know, the good times never last.

America held hostage day 1659

Bushism of the day:

"Free societies are hopeful societies. And free societies will be allies against these hateful few who have no conscience, who kill at the whim of a hat." - Washington, D.C., Sept. 17, 2004

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"Love all, trust a few." ~ William Shakespeare

I just don't seem to be able to write these days.  I start a paragraph and immediately think of why I shouldn't be writing it.  I erase and try to start over.  Sometimes I just bore myself.  Or maybe sometimes the words don't come quite so easily.  Either way, I'm not making much progress.

I had to call in for a refill on one of my anti-depressants (yes, I take several because of my post traumatic stress disorder) and was notified when I picked it up that my psychiatrist won't refill again until she sees me.  Okay.  I'm fine with the fact that she needs to see me periodically.  I even approve of the practice, but things are still very up in the air for me these days and I don't really think now is the time.  If she's holding my medication hostage, though, I guess I have no choice.  Sometimes I think she just makes me come in when she needs for me to write her another check for $100 for the 45 minutes she sees me.  Actually, it's been about four months since the last time, so her fee is probably up to $110 by now.  I have a bad attitude.  

I keep thinking I'm going to find another psychiatrist, but the only ones included in my insurance company's "preferred providers" are men.  I don't do male psychiatrists.  Generally speaking, I don't do male doctors at all--aside from my dentist and oncology team.  I have serious trust issues with men and very critical issues with male psychologists and psychiatrists.  When I was in college, I was referred to a male psychologist and I could just never make myself go to see him.  

The first (and last) male psychologist I ever saw was a real debacle.  He made me hug him every time before I left his office.  He made me hug him even though I'd just spent the last hour talking about being repeatedly sexually assaulted prior to the age of 5.  He made me hug him even though I'd just been talking about the incredible violence visited upon me by my father.  Believe me when I tell you that those hugs just compounded the problem.  I spent my childhood feeling completely powerless against the terrible men in my life and he made me feel powerless all over again.  I was too young and traumatized to resist the hug.  I just held my breath and did it anyway.  Just like with my uncle. 

Well this is turning out to be a fun post.  I give up. Maybe tomorrow I'll find something else to talk about.

America held hostage day 1658

Bushism of the day:

"The CIA laid out several scenarios and said life could be lousy, life could be OK, life could be better, and they were just guessing as to what the conditions might be like." - New York, Sept. 21, 2004

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National Suicide Hotline

August 11, 2006  6:30 PM EDT

As NAMI reported yesterday, the nation's largest suicide hotline, 1-800-SUICIDE, is scheduled to go out of service. But instead of this occurring on Saturday, August 12, as previously announced, the operator of this hotline has been given a two week extension. Negotiations are still in progress that may prevent the number from going out of service. However, NAMI is still urging the public to be aware that the alternative number for those in crisis is 1-800-273-TALK.

This number will put callers in touch with the federally-funded National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, a service that has been in operation since January, 2005. It functions as a central switchboard to immediately connect callers to virtually the same network of certified, local crisis centers accessed by 1-800-SUICIDE.   So callers can receive counseling or emergency services, if needed, close to home.

All calls to the 1-800-273-TALK Lifeline are private and confidential. Confidentiality of personal information and of personal disclosures during calls is a high priority for the parties involved in operating the Lifeline.

The federal Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) is working with the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and the entire suicide prevention community to ensure that every call for help during a suicide crisis is answered. Some of the measures being put in place include:

• Ensuring that the entire suicide-prevention community is working the phones and Internet to make sure that all referring agencies know that 1-800-273-TALK is the number to call for suicide intervention.
• Notifying service providers, including directory 411 and 211 operators, that 1-800-SUICIDE is scheduled to go out of service in two weeks, and to direct callers to 1-800-273-TALK for help.
• Redirecting callers who call 1-800-SUICIDE to call 1-800-273-TALK through a recording.

NAMI will continue to stay involved with these efforts and will distribute additional information as it becomes available.

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Some of you may know that my father committed suicide nine years ago.  If you ever feel like checking out, please remember the people you will leave behind.  They will not understand why you've done it.  They will feel personally responsible, even though suicide is an individual's choice--not something that can be "caused" by another person.  Please know that living through the suicide of someone you love is like a nuclear holocaust in your loved ones' brains.  It takes years and years to recover.  Please take care of yourself and call someone.  If you don't have a suicide hotline in your area, call the number I've highlighted above.  No matter what you may think at the moment, there are people who care about you.  Please take care of yourself and stay with us.

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Warning:  Some of this post may be triggering if you suffer from ptsd.  Proceed with caution, please, and take good care of yourself.

"Our memory is like a shop in the window of which is exposed now one now another photograph of the same person" ~ Marcel Proust

I always live in a world populated by memories, fragmented and unpredictable.  There was so much violence in my early life that there are very few full memories available to me.  I remember blood or pain--the worst parts, but not how events began nor ended.  Even the terrible memories are sparse.  When I was around 13, I was reading Sigmund Freud (always an ambitious reader, here) and I recall that I discovered the concept of repressed memory.  Not being a very sophisticated thinker and wading in water a bit above my head, I believed that if I just maybe prayed hard enough, I'd find a way to forget everything that had happened to me.  I think I conceptualized it as a tabula rasa event, liberating from the past and the present. 

Lately time has seemed more porous than usual.  They're not flashbacks in the way that one would normally think of them.  I'm not suddenly standing (figuratively speaking) in some horrific moment from the past.  Light has always been very meaningful to me, opening doors to former times.  I can't always recall where the memory of light is located.  For instance, there are times when I'm in the bathroom and light from the window recalls for me a moment of terror.  Which moment of terror is difficult to discern.  Not that I necessarily wish to. of course.

The memories that have been materializing these days are things like a vision of my mom taking something out of the oven.  Or a random day at school (but not one of the heart wrenching ones). Like all of my memories, they're only snippets, disconnected from the flow of events.  They're like tiny photographs arising and falling away.

I don't actually believe in the concepts of past, present and future.  I mean, they exist for us; they're human-created ideas.  In the universe of eternity, time means nothing.  All moments are the present moment.  There's some comfort in that.  I have never lost anyone.  Though they may have died, the times we were together are still alive and animated.  It's easy to talk to the girl I used to be because she's still here.  Quantum physics reinforce my view of time and space.  

I don't know why there's been this shift in memories.  I suppose it's a good thing, in that not all of the memories are bad ones.  Some of them are very tender.  I consider myself blessed to revisit those moments. 

America held hostage day 1652

Bushism of the day:

"I know what I believe. I will continue to articulate what I believe and what I believe — I believe what I believe is right." —Rome, Italy, July 22, 2001

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"Silence is the true friend that never betrays." ~ Confucius

Here's a surprise.  My mom actually has friends.  I mean, she invites people to go to the store with her.  She invites them into her condo and talks to them for hours.  This is groundbreaking.  The whole time I was growing up, she never had any friends.  Of course, it's hard to have friends when you live with my father.

He had a habit of wanting to fuck anybody my mom knew in any way.  That was the way his first "affair" (See, even that word's too good to use to describe his relationships.) began.  It was this woman my mom worked with.  Then he was trying to strike something up with the mother of a friend of mine.  She had the good sense to get the hell away from him.  After that first woman, he found that it worked much better to use me as bait.

The other problem was, how can you have friends when you know that sooner or later you'll have to explain what that entire extra family is doing living there.  You have to explain why you're sleeping with the daughter while your husband is sleeping in a separate bedroom with someone two years older than your daughter.  That will definitely put a damper on the whole friend thing.  I know it did for me.

From the time I was 12 until forever, I never invited anyone over to my house.  The last time I did, she immediately went back to school and started spreading rumors.  They were all true, but it didn't make my school life any easier for me.   I was having enough trouble dealing with the repercussions of my own bad behavior. 

But I digress.  My mom always kept other people at arm's length.  She'd be friendly with other women at work, but that's about as far as any of her relationships ever went.  In recent years, I've turned into my mother in that respect.  The reasons are different, though.

Her condominium complex is home to a lot of older people and she's developed varying levels of friendships with many of them.  She's very friendly with the lady who lives upstairs.  Now why do I find this difficult?

I guess I feel a little betrayed...she got to the age of 65 and turned into somebody else.  Or something.  Maybe I'm a little envious.  She has lots of free time to cultivate new relationships.  By the time I get home every day, I'm pretty worn down.  Then, on good days, I have yoga to do.  I like to read, too.  On the weekends, my mom is always with me.  I don't think that's very conducive to developing friendships. 

That's just an excuse for my lack of interest in developing any relationships.  Relationships have "all been bad...kinda been like Verlaines and Rimbauds," to quote Dylan.  I'm pretty fond of my online relationships, though.  I never have to go to movies with them or try to work in a lunch date. It fits my schedule really well.

I just keep digressing today.  Oh well.  I'm glad my mom has finally reached a point in her life when she can trust that it will be okay to have friends.  I can see that it makes her happier.  As for me, I'll just keep smiling vaguely at people when they ask me to do things with them.  Um, no, but thanks very much. 

America held hostage day 1650

Bushism of the day:

"See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda." --Greece, N.Y., May 24, 2005

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"It's a glorious privilege to live, to behold, to know, to love. To look up at the blue summer sky, to see the sun sink slowly beyond the horizon, to watch the worlds come twinkling into view. And you and I are here." - Marco Morrow

It was just your standard early August in Texas kind of weekend.  The heat wasn't completely unbearable due to some friendly cloud cover.  It's supposed to rain today, but then it was supposed to rain yesterday.  Our next door neighbor, who's about 80, was out with a sledgehammer in the midday heat all weekend.  He's breaking up some concrete on his side of the fence.  Hubby thinks he's doing it just to irritate us.  (They had some heated words recently about who was responsible for some serious storm damage.).  I've never liked the guy.  He hangs on to his wife's hand like he's got her on some kind of leash. 

I was completely wiped out on Friday and fell asleep sitting up a couple of times.  It's hard to remember that just because they're not medically torturing me anymore doesn't mean my body is well. It's so frustrating not to be able to be more active.  It's a tension I'm trying to learn to deal with through mindulness.  

Speaking of mindfulness, I saw Pema Chodron on PBS this weekend.  What a wonderful face!  There are very faint frown lines, but many laugh lines around her mouth.  The interview reminded me of how critical it is to maintain my practice.  I've had quite a few reminders lately and I've been acting on those reminders.  I meditated twice this weekend.  She noted that it's important to confront what it is in us that causes us to bear hatred towards others.  For a while now, I've been praying specifically for help in giving up the rage, hatred and resentment I harbor in my heart.  Facing my own narcissistic wounds might help that process along. 

Hubby finished up his latest book and I read the forward.  He's really an excellent writer and the references he cited were diverse and many.  I frequently forget just how good he really is and that it was that gift that drew us together from the beginning.  On the other hand, there is absolutely no money to be made writing nonfiction books for university publishers.  I thought we had an agreement that there would be no more books until cash flow issues are resolved.  

Looking for something to celebrate?  Today is Picnic Day in Australia. My husband took me on a couple of picnics during our honeymoon.  Very romantic.

America held hostage day 1649

Bushism of the day;

"Because the — all which is on the table begins to address the big cost drivers.For example, how benefits are calculate, for example, is on the table; whether or not benefits rise based upon wage increases or price increases. There's a series of parts of the formula that are being considered. And when you couple that, those different cost drivers, affecting those — changing those with personal accounts, the idea is to get what has been promised more likely to be — or closer delivered to what has been promised. Does that make any sense to you? It's kind of muddled." --explaining his plan to save Social Security, Tampa, Fla., Feb. 4, 2005

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"Most of the time I don't have much fun.  The rest of the time I don't have any fun at all." ~ Woody Allen

My plan for the day was to take the day off and rest.  My mom and I are having our traditional summer lunch in a small town near here.  I wanted to get a little extra rest time so I'd enjoy the outing more.  I couldn't think of what to tell the office about why I wasn't coming in so I just came to work.  My mom suggested that I should have just said I wasn't feeling well.  The truth is, I'm not feeling well.  The stress of the weekend used up all of the energy I have left.  Since chemotherapy, when I get too tired, my entire body hurts.  That's where I'm at today.

Every summer my mom and I go to a little town not far from where we live and have lunch at a restaurant that overlooks the Guadalupe River.  You can't actually see the river, but you can hear it moving.  I love the sound of moving water.  So comforting and refreshing.  We didn't get to have our trip last year, because I was in the midst of scheduling appointments to find out if I had breast cancer.  That can eat up an amazing amount of time.  Maybe we should go twice this year to make up for it.

I came up with the plan last week when, out of the blue, I thought, "When was the last time I had any fun?"  I can't even remember.  So I decided that I need to find some activities that help me reconnect with life.  My therapist is pleased.  Fun-seeking is not something I normally do.  Of course, having said that, I actually have to think of something fun.  The lunch thing was easy.  Anything else will take some serious ruminating.

It was only a few years ago that I even entertained the possibility that one is supposed to be happy in life.   I was surprised when my therapist told me she thought I should try to do what makes me happy.  Wow.  What a concept. I'm still not absolutely certain that happiness is one of the ultimate goals in life.

I think I believe that life is more about learning.  I don't mean intellectual achievement, although there's certainly nothing wrong with that.  I mean learning compassion and kindness.  I mean learning to find what's loveable in other human beings, even when you have to look really, really hard.  One of the great things about having suffered greatly early in life is that you are more able to see that pain lies behind the hurtful behaviors we engage in, whether to ourselves or others..  Or that's how it seems to me.

But I digress.  Tomorrow I'm going to have fun and try to remember what it feels like to not be a patient.

America held hostage day 1643

Bushism of the day:

"I've reminded the prime minister—the American people, Mr. Prime Minister, over the past months that it was not always a given that the United States and America would have a close relationship."—Washington, D.C., June 29, 2006

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We have had kittens at my office.  Three gold and one grey and black striped.  The mom kitty is the daughter of the matriarch here; she refused to move on after her siblings left.  She's lost two other litters to my boss's enthusiasm for making the office cat haters happy.  After the second litter was taken away from her when they were four days old, I strongly suggested that he let me handle the kitty situation.

I always come by the office on weekends to feed them and interact with them.  On Sunday, I wasn't able to find the black and gray baby.  My mom helped me look for him, but s/he was nowhere to be found.  We have a tenant in the unused building and I hoped that he had adopted the baby; he's told me a couple of times how much he liked that kitten's spirit.

My boss called me on Sunday afternoon to tell me that our tenant reported two pit bulls in our back patio area on Saturday night.  That cleared up the question of what happened to the black and gray kitten.  It was obvious that we needed to rescue them, just in case our neighbor's dogs came for another snack.  The kittens are about 5 weeks old now, so I didn't feel uneasy about taking them from their mother.

I went to the office, plucked the babies up and put them in my kitty carrier.  Then my boss told me he wanted to catch their mother.  Their mother has never let me touch her.  She's lived here for at five years now and, lately, she's gotten within about a foot of me.  I wasn't enthusiastic about the prospect of catching her, because every time my boss gets involved in these things, I'm the one who ends up getting hurt.

He suggested that we try to trap the mom in the break room by moving the babies in the kitty carrier to that room and leaving the door open.  I asked him what we were going to do when that happened.  He did not have a plan.  Great.

He was right.  After a few minutes, she had to go in and make sure they were okay.  I went in after her and made sure the door was shut.  That door is one of those standard glass office doors and, not understanding the concept of glass, she kept trying to leap out.  Finally she was tired and was still for a few moments.  I approached her, talking softly.  Then, I reached out and touched her.  No reaction.  I petted her.  No reaction.  I petted her again and she turned to look at me with that "If you touch me again, bitch, I'm going to have to really hurt you" look.  I removed my hand immediately.  I waited a couple of seconds and gave it another shot.  She was fine.  

After I petted her for several seconds, I reached down and grabbed the scruff of her neck.  She didn't struggle, so I asked my boss to get the kitty carrier and bring it over.  "Do you want me to hold it up with the door open?"  I told him to put it on the floor and keep the door open so I could just gently push her in.  It actually worked.  Miracle.

I took mom and babies to the vet yesterday.  The babies will be given to loving homes and mom will come back to live with us after she's been spayed.  She's too feral to give away. 

I hope this will be the final proof for my boss that I'm the one who should be dealing with taking our feral cats to the vet.  When I do it, no one gets hurt.  That's why they trust me.  With animals or humans, my goal is always to do no harm. 

America held hostage day 1643 

2 Comments

We have had kittens at my office.  Three gold and one grey and black striped.  The mom kitty is the daughter of the matriarch here; she refused to move on after her siblings left.  She's lost two other litters to my boss's enthusiasm for making the office cat haters happy.  After the second litter was taken away from her when they were four days old, I strongly suggested that he let me handle the kitty situation.

I always come by the office on weekends to feed them and interact with them.  On Sunday, I wasn't able to find the black and gray baby.  My mom helped me look for him, but s/he was nowhere to be found.  We have a tenant in the unused building and I hoped that he had adopted the baby; he's told me a couple of times how much he liked that kitten's spirit.

My boss called me on Sunday afternoon to tell me that our tenant reported two pit bulls in our back patio area on Saturday night.  That cleared up the question of what happened to the black and gray kitten.  It was obvious that we needed to rescue them, just in case our neighbor's dogs came for another snack.  The kittens are about 5 weeks old now, so I didn't feel uneasy about taking them from their mother.

I went to the office, plucked the babies up and put them in my kitty carrier.  Then my boss told me he wanted to catch their mother.  Their mother has never let me touch her.  She's lived here for at five years now and, lately, she's gotten within about a foot of me.  I wasn't enthusiastic about the prospect of catching her, because every time my boss gets involved in these things, I'm the one who ends up getting hurt.

He suggested that we try to trap the mom in the break room by moving the babies in the kitty carrier to that room and leaving the door open.  I asked him what we were going to do when that happened.  He did not have a plan.  Great.

He was right.  After a few minutes, she had to go in and make sure they were okay.  I went in after her and made sure the door was shut.  That door is one of those standard glass office doors and, not understanding the concept of glass, she kept trying to leap out.  Finally she was tired and was still for a few moments.  I approached her, talking softly.  Then, I reached out and touched her.  No reaction.  I petted her.  No reaction.  I petted her again and she turned to look at me with that "If you touch me again, bitch, I'm going to have to really hurt you" look.  I removed my hand immediately.  I waited a couple of seconds and gave it another shot.  She was fine.  

After I petted her for several seconds, I reached down and grabbed the scruff of her neck.  She didn't struggle, so I asked my boss to get the kitty carrier and bring it over.  "Do you want me to hold it up with the door open?"  I told him to put it on the floor and keep the door open so I could just gently push her in.  It actually worked.  Miracle.

I took mom and babies to the vet yesterday.  The babies will be given to loving homes and mom will come back to live with us after she's been spayed.  She's too feral to give away. 

I hope this will be the final proof for my boss that I'm the one who should be dealing with taking our feral cats to the vet.  When I do it, no one gets hurt.  That's why they trust me.  With animals or humans, my goal is always to do no harm. 

America held hostage day 1643 

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